Elbows Out!

On By AlexIn Bikes, Other stuff2 Comments

No, this is not some kind of splitter activity from a body splinter group questioning the value of articulating arm pieces and demanding a revolutionary new configuration where forearms are welded to shoulder blades. Obviously, I mean who else would even consider such a thing? Answer, quite a few people from my personal collection of ˜oddballs, screw-ups and gimboids’ of which my readers make up a sizable happy – if medicated “ proportion.

The real question is who would actually write it down AND consider it marginally amusing. Ah, well the sample size is somewhat smaller.

The mutant elbow is still 50{45ac9c3234d371044e23e276755ef3a4dde8f1068375defba7d385ca3cd4deb2} larger than it’s twin on the right side further distanced from healthy skin by such intense scarring and holing, it’s like a small, bloody sea of tranquillity. And it hurts far more than a week old injury should which would trigger normal people scampering down A&E to ensure no permanent damage. But I KNOW once I set a single foot over the threshold, it’ll be Christmas on the ward for me. Deformed and painful elbow versus full life Hotel California” Trauma. Absolutely no bloody contest.

The elbow of knobbly shame punctuates my day with irritating facets. Firstly it weeps like a man forced go fencepost shopping on a match day (personal experience? Possibly) leaking out thick gluttonous deposits with the stickiness of honey. Any fabric coming into the slightest contact with the toxic gloop instantly affixes itself like proverbial shit to a blanket. It’s only slightly less smelly and far harder to remove with the deep breath, PULL, scream” approach removing sufficient skin to give you a first hand (elbow?) view of how the bone works.

Once the bleeding has stopped, the hurting starts over every bump or manhole or curb. The steel bike at home cossets the offending limb like a old sofa but the harsh aluminium London bike twinned with the crenulated capital road system marks me down as a Tourettes victim with a vicious twitch. I considered riding one handed but since my last uni-ride attempt got me into this situation, it seems prudent instead grit ones teeth and stiffen ones upper lip.

By the time you read this, I may have drowned. The summer weather” outside is lashing rain at high velocity against the window panes and my rain jacket “ much like my elbow pads when I stacked last week “ is protecting the inside of the car. Short sleeved riding top and no mudguards is one approach to an inch of rainfall. Just not a very good one.

There has to be a part of my body that’s working. I hope it’s my liver. Still picking the scabs on my elbow is fun. Well you asked! Oh sorry, must have misheard.

A commute called Arthur.

On By AlexIn Bikes, Road Riding5 Comments

What kind of rotten English bestows a proper noun on an already poorly constructed sentence ? (actually if I was semantically Willy Waving, I believe it’s a adjectival modifier but I’m sure someone even more anal will correct me) Well this kind of rotten Englishman so he could then rollout an even more convoluted pun. Why is the commute called Arthur? Because it was arfur (half a) commute rather than a full one, see?

I’m thinking I probably should have saved us all the trouble.

Anyway, half a commute was the only available logistical option since my London bike had been interned in the barn for some Tender Loving Percussion (TLP for short, you know there is a really interesting point about acronyms¦ no? ok, I’ll stop but my lip is quivering in disappointment). It’s lived in harsh city conditions through a cold winter, hoovering up and internalising all the shit and crud which lines the strees of our grubby capital. After only 300 miles, the brake blocks were worn to a mil of COMING THROUGH, NO BRAKES!”, the bottom bracket was “ and since you’ve already spurned my attempt to educate, I’m resorting to the vernacular “ totally fucked and the rear cassette was an amorphous blob of salt encrusted tar, horse shit and the remains of slow pedestrians.

While you could change gear, by the time the recalcitrant mech had dragged a rusted chain across the grubby sprocket, your journey would have finished or the world would have ended – whichever came first.

Nothing moved on the bike, instead gears graunched, brakes squealed and cables shuddered. It took a few buckets or water heavily levelled with flesh stripping degreaser to return it to a happy state. Individual cogs surfaced from under choking gunk, cables whistled through silky outers and activating the brake actually conjugated that verb (puts willy away, clearly no-one cares). Even though the barn looked like a triage unit ravaged by sustained small arms fire and metal eating locusts, almost nothing was broken or buggered. Apart from me and that’s an ongoing issue. And when I say buggered, I’m not talking literally just so we’re clear.

