Conversation in a book shop

Sales Assistant: Excuse me sir, can I help you?

Glenn: No thank you.

SA: Can I ask if you have come in today to buy the new Harry Potter?

G: Yep.

SA: Did you pre-order a copy?

G: Nope.

SA: Well sir, that's ok because we have plenty for those who didn't pre-order them, can I help you to find one?

G: Nope.

SA: Are you sure?

G: Do you see the book in my hand?

SA: Yes sir.

G: The one that says 'Harry Potter' on the front?

SA: Ah, yes sir, I can see that.

G: I managed to find that from the table loaded with about 200 other ones right by the entrance.

SA: ok, enjoy your book sir.

Me: I'd like to leave now.

G: Oh really? WOULD YOU LIKE ANY HELP WITH THAT?

Bring the pain!

Yesterday I got a letter, it said this;

Dear Hannah,

Here at LA Fitness, we really want you to enjoy your body. I noticed you have cancelled your membership, so now I'm worried you won't be able to.

Blah blah bargain membership offer blah blah.

Your sincerely,

Fit lady who manages the gym.

I was touched by their concern, not many people ask me if I enjoy my body, which is a shame when you think about it, what is life without an inappropriate sales tactic disguised as concern for a person's health?!

So, sucked in by the concern, and curious to find out exactly how the gym is going to help me enjoy my body, I signed up again. It also helps that pilates is back on the timetable.

I am very sad that my gym buddy isn't here to help me suffer, but she'll be back soon, and when she is, I'm going to make her suffer like I'm planning on suffering! BRING ON THE HURT!

Lovely.

When I was 17 I listened to No Doubt's 'Don't Speak' on repeat for about a month, such was the depth of my heartbreak and melodrama.

Is it true do you think, that first loves will always hold a special place in our hearts? No matter where you go, what you do, or how much you dedicate the rest of your heart to someone else, there’s always that small pocket which can never belong to anyone because it belongs to them?

Or maybe, every time we fall in love, we give a little piece of our heart away, and that’s what you feel when you meet them again, it’s that little bit that he has trying to get back to the heart that you have left, even though it doesn’t fit together anymore.

Things to write about

1. That lovely wedding I went to that one time.

2. That medieval wedding I went to that other time.

3. That time Glenn broke his arm, except he didn't break his arm, but for a while there we though he'd broken his arm and it was all a bit scary but we can laugh about it now except he can't.

4. How my job has gone from yeah quite busy to I DON'T HAVE TIMETO BREATHE busy (note to self - that's only interesting to me).

5. That weird email about the Christmas trees (not to self - Gareth's reaction is funnier than the email, probably should point that out).

Conversation with someone who manages Fish

Me: Hello, I 'm just going over some course set up and blah blah just looking at your Electric Fishing Refresher course blah blah more information blah also, do you electrocute the fish? Because that seems a little harsh...

Him: Blah blah information blah blah Electrocution is very good for fish, it helps them grow!

Me: Thanks very much blah blah, might give that a go on my sister's goldfish! Could be a laugh..

Him: DON'T DO THAT! Electricty and water can be VERY DANGEROUS if you don't know what you're doing!

Me: Riiiiiiiiight, thanks for that then, excellent, cheers.

Bloody country nutcase.

Just for Christof

Dear Diary,

Last night I had beans for my tea.

They were ok.

Love,

Chris
x

Flashback!

Saturday night was the uni reunion, I went last year and it sucked royally because of an ex-boyfriend who apparently loves to make me want to kill myself, even five years later, there he was all "you have no soul", which is an interesting insult when you think about it because maybe he's right? I can't prove otherwise, but then insults that make you think about existential arguments and the inate nature of humanity aren't all that cutting really, he's just a pillock.

We decided this year that we wouldn't even pretend to stay at the halls of residence because fond memories need not be replaced by real life, halls were great when you were 18 and your room was just the pitstop between the bar and the lecture theatre but it was what the halls represented that was great rather than the building itself, so we booked a couple of hotel rooms and felt smug and superior for the evening. Nice.

This, plus me drinking Jack Daniels rather than Tia Maria led to some rather mocking looks, Amit now lists me in his phone as 'Hannarr actually' and I had a full five minute talk on 'seriously man, what happened to you?', until I poured half a glass of Jack Daniels and coke into a glass of Tia Maria and coke, not realising that Amit and Andy were trying to reconnect me to my roots, then they realised nothing had happened to me, take away the mortgage and the car and I'm still an idiot. And yes I drank it. And yes I felt like someone had removed my brain and replaced it with ball bearings the next day. Tiny ball bearings. With spikes on them.

By the way, to answer Moch's question, I totally believe that while it's not intentional but Top Gun is absolutely about Maverick struggling with his sexuality, it's the only way to explain the soundtrack.

'Danger Zone', that's all I'm saying.

Anyway, Saturday night got messy, really messy and I can't talk about why or how (how relieved are YOU? You know who you are.......), it's just that now I have these flashbacks, debilitating ones that make me go "oh god!" every so often, which doesn't bode well when you're back at work.

To properly demonstrate how messy Saturday night got, but without giving away any details that will make someone reading this start to sweat in an unattractive way, at one point I decided the best plan was to lock myself in the security room and hide, which resulted in me being thrown out of the security room by some deeply unimpressed security guards. I bet you never thought that you could get thrown out of the little room where they put the drunkern reprobates did you? Well you can.

Oh the flashbacks, will they never end? I want to fill my head with stuff I can distract myself with, like why is Ray in a wheelchair in the previews of next weeks ER? and I can't believe I missed Grey's Anatomy again this week, It's all TV based stuff, I think I prefer fictional drama about men with hair to real life men with hair (that was a clue there, did you see? Subtle, like a ninja clue).

Think about the decking, the calm prettiness of the soon to be finished decking, Ahhhh.......

There are some photo's on Facebook you can see if you're my friend, they're awful because Andy clearly can't take photo's for shit, seriously, I know it's a camera phone but just STEP BACK MAN! Focus.... That's better.

Brilliant

Top Gun is fucking great. What is Top Gun? You think it's a story about a bunch of fighter pilots.

It is a story about a man's struggle with his own homosexuality. It is! That is what Top Gun is about, man.

You've got Maverick, all right? He's on the edge, man. He's right on the fucking line, all right? And you've got Iceman, and all his crew. They're gay, they represent the gay man, all right? And they're saying, go, go the gay way, go the gay way. He could go both ways.

Kelly McGillis, she's heterosexuality. She's saying: no, no, no, no, no, no, go the normal way, play by the rules, go the normal way. They're saying no, go the gay way, be the gay way, go for the gay way, all right? That is what's going on throughout that whole movie...

He goes to her house, all right? It looks like they're going to have sex, you know, they're just kind of sitting back, he's takin' a shower and everything. They don't have sex. He gets on the motorcycle, drives away. She's like, "What the fuck, what the fuck is going on here?" Next scene, next scene you see her, she's in the elevator, she is dressed like a guy. She's got the cap on, she's got the aviator glasses, she's wearing the same jacket that the Iceman wears. She is, okay, this is how I gotta get this guy, this guy's going towards the gay way, I gotta bring him back, I gotta bring him back from the gay way, so I'm do that through subterfuge, I'm gonna dress like a man. All right? That is how she approaches it.

All right, but the REAL ending of the movie is when they fight the MIGs at the end, all right? Because he has passed over into the gay way. They are this gay fighting fucking force, all right? And they're beating the Russians, the gays are beating the Russians. And it's over, and they fucking land, and Iceman's been trying to get Maverick the entire time, and finally, he's got him, all right? And what is the last fucking line that they have together? They're all hugging and kissing and happy with each other, and Ice comes up to Maverick, and he says, "Man, you can ride my tail, anytime!" And what does Maverick say? "You can ride mine!" Swordfight! Swordfight! Fuckin' A, man!

As explained by Sid (Quentin Tarantino) in Sleep With Me (1994)

Out for lunch

The girl I’m working with at the moment says there’s a great place down the road, we should go for some lunch, I am desperate to get out of the office so I say yes. It turns out to be a sandwich shop, we order together which confuses the woman behind the counter because really, two chicken salad rolls, one with no cucumber or mayonnaise and one with just no tomato is apparently a much more complicated order than it sounds. As she rings up the till she says “are you paying together?” A moment of awkwardness ensues, both of us stood, not knowing the other well enough to really know what the other is thinking, I am thinking “no, she can bloody well buy her own sandwich”, but I am saying “I’ll get these”, she says “oh, you don’t have to”, I am thinking “what the fuck? Why are you offering to buy this person food? You don’t want to buy her a sandwich, you don’t know her, coming here was not your idea, you don’t even like the look of the sandwich, and the woman behind the counter was offensively stupid, just say ok, just say alright then, pay for your own”, I am saying “no, no, I’ll get them, you drove here”, I am thinking “it wasn’t even a mile!”, I am saying “you can get them next time if you like”, “I am thinking, “this sandwich sucks, there will never be a next time”.

beuatiful

Ha ha!

Have. to. learn. to. type.

My £450,000 house

I'm working in Hampshire at the moment and staying in Winchester. Winchester is very pretty and ridiculously English and picturesque. Normally I stay in a Holiday Inn near Eastleigh Airport, which is a lot less picturesque, with spectacular views of the M3, but they are fully booked (something sporty is going on, there are lots of cricketers around, this is not interesting to me) so I'm staying in the only available hotel in the surrounding area, a Bed and Breakfast in Winchester.

I mentioned where this B+B was to the lady I'm working with and she made lots of ooooohing noises and said that the address is probably the poshest road in Winchester, which is already to me, the poshest place in the whole world, and as I drove down the private access only Sleepers Hill, I thought yes, private drives, large iron gates, house names like "Oaklands", and "The Grange", Trusty Car and I are not in Longbridge anymore....

