I Wish People Understood

At four in the morning, pain and tiredness do funny things to my brain. Well, funnier than usual at least. My current train of thought relates with how people treat me, act towards me, of their opinion of me...

Now, these are not the usual things like "do they think I'm fat" or "do they think I'm boring" but more towards my physical and mental issues.

It's no secret that I hate how I am. I hate that pushing myself makes me worse. I hate that people don't get how different things make me feel. I hate that situations cause me stress and anxiety. I hate that people seem to expect me to do things and run about. I hate that people - still to this day - think I'm faking or over-exaggerating how I am.

And at four in the morning, all that seems worse than normal. Here's my train of thought...

People believe and understand that I am ill... But still expect me to do This, That and The Other without question. When I do do these things, they get funny when I talk about how bad, rough, sick, stressed or generally crap I feel.

Alternatively, people don't believe I am ill... And that in and of itself makes me more fed up, that there are people that call themselves friends or loved ones that simply believe me to be acting this way for... I don't know what.. Attention? To claim my meager Support Allowance? To get out of work?

I hate that people don't get me. I hate that people don't understand how things affect me, how different situations cause me physical pain, physical & mental exhaustion, and mental stress & anxiety. How I have to decide if I'm going to spend energy on making myself some tea and toast, or save that energy to cut up some vegetables at dinner time. The lack of will to do anything, as every day makes me struggle to just get out of bed - either physically or mentally.

I would love people to understand how I feel on a regular basis, of the things that upset me, stress me out, the pain and hurt I have to deal with to do day-to-day things that everyone else takes for granted. Some of you might be reading this thinking I'm dropping a Drama Bomb. That I'm "just tired" or that I'm "over-complicating" things. It's just the pain, the tiredness, the depression...

If you're one of these people that think I'm just doing it for attention or a laugh, I would rather you said so, and just stopped being in my life. I know you can't please all the people all the time, but some days, I'm sure I don't please anyone... But I'm fed up with saying the same crap over and over, to people that just don't give a f$ck. It's my energy I'm wasting.

I hate how I am. Some days, I hate WHO I am. I'm sick of feeling horrible all the time. I hate trying to explain how I feel all the time. I hate knowing there are people out there that will nod and offer hollow platitudes, only to turn around and poo poo me.

It is all too much so often - but I grin, bear it, and carry on plodding as best I can. But it is so difficult to keep going. Especially when I feel like this.

I don't want sympathy. I just want people to understand.

Just Me..

I imagine the few of you that still read my blog are the ones that haven't clicked "block" or "hide" or "mute" or whatever else on my social media profiles of late. And believe me, I know exactly how I sound a lot of the time... When it's not random stuff, it's me, moaning and fed up about, well, me.

And this post is not much different.

Once again, I'm struggling to sleep very much. And this is with medication to help me sleep. I've been put back onto Amytriptyline which I hate, as past experience has proven it makes me exhausted and spacey. Well, not this time. I took a tablet at 10pm,and another at half past midnight. It's now a quarter to two in the morning and I'm still awake.

This time I suspect it's due to a hardcore 24-hour migraine that hit me Monday lunch time. I flaked on the sofa, thinking a nap would make it bugger off, but no... At half five that evening I went to bed, and woke up again at 3am. Then 10am. Then midday. And 2pm...

I got out of bed at seven this evening, had something to eat, and went back to bed at ten. I feel shit even now... Still have a headache, and now I feel bunged up...

On top of this (seriously, I know...) I've got a bloody tooth ache. Thanks to a dentist visit which was filled with needles and drilling to prepare a tooth for a crown, as the filling in it was too big apparently... My tooth wasn't hurting BEFORE, but it is now.

I'm so sick of this. All this. Me feeling crap all the time and not sleeping. Me feeling crap physically and mentally. My body hurting or being exhausted, my brain being filled with crap and worries...

I ended up being discharged from care under the Pain Management Service, thanks to my piece of shit brain. I had an appointment, which I remembered wrong, checked the appointment letter which I read wrong, and ended up going to the wrong place at the wrong time on the wrong day. So as I classed as a "No show" they discharged me. Back to square one, waiting for a re-referral. My brain sucks, I hate that it is so unreliable.

I CAN count on it to be paranoid. To over-think everything. To imagine the worst in every situation. To wind me up, stress me out and drag me down. I wish I had a period of quiet time, to chill out, recharge, run at my own pace and do my own thing. Every day just seems to be filled with STUFF and I struggle to keep up with it, so the next day has more STUFF, so I struggle more...

And on and on and over and over.

I'm tired, I don't feel well, and generally am sick of feeling and even looking the way I do. I'm sick of people telling me that "positive thinking" will cure me. I'm sick of people asking how am I as a way for them to tell me what's wrong with them without even acknowledging my reply. I usually just say "I'm OK" now, as people don't want to hear me detailing how my body feels trampled. I'm fed up being the one that has to message first to start a conversation, let alone writing long messages to people that only get an "ok" reply three hours later, or even better, no reply at all.

I probably sound like a whiny, moping brat to some of you, and that's fine... This being my blog and all. I just wish people understood how I feel 95% of the time. You don't even have to care that I feel like crap - just understand that I do.

I'm sure I could go on and on, but I won't. I'm just fed up of trying to make people get that I feel like complete crap most of the time. If you still don't get it or care, then I'm pretty sure you never will. And that's fine too - just don't roll your eyes and sigh when I moan about it here or anywhere else.

Feeling Rough

You would have thought that having had a relatively busy weekend, followed today by getting up at half eight and being proper full-on busy All. Day. Long... You'd have thought sleep would come easily.

Pfft, you'd have thought...

I honestly didn't stop till about five this evening today, and I had to use all my faculties too, physical, strength, mental, dexterity, following lists and instructions, crouching low, stretching high, trying to not lop off my fingers or fall down stairs, and remembering how to type and count too..

Last night - well, most nights this last week - have been horrendous, even for my sleep patterns, and while I could have done without being quite so stupidly busy today, I thought - foolishly - that it might help me sleep.

So, early night... Nine o clock.

And here we are at half midnight already. I know what most of the issue is. My body is screaming, and my head is swimming with what feels like blancmange, and thoughts struggle to rise through it.

So here I lay, three and a half hours of trying to sleep, so I figure I'll try blogging, focus away from sleeping.

Or not sleeping, as the case is.

Thursday, I'm going back to the doctor and asking for a referral back to Pain Management. Not that I am holding much hope with them being helpful... Just like the last times (yes, plural) I've been there.
And maybe this week I'll learn to stop running around doing everything and delegating to the rest of the household to do something. I know I can't keep going on like this. I nearly fell out the shower yesterday. I almost fell down the stairs today. Twice. I nearly stuck myself with a knife AND almost lopped off a finger today too.

Not good.

Anyway, I'm going to return to the bed and staring at the ceiling now in a hope that part of my body realises it'll stop hurting if I fall asleep, and will feel better in the morning.

OK, not better... Less shit, maybe. Unless I did more than I should have done today, in which case, I'm going to suffer for the next few days.

Joy.

Wish me luck.

On Being MIA

You may have noticed that things have been rather quiet on the Chez 0ddness front of late. And you may think life is boring and silent. However, if you've read my tired ramblings over the years, you will have come to realise that a quiet Online Dan usually means the opposite in Real World Dan.

And, more is the point, I don't even know where to start, what I can or can't talk about, or if I should warn you, dear reader, that if you don't like me moaning about everything, you may kindly bugger off now.

This last month has had hospital trips, sickness, illness, death, depression, and hard decisions, all rolled up onto five or six weeks of what feels like a constant uphill battle.