So bashed up by bikes, I’ve been seriously considering an alternative get to work strategy “ for example this solution for ˜fat people who can’t be arsed to walk�? as I believe the company strap line goes.

The Segway GT on the golf course.

Continue reading “A commute called Arthur.” →

You’re as old as you feel.

On By AlexIn Other stuff8 Comments

Well that’s a relief because after the trials and tribulations of the last month, carbon dating would suggest a conservative estimate of about a 1000 years. It’s my birthday you see and the passing of time is definitely beginning to affect hair (almost gone), recovery periods (measured with a calendar) and neurosis’s (measured with a calculator).

Turning 38 last year was a bit of a wrench but at least it was just possible to deny impending middle age. 38 can be cheekily defined as mid to late thirties” but at 39, you just can’t keep living the lie. The best I’ve come up with is not quite 40” and not dead yet”

I don’t expect to have to go through this emotional hand wringing once the big four o arrives since I’ll be deep into therapy. However I did consider one last forlorn effort to attain a high level of fitness, a midriff that lacked a convex bulge and a diet that doesn’t consider peanuts and lager to contain all the essential food groups2.

But it’s become clear that even if this made me live longer, it’d make me miserable now, and I’d probably not thank myself forty years later. I’ve been a middle aged cynic ranting impotently at the world since the age of about twenty so realistically an octanarian version of Al is not somebody even I’d want to spend any time with.

I also spent a mad minute wondering how long my increasingly battered frame should be subjected to mountain bikes, or more specifically what happens when you crash mountain bikes. But then as some cleverer and yet more cheesy than I once said getting old is mandatory, growing old is optional”

So I’ll rage against the dying of the light a while longer. With a bag of crisps and a nice cold lager. And possibly some slippers.

Scotland was indeed bonny..

On By AlexIn Bikes, Mountain Bike Riding9 Comments

.. and while rain was sweeping the south, we were bathed in Scottish Sunshine. This is not the same as English sunshine as the Sun is rather shy and hides behind the clouds and often a short sharp shower reminds you that venturing out without a waterproof is an act of extreme foolhardiness. As was falling off on the second day while riding a knarly flat bit of trail. With perfect precision I ripped open the same elbow that had recently acquired a thin layer of scar tissue after the previous unplanned al/flint interface.

Luckily my riding buddies lashed me back together and through the medicinal power of alcohol I was able to stoically continue if at a slightly reduced pace. And with significantly more pain every time a bump was encountered which when you’re riding mountain bikes in Scotland is about every second. Fortunately I had sufficient body armour to protect a small frightened elephant against a nuclear attack, less fortunately, I’d left most of it in the car when gravity came calling.

While carefully wheeling the bike into our rather splendid accommodation, my bleeding and brooding elbow was perfectly positioned to slam into the door jam. For a while afterwards, I lay on the floor and tried to find my happy place. This proved to be in the pub opposite which sold painkillers under the name of “Shag-Nasties Bottom Biter” or whatever the local ale was called.

Here’s a picture taken by a friend who has kindly cut my head off. That was one course of action I was considering after impaling an open wound on the mortice lock.

DSCN0825.JPG

Those knee pads saw some action on the last day when I fell off twice within half a mile. The first in front of a ghoulish audience who applauded loudly my ham fisted attempt to navigate a rock garden (“plants” including spikey flint, hard edged boulder and nervous perennial). When I say applauded, of course I mean after I’d dispensed with the services of the bike and rock surfed to a grinding halt balanced precariously on, what I’m euphemistically referring to as, “the fruit basket“.

In a huff, I remounted the trusty steed and pedalled off without a backward glance. God knows where I was looking tho because a minute later, the whole sky and ground thing inverted and yet again the mean trail searched out uninjured limbs to bruise. Essentially I am now considering renting myself out as mobile scar tissue.