It is a very beuatiful house, with eight bedrooms, six of which are rentable, but I can't shake the feeling I'm staying in someone's home, when I opened my bedroom window they were hanging out their washing (in their two acre garden) and there are photographs of their children in the hallway.

This forced me to go out for dinner, whereas I normally like to sulk in my room, order room service and stare at the pilates DVD I take everywhere with me but has thus far never made it out of the box. I went to a french restaurant and I was the only customer (no reflection on the food, I think it was more a reflection of it only being 6.30pm),I sat there wondering if this was me growing up, being able to sit in a restaurant alone, and just think about things for a while, I would certainly never choose to do it but I remember a time when I would rather buy a sandwich and take it back to the hotel than sit in a restaurant on my own. Although there is much less of a chance that the waiter will come over and slime across the table at you while whispering in a appalling french accent "what is a lovely young lady like you doing eating alone?", I resisted the urge to say "I have this nervous tick and every time I get too close to another person I tend to accidently stab them in the face".

I got back to the B+B and flicked through the local trade magazine's they leave in your room so that you can feel like you have every right to sit in a million pound house in Winchester rather than on your half finished decking in Longbridge. I found a house the same size and proportions as mine, with a garden about one sixth of the size, for sale at £450,000.... I rang Glenn and we decided that the only solution was to transport our house, brick by brick, down south, why on earth not? I can live in a tent, hell, for £450,000 I'd live in a tree...

I found my dream house though, for £3 million, it has 6 bedrooms, a master en-suite bigger than my entire upstairs, a hot tub, spa, kitchen the size of Wales, stable block and the bit that sold Glenn - A CINEMA.

Now all I have to do, is make about £10 million, just enough to buy that house, start my alcoholic smoothie business, and take over the world!

Head. Buzzing.

After my operation I decided to give up caffeine, this wasn't because anyone told me I should, or because I read something in the news, it's because for a few weeks before I was admitted the only thing available to drink where I was working was, unbelievably, these really amazing cappucino's that were 30p. So I went from one or two cups of tea in a day, to five or six strong coffee's, didn't feel particularly different, so I didn't worry.

The day I was admitted, I didn't have anything to drink, because I wasn't allowed, and by 1pm I was feeling really horrible, I was incredibly sleepy, my whole body felt lethargic and heavy, I couldn't string a sentance together and my head felt like someone was inside it with a pickaxe trying to bash a hole out of my skull. I made the connection, no coffee = FEEL LIKE DEATH and decided that I should probably not become so apparently dependant on something again. I took being deprived of caffeine as an opportunity to give it up and apart from a pretty huge relapse in Florence (sometimes the only way to get the attention of a very cute italian waiter is to order a steady stream of espresso's) I've succeeded. Everything in the house is decaf, coffee, tea, coke, bring on the tie dye and wheatgrass because I am half way there.

This morning I visited somewhere new and was offered coffee, I didn't want to appear rude or ingracious so I accepted their offer and now I think my veins are trying to get out of my body. Everything is twitching, my eye's are having problems staying focussed on one place and I typed this whole thing in about 1 minute, I. Can't. Stop. Moving. This is bad, it's like I've had a weird hit of something and it won't wear off, I'm one skinny latte away from painting a mural on the decking with my own blood.

And now Itunes is playing some kind of christmas song because the shuffle function doesn't know it's June.

I'm not sure my brain will recover from this.

Question - We replaced the tea in our house with decaf, and someone Glenn works with advised him that actually the chemicals they use to take the caffeine out of tea is pretty much as harmful as caffeine so we should drink redbush tea if we're going to drink tea at all. It turns out that redbush tea tastes like Mick Hucknell's armpit, so can anyone tell me if that's true?

And now I have to dig a hole through to next door with my fingernails. MAKE IT STOP.

Favourite thing I read this week

You are part Fine Glass of Wine. You are sophisticated and refined, but also complicated and hard to deal with. Not everyone loves you, but those who do swear that you're the coolest thing since sliced bread....

I'm just going to let you think that was written about me, carry on...

The country with the ugliest language in the world.

I have been so busy! Which is why no blogging for a while, and certainly not as much blogging as there used to be, like last year when I posted every day because of my lack of a life. Oh! Maybe my creativity got sucked out along with the endo! Maybe the endo was the secret of my powers… what have I done?!

Anyway…. We spent the last few weeks helping others fulfil their dreams, truly, I am the Jimmy Saville of the 21st Century, except with a lot more hair. A couple of weeks ago we flew to Germany to attend a kind of big weekend long party for Glenn’s parents, lots of drinking and an awful lot of sausage eating (of actual sausages, dipped in curry sauce, with chips, smothered in mayonnaise, and some vegetables, drowning in cheese sauce, it is a miracle that Germans live as long as the rest of us but it certainly explains Glenn’s eating habits) and even more beer drinking. Three days where I said goodbye to healthy arteries and hello to being hung over whenever it was day light.

We left Dusseldorf airport in a people carrier, six of us and luggage, six people not used to spending that much time together, about to embark on a 45 minute drive to the small town of Menden, or so we thought. We left the autobahn and took the road to Koln, someone in the back mentioned we might be going in the wrong direction, someone else told that someone to “SHUT UP!”, and so we drove for an hour and ended up in Menden, except it was the wrong Menden and so we drove an hour back to Dusseldorf, and then an hour towards the right Menden, through 5pm Friday evening traffic, making a 45 minute journey last three whole hours. Nice.

At the first party that evening someone claiming to be psychic pulled me to one side, gripped my hand tightly, looked deep into my eyes and said, “I can’t see children in your future, but I can see a lot of dogs”. So that was weird.

This is making it sound like the entire weekend was dreadful, it really wasn’t, we had a wonderful time and I got to see where Glenn spent some of his childhood, which was lovely. He has such fond memories of that place and now I do to.

But I’m never speaking to a psychic ever again, what in the world I was thinking I don’t know, the only coherent thoughts I can remember are “where’s the Jack FUCKING DOGS?! Daniels?”.

Email with newly engaged person

Me: Debenhams?

Him: I don't understand! What about Debenhams? Is there a sale? Can I get a reasonably priced non-stick set of frying pans? Explain yourself!

Me: Your wedding list doofus, I got your very beautiful invitation, some very beautiful directions, a very beautiful menu, and a little mini card telling me you were registered at Debenhams. It made me laugh out loud, just can't see you there picking out china patterns... I am going to buy you one spoon, just the one, I may get it engraved, some thing like 'and now I'm off to the shoe department'.

Him: Wedding - oh yeah! Hey did you like the ribbons on the invitations? I tied them myself! Then my lady untied them and rolled her eyes at me. I was well up for Argos myself (Debs is a little too upmarket for my taste) - there's so many beautiful things in the Laminated Book of Dreams.

Me: I particularly enjoyed the ribbons on the invitation, very pretty, my friend Sarah got married last year and she said hand made invitations were such a good idea... then 300 tiny silver hearts later she wanted to kill herself.

What deosn't kill you etc etc

It's true, I had no idea that you people lived like this, pain free?! ALL THE TIME?! I think I've already said this, at least I've definitely said this to everyone I know but it's like I'm a whole new person, and if this is how you all live then you should get out there and engage in some kind of extreme sport or something because it makes me feel like I could run a marathon, or build a house or pull a boeing 747 along with my ears, or fix the lawn that I've accidentally killed when I got a little trigger happy with the feed and weed...

This is incredible, I had absolutely no idea how difficult life was until life wasn't difficult anymore. I think because the problem had been getting steadily worse over four years I had no perception of how debilitated I was. All the exhaustion, and the head being all over the place, and the endless, numbing, frustrating pain... and then three weeks of hell... and then nothing. Just nothing! No pain, my head feels like a fog has lifted, I can think in sentances now! And I'm so excited about it all! To put it simply, I had no idea that I was struggling, I thought I was doing ok, and now I actually am.

So I have to tell you all to embrace your health and well being, I know what I sound like (I really do, preachy and, well, american) but I know what you have and honestly, your health is everything, and it informs everything, I function better, I'm just happier, so much happier.

Unfortunately my parents seem to think that means I should have a baby RIGHT NOW, in fact, right now I'm a little late, the first time my mother mentioned it I was still in hospital but I am thus far managing to keep her at bay. My Dad, being one of those religious types, wants me to get married before that, so between the two of them they're having a tug of war to see who can wear me down first, at this rate I'll be gagged and dragged down the aisle (in the not at all pretentious cathedral wedding that my father dreams of) and knocked up before the ink is dry on the certificate, Glenn will be slightly woozy from all the barbituates they've slipped into his tea. Ah, just how I always dreamed it would be...

After the first laparoscopy in May 2004, I was a mess, I cried solidly for two days, I couldn't stand up for a week, it took me an age to pull myself together. After the second laparoscopy in October 2006, I had a cry when I got home, but then I was fine and I could walk around like a normal person after four days. After this operation? No tears, none at all, there was a moment when Keane were on the TV when I had a small lump in my throat, but that's no measure of anything, that music is gentically engineered to make bears cry. Physically we won't talk about because it's like comparing a rover 25 with a porsche 911, but my recovery has been remarkable, after about 16 years of hating my body, now I feel like I can be friends with it again, I probably wouldn't invite it to the cathedral just yet, it did after all get me into this mess in the first place, but I might send it a christmas card, one of the ones from the large box of 'comedy' cards for work people, not the hand made ones for people I love, we're not there yet.

So yeah, what doesn't kill you etc etc, turns out to be true.

Smile, we're all so very, very lucky, and most of you don't even know it.