To start with, you may recall Kellie having many many medical shenanigans going on in the past. Well, despite the diet change and the medication change, the "it's just familiarial hyper-triglyceridema" is - for whatever reason - getting worse. Worse and worse.

I've said it before but will say it again - average reading is 2. High is 5, and above 5 is very high. Kellies first high reading was 22. She was started on statins which, frankly, messed her up completely. They came down to about 12, but the side effects of the statins were too much to bear, so the doctors changed her to fenofibrates.

Four weeks ago, her reading was 27. Increase in the dosage, stricter diet controls. Last week, her reading was 28.

I'm not going into it on here, but high triglycerides can cause and trigger all sorts of medical nasties, and the best the hospital can do is give her a "priority" appointment, then, which was six weeks away. Between Xmas and New Year.

Clean if the meds to fight this issue aren't doing a bloody thing, then it's not what they are saying it is. It's like me diagnosing your sore foot as a broken hand and putting a bandage on your wrist - it's going to achieve f$ck all.

So I sense the appointment that day is going to be somewhat heated, and making the doctor listen instead of talking over me.

Oh, and out of the blue, they've also decided she is now diabetic.

On my own front, and having one government department tell me they don't consider me to be ill, I've decided to stop seeing my "specialists" at the ME/CFS clinic. Now, before people spout something like "you need to give it a chance" I will point out - I've been seeing them for close to 18 months. If anything, I feel worse and shittier.

For one thing, I completely fail to see how Cognitive Therapy can fix a physical issue. I have a suspicion the NHS think this is all in the mind but won't admit it. In the course of my time there, we discussed self-assertion, dealing with OCD, coping with insomnia, and all sorts of other really reeeeally useful information.

Then there was the physio. In one breath I've got a patronising twat of a bloke telling me to do nothing, then telling me to push myself, then telling me if I over-exert myself, he's going to tell me off.

Er, what?

As I write this, it is just after midday. I've had a couple of averagely-busy days, and I'm struggling to find the energy and drive to get out of bed - not to mention, my legs are in agony, so I'm waiting for my pain killers to do something.

How can I push myself to do a certain amount of exercise when some days I can't bear to wear jeans because they're too heavy?

And the way he spoke to me... I know some members of the medical profession think they're better than everyone, but this bloke... Jesus, what an arrogant, patronising dick.

"If you don't do as I tell you, you might as well not bother coming back to the clinic"

You got it. Twat.

Plus on top of all this I've been feeling mentally shit of late too. So much crap on my mind, gnawing away at me. We go to bed between ten and eleven, and most nights if I'm asleep before two it's impressive. If I sit up till two then go to bed, I'm awake till gone six, so don't bother sleeping. Regards of sleeping till late or dozing off early, I'll wake up every time I need to roll over or get comfy. I'll have horrible shitty nightmares. Cramps will jolt me awake. I'll be too hot or too cold.

And on and on.

None of the meds I'm on seem to be doing anything once again, so it's back to the doctors I go to get a referral back to the Pain Management people, which strikes me as worrisome, as the last two times I was referred there, I had the first "specialist" tell me I was too young to be in so much pain all the time, and he discharged me there and then, and the second "specialist" spent the better part of an hour trying to convince me to go onto medication I knew I was allergic to, and because I disagreed with him, I was discharged as I was ignoring his professional medical advice.

Third time lucky I hope.

So with all that, plus friends going through hell with death and what-not, sick kids, me spending a few days in bed with germs - it went past Man Flu, and became full-on Flumonia - and Kellie being ill and everything else I'm NOT going into, this last month has been a write off.

In fact, I would go so far as to say November 2013 has been a BAD word. The baddest of the bad words. A complete and utter baddest of the bad words of a month.

December had better be decent.

So, Uh, Yeah...

OK, I hold my hands up. I've been a little bit, a teeny weeny bit.... Lax, in my blogging of late. And when I say "of late" I do mean pushing two and a half months since my last blog post with ACTUAL content. That is, not a Musical Monday and not a Passing Time post.

My bad.

It just seems that, for whatever reason, things have been so up in the air of late, every time I've started or even thought about blogging, I've not followed through. I'd write a blog post and either think "Wow, more moaning" or "Oh look, complaining about pain" or worse, wondering who would contact me asking "Is that post about me?"

Which, I have to say 1) Get over yourself, or 2) If the shoe fits...

The other thought that sort of crossed my mind was the lack of comments I get on a post, but I quickly dismissed that. I write 0ddness for me. It's pretty much my ONLY outlet on life, and while I know people read it, and I love that people enjoy it, it is for me to try and get some order and perspective on my thoughts...

So, with that in mind, I'm going back to regular blogging. It might be that it'll be "ate some toast, washed a cup, fell asleep" posts, or "rant-rave some mundane thing happened" posts that people think is just me being a dick, over-reacting at stuff.

Or, it'll be the final category of post, "ohmygod I'm in pain and my brain is doing THIS SHIT to me!" which for some reason, generates three kind of response.

1) Get Over It
Yes, I could. But if you don't like it, don't read it.

2) Awww Poor You
I'm not posting for sympathy, I'm just saying how I feel.

3) OMG Attention Seeking
No, as above, I'm not posting for ANY response, just stating facts.

OK, this has turned into one of my Randomly Random Rants. Go me.

So. I write for me. If you think I'm bitching about you being a twat, and the shoe fits, it's probably you. If you think I'm blogging to get sympathy or create drama, you're wrong. If you don't like reading about me ranting over what you consider nonsense, I'm not making you read it, go play somewhere else.

You might also have noticed that Messieurs Facebook & Twitter have been quiet. Well, again, same reasons. Life was busy, too much drama, lots of snippy snidey stuff, shitty comments about stuff I was sharing, then I just felt like I was talking to myself, and slowly, I lost faith in humanity. My accounts are still active, but I've not been on either for a pretty long time... I might return at some point, but we'll see.

Where am I, then? Well currently at Silly o' Clock in the morning, I'm in bed, not sleeping. Or I am sleeping, and I'm just THAT talented. In general, well, I suspect that will be a series of blog posts over the next few days.

If you want to talk to me, then I am usually never without my trusty mobile. You can text me if you want. You can use WhatsApp which is better than texting. Being that I am on a 4G smartphone, you can always email me instead. Obviously the first two need my mobile number, which is on my Facebook. Or email me and ask nicely.

I have lots - too much, probably - on my mind at the moment. Thankfully, I've had one or two people there for me when I needed them, but I'm not naming names. Once I start blogging, I suspect my mind will become more ordered and clearer. Less ranty. Less... This post.

Like I say, lots on my mind, lots going on. Hopefully tomorrow I will manage to start getting it down. Purging the brain pan, as it were.

So, thank you :-)

Relief (Finally)

This last week or so has been somewhat hellish in relation to my pain levels. If you're on my Facebook friends list (and, of course, assuming I've not culled you off in a big clear-up!) you'd have seen me complaining and moaning about how much pain I've been in.

Things this weekend, were not fun. Not at all.

If you cast your mind back to the Co-Codamol Shenanigans of early June, you will recall that I was sent to hospital, and properly told off for the amount of meds I was taking. That is, I was taking a day-and-a-half worth of meds every 24 hours.

For many many months. Possibly over a year.

So, I was firmly informed that I had to watch how many Co-Codamol I was taking every 24 hours. No more than 8, thank you very much.

The downside, of course, meant that my pain levels snuck up on me. Now, I have been on painkillers in some form or another for the better part of 13 years, just so I can function, let alone hobble along at the pace of life that I lead. I am not an addict, I don't have a drug problem: I have a PAIN problem.