Still it was a fantastic week’s riding even if Easyjet provided me with no confidence in their ability to find a plane to take me home. Instead I hitched a lift in a mate’s camper van whose top speed would not trouble any form of speed camera but this was more than made up for in it’s fixtures and fittings. Nice cup of tea on the move, fridge with cold beer in it and enough space to get some decent kip. Probably should make it clear, I wasn’t doing the driving.

Back on the commuting bike tomorrow. Hopefully no one will try and kill me, it really isn’t necessary considering my recent policy of self harm 😉

Sassenachs Ahoy!

On By AlexIn Site StuffLeave a comment

The knee of extreme soreness will be teamed with the liver of serial abuse for a five day trip to the wilds of Southern Scotland. Riding is likely to be optional whereas drinking isn’t – however I shall be out there having it medium unless inclement weather dictates a shuffle to the nearest snug with a good book and better medical excuse.

I’m taking an electronic copy of the Scottish Venacular Dictionary which is rather more amusing that it is work safe. Consider yourself warned.

The hedgehog shall lie idle and unstuffed which is probably a relief for everyone but come Monday tales of my daring riding, balletic bike control and all round muscular athleticsm shall once again stain guiless electrons with outrages fabrication.

Failing that, I’ll post some pictures but since two cameras have coincidentally exploded while in my hands, I’ve been banned from taking the new one. And I shall be so far behind my friends due to a complete lack of fitness masked by a whole load of bacon sandwiches and lager, expect panaramic shots of deserted trails and painful looking climbs.

Of all the lovely places in Scotland we shall be visiting, I shall be making strenuous efforts not to include Dumfries A&E.

Hospital Diary: Day 4

On By AlexIn Bikes, Other stuff5 Comments

Wednesday.

01:00
Bladder clearly been replaced with thimble during operation

02:00
A small thimble at that

04:00
Consider making myself comfortable in toilet. Sadly nothing left to read so spend most of the hour making my way there and back.

05:00
Finally bladder is empty and edge into a decent sleep.

06:00
Wake Up Call. God I’m still here.

For breakfast there’s a non optional hurty bastard antibiotic cocktail which – with a cocked eyebrow to the God of Irony – leaves me in no position to select any of the culinary delicacies from the proffered menu. How things have changed, my last hospital visit (some 25 years previously) was during the reign of terror where the chance of adding serious intestinal diseases to anything you brought in with you were about fifty-fifty. The food’s way better now but you’ll get MSRA so progress of a sort.

07:00
The word on the street is my release is dependant on a knee articulation of 25 degrees or more. Can currently manage about 3 degrees and this includes a homage to the Gibb brothers reprising “Staying Alive” lyrics adjusted to “ow, ow, ow flaying around”.

07:30
In trundles the happy trolley. Couple of their finest and I’m perkily rotating the knee to an angle that half an hour before was just an escapist fantasy.

Cheerfulness obviously an anathema to this morning’s nurses so they retaliate by increasing the flow on the pain drip. It works, my entire arm goes numb and it’s my drinking arm. Hopefully it’s not a permanent affliction.

08:30
I ask the quack what they used to clean out my knee. He refuses to tell me on the grounds that I asked and he’s far too important to answer. However, my inclination to lamp him for being such an arse is put on hold as he breezily dismisses me from taking up useful bed space. My knee’s played a blinder under the cover of strong drugs and he’s convinced I should darken their towels no more.

08:31
Ring Carol, ask if she can come and get me whenever it’s convenient.

08:33
Ring again and enquire if she’s left yet. Receive shrift that is on the wrong side of short.

08:45
‘Discover that bloke who turned up last night has a kidney complaint that means he can never drink again. He�s also due in again in September to have his tendons sliced to declaw his arthritic hands.

He’s just turned 21. Poor bugger.

09:30
The only thing that separating me from freedom are an additional raft of poxy antibiotics that are buried somewhere in the hospital pharmacy. Stump up and down the ward waiting for them to arrive. They don�t. Carol dispatches herself to hunt them down if only to shut me up. Twenty minute later she’s back clutching her prize having chased them round the hospital.

