Is This Thing On?

So, turns out poor old 0ddness has been a bit neglected of late. A lot late. But, with yesterday being a momentous occasion, I figured I would appear out of lurkdom and grace you with my presence.

Yes, I still think a lot of myself. Go figure.

(FYI: Long Post Klaxon!)

Firstly, I was indeed 41 years old yesterday. Of course, I didn't realise it was my birthday this weekend until Wednesday when someone asked me which day it was. And when asked how old I was, I had to pause, and do some pretty complicated mathematics in my head to work it out.

So, with the freshest thing first, I'll start with yesterday - in which I became older, no wiser, sexy as ever, and generally continued to grace the world with my presence. As mentioned already. As is usual, I don't make a big deal of my birthday - I'm not into the whole party-hearty because I managed to not die for another year. Yesterday was nice and quiet and chilled out. My gift from Poppy was me tripping over her potty, and splashing pee all up my leg, so that was nice. And warm.

In August, I finally bit the bullet and started looking for a new doggo. Since I lost Sally Dog, I wanted something small and stupid with a wanky obnoxious name - but have been putting it off and putting it off. First we needed somewhere bigger. Then we needed money. Then with Poppy, we needed her to be less... Baby. So, last month, Kellie made some phone calls (and aside from avoiding a rather dodgy situation with what later turned out to be some travellers and puppy farming!) she found a lady with a couple of Jack Russell puppies. We travelled over to see them, a boy and a girl, and set to having a play.

The little girl - as a typical female - was probably just having an off day, and didn't seem bothered by us. The little boy was an idiot, wanted to lick my chin and eat my stubble, and seemed to like having cuddles. He also like being near Poppy (kind of important with THAT force of nature) and on top of that, didn't growl at Kellie - so he can't sense evil.

We took him home there and then, and since then, the little idiot has been charging around like a mad thing. Naming took a couple of days (He was just "dog" to start with!) and we toyed with everything from Dave to Kujo to Jeff to Gobshite... Eventually, however, remembering a dog my Great Uncle had maaaaany years ago, we opted for Lord Montgomery II. Granted, we call him Monty, but everywhere he's registered, the vets, his microchip, his insurance, his name tag - he is Lord Montgomery. Which the vets find hilarious.

He's such an idiot. No sense of how small he is, can't navigate a series of three steps without tripping over at least one of them, can go through a baby gate in one direction, but cannot work out how to come back through... He tries to leap up onto the sofa - but takes off about three feet too soon, so generally hits the front of the sofa face first. As I write this, he is snuggled against me, on my lap. Oh yes, he's a lap dog.

Him and Poppy get on like, well, a toddler and a puppy. I should sell the idea to Disney for their next Princess. A noisy troublemaker and a puppy, systematically destroying everything they go near - but everyone still loves them. For some reason.

Anyway... With Monty being my early birthday present, I didn't expect to get presents yesterday, but low and behold, a large box was produced. I was genuinely not expecting anything, so to unwrap it and find a brand new spanking shiny gaming laptop inside, I was shocked into speechlessness. I expected it to be a box with a brick in it. Or something explosive. Or divorce papers.

You see, last year, I made the transition from a PC Gamer to a PS4 Gamer. The PS4 was my birthday present last year. My old Aspire laptop - while still able to run a lot of things - was getting a bit rickety. It survived the Great Kicking of Kellie in 2012, it was resurrected after the Dropping Off Of Screen in 2013, and even last year, it survived the Great Coffee Flood...

The Second Great Coffee Flood, however, proved to be it's undoing. All seemed well for a week or so, then, in the immortal words of the great Nanny Plum, it went BANG. Literally, BANG. Complete with the Blue/Grey Smoke Of Electronics Doom.

I have no idea what died, though I suspect either the power gubbins or the processor, but it was Dee Eee Dee Dead. And that, I am afraid to say, was that for the laptop. Within a fortnight, my old wheezy Medion PC System also gave up the ghost, and has since been sitting on my desk staring at me like a corpse glaring at its murderer.

But now, I am back in the world of the living. I am still a PS4 Gamer, but am also once again a PC Gamer. And, MOST importantly, I can now get many many Gigabytes of data retrieved from my old systems. See, having no computer to speak of meant the laptop and the PC have been sitting there rotting, their four hard drives holding tightly onto lots and lots of photos from over the years - including a multitude of Bethy pictures.

Thankfully, after doing the Medion hard drives, all the photos from the last ten years or so are safe and sound and YES I've already backed it all up. Thank you Google Drive & Photos. Of course, the anally-retentive Dan has spent the last three days sorting the photos and putting them into the correct Month & Year folders... Because why wouldn't you?!