I returned to the doc, and his new plan of attack was to stop the Co-Codamol entirely, and put me on a new painkiller, a patch called BuTrans, which contains buprenorphine. To make sure my body didn't spaz-out, he started me on the lowest dose.

This stuff is, by all accounts, quite strong. Not only is it used in patients suffering from high pain levels, it's also used in place of Methadone, to weans addicts off of opiates like Heroin.

Yes, as usual, there are plenty of side effects, but I scan over those unless I feel rough - no point telling myself what IS going to happen to me.

So, Friday morning, I took my last Co-Codamol, Kellie stuck the patch on me, and I waited for... Well, something. Either to feel funny or whoozy, or to feel the pain flowing out of my body.

But nothing happened.

OK, maybe it needs a day or so. By Friday evening, I was in agony. I HAD to take a couple of Co-Codamol as I was on the verge of tears. I didn't sleep Friday night - I was writhing in the bed in agony. Saturday morning, the pain was worse still, so I took more Co-Codamol.

ALL weekend, I've been suffering. Properly suffering. I couldn't get out of bed for a wee Saturday morning - it was a race between my bladder exploding or the drugs kicking in so I could get up the stairs. I've not left the house, not done anything, couldn't concentrate on anything (LESS than usual), been making stupid mistakes, nearly went face-down out the bath, went to bed at nine on Saturday night, eight last night... Monday I was up just after 4am, and sat on the sofa feeling very sorry for myself.

My doc told me it would take maximum 24-36 hours for this patch to start working "effectively" but I thought giving it the weekend was a good run of it. BUT I wouldn't take it off, and wouldn't take my Co-Codamol normally. I put it off and put it off, but eventually, I caved - I needed to see a doctor... I saw a different GP (my usual doc was not in) Monday morning, and he was a little leery to make too many changes to the plan. He could, however, see how much pain I was in which made me feel a little better, as I knew it wasn't in my mind.

He has me now wearing two-5mg buprenorphine patches, PLUS I get to take my Co-Codamol "as normal" until I see my regular doctor on Thursday.

As soon as I got in, I took off the existing patch, Kellie reapplied two patches to my back, and I took my Co-Codamol. After a couple of hours, I felt rather drowsy, and was in bed at 8pm, and flaked out pretty quickly. During the night, pain kicked in again, and I was restless, fidgety and suchlike, and eventually got up at six.

I DID feel a little better this morning... Still in more than my "normal" pain, but somewhat more bearable. I had to suffer through a bus ride, as this morning was my therapist with the CFS/ME service. Explained to her what's happened this week (and in general) and she thinks that it could be worse due to the amount of stuff that's been going on this last month or so that has fully exhausted me. BUT, on the bright side, she thinks I need to get another referral to Pain Management ASAP.  So on Thursday morning, I have to ask my normal GP to refer me, and to check/increase my buprenorphine dosage so I don't have to rely on Co-Codamol as well, plus I "should" ask for another blood test, just to rule out anything else that may be going on.

I'm happy to report that, this evening, the pain is a little better than it has been - it's still above the levels that I am used to, so I am suffering a bit, but it's better than it was. Which is saying something. At one point over the weekend, I considered cracking my head into a wall to knock me out - just so I could get some rest...

Desperate times, and all that...

I just wanted to say a quick thank you to everyone that has been putting up with my whining and complaining via Facebook these last few days, and for offering support or just generally nice words to push me through it. And, of course, for Kellie, for coming to the doctor with me, for looking after me, and running around after me all weekend.

Hopefully I will have even better news on Thursday morning with stronger meds!!

Med Change

As mentioned on Facebook yesterday, I have started on new meds... Allow me to back track "a little"

Many years ago - eight or nine - I was referred to the Pain Management clinic. Back then, I'd already been told my pain was psychological, in my mind, not as bad as I made it out to be, and part of having a degrading spine. The very helpful *cough*UselessTwat*cough* changed my meds from one containing codeine to another...

Containing codeine.

Very helpful, and the difference was the same as when you try and explain the difference between Off-White and Eggshell-White to a man. Especially a colourblind man. Ultra-especially a colourblind man that dridn't care about the different between Off-White and Eggshell-White...

And there I've stayed, with cocodamol as my base drug for "breakthrough pain" Over the years, my doc has experimented with the right drug for managing the pain over time. I've been on things like Amytriptyline (and I remember some very loopy blog posts while high on that car-crash of a drug) to Tramadol to Diclofenac and Pregabalin.

Nothing really does a lot, and after the minor mishap a few weeks back which, I've been told was called a "staggered overdose" I've had to lower my cocodamol intake. The downside of which is that my pain levels have gone from "barely managed" to "through the f$cking roof"

So last week, Mr GP decided a new radical approach was needed. And my cocodamol was stopped, and replaced with a patch... The drug in question is called Buprenorphine, and is very similar to morphine. It's used in cases of high to severe pain, and comes in three doses, 5mg, 10mg and 20mg.

Of course, with my body being a twat and usually churning out as many side effects as it can in  reaction to new drugs, the doc has started me on the lowest dose. The patch delivers 5ug (micrograms?) an hour over a period of seven days. I'm to use this patch for a week then, assuming there are no side effects I can't deal with, next week I get to apply two patches.

Now, it's supposed to work within 12-36 hours, and here were are, 38 hours in. And there is nothing positive going on.

At. All.

So I'm reducing the one painkiller that generally stops me writhing in pain and sobbing like a baby, so another medication can take over. Another painkiller that is not actually doing anything.

At. All.

This weekend has been shit. With a capital S. And H. And I. Yep, and T. I'm laying here at midnight Monday morning and just want to crack my head into a wall in an effort to pass out.

Tomorrow morning, I'm going to try seeing the doc. There is no way I'm going to make it through to NEXT weekend, especially on the off chance that the patch might do nothing at all.

Don't get me wrong, I'm hopeful it will work, and would be over the moon if it meant I can cut out an entire batch of pills, but I need it to work. I feel like complete and utter shit, and can barely function.

But you know, it's all in my mind, a psychological pain, I'm just addicted to the drugs, and am faking it just to get out of work.

I'm hoping that when I wake up in the morning, things will seem and feel better. I'm hoping that, in light of the fact it's been rather manic and full on the last three weeks, I'm hoping it's just taking a little longer to get into my system.

Fingers crossed please. And whatever else you can send for luck...

In other news, my Facebook cull appears to have been a rousing success. If you are no longer listed as a friend, it's because there was no interaction between us on there whatsoever. I'm not having people on there from now on that just add me to have me count towards a Friend Total that means bugger all. If you want to have me as a friend, a chat or poke every now and then would be nice!

I'm considering a Twitter, Email and Mobile Number cull as well... I'm tired of fighting and struggling to have conversations with people that seemingly don't give a crap.

Yes, I know, I'm in pain, I've hardly slept, and I'm proper grumpy. I think I'm at the point where the naysayers in my life are now going to find out who they are. Want to accuse me of faking, see ya later. Want to tell me I should "think positive and I'll feel better", adios!

Those of you that chat with me, laugh, joke and take the piss out of one another, you're safe ;-)

Watch this space... I'm sure I'll talk about my Buprenorphine patches (BuTrans) later. Positively or Negatively, however, remains to be seen.

Where It All Went Wrong

Effectively, this marriage has been in the making since I was 10 years old, when my mum said "We're moving house!" and moved into a little cul-de-sac called Blackmores. One of the first families we met was that of our neighbours, including a little blonde girl my age called Kelly.

Oh, and heads up - loooong post alert!!

And that, as they say, was where it all started to go downhill. We were friends through most of our teenage years, dated when we were 16/17 which ended in a messy fashion after a few months and a case of appendicitis, and from there we lost touch.