11:00
Thank Nurses. Make a fast hobble for the door before they change their mind.

11:05
Am reacquainted with Outside. Lovely experience, few sick and dying people make it this way. Car parked miles away but the slow hobble under the summer sun is really quite lovely. Just managed not to get run over while reintroducing myself to traffic.

11:15
Arrive home

11:16
Open first beer. And relax.

That’s an experience I’m keen not to repeat. Three weeks later and after one ride on the road bike, it seems the healing is almost complete. But it’ll take a little longer for the mental scars to fade. I’m wondering just nervous, slow and uncommitted the first proper off road trail will make me. Still the way I ride, nobody’ll probably notice. Except me and I can kid myself.

The NHS is an interesting organisation. A great idea, badly executed. Some super people but just not enough of them. I can’t comment on whether private health care is that much better but they are paying me£150 for the non sullying of their rather posher hospitals.

Congestion Charge

On By AlexIn Other stuff, Pretentious nonsenseLeave a comment

Apparently plans are afoot (although maybe awheel would be a better description) to increase congestion charges, car tax and flight surcharges. Such a move should ensure the private companies and government can increase the indirect tax burden by extolling their green credentials. I’m sure if the melting Greenland ice mass had any kind of facial features, it’d be wearing a happy expression and possibly a hat at a jaunty angle. And the again, maybe “ if we now extend it’s humanism to include half a brain “ it’d realise that this is nothing more than windsock politics mated incestuously to sanctimonious sound bites.

But that’s not what this is about. Although I may return to it later once I’ve calmed down a bit.

This morning the train suffered congestion. Now those of you born after Jimi Hendrix died (i.e. of a proper age) may remember a British Rail advert where an InterCity 125 rolled unconcerned past lines of stranded vehicles unmoving due traffic congestion. Well I’d like to take somebody to task about this although this is extremely unlikely since everyone in so called authority abandoned the failing railway with their fat state funded pensions years ago.

Nevertheless as Viz so memorably put it: someone should be told. Can someone explain to me how a train track can suffer congestion? It’s not like a few extra trains from another operator can be slipped in is it? Or maybe they can Yeah, Hi it’s Ron from GWR, Paddington is a right shit hole this morning, can we stuff a few of ours in Marylebone? They’ll be a beer and some pork scratchings in it for you”

There can be no other logical explanation other than an alien abduction of a platform or the timetabling software generously allocating terminating berths in some kind of fantasy configuration: yes 4 in the main platform, two on the roof and one in fourth dimensional phase space.

Ah the timetable or an aspirational vision” as Chiltern Railways like to think of it. Not even lightly bolted to the planet we call reality. The driver this morning differed from our normal happy go unbothered there will be a three day delay because the executives are sorting out their bonuses but I don’t care as I get paid anyway” being supplanted by Marvin the Paranoid Android on anti depressants I’m really sorry you’ve been abandoned in this dark dank tunnel, it’s probably congestion but who the hell knows, nobody tells me anything and I’ve read Austin and Keats but they just treat us like robots¦” at which point I turned up the MP3 player and waited for nightfall.

This does put me in mind of graffiti scrawled on a platform around the same time of the lying advert. Satirically lampooning BR’s timetable, it suffixed the boast 25 Trains leave from this station for London EVERY DAY” with Yeah, but only seven get back“.

Graffiti is not what it was.

Hospital Diary: Day 3

On By AlexIn Other stuff2 Comments

Tuesday

06:00
Oh hello world. Wrenched from a fairy peaceful sleep punctuated by you can’t lie on that knee, it bloody hurts. Reason being after not feeding us for two days, starvation rations of a small bagel warranted waking me up in the middle of night.

06:01
Started breakfast

06:02
Finished breakfast.

08:30
Doctor and student train wandered in seemingly surprised I was still here. “Haven’t we done you yet?” “Yes you have but the food is so great, I’ve decided to stay the week”. One person found this funny. I’ve always thought the medical profession lacks a certain humanitarian humour.