I've not had a look at my laptop drives yet - I have to confess, I am a little nervous to do so, mainly because of the spectacular way it exited the mortal coil... As long as there was no surge in electrickery or, you know, fire, I think they should be good.

So, moving on from the most important thing (Yes, still me), I move on to the wee little troll that is Poppy.

She is growing like a weed. All the new stuff we got her for the summer is already looking a bit little on her. Not that it matters too much, as she is currently going through her "Nekkid Toddler" phase and hates to wear clothing. And runs around without a care in the world. She looks so much like Bethany some days,it pulls at my heart strings, and she is SO much like her, from the trouble making, to the putting herself on the naughty step after intentionally doing wrong, to hiding her dummies, so when you take it away from her, another one appears out of nowhere! She is gorgeous, funny, stubborn and bright as a button.

She's now entitled to her 15 hours a week of nursery, and so - realising both how fast she's growing and how little she is, she started three mornings a week at a little nursery near us. At first, she was, shall we say.... Less than impressed... She's never really been away from Mummy or Daddy or Siblings or Nanny - and the first few weeks she did to get used to it in August... They did NOT go well. But with the girls at nursery helping out, we persevered, and now she hates NOT going to school. She's still doing exactly what Tamsyn did was she was small and lovely, and refuses to speak except in her own language. Since starting nursery, she is coming on more and more.

For those of you that don't follow me on Twitter or Facebook or whatever, she also had her first proper injury in the summer - she gashed open her forehead beside her eyebrow. Typical guilty daddy moment, I looked away from her for a few seconds, and down she went. Because she was wet, the blood went EVERY-fooking-WHERE and she looked like Carrie. It was awful. It was touch and go for a while if she'd need referring to another hospital for the plastics team that rebuilt Jaysens hand as it was so close to her eye, but in the end, it was nice and clean and not too deep. Steri-Strips and TLC, and she now has a scar above her left eyebrow, but with copious usage of Bio-Oil, I'm hoping that it fades more and more over time.

As I mentioned earlier, she and the dog love each other, and are generally always running around together. Where one goes, the other follows. If she curls up for a nap somewhere, he usually curls up with her too, and it is exactly what we wanted - for them to grow up together and be best friends. They play with each others toys, play with each other, and literally bounce off one another. Until they both flake out and have a nap...

And it's at times like that, the rest of us can sit for half an hour, have a breather, drink some coffee, clear up the chaos, and wait for it to start all over again - because when one wakes up, the other wakes up.

As for the other morons children in the house - well, I say children... Dom is 19, has moved on from being one of the managers at McDonalds, and now works at some big financial place doing something... Financial. Jaysen is 18 (19 in a few months even!), still in college studying something with animals, while working at the Dogs Trust a couple of times a week - and now he's considering University. Molly is 15 and in her last year of school, getting ready for her GCSEs. Tamsyn is 12 (but seems older?) and is shooting up like a bloody weed as well. Both Molly & Tamsyn go to Army Cadets twice a week, and it's definitely doing them both the world of good.

Jaysen: Being Special

Molly: Probably Sulking

Poppys Other Great Passion: Water!

Tamsyn: Not Actually My Son

My Classy Kellie

NERDS

Lucina (Doms better half), Molly (doing something with her fingers),
Kellie (squashed), Tamsyn (still a girl) and Poppy (trying to escape)

Tam & Mo with their detachment (Armed Forces Day)

Now, oddly, I cannot find any photos of Dominic that fulfil the following criteria. Firstly, I wanted a recent photo, and secondly, I wanted it to be of him fully dressed and not on the toilet. As it seems all the photos I have of him seem to be in his pants or on the loo, here's the next closest thing.

Dominic: Needs a Haircut

And so, after what can only be described as a wall of text and random photos (and a cauliflower) I will leave it at that... I can cover my medical rubbish any other time - probably at three in the morning when I feel shite, and all of Kellies medical rubbish is a blog post unto itself.

And yes, I am fully aware that while blogging has never been considered "cool", I still prefer it to most other forms of Social Media. And, while on THAT subject - while I might have things appear on Facebook, I do not actively go on there, and have not done so for a long time. Too much drama, bitching, politics, and what seems to be playground behaviour - so I continue to avoid that. I use Twitter now and then, and post pictures to Instagram occasionally. I am hoping - though I'm not making any promises - that now I am back with a screen and a keyboard and no danger of autocorrect, that I will manage to blog a little more regularly. Aside from that, if you play on PS4, feel free to add me - username is Danielson0

Until next time, you little crowd of nutters that made it this far!

Damn Kids!

So, our lovely break to the beautiful Dartmoor has taken a small turn for the idiotic, thanks to the presence of - none other than - Jaysen.