Well, I say "Lost Touch" but it was more of the "Never Spoke Again" fashion. Ah, teenage love...

From there, we moved into our own lives, meeting others, moving in, having kids, breakups - the whole shebang. And then, in early 2008, from NOWHERE came the following:

BOO!!!! Hey Dan.... Hows you? It has been years and years... !

Needless to say, I was a little surprised to get a message from her, considering we didn't part company on the best of terms - but it was so long ago, we were just kids, etc etc... So we started chatting on Facebook, catching up, comparing history.

We went from chatting on and off, to chatting almost daily, then we exchanged phone numbers and started texting. Then we spoke on the phone, then we met up for lunch, then lunch became a regular thing. We met up in town one day and headed over to Blackmores - where the 0dd Mum still lives - had lunch, then wandered around our old stomping ground, taking photos and reminiscing.

We met up and spoke more and more, but nothing was going on. We were just meeting up as friends, no more, no less. Then our friends started noticing how much we chatted, how often we text, how we chuckled at something the other said. "Oooooh is that your girlfriend?" would be a regular comment thrown my way, and Kellie was getting the same thing on her side.

Then one fateful weekend, Kellie invited me over. Dinner, watch a movie, have a drink... And everything everyone said over the past months came flooding back. I was a nervous wreck, and started questioning everything, and came to the conclusion that I was, in fact, falling for this slightly bonkers woman.

Uh oh.

So, we had dinner. We had some drinks. We watched a movie. We listened to music. We chatted into the early hours of the night...

Yes yes, I see it NOW...

What Kellie wasn't aware of, was that every time she left the room, I had a mini-meltdown, and was texting Posh Totty. "OhMyGodOhMyGodOhMyGod such-and-such is happening! WHAT DO I DO?!" was the general gist of my messages. I was questioning everything, from how we were sitting, to how we were talking, to the music that was playing.

Oh course, Ms. Posh was very supportive. Her replies ranged from "HAHA LOLOLOL!" to "PMSL look at this funny image!" 

Yes, I still have those emails, you funny f$cker

I was a nervous wreck, and needed to get my head on straight. Sit down with myself, calmly discuss with my brain what I was thinking, where my head was at, where my heart was at and so on. A nice, quiet, chilled out weekend.

Instead, I went to stay with Posh Totty. Along with three other slightly deranged women, Jenny, Lynzi and Becky, as well as Mr Posh and the Posh Son.

And instead of sitting and thinking calmly, we went to a pub opening. And had lots to drink. And the more alcohol I was plied with, the more I thought about Kellie. And the more I missed Kellie. And the more I text Kellie. And then, with more alcohol, we decided to head, not back to the Posh Palace, but to a club.

Where I was plied with MORE alcohol. And text Kellie even more. And realised I really missed her. And, of course, being with a gaggle of drunk chicks, they were all ever so supportive. "Tell her how you feel" and "Go on son!" and similar comments, ranging from a Kentish accent to some strange Yorkshire accent. And, of course, Posh Tottys very very snobby accent.

We went back to the house, all rather tipsy - I even managed to drop half a cheeseburger directly onto my phone - and I carried on texting Kellie. I told her I was quite drunk. That I think I liked her more than just a friend. That I missed her. That I wished she were here too...

Uh oh.

Then, it struck. I came down with a full-blown case of ManFlu. And to prove there was no feelings other than "Just Friends" and by doing what any other "Just a Friend" would do, Kellie should have text me a "Get Well Soon" and maybe sent my some sympathy via Facebook. You know, what any other normal friend would do.

That is what should have happened. However, Kellie decided to get on a bus, trek over to my house, and sit with me all day while I was coughing and spluttering and feeling very sorry for myself.

Yeah, just friends...

I was so ready to tell her exactly how I felt. But the germs must have scrambled my brains, because instead of saying "Look, Kellie, I like you, and you seem to like me, why don't we go out on a date" what actually came out was... Err... Nothing. Instead, I sat beside her on the sofa. We watched Cartoon Network together.

All. Day.

I decided enough was enough, I'm going to make my move! But the germs and stuff messed with my muscular system, because instead of moving my body towards her, I moved... My pinky finger. And placed it on her leg. And I just... Sat there. I was touching her with my finger, and maybe gently moved it against her thigh.

She didn't pull away. She didn't slap me. She didn't tell me to not do it.

So I stayed there.

And when she had to leave, I watched her walk down the street till she was out of sight.

Oh shit.

The following weekend, Kellie should have sat down, and placed her thoughts in order, tried to work out what she wanted, worked out the different signals from her brain and her heart.

Instead, she went to a wedding. Where she was plied with booze. And during that evening, I was getting progressively-drunker texts... Texts that seemed somewhat... Familiar... That she was drunk, that she missed me, that she wished I was there, and that she think she liked me more than just a friend.

And little did I know that on her side, she was being egged on by her supportive friends... "Tell him how you feel!" and "Go on love!"

So, once she sobered up, we decided to meet up on Monday and to go for a drink, to sit and to chat. Work out what we were doing, what we wanted and all the rest of it. Thus commenced the longest Sunday/Sunday Night/Monday Morning of all time.

Well, except for last Friday that is. But I digress.

The journey over to Canvey - a journey of about 40 minutes - took about three millennium. I was hot, sweaty and clammy. And it had nothing to do with the weather. I knocked on her front door, we said our hellos, and we headed to the pub. Just in time for it to open.

We then sat in the pub garden for three hours, talking, comparing notes, admitting that, yes, we did in fact have feelings for one another, and that, yes, there was something there.

We left the pub holding hands.

And I had received a sun burnt face. And had a girlfriend.

The rest, as they say, is history. Twenty Six years after meeting that little blonde girl, I married her, and can now officially call "The Girl Next Door" "My Wife"

XIV.VI.MMXIII

So... Wow... I'm married. Properly, honest-to-goodness, didn't-have-to-bribe-nor-threaten-someone, properly married.

To say the words "Thank You" to everyone that came along for the day and the evening seems do it a complete injustice, but honestly, from the bottom of my heart: Thank You. Truly.

Contrary to popular belief regarding weddings and the drama that is present at them, everything - every single thing - went perfectly, according to plan, and like clockwork. Sure, Kellie looked like she was about to burst into tears and/or puke/pass out, but she didn't.

Barely.

The morning kicked off after a completely pointless night of "sleep" and I ended up just getting up at 6am. Had to leave at ten, so no point in getting suited up till at least half nine... And thus commenced the longest morning in history.

In. History.

Every time I checked the clock, thinking "Must be time now, its easily been half an hour!" it had been about four seconds since the last time I looked.

James turned up to help out (because I knew I'd need help getting dressed!) so we stood around - him in a suit, be in a towel - chatting, drinking coffee, eating bacon sandwiches, waiting for the morning to piss off.

Finally, half nine rolled around, and because I'd been waiting all morning to shout it, I ran around screaming "SUIT UP!" much like Barney from How I Met Your Mother.

Simple things...

With one minor wardrobe malfunction, in that Jaysens shoes didn't fit, we were sorted, ready and out the door.

Looking damn fine, I might add...

The Studly Groom

Team Dan, aka, The Dream Team

And thus proceeded the longest journey in the history of journeys... Now, Brentwood is not THAT far from home, but it would appear some little f$cker was changing every traffic light to red, putting traffic on every roundabout, and plopping every member of the International Drive Like A Snail Car Club directly in front of us. One dick in a blue car decided to do HALF the speed limit. FIFTEEN miles per hour!

I didn't burst too many blood vessels on the way, but I may have been screaming at the driver. And noticing how many old ladies were waiting for buses.

We arrived, and to prove how damn STUDLY I am, I will add the following. The following is NOT made up, AND I had many witnesses!