09:30
Ate newspaper.

11:00
Crinked neck to look out of window in manner of Papillion. See life going on outside. Super hot but air conditioning doesn’t work with window open. Doesn’t work with window closed either I’m keen to point out, but hospital policy insists that patients can only die through boredom not by chucking themselves out of window for something to do.

13:00
Other people eating. Chris and I share the twisted smile of those who can feel their stomach linings start on their small intestines. We’re all forced to wear stockings to combat deep vein thrombosis which is a real probability since we’re here for most of our natural life. Steal marker pen and draw infantile amusing penis facsimiles on our feet. The childish thing to do now is a Pete and Dud stocking sketch. Which of course we do to the amusement of exactly both of us.

13:30
Good God. It’s my turn. Where’s the mayor to officially open my operation? I’m wheeled out and it’s an odd view of the world feet first into the corridors at a high speed when compared to the lethargy of the previous two days. I worry that the orderly will crack my knee on one of the many corners as he attempts to beat his personal ward to theatre record. When I say worry what I mean is more a “oh please please please please don’t fucking cut the corner“. We arrive at pre-op rather quicker than expected as the previous victim is still in there and I’m left chatting to the anaesthetist who reckons I’ll be out within the hour assuming there aren’t any major problems.

Like what I ask? Amputation? He gives me a secret smile that in no way slows my heart rate

14:00
Okay gong to give you’re the aesthetic now. Count to ten if you like. One, two, oblivion.

15:30
Ceiling floats into focus. What went wrong? Why haven’t I’d been operated on yet? Oh. I have. Weird, no dreams, no concept of time passing but 90 minutes of my life has gone and with it a bucket full of trail dirt. There’s a bandage on my knee that looks ripe for mummification but there’s no pain at all. That’ll come later.

Surgeon reckons that with 20+ stitches I’ve got off lightly. Lots of injuries like this see the patient bailed with home leave before returning on crutches for many more painful operations.

Jesus. When everyone has gone I have a little blub. I cannot think of how the phrase “reconstructive knee surgery” could ever be reconciled with “stop wasting our time, go and get on with the rest of your life“.

16:30
They wheel me back into the ward and Chris waves groggily having been given similar treatment on his middle digit. If he thinks I’m doing another “English Patient” impression for his nicotine habit, he’s got another thing coming. I’ve got to eat.

17:30
Food. Can’t remember what it was but don’t care. Devour entire packet of Pringles Carol brought in a yesterday and anything within quaffing distance. Upbeat attitude lasts exactly as long as it takes for the Nurse to tell me home is happening to other patients before putting me downstream of some super bastard antibiotics that make my arm hurt. Still it takes my mind off my knee for a while.

18:30
So full of saline, I’m cruising to the bog every hour or so and it takes me a couple of minutes to complete the twenty foot hike. Knee not articulating at all and I;m sick of carrying saline drips everywhere. Trying to open doors, wrest the old fella out of the shorts and wee without lowering the drip below heart level is a whole arena of logistics I’m too tired to deal with.

19:30
Drug time. Wait for bliss. Bliss fails to turn up. Throbbing from the knee threatens to unleash a symphony of groans arranged for parched throat and rumbly arse. Stiffen upper lip and refuse to succumb.

20:00
Fuck, that hurts. What’s going on in there. Did they leave a nurse in there who’s now tunnelling out with an ice pick?

20:30
Succumb. Since I’m already full of needles they shortcut the normal pain relief process and inject morphine substitute straight into my mouth.

20:45
Oh my. That stuff is good.

22:00
Vivid dreams and I mean vivid. It’s like the Sistine Chapel flipped through ninety degrees directed by Tarrentino.

23:00
2 minute slow limp to toilet.

23:30
Limp no longer available. Hop to toilet holding two drips and chew way through bog door. Consider at what point final shreds of dignity were rescinded.