Returning to work

This is great, I’m a real person again, no one’s even acknowledged that I was ever off, I’m busy. I’m doing something, I am contributing to the turning of the world, everything is going to be ok, no one is asking me if I’m alright every five bloody minutes, no one is looking at me with their head cocked slightly to the right like I might die in front of them, lovely , just normal and lovely… Mind you, maybe one “so how are you doing?” would be nice, I mean I was off for a while, it would just be polite for someone to acknowledge that I’ve been away and not well… Would it kill someone just to ask me if it all went ok, you know, because it was all quite traumatic you know, I wasn’t just off with the bloody flu or something, someone cut me open…A LOT…No, this is good, no special treatment, just normal… Honestly?! Nothing at all?! No one’s even acknowledged that I was ever off!

Bastards.

Excuse me Mr

I found out the other day that someone I used to know has a my space page, and I was sat here thinking I would like to write all about how cliched it is that someone would have a my space page, like who the hell do you think you are to create something all about you on the internet and expect people to read it and actually be interested in your life when essentially you're not actually a very interesting person, you're just... a person.

And then I realised that I was about to write this rant on my fucking blog.

So then I played Tragic Kingdom at a very loud volume and thought about how much easier it was to not have anything to do with people you hated when there was no internet.

I must be better...

...because I am bored!

Like, my brain is going to explode, itchy feet, I might go running or redecorate my house or mow the lawn or drive to Scotland or dance naked in my bedroom at night with the lights on and the curtains open kind of bored.

So there we have it, the first week I was out of the hospital I was so poorly that I couldn't get bored, there was no room in my "POOR ME" mentality for boredom, I was literally surviving minute to minute, then the second week, I was kind of up for getting off the sofa but though the mind was willing, the body was weak. Now it'e the beginning of week three and yes! I am bored! I never thought I would be so happy to be so frustrated by not doing anything!

I have bought stuff on Ebay that I shouldn't have bought (vintage dress and glittery eyeliners, I don't know when I'm going to wear the eyeliners, last time I looked electric blue glittery eyes were not a pre-requisite for working in an FE college, but you know, Florence might not be as classy as I think) and I have a watch list of Nikon D70's that I am praying will one day unearth one that's less than £450. no luck yet....

But I did see Ian McKellan's penis on friday night, so that was aewsome (that man has nothing to be ashamed of, NOTHING, and I was in the circle....). We had tickets for the RSC's production of King Lear with Sir Ian playing the tortured patriarc and it was wonderful, not cheery wonderful, a kind of wow, they gouged out BOTH his eyes didn't they?! Right there in front of me... Gross! There was some unnecessary but fascinating nudity and Sylvester McCoy was hung right before Glenn didn't buy me ice cream in the interval. Yep, Trevor Nunn killed Dr Who, and not before time...

I have uploaded tonnes of photo's onto Flickr, where my account name is Spanairspan, because unbelievably, there is already a spanair! So I guess that means two of us will be sued when we are discovered by the literary world and the airline takes umbrage at us using their name to make millions.

Here is a photo of my eyes as a teaser... Let us not mention my giant nose, I said let us NOT.

Hello healthy people! Jealous? Me? Noooo........

So Hi there! I did not die, not I did not, and that must be said, it must be repeated over and over because this convalesance thing is like an alternate slow death, one in which I make decisions to do stuff and then my body says noooo, no you will not do that, you will not do that at all...

Like yesterday, I got up at around 10, I tidied up a bit, watched a lo-hot of tv and then felt so bright and positive in the evening that I had a little dance in my kitchen to Stevie Wonder, and I felt good about that, so good in fact that I today I thought well get me, and my dancing, I'm going to go out! So I walked to the train station (Stevie on the Ipod for motivation), and took a train into town where Glenn and I had lunch and then I perused the sales. Then it started, the shaking, and the slightly cold feeling, and the horrible nagging voice in my head that said if I was not back lying on my bed within the hour then I would be lying on the floor at New St station and which do you prefer? huh? huh? which one?!

So I went home, and lay down, and finally, finally gave in to it.

Being sick sucks.

The operation lasted 4 hours, but blessed be my surgeon, he managed to do the whole thing through keyholes, rather than the large incision I was living in fear of and NO COLOSTOMY! DO YOU HEAR ME WORLD?! NO FUCKING COLOSTOMY!!!!

Lots of morphine though, I came back into the world after the operation and was adament that I had not had enough pain relief, I was convinced of it, so I kept asking for more and they kept telling me I'd had a lot and I kept asking for more and well, nobody wins that game. I was still asking for more when Glenn turned up and he held my hand and talked me through it until the Golden Hour when the morphine came back.

Anyway, I don't know if anyone's reading this anymore, I have been neglectful of my blog and I may never be forgiven, but the point is, I'm out the otherside and although I'm being stubborn and not taking it quite easy enough, I'm getting there.

I received five lots of flowers, an orchid, four boxes of chocolates, a tonne of cards, a package of all kinds of exciting stuff all the way from Australia and to top it all off, grapes.

Being sick maybe does not suck so much, no?

Many stories about excessive bleeding, uncontrollable vomiting, the auxillary nurse from hell, anti-biotics that taste like rotten eggs which surely were engineered by the nazi's and unexpected fevers to come, can you even contain your excitement? I thought not.

Conversation with an anaesthetist

Him: Do you remember the name of the anaesthetist who put you to sleep the last time you were here?

Me: No, but I do remember that he asked me if there was anything I enjoyed about having surgery, which I have to say, I thought was a little weird.

Him: Ha ha, yes we're sometimes a bit odd.

Me: Uh huh, you need to spend more time around people who are awake.

Happy Birthday Me!

Last week I humiliated myself in front of Richard Madeley, this week, I spent two days working on the island that looked straight out of the wicker man.

Looks like 26 is going to be a weird one.

Work Conversation, no really, this was at work...

The phone rings, so I pick it up...

Me: Hello

Him: Hello is that Hannah?

Me: Yes, can I help you?

Him: This is C from XXX, I emailed you yesterday about whether you can get involved in a project we're doing at Y but you haven't responded.

Me: No, I'm sorry I didn't get it until late last night and I'm actually working on the isle of wight today so I'm a little busy.

Him; Yes, I know where you are, I rang R and found out.

Me: Oh

Him: So can you attend a meeting on the 9th?

Me: I'm afraid that's a little short notice as today is the 8th and I have to be somewhere else tomorrow. Also, I'm actually going off work for about 8 weeks next week so if this project is getting off the ground earlier than that you might want to look for someone else.

Him: Are you having a hysterectomy?

Me: Excuse me?

Him: Are. you. having. a. hysterectomy?

Me: Er, no.

Him; My wife's just had one.

Me: Right, I see, I'm er, sorry about that... but I'm not having one.

Him: Are you sure?

Me: Yes, quite sure.

Him: Women's things though is it?

Me: It's personal.

Him: Right, well I'll see when we were looking for you to get involved and let you know.

Me: Ok, right, thanks.

Him: Bye

Me: Bye.

Me: Fucking lunatic.

Crazy, and I know I absolutely did not take any drugs last night..... or did I?

Last night I dreamt that I lived in a commune with my boyfriend who in my dream was a man that I work with, we'll call him Ricky, because that is his name.

Anyway, the commune was this big old victorian mansion and I went out for a walk, where upon I was attacked by my ex-boyfriend who in my dream was my ex-boyfriend, we'll call him Dave, because that is his name. I see him crossing the front garden and I try and hide behind a tree but he sees me and runs towards me screaming "You think you can break up with me with a note? A NOTE?! I've been waiting for this for four years you bitch!",

Incidentally, I did not break up with him with a note, I broke up with him over the phone and then ignored his calls for 3 months so I wouldn't have to deal with him, I'm nice like that.

So he pushes me into a hedge and someone in the hedge grabs my shoulders so I can't move and he's hitting me and screaming at me, and it's then that I notice Phil Mitchell is lying next to me bleeding from a shotgun wound to the stomach and looking very pale. I look over and Ricky is calling the police from his hiding place which is on top of a rotary washing line in the middle of the front garden, and all these police cars come screaming up the drive. Someone pulls Dave off me and I shout "Phil! Someone has to help Phil Mitchell! He's been shot", but when I look down Phil Mitchell's not there anymore but I can see that the person who grabbed my shoulders in the hedge is a woman half sticking out of a crashed car and was just trying to get me to help her.

The End

I may never go sleep again.

I think I may take drugs sometimes and then not remember....

I found an old notebook hidden in my laptop bag and was having a flick through to see if there was any information that I needed to keep before I threw it away when I noticed that I make no sense whatsoever and it is a miracle I can function as a living human at all.

Things what I wrote in notebook;

Things that have happened since I posted which was quite a while ago now –

Painted bathroom, disaster
Gym, pain, energy.
Sex (question – should you write about your sex life on the internet?)

The answer is no by the way, in case you were wondering what I decided about that, and you should never, ever, write about your vibrator, it disturbs people….

Go to Amsterdam

Right… Ok then….

Drop card off for Matt

I can only apologise to Matt if I didn’t, I can’t remember doing it but you see? I have good intentions!

Liz – Saturday wedding

I don’t know if I was telling her to get married on a Saturday or if that was the name of something, either way she’s getting married on a Wednesday so it shows how much I know.

Why did talk to at office holiday

Drunk, must have been.

If the F.St is FE then the LA REF must exist in FE AV with a valid status for current ac yr, but not for new starters or re-sits.
N=09 XX excluding C I K M O V or whole must be spaces
A09_A10_A20_A27_LAD 6

Stunningly, that’s pretty much the only thing in the whole notebook which makes perfect sense to me.

Send apologies to Bryan

I don’t know anyone called Bryan.

Keep photocopy of

What?

Liza was a proper gypsy!

That’s true actually.

Do it! Do it do it do it do it!!!

DO WHAT?!

Michael H has unnaturally feminine hands

Also true.

Ethnicity – Learning difficulties, DONE!