We headed into the Registry Office, just to make sure everything was OK, discovered the wedding before ours was LATE (Grrr!) and as we were leaving, someone in the office said "See you in there soon!" to which I made a comment along the lines of "Assuming my bride turns up!"

Three women in the office laughed and replied:

Woman #1: If she doesn't, I'll marry you!
Woman #2: No, I will!
Woman #3: No, I WILL!

Propositioned thirty minutes before getting married? Huzzah!

And so, we waited. Guests started to arrive, the four-person wedding before ours rushed in fifteen minutes late, and we stood around, twiddling our thumbs. Kellie and her procession were due to rock up at quarter to eleven.

A time that came, and went. Ten to eleven went. Five to eleven went. The previous four-person wedding rushed out. Eleven, time for me to get married, but there was no bride. The registrar called us in. No bride. I went inside with a couple of others, and as I stepped into the building, I head someone call out "Sheeeee's heeeeeeeere!"

OK, it may not have been in that voice, but you get the point. She was late. Shocking. Brides Prerogative, I'm told.

We finalised our paperwork, paid our fee, and had everyone filter into the chambers. Everyone in, I rocked in with a face that I could feel was split with a stupid grin. If I could have bottled the feeling I was feeling, I could cure global depression in an instant. Euphoric. Ecstatic. Over-The-Moon.

And so I stood, waiting. "Please Rise for the Bride" came the voice, and in she stepped.

Kellie leaving the hotel

 Holy. F$cking. Shit.

She looked so gorgeous. Her dress - that she had had made specially - was black and white, and proper medieval-style dress. The bridesmaids - Molly, Tamsyn, Amy and Zoe - all looked gorgeous, but my eyes were fixed on Kellie.

Kellie, I should add, who was on the verge of a panic attack. Her hands were cold, her breathing was coming short and quickly (which, I should add, made her boobies bounce), and her eyes were on the verge of bursting into tears.

Reassuring hand squeeze, smile and wink.

I was worried I was going to be the wreck, but seeing her like it, I calmed instantly and just wanted her to breath and relax.

The Registrar had to ask, legally, if any person here has a reason why we should not be married... I had to turn. I had to look. So many times, over the years, I've threatened to stand up at other peoples weddings, and in the run up to ours, everyone was threatening the very same thing. There was much chuckling, several people gave nervous coughs, but no one was brave enough to face the wrath of the Bride ;)

We gave our declarations. We exchanged rings. We gave our vows. I didn't f$ck up at all. Kellies voice was threatening to burst into tears at any moment, but she got through it.

"I now pronounce you man and wife"

Cue much applause. Cue Kellie squeezing my hand as we kissed. Cue this idiot to turn around and throw his fists into the air in a victory cheer!

What can I say, I was so so happy!

We then had to sign the register, with our much-practiced-over-the-last-few-weeks signatures, and then we had a breather as our wedding certificate was signed.

Signing the Register

Cue me, whipping out my phone to take a photo of the Grooms Eye View. I HAD to upload a photo, I HAD to share with the world that we were, in fact, married.

Friends and Family (couldn't get the whole room in!)

The registrar even tried to get me to put it away, but not till I hit upload!

Out we went, into the daylight. I should add at this point, 6am was brilliantly sunny. 9am it went very grey. 1030am it was overcast, windy and threatening to piss down. By 1130am, the sun was back out!

We stood around outside being congratulated, showing off our rings, thanking everyone, calming Kellie down, posing a bit... Sarah - our exceedingly-brilliant photographer for the day - then led us across to Brentwood Common, which is very green, very picturesque and even had ducks!

The next hour was spent getting different groups of people together for pictures. After they were all done, we got rid of the entire guest list, and sent them off to the restaurant, while Sarah took pictures of us together.

After that, we got in our very nice car and headed to the restaurant together, spending the first time together since the day before.

Man & Wife

Once at the restaurant, we mingled, schmoozed, had some drinks (pushing the boat out with Diet Coke!) and chatted to everyone. Some more pictures were taken, but we had to be social, pose some more for people again, let the kids (of which, an army was present!) chill out a bit before the meal, and generally let the anxiety drain away a bit.

The George & Dragon in Mountnessing is a gorgeous restaurant, and the staff could not have been more helpful. They were brilliant and accommodating and we cannot say thank you enough. Our guests were ushered in and seated, then we went in (to applause again I think!) and sat while starters were sorted. There was much chatter, much socialising and getting along. It was so nice to see our two families and closest friends sitting together and having a good time.

The meal was absolutely gorgeous, and neither Kellie nor I managed to spill any down our fancy clothes. From start to finish, the food was amazing. James was thrust into the limelight when he had to give a toast which was nice, though for an awful minute before he stood up, I thought I was going to have to stand up and say something.

*shudder*

After the meal, we went out into the garden. The sun was shining, the kids were bored, so fresh air and more photos were just the ticket. Sarah had us all posing, standing around looking cool and even pulling faces at one another. Again - she was brilliant. We cannot wait to see the photos.

We spent the entire afternoon at the George & Dragon, and at about five, everyone bar us and Sarah left again and headed to the hall for the reception. We then sat and had a drink together, enjoying the peace and quiet of rural Essex, just chatting and chilling out while waiting half an hour for our car to arrive. We chatting, discussed the day so far, and generally took a breather.

Once the car arrived, we finished our drinks, and were whisked off to the leisure centre in Pitsea for the Paaaaar-teeeeeeee!

Upon arriving, we were greeted by a small crowd that had already arrived, and looked at the hall that had been decorated before we got there. It looks absolutely amazing and wonderful. There were piles of food, balloons, banners, confetti, and we had our own specially-decorated table with extra balloons and stuff. The guest book was laid out, along with pictures of Bethany, Kellies Nan, and Nan & Grandad, and the DJ was playing background music.

And thus started the evening. Family, Friends, even our old couple living next door came along, kids, new partners... It was brilliant seeing everyone there. The music went up, and people started to dance pretty quickly, drinks were bought, and the evening went perfectly.

We cut the cake, posing for pictures holding a very sharp knife. We had our first dance to Jason Mraz - I Won't Give Up


Which went so well, I should add. We both teared up, and the day became very real in front of all our guests. We held one another close, ignored the world, and just... Danced.

The rest of the evening went by far too quickly. Like the rest of the day, it started, then, suddenly, it was rushing by. We kept stopping to take stock, to live in the moment, to think about what was going on around us, but all too soon, it was time for us to leave.

Reception

We said our goodbyes, had another slow dance, thanked everyone for everything, and the now-officially 0dd Mother-in-Law drove us to the hotel. We said our goodnights, and went to the room.

Which, of course, had been decorated.

By this point, we were both running on fumes. I had to help Kellie out of her dress *nudge-nudge* and she had to help me our of my suit *wink-wink* A quick shower, then we literally fell into bed. Well, after clearing the presents, chocolates and confetti off the bed first.

When I say, we were exhausted, I mean just that. Completely and utterly dead. What a lot of people don't realise, is that that morning, Kellie woke up with a very sore throat, and had spent a lot of the day sucking on throat lozenges. By 1am, her voice was pretty much doing the off, and Saturday morning, she sounded like the Emperor from Star Wars.

All that remained was to take one last picture (minds out the gutter!) and hit the lights...

Exhausted

The day was totally, completely, utterly, one-hundred-and-ten-percent perfect. It was so amazing and wonderful, words really do not do it justice.

To everyone that helped out and did something for us, a huge massive thank you. I am sure I have probably forgotten someone, but it is NOT intentional!

- Kerry, the maid of honour. Thank you so much for doing EVERYTHING for Kellie. I'm sorry that our very secret love affair, involving whispered conversations, late-night text messages, and secret gift-giving, has come to an end. But you did so much for the both of us, thank you.