Okay, now I’m sure, the worst has to be over

Follow this for day 4

Hospital Diary: Day 2

On By AlexIn Other stuff4 Comments

I received a grade A whinge regarding the non completion of the hospital diary from one of those with even less of a life than me who reads this nonsense. So to my loyal reader, here it is. But much of it was written while I was pissed so excuse me if it doesn’t make sense. At least the beer gives me an excuse.

Monday
6:00
Blissful, drug assisted, painless sleep is savagely terminated with a brisk curtain opening, and a plethora of starch uniforms busily tidying up water bottles, scabby sheets and dead bodies from those who didn’t make it through the night.

6AM? Why the hell wake us up now? Local dignitaries visiting? Hospital inspection perhaps? Bomb Scare? Nope, apparently the breakfast and drugs start as the dawn has barely cracked to ensure we’re in best shape when the Doctors rounds start some two hours later.

No breakfast for me. Christ I’m hungry so I feast on a cocktail of painkillers and all the water that goes with it before it’s wrenched from my grasp as nil by mouth demands.

I’m now bagged and tagged with hospital bracelets and feeding off a saline drip that is my constant companion for a couple of days. My breezy “do’t bother I won’t be here for long” is met with tight smiles and needles.

7:00
Bored. Study my surroundings – the ward is a 25 by 15 foot oblong housing four beds and a bog. The bog on closer examination offers a shower as well which’d be great if I wasn’t swathed in enough bandages to audition for a burns victim.

My fellow inmates range from a Freddie Flintoff clone busted up from an Alcohol + Scooter accident after literally dying for a fag. I’ll explain this later – it’s both bloody funny and slightly worrying in equal amounts. To my left is a groaning scouser and while I initially worried he’d steal my paper, grapes and possibly kidney he’s clearly beyond fucked up post emergency appendix op. From the scar, looks like they went for a caesarean. Opposite is Ken, a lovely fella of sixty plus who fell off his bike, bust his shoulder and now they’re talking about removing parts of his leg to rebuild it.

I’m starting to feel that I get off lightly.

http://s921463159.websitehome.co.uk/wp-includes/js/tinymce/plugins/wordpress/img/trans.gif8:00
Doctors arrive. They glide in with their entourage of lesser beings and sweep past us annoying patients before halting briefly at the end of bed notes. Occasionally they ask how we’re feeling but before we answer they don’t care and are busy instructing their protoges on how “Mr Smith’s posterior ligament has refluxed under abnormal pressure and now requires complex surgery using our new “mole grip technology” “. Mr Smith at this point may ask irritating question such as “What the fuck are you talking about?” but they’ve already been and gone to the next poor incumbent.

We’re not patients, we’re bloody barely mobile case notes.

I’m “under” Mr Jones which is a bit of a worry especially if he’s Welsh but no amazingly he#s not a total arse. Around one hundred pre-pubesant teenagers poke and prod my wounds and words were exchanged when one of them attempted to remove a blood caked bandage. Still he literally and metaphorically lowered himself to my level and assured me that a general anesthetic, a few stitches and a following wind would see me out of here.

I felt a bit of a fraud. I inquired in a haughty manner (as haughty as a bloke dressed in tragic mountain bike shorts, nothing else and two days silvery wolf like stubble could) why they had to keep me in? “Because” move prinz nez to nose end and examine specimen beneath you “an inch higher and your kneecap would be smashed and half an inch deeper your major tendons would have been sliced, both of which would ensure we kept your delightful company for a little longer. And you may never have walked properly again“

That’s me told.
Again.

09:00
“So what time is my op then” I enquired having accepted that those with seven years of grant funding possibly knew more than me “well we’re not sure, there are 14 in front of you“. 14! Jesus, was it national throw yourself in front of a car day or something. “Can I have something to eat then” “No“

10:00
Carol turned up righteously abusing visiting hours. She brought food I couldn’t eat and stuff I could read. There wasn’t much to talk about and frankly embarrassment was the core emotion on my part anyway. I’d spoken to my boss and apologised for making full use of the medical insurance and he#d been serenely magnanimous, more concerned about my injury rather than non attendance. Even drugged up, that felt strange because for the last ten years not working meant not being paid.