Ohkaaaay…….

Is there a skip nearby I can put the garden rubbish in during the night?

Ha ha! We are sooooooo cheap….

GP thinks what JV wants

Again, true…

ROJO – Indian next to Solihull Ice Rink, meet Aimee at 8

Turned out to be an Italian and I should have met her at 7.

Dirty London junkies stole my Fiorelli purse

Now that’s true but I’m not sure why I was so upset because I actually bought the purse from TK Maxx…..

Nokia 6210 – Worth £100

That’s me planning insurance fraud.

But my absolute favourite is this;

Kevin, room 7, mount over desk.

I don’t know who Kevin is, but wow! He sure got lucky….

Trying to find a gift....

Me: Hey, check this one out, for $99 I can send them the luxury beer gift hamper

Him: That, get them that.

Me: And if I send that what will I be sending her?

Him: His happiness.

Later

Me: I give up, I can't find anything, the only kind of flowers this company will deliver over there is a wreath.

Him: I'm saying nothing.... absolutely nothing.

Just lovely lovely lovely.

I get this email, and I'm sat next to my boss and the first thing I think as I click on the photo is 'yeah, if he turns round now and sees me looking at this picture I'm not going to be the most popular person in the office...', then as the picture loads and I can see what it is my phone rings, at which point I pick it up and scream "OH MY GOD I JUST GOT YOUR EMAIL AND I WAS GOING TO SCREAM THROUGH THE MEDIUM OF EMAIL BUT NOW I CAN SCREAM AT YOU!!" and then I run out the office and spend half an hour on the phone.

Probably no pay rise this year.

But I don't care, because my beautiful best friend is getting married and that's one of the best reasons in the world not to give a stuff what your boss thinks about how you waste your day (let's face it, it was either talk on the phone or look for wedding dresses that don't look like parachutes on the internet to send to her, either way after news like this I certainly wasn't about to actually work).

It's just totally brilliant, they're two people who bring happiness to everyone around them and have brought each other the kind of peace and contentment most of us can only wish for. Truly they were made for each other (and I mean that in the nicest possible way, not like when someone said I was made for Glenn and what they actually meant was it's really my only function in life so if he ever leaves me I should probably just die because really? What would be the point after that?) and didn't the boy do well with the ring?! It's perfect.

But I digress, this post is about the commitment Selena and Matt want to make to each other and the beautiful family they are going to create (hopefully with babies rather than cats, weird).

I don't feel at all ready for such a huge commitment, and as such I feel masses of admiration for those who are, so to Selena and Matt and Liz and Gareth, I hope the worst days of the rest of your life are only as bad as the happiest days you've already had (I can't possibly be clever enough to have thought that up, must have seen it on a greeting card somewhere....).

Just remember Moch, you're not the only one who's handy with a scrapbook and a pritstick.....

Conversation with my sister

Her: They're actually really nice

Me: See, I told you! And they're good for you.

Her: But you've made so many, where are you going to put them?

Me: I've got some tupperware.... damn it!

Her: What?

Me: I don't have any tupperware big enough for my muffins.

Her: I can't believe you just said that.

Me: What?

Her: You are like, 50 years old, it's embarassing.

Me: You smell like glastonbury.

Her: What?

Me: You. Smell. Like. Glastonbury, you smell like the third day of glastonbury, when the beer stains have been sat in the sun and the air is tinged with the urine smell drifting over the site from the cow shed toilets.

Her: It's my coat, I didn't take it off in the club last night and it smells like mouldy fags.

Me: Well for gods sake take it off.

Her: Never mind that I think I'm going to be sick.

Me: Not in my car you're not, GET OUT! GETOUTGETOUTGETOUTGETOUTGETOUT!!!

Her: Old lady

Me: Stinking hobo.

Inner Monologue of a rampant shopaholic who will not be saved

Ok, it’s ok, you’re just on your lunch hour and that means we go straight to Boots to get a sandwich, do not stop at The Bodyshop walk, straight past Next, do not stop and look in Wallis oooh there’s a new New Look open why didn’t I know about that? Oooh lovely biba style sixties smocks over a polo neck, that would look so sweet with black trousers NO you bought that jumper and a dress on Saturday you do NOT need anything else… well maybe we’ll just look in NO walk OUT of New Look, ignore the pretty colours. Right, Boots Boots Boots Boots Boots Boots ah that’s nice, all monochrome and tied around the waist I wonder how much NO, I FORBID YOU TO BUY ANYTHING FROM A SHOP THAT’S CALLED QUIZ AND SMELLS LIKE POUNDSTRETCHER! Phew, that was close, onto Boots, must make it to Boots mmmmmmmm 70% off at Monsoon maybe I’ll just have a little OH MY GOD clearly you cannot be trusted out in public, get out! GET OUT OF THE SHOPPING CENTRE! You’ll just have to go without lunch.

Peacocks?

PEACOCKS?! What is wrong with you woman?!

Think of Hong Kong, concentrate on Hong Kong, eye on the prize Davis eye on the prize…

But I’ll have to be dressed in Hong…

NO. Better to be naked in Hong Kong than dressed in Birmingham

You are not a very good rationalist

I know.

Conversation at a party after a christening

Me: Mother, are you wearing a rubber skirt?

Her: I am not!

Me: I think you are, I was looking at it in the church, that is definately some kind of rubber.

Her: I can assure you it isn't.

Me: Well you could wipe it clean that's for sure. You are a classy lady.

Later

Me: I think the baby is funny looking

Him: Yeah, bit of a squishy face and a big head.

Me: We were born to be parents.

Him: But only to babies who are quiet and normal looking.

Me: Of course.

Conversation at a christening

Me: You should be so fat.

Him: Eh?

Me: Look at you, stuffing fried chicken down your throat like we're on the eve of the apocalypse and you will never get to eat again, and still you're the thinnest person here!

Him: I'm not the thinnest person here, she is. and he points

Me: She's nine months old.

Him: Still counts.

Saturday night conversation

Me: Bored, I'm just so bloody bored, just sitting here is just so. Fucking. Boring.

Him: Well what do you want to do?

Me: I don't know! I've just got to do something, all this doing nothing is doing my head in.

Him: But when I ask you to think of something we can do you can't think of anything!

Me: I know, but that's because we're trying not to spend any money, there is nothing to do for free.

Him: If you want nice things and to go to nice places you have to sacrifice to get them.

Me: What do other people do when they've got no money?

Him: They sit at home and watch TV.

Me: And that is exactly why people kill themselves. I WILL NOT SURVIVE THIS.

Him: Yes you will, now get me a beer.

Me:

Him: Yeah now you just look cross.

Me: The ice is thin where you live.

Him: I know.

Shortlisting

Can you give a person a job based entirely on them listing 'travelling in my camper van' in their hobbies and interests, admittedly she has no experience, but we could be friends!

30 applications down, 13 to go........

Doofus

I spend an hour on the phone to Moch, she urges me to SET UP SKYPE YOU LAZY WOMAN! So I do, I get all the stuff out the box and set everything up and connect this wire to that wire and bingo! My work is done, I download stuff and install stuff and woo hoo! Check me out! A technical guru worthy of a job for an software based management company (hang on a second....), what other wondrous things can I accomplish today I wonder? Maybe I will re-decorate the bedrooms, finish the loft boards, make a quilt, bake a cake, landscape the garden.... But hang on, let's start with something small and work my way up to Nigella like status... I will put away the clothes in the spare room, some tunes I think, click on itunes, select track, hit play...

Where is the music?

There is no music....

Oh I have done something stupid, I have fucked up the PC, I have broken the speakers, I have set fire to something internal and eventually the wires will implode, the house will crumble and they will find me underneath the rubble clinging to a USB cable mumbling "why.....", but no, here it is! here! the speaker cable has come out! THIS I CAN FIX! Just need to plug it back in... God I'm good, wow.... where the hell do you plug it in? this one? No that's not aerosmith, that's just lots of obnoxious crackles... here? no, again with the crackles, Ah ha! This must be the... No.

Silence.

This must be what is was like in the war.

Wherein I throw my toys out of the pram with such force my boss spins around and around and around and around and around.

Yesterday I did the previously unthinkable and I said no to my boss, this has come at no small personal cost to my dignity as despite mentally chanting “be professional, be professional, be professional”, all sense of pride left me and I cried down the phone like a child. To which he said this;

“…………………………….riiiiiiiiiight…………….. I’ll call you back”.

And then he didn’t call me back for another seven hours, he emailed me back and basically said no was not an option, so I called someone else and, despite mentally chanting “pull yourself together, pull yourself together, pull yourself together”, I managed to cry again.

Oh dignity, you have left me, I have now lost the label of Hannah who will go anywhere and do anything and must now live with being Hannah who will go most places and do certain things but not others and will cry if you try and make her.

Wow, I didn’t know I was capable of such wanton career sabotage, turns out, I totally am.

In actualy truth, I'm really not ready but I think it's something in my genes.....

So this person called Kate at work brings her two year old in first thing before the college nursery opens, and every morning this little girl (Maisie) scowls at me, and every day I say hello, and she scowls and ocassionally cries at the very sight of me, then this morning, she looked me up and down, then opened her arms and said "hug!", and I said "really?" and she said "hug!", so we had a cuddle, and then as I pulled away she pursed her little lips and stuck her face towards me and I said "kiss?", and she nodded, so I had a little kiss and MY OVARIES EXPLODED, ohmygod I think I'm going to have to have a baby or I might shrivel up and die.

That is all.

Number 6

I love you, and that's rare and beautiful.

When cool people lose cool points, oh dear.....