- James, for being my anchor in amongst all the crazy, for taking me to London to geek out for the day, for your toast, and running me and everyone else around. Can't wait to see the pictures!

- Jaysen & Dominic, for being the best Best Men a Groom could ever ask for!

- Molly, Tamsyn, Amy & Zoe, for being the most beautiful of bridesmaids.

- Toby & Harry, for being the most super-cool Page Boys.

- Diane, the 0dd Mother-in-Law (officially), thank you for being there for us both, during every minute of every hour of every day. For getting the Bridesmaid dresses. For running people around. For keeping Kellie sane.

- Sarah, our photographer, of Prideaux Photography. Thank you for being an extra-special part of our day. You were more a guest than "Just a photographer" and you were totally brilliant. We are so looking forward to getting the pictures, and honestly loved having you with us.

- The staff at The George & Dragon, thank you for catering to such a rowdy bunch, for the amazing food and drink and the brilliant, flexible service.

- My dad, John, for arranging the car and driver for the day. And what a car!

- Sue, Kelly and Hayley, for decorating the hall.

- Gemma, the 0dd Sister, for running me around when needed, for all your help, advice and information you collated for us!

- Grandad Jim, for giving Kellie away.

- Nan Oz, for buying the cake.

- Ed & Les, for letting us use your home like a storage locker!

- The staff at Pitsea Leisure Centre, for a brilliant venue.

- All our guests, for the day and that came to the evening, thank you for celebrating our day with us, and making it absolutely perfect.

- And finally, to Kellie... For being there for me, through everything, suffering through my quirks and nuances, my mood swings, helping me through the days and nights when it's all I can do to get out of bed, for helping me through the times when the pain is winning, for being there, through thick and thin, for being my rock, my love, and most importantly, for being my wife.

Slowing Down...

With the wedding just *hurk* a day and a half away, I am now under orders to slow myself down, to stop "helping" (I use the term helping in the slackest possible sense) and to take it easy.

See, this week has been somewhat manic. Despite all the "big" stuff being sorted, Her Highness is finding little things to do everywhere she looks. The house looks like someone detonated a Wedding Grenade in most of the rooms, and I have it good authority that the 0dd Mother-in-Laws house, Kerrys house and parts of Kerrys parents house look much the same.

And so, with a list longer than my, ah, arm, she's still doing stuff even now - at nearly 10pm - and has a metric arse-load to do tomorrow. MY job list tomorrow consists of "Change Sheets" and "Iron Shirts"

That's. It.

All that remains is to send out a few emails to people with directions to the various places of interest (like the wedding, for example), to assume people that have been sent invites but have NOT returned the RSVP are coming, and to ignore the fact a few people surprising members of the guest list have decided to cancel.

I'm not naming names, but I am sure you will find out soon enough once you arrive.

As it stands at this moment, I am exhausted. Properly, physically and mentally drained. So bad is my head today that - as my status update alluded to - I completely and utterly forgot my computer password, and had to *cough* circumvent it.

And here's the rub with being me. I want to be running around, helping, doing stuff, arranging things, lugging things around with Kellie... But the simple act of carrying my suit around town yesterday lunchtime killed me. I had a crappy night of sleep last night due to being in lotsnlots of pain, and today has been a properly knackered-out day.

I know I am not alone. I know of other CFS/ME sufferers that have done the same thing and gone through the wedding... And it didn't beat them, so I am sure as hell not letting it beat me. I just need to do nothing for the next 30 hours and I should be good to go.

I'm not entirely sure I'll be up to much cop Saturday, but I'll do my best.

Who knows, I MIGHT manage a cheeky "Holy Shit, I'm standing at the Altar!" blogpost on Friday morning, but we'll see.

No, I am not nervous. No, I am not worried. No, I am not having second thoughts. Anything that is not finalised by this time tomorrow, we will do without it.

It'll be a perfect day regardless of things missing, things not being quite right, and certain people not showing up.

And I refuse to do it again!

The Things She Says #15

I will admit from the start, this is not so much as a "Things She Says" but it is kinda close... Think of it more "Things She Does" this time around...

But I digress.

Kellie is currently at work, and I have just phoned her to have a chat, see how her day is going and suchlike. She's tired, aching and generally running on fumes.

Me: Is it busy in the office?
Kellie: A bit, but I'm going through my re...*muffled voice* *SLAP* Ow Fu... *Line Goes Dead*

Not entirely certain what is going on, I ring her back, and she answers the phone giggling.

Me: You OK gorgeous? There was a strange noise, you started to swear, and the phone cut out...?
Kellie: Yeah I'm OK, I went to change ears with the phone, and slapped myself in the face instead, which hit the End Call button...

Yes, I am marrying this thing a week tomorrow...

Out With The Old

Before

After

A New Me!

The End

I'm afraid it has run its course, you and I. I can't say when it started to go downhill, but for at least a year, you and I haven't been on the best of terms... Let's be honest, we've been getting on each others nerves for a while now.

I know I am controlling, and try to put you in your place constantly, but even when I do it carefully, you still decide to break free, do your own thing, regardless of where we are, who we are with or what we are doing.

If I am honest, you've changed, a lot. You have really let yourself go, and it's not just me that has noticed it, others have pointed it out to me too. I tell them I know, and that I'm going to do something about it, but I never do.

And that's why, it's over. Done. Finished.

The last straw came when we were in bed a while back. I was tired, in pain, couldn't get comfortable, and I'm still not sure how you managed it, but you ended up trapping me where I lay. I had to wiggle free carefully, hurting myself in the process, and THEN had to untie myself from the headboard.

That was the last straw. It really was.

I know once you realise it's over, you will just accept it, but I do still love you - you've just outgrown me. I know that in time, someone else will love you - they will love you so much MORE than I ever could. To me, I suppose you were just an accessory... To someone new, you will be a new lease of life.

That's what I am aiming for, to make you more useful for another.

To that end, in a few short hours, you'll be gone. We'll both be different, I am sure of it, but it's for the best.

I'm sure the hairdresser will remove you very carefully, and then we will send you off to become wigs for children undergoing chemotherapy. The money I've raised having you cut off will go towards beating cancer, and saving the lives of children at the Evelina Children's Hospital.

And I will have short hair again.

Goodbye, my long hair, it's been fun - but I won't miss finding you in dinner. In the bed. In the hoover. On the side. Bloody everywhere, in fact!

I am over the moon that, including Gift Aid, I've raised over £1000 for ECHO and Cancer Research UK.

CLICK TO DONATE!

Yes, you can still donate, the page is still active, and there will be plenty of pictures. A massively huge huge thank you to everyone that has donated, shared, retweeted, and given me support. Yes, I'm going to miss my hair, but it is past the point I can cope with it. Kellie has to brush it for me most days, and it just pisses me off at times. It doesn't matter how tightly I tie it back, it just goes made and I end up looking like a mad professor.

Not that my hair will improve my looks, but you get the idea.

So, I've just washed it for the last time ever. I HATE washing it too - I have to brush it, use a shit-ton of shampoo on it, then spend ages rinsing it, then after a shower it takes all fricking day to dry... And it's always bloody knotted too.

I last had a hair cut at the end of January 2005, just before Bethany went into hospital for the last time. After I lost her, I decided there and then to remove my goatee (she HATED it!) and to not cut my hair again. But I believe that now, cutting it, I can give a little something back to the hospital that cared for her brilliantly, give back to the charity that helped me understand her neuroblastoma, and even by donating the hair, give children that need wigs a new lease of life. I don't feel bad that I am cutting it off... I am certain should would most definitely approve of my methods in fact.