11:00
Started to feel pretty hungry but even though there were 14 more deserving cases, the nurses assured me that at some point today they’d out the general aesthetic and wire brush. I entertained myself through the suffering of others especially Chris – the window cleaning Flintoff clone – who had nicked a moped after a big night out. Not, as he strenuously explained, because he was pissed but rather because he was desperate for a fag and couldn’t be arsed to stagger to the local off license. His perambulating voyage foundered on the rock of urban furniture that is a litter bin, and he arced through the air like a working class superman before gravity and concrete claimed him. His index finger took most of the impact rather badly leaving it pointing in a direction which required a complex operation to ensure it showed angular solidarity with the rest of his hand.

Funny, he looked like a thug but was actually a top bloke and we bonded to a level where I distracted the entire nursing staff through the medium of feigned knee pain while he rushed down the corridor dragging his drip behind him. He was still desperate for a fag you see and we cooked up a scenario where I lay prostrate on the floor screaming in agony while he sidled down to the ground floor for a crafty smoke. Honestly I was that bored, it seemed like the right thing to do.

My reward was his entire stash of FHM and Playboy plus the promise of free clean windows for life. Seemed like a fair swap.

13:00
Everyone is eating except the nil by mouth crowd who just dribble in a Pavlovian manner.

14:00
You’re still due to go to theatre today they promised. “What’s on I asked? I’ve always hankered after the Lion King“. The response of the medical staff was probably tainted by the previous floor based antics in that the best estimate of possible surgery was a pained smile and the promise of rubber gloves later.

16:00
Carol turned up again with the kids. Verbal soon announced “hospitals are boring” – a sentiment with which I could completely concur. Still at least she could leave with no more than a box round the ears whilst I was marooned until further notice. By this time painkillers were being mainlined for their calorie content and I’d considered chowing down on the table.

17:00
The brief excitement spike of the family turning up quickly passed into memory as boredom took a firm hold. I read the obits in the Times and the personals in FHM. Briefly I considered calling the 0898 numbers as “hot girls were waiting for my call” before I remembered this was my work phone. I even scribbled my own obituary spicing up a mediocre life with fantasy achievements and outstanding public works. This I offered up to the rest of the ward who felt “a year spent entertaining goats” was hardly a posthumous validity. Man, I was disappointed – that was the best bit.

18:00
Bored, bored, bored. Went to the loo for a change of scene. Washed scabby bits, winced a little, returned to bed waiting for something to happen. Nothing did.

21:00
Lights out. Like prison without the food. Demands for an ETA with the wire brush were met with shrugging shoulders and ˜not my problem guv” expressions. Clearly my histrionics of earlier were counting against me either than or the NHS is really quite shit. Lovely individuals, useless fucking institution.

22:00
Ate light bulb.

23:00
Ward sister rocks up and explains that in fact the whole operation thing is nothing more than an elaborate fabrication created to break my spirit. Operation now scheduled for tomorrow afternoon as surgeon has important appointment with Aston Martin Salesman in the morning. Plastic sandwich offered which, to make an important point, I considered turning down but hunger took hold of the hindbrain and I ate the lot. Including the packet.

Quite upset. Another day that my knee doesn’t get any better. In 22 days, it was due to be climbing rocky Scottish mountains with the rest of my body and removing a good part of the Chilterns was on the critical path to recovery.

Thought a lot about the best way to approach this. Maybe Nichtze “anything that doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” or a stoic mindset ignoring that which is not within my control. Settled for “fuck it, this is a bloody shambles” instead. Felt the burn of righteous white hot anger for a while. Then decided this was probably gas.

Follow this for Day three.

London Underground

On By AlexIn Other stuff2 Comments

Oh I bet you throught this was going to be another pithy post railing against the dark, dank arse of London that houses our aging tube system. But no, it’s something far more amusing.

This site is great if you want some politically incorrect songs sniping at all sorts of things. But my personal favourite is “The London Underground Song”

I warn you now, this is not work safe, not at all. So if you’re in an open office, headphones are mandatory unless your job isn’t 🙂