So this itunes thing is probably boring you now, but I am going through the painstaking process of sorting through exactly what's in the bloody thing before I import stuff onto my brand new, shiny and beautiful Ipod and accidently fill it with crap. My love of the shuffle function is well documented and it spoils it when you listen to a good 20 odd awesome tunes, and suddenly something from Queen comes on because your boyfriend insisted and you're driving so you can't concentrate of SKIPPING IT and have to listen to 'the show must go on' while navigating your way through the M6 carpark....

Anyway the point is, now Lof's music and my music is on the same PC, I have to sort through 6080 songs and try to eliminate the previously mentioned duplicates and also, which of Lof's tracks do I want on my bright and shiny pod and which do I forget about in the hope he was smoking crack when he selected them...?

I mean really, the Top Gun soundtrack? Mr Woodward how could you?!

Hours and hours and hours later.....

All the many duplicates stopped being a kind of sweet reminder of my friends and started being the kind of teeth grinding annoyance that makes you stop, sit in the black leather office chair and spin around and around and around and around and around................

He is a giant, in so many ways......

LOF's music and my music is now sharing the same Itunes, I don't know if Moch's music is on there aswell but after importing all my music onto their old hard drive I did a little experiment... when selecting 'show all duplicates' there are 1187 tracks, that's 3.5 days worth of music.

Something in common.

Re: G'day Sheila!

Funny story; When we left you at the airport I was determined not to cry, I thought 'this is stupid, it's not like she's going away forever, and you can go and see her, you're not that poor and besides, it's christmas, there's all those crap presents from your mum to look forward to!', and then I got in the car, Glenn watching me out of the corner of his eye for signs of tears, still I did not cry, and then we turned the radio on and Take That was the first song on, and that was it, to the constipated strains of Gary Brlow wishing for some Pay-Shonce, I bawled my eyes out, and once I started I couldn't stop, I cried as I dropped Glenn off for Rugby, I cried as I filled the car with petrol, I cried when I paid for said petrol, I cried all the way to the hairdressers and all the way through my haircut (looks fab though), the bawling got me a cup of tea but not a discount (tight cow), I think I cried for about four hours. This was good though, because I haven't cried nearly enough over the last few months about everything so it was very cathartic, I even went to my mum's house and managed not to cry un ti she asked me how you got on at the airport and then I started again, so she's really pleased she's finally seen some emotion from me!

Anyway, we never got to Time (which is apparently now 'fuse') because Glenn was poorly on christmas eve (it's called imissmattitis and he is suffering poor boy...) and my sister had a date! We were all very excited about the date, he is 29 and has no wife or kids, which is quite something for Redditch people, I think he might be developmentally challenged, until she rang me from the toilets to tell me that he had finished dinner with the words "have to be off then, got to see the wife and kids", so not developmentally challenged, just an arsehole.

Christmas presents included an Ipod, which I was very shocked and thrilled about, I have lovely friends and a lovely chap who will look after me when I need propping up and give me a metaphorical slap when I need one (and a real slap if I ask nicely) and stop me buying shoes when I say "please don't let me buy the shoes, I have to see the parrots that live in the trees!", and then they will ask me if I need some therapy because they think I'm the only person who can see parrots in the trees....

Mum and Dad bought me some Eyepod speakers, and some perfume, some Le Creuset (fancy dishes), and some make up specially formulated for people with acne, 80 cotton wool pads, some make up remover, some pyjama's, lovingly handed to me with the words "these are for the hospital, you can't wear them now" and I had asked for some GHD straighteners, so Mum bought me SHE straighteners, haven't tried them out yet.....

I have decorated the bedroom! Chris came for lunch so I carried on the tradition of not letting the guest eat until he had done some DIY and we ripped off all the wallpaper, and despite the fact that Glenn was at work (and for 'at work', read 'stopping off at the office en route to the pub for 3 days straight'), I filled and sanded and painted the walls, and bought new curtains and bedding and it looks really pretty. not as exciting as water parks and orange parrots I know but I felt very proud of me!

New Years Eve was messy, Liz and Gareth came for lunch and I was already pretty wasted by the time we finished eating at 2.30, by 11pm I was telling everyone about Glenn's pubes, I don't know why, he has forgiven me though because as I write this I have a quite horrible hangover and that is punishment enough.

I'm so glad you arrived there safely and it sounds like it's everything you hoped it would be, enjoy yourself my lovely, and if you think about it from an astronomers point of you, we're really not that far apart.

Keep safe, both of you!!
All the love in the world.
Hxxx

Facts, that's all for now.

In October I had a second laparoscopy, and on Friday I went to see my consultant about what he found and what would happen next, so here it is.

(Warning: on Saturday night, when talking to Tina about this, her husband Matt sort of gagged a little bit and walked off and I realised that not everyone is comfortable with this, so if you're a bit like him, just skip this post and wait for the next one, which I'm sure will involve me drinking too much and falling over, and may or may not involve a wedding dress and people who live in the carpet.)

I have several patches of endometriosis all through my pelvis, and a golf ball sized nodule in my small bowel (apparently there are two bowels, large and small, I don't just have one that's small, just to clarify... ahem... moving on...) this explains why I don't poo! And you always thought I was joking......

I'm having an operation that has two parts, the first part is led by my gynaecologist and involves keyhole surgery to remove the patches, the second is led by a general surgeon who will make an incision either across my abdomin or down the centre of my torso, then open the small bowel and remove the golf ball sized nodule.

The complications are that they don't know until they open the bowel how this nodule is attached, if it's easy to remove they just take it out, stitch up the bowel, stitch up me, job done, if it's not so easy and they have to make a larger incision then we're into slightly grey territory involving the dreaded temporary colostomy bag because the bowel will need longer to heal. They do some funky thing and raise it up to the surface of your body to 'rest' it.

Estimated time in hospital - 1 week.

Estimated recovery period - 6 to 8 weeks.

When can they do the operation - hopefully March but probably May because the two surgeons have to co-ordinate their diaries, and they both have huge waiting lists.

Chance of the disease recurring - 20-30% after 4 years, which I think is pretty good!

So there we go, it turns out that it's a much bigger procedure than I thought it was, I'll be in theatre for about 4 hours, it takes two surgeons, it's pretty much 50/50 whether or not I have to have the temporary colostomy (in fact, I think it's actually called an illeostomy but what the difference is I don't know) and it means I'll be pretty poorly for up to two months. That's kind of why this post is called 'Facts, that's all for now', because I've been processing this for the last couple of days and have ultimately decided that I prefer denial, denial works for me, so I'm going back there, ignorance is bliss and all that, frankly I just can't be bothered with all the shaking and spontaneous wailing that comes with facing the truth, you never get anything done!

I know that I had some pretty big things planned for 2007 that may not happen now, and I may have to let some people down, I can't say anything about this except I'm sorry, I'll do my best and I absolutely promise to fulfill my obligations to the best of my ability.

Ta da! That's it, could be worse, could be soooo much worse, just got to remember that.

STOP THE INSANITY!

Oh my god! Enough! Yes, I bought a vibrator, and I talked about it, and it pissed some people off and it made others curious and maybe it was inappropriate for me to talk about it and maybe some people thought it was entertaining up to a point and others just thought that I should have kept to it all to myself but stop! let's not have a row about it!

Ok, here it is, I bought it, I have tried it out, it was... different, because I'm not used to it and haven't quite got the hang of it just yet. I am hoping that this is enough detail to satisfy the curious ones but not so much that Chris vomits over his keyboard.

Now please, please, let's just let it go......

Instead we can talk about how someone smashed what looks like a brick onto the bonnet of my new car and scratched a sizeable amount of paint off, and how this made me push my face into my bed and scream for two hours on Sunday afternoon, because that's twice this year that some stranger has broken the law, invaded my life and cost me a not insignificant amount of money.

Let's talk about that! Because so far , Roger has brought happiness with an equal measure of confusion and should not be the cause of any bickering, where as the drunkern arsehole who tainted my car on Saturday night and then ran away deserves to have his balls ripped out of his body, and his penis put through a paper shredder.

If anyone could find it.

The longest comment ever

Chris,

I can only apologise, I'm very sorry you feel so violated, but I do recommend you remove the buttplug, they're not supposed to be premanent.

Span.

Say hello to my little friend….

Just under two weeks ago I bought a new car and it’s really great and very silver and blah blah etc, THIS week however, I bought something which is threatening my change my life forever, I may never leave the house again, I bought the all new, 2006, rabbit, I bought the ‘Thruster’ and it does, it really does…

Now I am back in Northumberland, me and my new friend, (we’ll call him Roger, because that’s childishly funny on several levels) and last night I decided to try him out. I drank two glasses of wine to try and lose the inhibitions that I strangely developed when the woman behind the counter at Ann Summers asked me if I wanted a box of ‘Buzzy Fresh Wipes’ and thought right then, this is a bit intimidating and kind of hard to wield on your own but YOU CAN DO THIS.

It does not come with an instruction manual, I mean you assume that you wouldn’t need one right? Because although it has a few speeds and two basic functions how difficult can it be? Turns out, it can be very difficult, the first time I tentatively tried it my legs shot out from under me at a 45 degree angle from my body and I couldn’t bend them for a full three minutes, this is not a toy to be taken lightly, you could probably do some serious nerve damage if you’re not careful.

This is all because I am trying to feel a bit sexy again, medical procedures and pain management aside, I think some of the problems I am having stem from just a deep rooted feeling that my body is no longer for sexual things, it’s damaged and diseased and if it all ever gets fixed then it’ll be fixed so it can have babies and I think it’s important for my head to get back to basics. I am 25 years old and absolutely not ready to throw in the towel in that department just yet, so! I bought a vibrator and a box of buzzy fresh wipes and set to work! If I re-condition my head to think of my body as a sexual thing, then I will be able to relax a little more with my unfortunate and woefully neglected other half.

So while you’re watching Eastenders tonight, there I’ll be, legs quite literally akimbo, attempting to steer what looks a lot like a glittery blue balloon animal and possibly needing medical assistance.