So here's to today, by doing one simple act, with a little bit of sacrifice on my part, I can help so many people. Which was always Bethys legacy - she bought so many people together.

I See You Baby, and know you approve.

Chaos in the House

You will be forgiven for thinking that when it comes to Chez 0ddness, Chaos is a given; part of the wood-work, part of daily life, part of the very fabric of the home.

You'd be wrong.

See, there is chaos-chaos, and there is Chaos. Obviously, I am talking of the latter. Chaos-Chaos is kids, pets, woman, housework and general shenanigans. Chaos, however, is when there are strangers in the house, power tools in the house, building, repairs and bomb-hit-it-appearances that cause me to stress out.

First off, as the wise man Hubert Farnsworth once said will say - Good News Everyone! After over seven years, we have a fence! When it first went plooey, I started chasing for it to be repaired, then it got worse, and I had to chase for it to be replaced. I was fobbed off, jerked around, lied to and generally messed around. I gave up after a while, chasing it every now and then until late last year when I finally snapped - and sent a properly shitty email to them.

Within a week, I had a case worker who was very interested in not only the fence, but any and all issues I had with the home. So I asked her for a week, and at the end of that week, she was presented with a laundry-list of every little issue I had with the place. Cracks here, peeling stuff there, missing that, broken that, and so on...

And to her credit, she did not once tell me where to stick it. She went through it all item by item, and over the last six weeks or so, I've had a bloke turning up, fixing something, buggering off, then coming back a week later, fixing something else... Over and over.

But finally, the two bigger items... The Garden Fence, and the Downstairs Banisters.

Now, as I write this, the banisters are still a work in progress - I am sitting here writing this blog post in an attempt to distract me from the sheer volumes of stress going on behind me.

The fencing, however... The fencing is done. I was so excited that it was getting done, and the weather has been so nice this week, I didn't take into account what makes Britain so... British.

The rain.

Last night, it started to rain, and carried on and off through the night, and was pissing down this morning when the contractors arrived. I have no rear access to the house, so they had to take everything they needed through the house, and were in and out as they progressed through the building. Each trip delivering more and more mud, clay, gravel and dust onto the floor. The first two hours saw the dust sheets soaked through and sort of pointless.

By about 1pm, they were done...

From this:

Guys on site

To this:

Finally, privacy! Kellie I can now sunbathe topless!

Of course, the downside to this is the mud and crap throughout the downstairs...

This is currently the state of my downstairs hallway/back room. Made worse now, by the added layer of several inches of sawdust.

And I kid you not about the sawdust. When he first started cutting up wood - on the middle-floor hallway with open banisters - it started to snow through the banisters and downstairs. And now, he's cutting wood downstairs as well...

That is just the start of Sawdust Hell 2013... It's even worse downstairs.

Of course, with all this sawdust, plus the carpenter in and out to the van still, I can't sweep/hoover/mop the downstairs. For one, he's still making more sawdust. For two, it'll just stick to the wet floor anyway. So I have to wait until he's done. Until then, he's still using his circular saw, hammer, power drill, hammering more...

It's going to take Kellie me hours to clean this mess up.

And now - the kids have started coming home.

Whoever You May Be...

OK folks, as I mentioned on Facebook today, someone, somewhere, seems to have it in for Kellie and I.

This morning, we got a letter from the Department for Work & Pensions (DWP) stating that as we had had a new baby, please fill in this shit-ton of forms and paperwork as it will affect my money.

So I looked it it, and looked at Kellie, and looked back at it, and thought "B-huh?" followed, a few moments later by me vocalising the very same "B-huh?"

Kellie, however, was not quite so literate...

So, I decide that instead of jumping through the hoops presented, I called the DWP and after seven minutes of "Press 1 for this department, please enter this information, please create a pin..." and so on and so on, and then another seven minutes on hold, I finally reach a human being!

After explaining to her what we've received, so has a lookie-poke through all the information, and low-and-behold, they have "received information" that we've recently had a baby.

"B-huh?" I start to say, before composing myself. "Errrrr -" much more articulate "-we haven't." Straight to the point, me.

She digs a big deeper, carries on looking, and all she can tell me is that they've received information from "somewhere" that we have had a baby, but not told them.

Which is strange, because by not telling them we've (apparently) had a baby, we're actually shooting ourselves in the foot and losing out on money.

So she takes my information (again) and fires off an urgent email to the actual Incapacity Department to get them to contact me, and to hold off on the forms as "hopefully it can be sorted over the phone"

Wonders of wonders, same day, I get a call back, and the very nice lady gets me to confirm who I am (answering my own phone!) and explains to me that they have received an "Anonymous tip" that we have had a baby.

Which, roughly translated, means "Someone is trying to cause us problems and mess with my money by reporting us for things we haven't done."

I should hasten to add, this is NOT the first time either. When Kellie first moved in, someone "advised" the DWP that Kellie was working FULL time, and not PART time, and that we were not declaring earnings.

The end result of this is that my claim is now marked as "receiving malicious third-party tips"

Which brings me to the closing point. Whoever you are that is making these "claims" against me, you're clearly not a very bright soul... At least make up shit that would mean we would be getting MORE money, not less. And if you've got some sort of issue with Kellie and myself, be a grown up, eh? At least be a big boy/girl and confront me directly instead of being pathetic.

Liam Neeson sums it up perfectly:

Oh, and I still have to complete 22 pages of f$cking forms! On the plus side, I could end up with MORE money a week - granted, it'll be less than twenty quid - but by being a twat, you may well have granted us more money!

The Big Hair Cut!

OK, it's been thrown around over and over, but finally, it's time. I'm going to do it, and I'm going to jump straight in.

On or around the 1st of June, my hair WILL be cut.

And I WILL be raising money for both the Guys Hospital charity (ECHO: Evelina Childrens Heart Organisation) and for Cancer Research UK. To this end, I have set up a Virgin Money Giving account which allows me to split the total to the different charities. It also allows people overseas to donate as well, and considering how many people said they would love to donate from the States, so much the better.

You can find the donation page by clicking This Link.

Now, I was quite surprised that within fifteen minutes, a small handful of people donated nearly £100... Surprised, and happy, and astounded. Hopefully a similar momentum will carry on, and I will get a massive amount of money donated to two absolutely brilliant charities.

All I need now is the help of you, dear reader. Firstly, I would love for you to be able to donate, any amount, small or large - it all helps, and all makes a difference. Even if you can't donate, then please please share my Virgin Money Giving page with everyone you know - share on Facebook, send to your Twitter followers, publish to your Google+ Circles - however you want to do it, please drum up as much support for me as you can!

I have a little under seven weeks to raise as much money as I can, and to do so, I will need your help. It's not often that I ask for the help of others, but I'm sure you will agree, this is very much worth it!

DIY (Destroy-It-Yourself)

Despite what you may think, I am not entirely perfect. Here and now, I am happy to admit that yes, I do have the occasional thought. And, contrary to popular belief, I do not know "everything" despite being able to come up with a smart-arse answer to most questions.

I am flawed. It's true. But I accept my flaws, and it makes me a better person.

One such "flaw" is my DIY skills. Over here in Sunny Basildonia, DIY stands for Do-It-Yourself. Those of you across the pond refer to it as Home Improvements. The rest of you, I have no clue (see, admitting a gap in knowledge=brilliance!)

Now, don't get me wrong, it's not that I am bad at ALL things DIY, but I lack the skills, and therefore I lack the confidence. Years ago, I managed to completely re-tile the bathroom and entire toilet, with zero skills or knowledge... And those tiles never came down, cracked, or needed repairs. By the same token, the re-tiling that was done in the bathroom a couple of years back by a professional - half a dozen tiles are currently coming away from the wall.