But what you should really do, is not watch Eastenders, you should go and watch Casino Royale, because it’s ace and Daniel Craig is hotter that a really hot, hot thing

Wherein I address the lyrics Moch posted on her blog and demonstrate just how different our taste in music really is.

How could that happen?
How could that happen again?
Where the fuck was I looking
When all his horses came in?
And he built a whole army
Of kamikaze

10,000 willing
Pilots flying
Interfacing
Space and beyond
Built an army
To come and find me

Beyond all reason
Beyond all my hopes
The call of duty
Another war zone (Makes me moan)

Kamikaze - you can't touch me,
kamikaze

Eight miles high
He walks his path
And I follow mine
One tooth for one eye
He's come to find me

10,000 willing
Pilots flying
Interfacing
Space and beyond
Here is his army
Interspace here we come

Kamikaze - you don't touch me

Space here we come

PJ Harvey 'Kamikaze'

Email

You know when we start our own business and take over the world?

Do we have to employ other people? Because I really think I hate other people, I like the people I like and I hate everybody else, most especially I hate people called Stuart and Sue, but I think I can extend it out to other people and say quite confidently, that I hate people I don't like. I feel that I can categorise the people I like as people I will send Christmas cards to, thus neatly boxing up all the people I like and leaving everyone else out in the cold to get frostbite on their delicates.

I think also, that I'm going to be quite selective with who I send Christmas cards to, only those who meet very exacting criteria will get one.

Hx

And I though South Shields was bad, I had no idea....

This week I have been in Northumberland, that's somewhere near Lapland for you geographically challenged folks. Wow, I'm sure the countryside is pretty and the villages are sweet etc etc blah blah blah but where I am? Words fail me...

But clearly words don't fail me that much because I'm still typing, so to describe... The college is slap bang in the middle of an enormous housing estate, the kind where every third house is boarded up, and every fifth car is a burnt out shell that sits on the front garden. The college itself is a sixties built, six floor building in dire need of refurbishment, but I only know that from what I've been told, because I haven't actually been inside the main building... You see, the office where I'm working used to be a house, there is a row of terraced houses next to the college that have been converted into offices to save space, when I arrived I was told the department manager's office was the front bedroom, I could work in the box room and the bathroom was across the hall, however, the next day I was going up in the world and could work in the living room, ooooh....

So yesterday I stopped on the landing when I saw a boy of about 11 collapse in the street outside, two men from the mechanics department came running towards him and I got the health and safety woman from the second office/house down to go and see what the matter was and if she could help, an ambulance was called and they attended to him. All the time I'm thinking, why isn't he in school? He's not even wearing a uniform.... the health and safety lady returns to tell me that the 11 year old has smoked so much dope that he's passed out.

Later that day and there are police outside the front of the main college building wrestling an old man to the ground, the snr cons returns from a meeting with the principal and I say "so why were the police arresting some old man then?", turns out, this old man had been driving around to the front of the college, getting out of his car, flashing towards the CCTV camera's, then getting back in his car, driving round the block, coming back to the college, flashing at the CCTV, and he continued this for about 6 or 7 round trips until the police arrived to TAKE HIM AWAY.

The hotel I'm staying in seems to have no central heating, just a large, obnoxious heater in the corner of the room which sounds like a 747, so either I don't sleep because I'm cold, or I turn the heater on and I don't sleep because I can't sleep inside the engine of large aircraft.

They send me to the most glamorous places.... Have to sign off now, I think I just saw Father Christmas trying to steal my car.

Conversations that made my eyes open up really wide.

1.

Me: Hi, I’m interested in the Renault Megane but I see that on the forecourt it’s priced at £7,495 whereas on your website it’s on for £6,995…

Car Salesman: That’s for the Pakis.

Me: looking at Glenn for help, he’s looking at me for help Sorry, what?

Car Salesman: We put an extra £500 on for the Pakis.

Me: I’m sorry, I don’t understand, how much is the car?

Car Salesman: For you love it’s £6,995. You see they’re always in here, the Pakis, asking, “What’s your final price?! What’s your final price?!” So we always put an extra £500 on the showroom price so we can take it off when they as.

Me: I see….

Car Salesman: Not that we discriminate against Pakis.

Me: Oh good Lord no

Car Salesman: It’s just that they like to barter, so we let them.

Me: How kind of you.

2.

At my father’s birthday dinner.

Mum: So, why don’t you have a boyfriend?

My Sister: 10 past six Mum, you did well, that was a whole hour you went without asking that!

Mum: But why don’t you love?

Sister: Leaning in to my mum’s ear really close, I’M GAY.

Mum: Oh don’t be silly dear.

Sister: I’m not being silly, I’m gay, I like to kiss girls.

Dad: chews silently

Sister: Dad? You’re not saying much about me coming out of the closet.

Dad: It’s not like we haven’t had our suspicions.

Sister: EXCUSE ME?!

Dad: If you repent then the Lord will forgive.

Me: Choking.

3.

Me: Hi, I’m ringing about the Dalek cufflinks I’ve seen in your catalogue.

Assistant who answered the phone to the Next customer service line: Mmm Hmm

Me: Can you tell me if you have any in stock at your Bull Ring store?

Her: Hang on.

Me: la la la la la

Her: Sorry, Garlic cufflinks?

Me: No, Dalek, as in Dr Who?

Her: Hang on.

Me: la la la la

Her: We have some in stock at the Bull Ring yes.

Me: Oh thank you so much I was wondering if

Her: What you will have to do now is you will have to go into the store and buy them.

Me: Uh, What?

Her: YOU, have to go INTO the store and BUY them.

Me: Right, right, yes, thanks, I’ll get on that right away.

Her: Goodbye.

Beautiful enough that it made me cry

Lying alone, in bed on a Friday morning, I should be in work but I have to see the consultant so I have the day off, I am cold, so I snuggle under the duvet, I notice the deep red curtains are glowing with the early morning light behind them so I reach out of bed and pull the closest one to me wide open, I lie in bed, alone on a Friday morning, it feels like the rest of the world is running to work, and I bathe in the beautiful light of the sun, as it shines upon my face.

Just when you thought it was safe to feel good about your job.

They send you to Northumberland, for 6 bloody days.

When the senior bod rang to ask me to go I asked him if he could see glaciers from where he was stood but he declined to laugh, I told him I wasn't joking, he however is equally unhappy at being there so we both just wallowed for a bit in self-pity and bitterness.

I know, this is my job, and I really had no business getting comfortable at a site where I get to go home every day. Things are stirring again, the re-structure which will eventually replace me is starting to kick into gear and I know it's a matter of time before I am back on the road. I just shouldn't have got comfy.

On the upside, I get to meet a whole lot of new hopelessly incompetant people! Each of whom will annoy me slightly more than the last. Today, one of the temps, we'll call him Stuart, because that is his name, starting mindlessly tapping his foot against the desk, what with there being only so long I can stand to hear aimless tapping I eventually snapped:

Me: "Stuart!

Stuart: "What?"

Me: "That's annoying"

The tapping stopped.

The, five minutes later it started again.

Me: "Stuart!"

Suart; "What?"

Me: "It's still annoying"

Stuart: "Yeah, but you didn't say it was my foot so how am I supposed to know what's annoying?"

Me: "Because you just told me it was your foot, so you know that I meant your foot, so stop doing it."

Stuart: "Oh yeah".

Do you think there's even the slightest chance people in Northumberland will be less, oh how do I put this? THICK?

I fear not.

This right here, is why I cannot possibly be properly depressed.

My hatred of everything about Friends Reunited was documented a while back, but, because I like to mentally torture myself I thought I'd have another look.

Lo! I am cheered!

For while I thought I was one more toilet cubical located cry away from medication, and the words 'happy pills' seemed more and more appealing, it has been proven that I AM NOT THERE YET.

This person might be though:

For those of you that actually care (I imagine this amounts to very few, if any of you) my life seems little more than a grotesque waking nightmare these days. I won't go into the thoroughly tragic details of why this is, but my days seems to largely consist of prolonged boughts of depression, followed by a near unresistable urge to take my own life. Needless to say I'm not doing terribly well presently, and I see little chance of positive change in the near, or indeed distant future. So, if you happen to see my name appear in the local obituaries any time soon, don't be surprised. It's only a matter of time. In all honestly it's probably what I deserve for a life seemingly devoted to self-pity, cowardice and unremitting failure.

YES! I mean sure, it's a shame his life is so shitty, and I do hope he doesn't take his own life as he seems so inclined to, but YES! I am SO MUCH HAPPIER THAN HE IS.

Now, I am going to get some ice cream.

The horror

1. Of realising that you are stood in the shower, hair and body dripping wet, and you have left your towel in the bedroom...

2. ...As it slowly dawns on you that you are in someone else's house.

I'm not being a crazy liberal, but...

I just want to put this out there, I just want to write it down and then send it out into the world, you may not agree with me, you may be made completely furious by this but I had the most alarming conversation this week, a conversation which rapidly deteriorated into a lecture, wherein I sat, speechless, unable to breathe, because if I did let my breath out I would not have been able to stop myself from screaming, screaming that no, you are not right, you are very wrong, and yes, everyone is entitled to their opinion, but frankly you are not entitled to that opinion.

FIRSTLY, the phrase "I'm not being racist but..." is usually, I have noticed, only used when the person saying it is about to be INCREDIBLY RACIST, really, you're not going to say "I'm not being racist but I believe all people are equal regardless of colour", but you might say "I'm not being racist but I think they should all be sent back".

SECONDLY, who are 'they', and WHERE ARE YOU GOING TO SEND THEM? Because if they were born in Birmingham, and you're going to 'send them back', the maternity ward at the Queen Elizabeth is going to get staggeringly full all of a sudden.

THIRDLY, I DO NOT AGREE, that while Hitler was admittedly 'one sandwich short', he may have had the right idea with 'that whole Jewish death camp thing', NO, I do NOT think, that if we send 'them', all to camps and 'finish them off for good', we wouldn't have to worry about 'this terrorism crap anymore'.

OH MY GOD.

Just... I mean... head... exploding... what the... FUCK.

We've been worrying about terrorism since 1916, if it's not one group it's another and, rather like how Hitler was a murderous, genocidal lunatic for trying to exterminate the Jews, we should probably try and think of a better solution than shipping every single asian off to another country, because I'm telling you now, I would worry far more about someone trying to kill me because they've suddenly have to live in a country they've never been to before, than someone sat in their living room watching Coronation Street with a cup of tea who just happens to be wearing a burka. Likewise, I think it might be a tad excessive to kill 'them' all off, where would you draw the line? Really, if this is your position, how would you go about deciding who lives and who dies? YOU CRAZY BONKERS LOON.

FOURTHLY, and I have listened to lots of arguments about this, and have spent a lot of time figuring out my position... I think that women who come to this country should be allowed to wear whatever headdress they feel appropriate, and if that means covering their entire body in swathes of balck fabric, leaving only a small tube for breathing purposes then so be it. No, we wouldn't be allowed to wander around Pakistan or Afghanistan in a bikini, they'd probably stone us to death, but THAT is exactly why these women have come to Britain, because we are liberal, and free thinking and believe that everyone has a right to practise whatever religion they want, in whatever way they want (within reason), and the very second we ban burka's, we become as oppressive and dictatorial as the regime these people have come to this country to escape. All right, if someone can't understand a teacher because she's wearing one then fair enough, she might have to take it off, everything in it's place, but wandering round the shops on a Saturday? let her wear what she wants! Isn't that what living in the west is all about?

Done, thanks.

Italy or bust

After much deliberation, lots of research and a few tears, we have finally decided on a destination for The Hen Weekend To End All Hen Weekends, no Blackpool for us, we are going for the class, after all, why fall on your arse coming out of a cocktail bar in the rainy north when you can fall on your arse coming out of a cocktail bar somewhere just a little bit classier....?

So we discounted Reykjavic, Krakow, Riga, Bucharest, Prague and Budapest and have decided on what is quite possibly the most expensive and excessive of all city breaks - Florence.

I AM SO EFFIN EXCITED.

We are going to sit outside a cafe on a palazzo wearing overly large sunglasses, drinking champagne and talking about the Prada shoes I just bought for three goddam days.

Liz is going to attempt to teach me about classical art, I am going to pretend to learn stuff, then we are going to engage in some serious heavy drinking and forget how to pronounce 'art' while we choose whether to order four cocktails next or play it safe and just have three.

Oh I think I might have to shut myself in a dark room for weeks afterwards because seriously, how do you top that?! Man, I'm going to need some new clothes.....

Three reasons why all is not lost.

1. Last night, while having a strop born of tiredness and backache, Glenn told me to "get bent", just prior to stomping up the stairs, slamming the office door and playing champs for an hour. Love him.

2. The chocolate croissant that's left me feeling a little bit sick this morning, no, I shouldn't have eaten it, but yes, it was totally worth the calories.

3. The rumour currently circulating the office that I am shagging the principal in order to get the recently vacated position of Director of Information, a post that would be a career leap of approximately 15 years and £30,000. I am planning on doing nothing to dispel this rumour, it's the first work related thing to make me smile all week. Bring on the wrinkly lovin'!

It's like this.

We're walking, all of us, we start when we're born, we get carried because we're too little to do it ourselves and then bit by bit we are let go to walk upright alone, people join us, some fall away and mostly we have to do it alone. There's nothing wrong with this, it's what we all do.

When great things happen to us we run, we sprint along the road under a sky filled with electric blue, hot pink and primrose yellow.... we bathe in the colours and they make us feel warm, time flies (cliches are cliches because they are true) and we never feel tired, it's like we could run forever.

I have stood still, this is the only way I can describe how life is now, why I haven't written, why I feel nothing, because I have stood still, one day I just stopped walking and now I am still, waiting to walk, I can see everyone around me walking, running, and I smile and laugh, because they want me to? because I want to? because you want me to be like you, to walk with you, to share with the reasons you are running, trips to far flung countries, weddings, exotic locations, romantic aspirations, I see them, they are wonderful, but I stand apart, I can see your colours and your race to get there, but I watch the grey around me and can see no reason to move.

Is it shock? That's a theory I have heard, that I had some bad news and now I have boxed myself up, wrapped myself in thick mist and will not think of it, but to not think of that means to think of nothing because that is everything, the reason and the solution. I cannot avoid any of it, delay any of it, there is damage and pain and I feel nothing about it, I am apathetic, truly. I was waiting to be a mess, I usually am about such things but this time.... the sky is grey, and I have stood still.

Maybe I don't want to move again, maybe still is ok. The sky has been black before, and I have forced a path through but this time, I think I will stay here.

Still.

Why I should not be allowed to interact with actual, live, people.

Me:

So here I am, just pleasantly working away, and the AP walks in to ask someone a question and he is yet again wearing the pink shirt that I always take the piss out of, so as we have been emailing recently I send one that says pink? again? really? and he replies with something like 'Alfie says it takes a real man to wear pink, sales girl did a good job besides, thought you were ignoring me?', so I say 'Alfie as in Michael Caine? wouldn't trust my wardrobe to an aging lothario, wonder if the sales girl did a really good job if you know what I mean, and it takes two to ignore each other Lewis!"

No reply, so then I think, oh God, I've been too familiar, implying he's slept with a sales girl for the sake of a pink shirt and called him by his surname, so I go downstairs to his office to apologise and walk in on him in a meeting, and his secretary has to literally stop me in the door way. So then I'm in the corridor, thinking, can I just die right here now please.

So then I think well now he's going to think I want something, so I send a very short email saying 'just wanted to check I hadn't offended you, think I may have been too familiar - apologies'. So now I've sent an email implying he slept with a sales girl for a shirt, called him by his surname, stalked him in a meeting, and sent yet another email apologising.

I just can't ever see or speak to him ever, ever again, I am going to haveto resign, there's nothing else for it, how totally and completely awful.

Her:

ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. that made me laugh almost out loud. it's all so very bridget jones... i am sure he will laugh at your email(s) and won't think anything strange of your possible over familiarity or attempt to retrieve your foot from your mouth in an elegant way. it'll all be fine. don't quit, think of the mortgage. bet you will have had an email back by the time you read this.

Me:

Thank you, thank you, thank you, now have nice fantasy that he may think I am just funny / polite as opposed to nightmare Glenn Close type Stalker lady. Think the truth probably lies somewhere in the middle, ie; he will most probably think I am a bit odd. Which is fine, odd is sooooo much better than bunny boiler.

However, no email back yet, am pretending to myself that he's just still in the meeting, and that after this one he has another one and so on and so forth until I never have to come back here again. God why do these things happen to me? No one else makes college assistant principals change their perception of them from 'intelligent professional' to 'probable loony' all in ten minutes.

Oh thank god!!! Reply! I got a reply! he said:

No offense taken; even from an aging Lothario with my dress sense. Not wanting to be too familiar?.........but, She (sales girl) did do a really good job, if you know what I mean!

He totally wants me.

News from the insurance company

I have to pay a £75 excess on anything I claim for and they will only pay 20% of the value of anything because we were out of the home.

So for my Ipod, worth £300, I will actually pay more in excess than they will actually give me back.

I know it could have been an awful lot worse, I'm trying to hold on to small mercies, but I think I might just fall apart this afternoon, hopefully somewhere between skincare and the meal deals.

When Junkies Attack!

This weekend, The Glenys and I headed down to London to visit my friend Nikki and her boyfriend Paul, they’ve just moved into a swanky flat in the posh end of Brixton, a loft conversion type of thing with nice fourth floor views of the surrounding area and large velux windows (I am setting a scene here, can you tell?).

We headed out to the Windows On The World bar on the 28th floor of the London Hilton with fabulous views of Hyde Park and drinks costing a whopping £13 each. Then we went to a beautiful restaurant off Oxford St called Hush, the night led us to a rough student like bar and then Nikki and I decided to leave the boys to it and jumped on the tube home.

I couldn’t find my bag, we hunted the flat from top to bottom but it was no where to be seen, then I noticed the gold necklace I had taken off before we went out was no longer on the bedside table, Nikki had a look in her bedroom for my bag and found a small whirlwind of chaos had taken place on her bedside table, resulting in large holes where her grandmothers jewellery, her passport and about £40 in cash used to be…

Anyway, to cut a longish story a bit shorter, the resulting police visit and very glamorous CSI ladies think we were the victims of opportunistic junkies who are probably, as I type this, lying in some rancid bedsit, possibly overdosing on the profits they made from selling my Ipod and my friends Grandmothers jewellery on Brixton High St.

I have gone from furious anger (fucking, FUCKING arseholes), to slight hysteria (really? After the week from hell last week, THIS is what I get?), to just plain, old fashioned tears.

One of the loveliest people in the whole world asked me to be her maid of honour yesterday, and I have been so, SO thrilled about it. I am going to be the greatest, most accomplished, most coordinated, beautifully organised maid of honour in the whole world ever. So that is my bright, glorious ray of sunshine during a very, very cloudy time. I am going to try my best to make her proud.

Things will get better.

When it all just gets a bit much.

Never, ever, ever, work in an office full of women.

After two days of bitching, and dirty looks and people walking out of the office en masse to get a new ID card and then not coming back with an ID card, I have had it.