Give me a computer, and I'm all over it. I know what it all does, I know how to replace or repair most parts, and generally, I can get a dead machine back up and running in no time. Flat-Pack-Easy-To-Assemble furniture I can handle too. While most people struggle with the diagrams and which thingie is Part A, and where the hell Slot C is, I can read through it, sort the bits out, and build the furniture.

What I also lack when it comes to DIY, are the correct tools. For many years, my toolbox consisted of some metal things, a half-dozen screwdrivers, a saw, a drill and a hammer. It took me YEARS to realise that there were different types of drill bit, for example. I was certain I had some sort of super-coated dense wall in my house, after melting several bits. Turns out, I was trying to drill into the wall with wood-bits...

And once I DID have the correct drill bits, putting up shelving by eye, and NOT with a spirit level is, for the most part, just another way of putting up wonky shelving.

Trust me, I know.

So imagine the mixture of both glee and horror when our trusty electric shower conked out on Sunday. Years ago, once all the pipes and electrics were run, I installed it, and over the years, when it's died, I've managed to service it myself and get it back up and running.

However, Sundays death was permanent. Something technical had died, and while I COULD have bought the part I suspected it was, it would have meant ordering it online, waiting for it to be delivered, un-soldering the dead bit, re-soldering the new bit, and hoping it was that part in the first place.

So, Kellie decided we needed a new shower rather sharpish - especially as yours truly cannot get into, and out of, a bath. I HATE baths too. They make me feel useless, so, new shower it was. Kellie had a hunt online, found the one she liked the look of, and I went off to collect it.

Bus to town, bus to retail park, buying the shower, bus to town, bus home. Two hours. Yes, as usual, the buses around here are atrociously shite.

First things first, will the shower fit? So, I took my ruler (and not because I don't own a tape measure, but I couldn't find the stupid thing anywhere!) and checked. Yep, it will fit in the existing place. Next, check the electrics and plumbing. Yep, while the pipe elbow needed rotating, everything else was fine. So, dead-shower removal.

Off came the wall screws. Out came the electrics. Before removing the plumbing, turn the shower water supply off, and... No, back up... Turning the stopcock off, something odd happened. A slight grinding noise came from within, followed by the tap itself popping out half an inch and spraying a fine mist of water over me and the floor. Regardless of which direction I turned it, water was leaking from within. So, in a last ditch effort to stop the external flow of water, I smacked it inwards. It didn't completely stop, but was obviously broken.

Bucket under the leak, emergency plumber called. This is at about half three, and I was told he could be with me any time before... TEN P.M!

So I sat and waited. And sulked. And re-read the installation instructions for the shower. And sulked. While it wasn't my fault, it was just typical... Thankfully, at just after five, the plumber turned up.

I've had the pleasure of this chap before - he was here a couple of weeks back fixing another unrelated leak in the house, and he was miserable... Doesn't like being on his knees, doesn't like having to move stuff out the way, doesn't like working in tight places... Honestly, if you don't like those jobs, you're in the wrong profession mate.

This time was no different. Apparently, I had reported the job wrong. While I reported it as "stopcock not shutting off and leaking" and they sent it to him as "stopcock seized up and leaking" what it ACTUALLY was was "Gate Valve damaged and leaking"

Yes, because I know the difference between a stopcock and a gate valve.

He was very unimpressed, because he didn't know if he had a spare gate valve, had it been reported correctly, he could have stopped off on route and grabbed one, even though he was on his way home from Harlow, and had had a bad day, and just wanted it to be over...

Carry on at me mate, I'll make sure your day ends sooner than you'd like...

Luckily (for him) he DID have a new gate valve on the van, but now he was pissed off because the chaps that had done the bathroom refit and tiled over the joints he needed access to. So out came a hammer and chisel, and after a few minutes of banging, my bathroom sported a nice new hole in the wall. He carried on huffing and puffing and sorting out the thingie until, finally, it was finished.

To rub salt in his moody wound, I pointed out that, while he was here, I also had another leak (yes, another) in the toilet... Every time the toilet was flushed, a little trickle ran out the cistern and onto the floor. He started saying that it wasn't on his job sheet, but I said if he couldn't do it, I would just call up the repairs line and report it after he left... He knew full well that if I did that, the nearest plumber would be routed BACK to my house... Guess who the nearest plumber would be!

Lucky for, er, him I suppose, it was an easy fix... Adjusted something and tightened something else, and voila! No more leak. He even cleaned up the mess in the bathroom perfectly. Signed his sheet, and off he went!

With the water now off, I set to removing the shower, and after a bit of straining and struggling, it came free. Hallelujah!

Now for the sizing up of the new one, right size, right shape, electrics fit properly, water inlet was in the right place... But... er... The OLD shower had a nut the screwed onto the pipe fitting. The new shower, however, did not. Re-checked the installation instructions, and it read something about using compression fittings on the inlet.

Here is where my Non-DIY brain fired up. While I understand what "compression" means, I didn't have the foggiest what one was. And since I don't generally keep plumbing supplies in the house (shockingly) it meant I had to get one. And the nearest DIY shop?

A few doors down from where I got the shower.

Yes, I am swearing at this point.

So now, at six in the evening, I have to go back out, bus to town, bus to retail park, and go into B&Q. I go to the plumbing section, and start hunting for what I need. However, "what I need" in Dan-Terms, and "what I need" in Plumbing Terms are, more than likely, two very different things. In my pocket, I have the old elbow joint, it's connector, the shower installation manual, and a series of photos on my phone.

What do I need? I my terms, I need a right-angled pipe, with a screw fitting on one end to attach to the wall-pipe, and a compression fitting on the other end to attach to the shower.

Of course, nothing is labelled like that. So I ask one of the chaps in orange aprons to help me out. And I explain it to him in Dan Terms, with the visual aids of instructions, copper pipe in my pocket, and a slide show presentation.

"You need a standard compression elbow joint like this -" he doesn't even look, just reaches out and picks up the thing I am stood beside "- and just take off the nut and olive from the end you're connecting to the wall, and go from there."

Olive?!

"OK, thank you very much!" and off I trundle with my new piece of pipe work, which a WHOLE £1.50, and head back to the bus stop, frantically Googling "What is a plumbing olive"

Bus to town, bus back home, and finally, at about half seven, I am ready to go. I measure up, I drill holes, I run wires, I remove the olive and nut, connect the elbow to the wall, connect the shower to the pipes with the compression joint, screw it all into place, and turn the water back on.

No leaks.

I rush down stairs, reconnect the shower isolation.

No emergency shutdown.

I head back up, turn on the isolation switch.

No blackout.

I make sure the dials and stuff are all aligned, put the cover on, connect the hose, and set to filling and commissioning the shower.

Water flows. Water heats and cools according to the dial. The pressure is perfect.

Ladies and gentlemen, at approximately 8pm last night, I had a fully functional shower, that I installed, without ANY help from anyone! Had the stop cock... Sorry, gate valve, not broken, and had I owned a compression joint, the job would have taken me no less than 90 minutes. However, due to the stop cock - sorry, sorry, gate valve - waiting on a plumber, and having to go out and get the right part, it took nearly seven hours.

In either case, it's a win for me! And, they say you learn from your mistakes.

• I learned that trying to travel anywhere in Basildon on First Buses takes as long as getting a coach into central London. During Rush Hour.
• I learned how to be a really effective plumber.
• I learned the difference between a Gate Valve and a Stop Cock.
• I learned how to bash a hole into someones tiled wall.
• I learned what a Plumbing Olive is.
• I learned how to fit a Compression Joint.

And yes, I did get in the shower as soon as it was done. And yes it was glorious.