We have spent the last six months trying to create an atmosphere of calm productivity, where people get the job done but can have a laugh while they do it, and this is what we get for it. The last boss there ruled with a rod of iron, scared the shit out of the staff and worked herself into a nervous breakdown but was never, ever spoken to the way I have been spoken to today.

So fine, if being personal and getting on with people just gets you walked all over, then I won't do it anymore, they can take their pleasant conversation and shove it up their jellified arses.

I have tried so hard during the last week to maintain a dignified front, to not appear upset, to just get on with the job. I have cried at home, in the car, and once in Boots by the feminine care products, but I have never, ever let them know that they made it personal, and it actually hurt.

Fuck them, fuck them and their 25 tea breaks a day, fuck their fucking danish fucking pastry days, fuck their "what do you mean duck? me? nothing wrong with me!", fuck their dirty looks and their conspiracy theories and their assumed hatred of me and what I represent to them, fuck their unwillingness to do anything that seems like work, fuck their cheap fucking polyester trousers and gold jewellary, fuck their tesco jeans.

It's times like this when I miss Tom Starkey. When, more specifically, I missed Tom Starkey living in the room below my room, when I could just run downstairs and knock on his door and tell him what was bothering me, and he'd listen, and probably forget everything that I said pretty much the second I said it, but nod in an understanding sort of way that always made me feel instantly comforted.

I don't ever say it enough.

My parents are the kind of people who have never been handed anything. Everything they have they worked their arses off to get and the vast majority of the time they have done it for me and my sister.

This is a photo of the villa they have, where we just spent a wonderful week, and where they are going to spend many happy years retiring to.

Every single thing you see in this picture was paid for with blood, sweat and tears, I mean they don't work down the mines or anything but my mom is a nurse (blood), my dad is overweight with a Chandler Bing type of job (sweat) and they have both enjoyed many a screaming row during during the last 30 years (tears).

Seriously though, just for one tiny minute, I'm not great at telling my parents I love them, or how proud I am of them, or any of that sort of stuff, so I wanted to put out there, on the internet that neither of them really knows how to use, just in case one day they stumble on it, that if I can achieve half of what they have, I'll be very happy.

And thank you.

buy it. sell it. love it. obsess about it, lose sleep over it....

Yesterday I put a bid on a pair of seven for all mankind, crystal A pocket jeans on Ebay (retail price - £180, current bid - £19.95) and it's just about to end, I have 26 more minutes of staring at the screen and hitting refresh until my fingers are aching, bloody stubs.

I want them.

I don't know who Audrey6868 thinks she is but she sure as fuck cannot have my jeans.

What would yours be?

One of my girlfriends from Uni has come up with an amazing present idea for all of us girls. She has asked us to email her with our favourite two songs of all time and she is going to compile them into a CD and send us all a copy for Christmas.

How cool is that?

So I've been thinking and thinking and thinking and there are too many to boil them down to just two! I currently have a shortlist of about 30 and am trying to eliminate based on how often I can play them without getting bored.

So my question is - What would you put and why? It's got to be based on not just the musical merits of said songs, your favourite songs might be absolutely awful but remind you of something so absolutely fabulous that happened to you that you will always love them.

Come on, this is supposed to be all interactive 'n shit, so interact.

That means you too Glenys.

NB: I'm not going to steal anybody elses, I have plenty of my own, I'm just curious.

Stuck for words

I know, I know, I know, I have turned into a useless blogger, there are hardly any photos anymore, the posts are scarce and not particularly humorous and I have no imagination.

I don’t know what to say, I just can’t think of anything to write! And So much stuff has happened, I continue with my gym going (although why I am bothering when the total weight loss amounts to 2lbs – 2 fucking pounds – is beyond me), I went on holiday, work is insanely busy, Liz and I have a new business plan which will make us the next Bill Gates, things are moving forward with the house again. Really, I have motivation, content, I have funny anecdotes about my mother….

I just don’t have any words.

Must find words….

Anecdote about my mother.
My mother rang me yesterday morning at 9.15, while I was in bed with a horrible hangover, and then she cried for two hours about how awful my Dad is, and how she's lonely and has no one to talk to and I was like, holding the phone away from my ear to throw up and when I put it back to my ear she was still just hickupping and "your..hic... Dad... hic…just...hic...doesn't...hic...understand...hic...me...", and I'm like, no mum, he doesn't, your life is very, very difficult, I'm sorry about that, hang on a second... HURL.

She’s fine now, there will be no separation, my father has reached a plateau of understanding he hasn’t had before during the 30 years they have been married. Glenn is blaming schizophrenia for their 12 hour marriage crisis.

A thing that annoyed me.
Yes, I am aware there is a photo of me in a bikini on flickr. No, I am not happy about it. I am distinctly unhappy abut it. This is not a ploy to get people to post something about how I look fine, it’s not about that, it’s about me choosing to wear a bikini on holiday with friends and not choosing to have any photo’s taken of such a thing and then finding one on the internet. Clue – I am not smiling at the camera in the photo, I am reading a book. I am very happy for people who can feel confident when wearing two triangles and a pair of waterproof pants but I am not one of them.

Why work is insanely busy.
Apparently, after a pretty awful 2005, people like us again! The corporate giant crushes the independent thinker! You will pay us! You will like it! You will give us work!

Arse.

Hey, it’s ok, two punnets of frozen raspberries later and soon, I’ll be on the cover of Time magazine, it’s ok that you don’t understand that, give it time…

None of this bodes well for a novel though, really, how can I become the next Nadine Gordimer if I can’t find enough words for a regular diary entry...?

Books I read on holiday that were good.

'Running with Scissors' by Augusten Burroughs
'On Beauty' by Zadie Smith

A book I read on holiday that was amazing.

'Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close' by Jonathan Safran Foer

A book I read on holiday that I wish I hadn't read because it was awful and I will never get that time back.

'A long way down' by Nick Hornby

Telephone conversation with my mother, calling from the pool side at her villa dans la Spain.

First of all she spoke to Glenn and all I heard was;

Glenn: “Hello… Oh hi!... You alright? You’re having a nice time then?... Yeah I bet it is… URGH! Oh that’s just… I mean… Talk to Hannah, talk to Hannah”

So he passed the phone to me with a face like he’d just cleared the gunk out of the drain on the patio.

Me: Hi

Mum: Hello, it’s Mummy, how are you?

Me: I’m well thank you, are you having a nice time?

Mum: Yes, it’s beautiful here, and I’ve just told Glenn that your father is naked in the swimming pool.

Me: URGH! Mum! Well no wonder he’s having to hold back the wretching… Mum! We’ve got to get into that pool next week!!

Mum: Oh don’t worry, it gets cleaned every morning, and the filter system is on.

Me: I DO NOT WANT TO KNOW ABOUT WHY THE FILTER SYSTEM IS IMPORTANT WHILE MY FATHER IS NAKED IN A SWIMMING POOL.

Mum: hee hee….

Take it like a woman.

I don’t really know how to write about having a flexible sigmoidoscopy. It is unpleasant, but then you could have guessed that, things are not meant to go up that orifice, only out, and certainly nothing is meant to go up there which is the length of a six seater dining table.

But go up there it did, and it had an audience of two nurses, an incredibly old consultant who I had never met before, and someone who appeared to be being trained on sticking things up arses. The very odd thing about the whole experience was that to be able to watch what the camera could see, the consultant needed the TV the scope was transmitting to directly in front of me, so I watched everything, from when the scope was switched on while it was still on the other side of the room, to when it was gliding towards my bottom, like a missile heading towards a fleshy target, to when it was cruising through my colon and around my large intestine. Truly, a film worth renting again.

The nurse did not offer me sedation, she said they were not going far up enough to justify it so my going through the whole thing without being sleepy is not quite as noble as perhaps you thought, however, the consultant decided to do it twice because the first time the air flow wasn’t working (the scope blows air as it travels so the pictures are clearer) and then to go as far as he could to get a proper examination. This means that he went much further than the nurse thought he would, and I SHOULD HAVE BEEN FUCKING SEDATED.

But I digress….. for those of you who may have to one day face a crusty old man shoving a cable up your bum, the only unpleasantness is as your stomach fills with air, but that is just like really bad wind, and simply means you have to sit in a room by yourself and fart it all out afterwards, and as the scope negotiates the turns in your intestine it’s quite painful, but it is temporary pain and as you can watch what’s happening on the TV you can see that nothing is wrong, that the pain you feel is nothing ripping or bleeding, that everything is fine, so it’s quite bearable really.

And everything really is fine, I have to admit to holding my breathe as I watched the screen, I was quite convinced that any second now the scope would show up a lesion and the whole humiliating experience was just the beginning, but no, there’s nothing, I’m clear in that department, so now I have nothing to worry about until the laparoscopy in October and I’ve had one before so I know exactly what to expect. It’s a piece of cake.

Now the enema, that was a WHOLE other story and you will NEVER be able to get me to talk about it.

Not. Ever.

Answerphone message left by my mum about two hours before 4 people stood and watched a 70yr old consultant insert 80cm of camera into my virgin anus

"Hello Hannah, it's Mummy... just phoning to say good luck for today, Now I've been thinking about it and I would say that sedation is mostly provided to old people, small children, and men, so you shouldn't have any, ok then? Love you."

So I didn't.

Remember what I said about a lack of dignity.....?

Got a letter from the hospital on Saturday, I have to have a Flexible Sigmoidoscopy on Thursday, as in this Thursday, I'm going to let you look that up to see what it is because the act of explaining it makes me feel sick.

I can choose whether or not to be sedated, can't make up my mind about that yet;

no sedation = 20 minutes of what looks to me like torture,

sedation = 24hr recovery period, can't go to work on Friday, can't drive, am miserable.

See if you can find some song lyrics about that.

Blue jean baby, L.A. lady.

Hold me closer tiny dancer

Count the headlights on the highway

Lay me down in sheets of linen

you had a busy day today