Today, we decided to go for a nice long walk onto the moors. It was beautiful. So gorgeous, picturesque... We made out way uphill a fair distance, looking at the scenery, the plant life, the wild horses (much to Kellie - the horseophobe - delight) and the exposed rock formations.

It was at here we stopped for a break, taking in the views, looking at the rock formations that it happened. Jaysen decided to move uphill a little more but being that he's a dick head, he slipped, and landed knee-first onto a rock from the aforementioned rock formation.

He was hurt, definitely in lots of pain, and while checking him, Dom and I noticed the dark stain spreading on his jeans.

Seeing as we were damp, his trouser leg wouldn't roll up, so we had to wrap a coat around him and pull down his jeans.

Where we saw this;



Ouch.

So, time for outdoor first aid. We didn't have bandages or tissues, so Molly volunteered her tee shirt. A minute later, she's nekkid under her coat, and we're tearing up the material to wrap up the leg.

Thankfully he was able to walk on it, so we wandered back at knob-head-son speed. Kellie called James, who was working at the pub, to let him know. Luckily, his boss is a trained first aider, and they always have injured walkers in there, so that's where we headed.

Sandra (the boss) sat him down, we pulled off his jeans in the pub (sexy) and she set about cleaning it, putting butterfly stitches across it and wrapping it. We've got to keep an eye on it just in case, and he's now sat with his leg up.

So here we are, day two of our nice relaxing break. All fun.

Damn Kids!

Drink & Drugs

Since my doctor started me on the buprenorphine painkiller patches, I've been a good boy. Not only did he tell me "You really must not drink while using these", not only did the sheets of information state in bold "Do NOT drink alcohol while using BuTrans patches", but also, every information website about them clearly states "Do not drink alcohol while using this product"

OK OK, I get it. Don't drink.

Not that I was a regular drinker anyway, mind you, but when I did drink, I could drink a lot and be fine and dandy. So, new meds, no-drinky.

However...

Last night, me and the girls (Kellie, Mo & Tam) decided to go out for a meal. The boys were off gallivanting with their respective friends, so we thought "Sod it" and off we went.

And it was lovely, the food was great, the atmosphere was great, the company was... OK, the company was two girls that don't shut up, so Kellie and I couldn't really talk together much, but it was lovely all the same.

Around came the dessert menu, and for some reason, I really really really fancied a Baileys Latte. I've not had any alcohol for... Three? Four months? It's been an especially shittycrappyarsehole of a week, and I figured, it's ONE drink. So I had a my latte, Kellie had a Tia Maria coffee.

Not long after drinking it, I felt a bit... How to describe it...

Woooooooooooo!

Yep, that is the closest I can come. Things were weird, and wobbly, and swaying. I stumbled and staggered to the loo so I could have a wee, came back to the table, and then...

Er...

It's 4am. I'm in bed. I'm wearing one sock and my boxer shorts. I am cuddling a pillow from the sofa.

I don't remember leaving the pub.
I don't remember coming home.
I don't remember that we (apparently) sat on the sofa for a bit.
I don't remember that I had to go down the stairs on my bum.

This morning, Kellie thought it was HIGHLY amusing that I had no recollection. She pointed out that I've got a bump on my head from slipping and headbutting the wall outside the pub, and that, for reasons I cannot explain, I did this:

I have no idea what that is supposed to say. I don't remember doing it. The three people tagged in that status are Kellie (who was in fact present); Jaysen, who is on the faaaar side of Basildon at his friends house; and... my cousin Hayley... Who is preggers, was probably tucked up in her bed with her future hubby on a completely different side of Basildon.

Quite why I tagged those two, I am not sure. Quite what that status says, I am not sure. According to Molly, who thinks it is highly amusing, she was sat beside me when I did it, and after I wrote it, I said I was "trying to press mums face for my facebook" apparently.

And all this came from one measure of a not-especially-strong alcohol. And one especially-strong drug.

Moral: Dan will NOT be drinking alcohol again, especially out in public. No, not even for the entertainment of others.

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.

Sure-Fire

Here's an easy guide way to guarantee someone will knock on your front door.

Step 1: Stand at the kitchen sink
Step 2: Half-fill the kettle and, deciding that the inside is "a bit gross" swirl the water around.
Step 3: Empty the water, but let your brain confuse you and aim the swirling mass of water at your genitals.
Step 4: Step back, look down - then hear someone knock on the door.

Whether or not you answer is your call. If you DO, and the bad luck is countered with good luck, it will be someone trying to sell something.

Man From Sky TV: "Afternoon sir, can I interest you -"
Me, cutting him off: "Sorry, can't chat, had an accident."
MfS, looking down: "Oh, er, um, OK sorry bye!"

Here's the money shot:

I Broked Sommert

Very quickly: I had a message this morning that images were not displaying properly - for some reason the were appearing behind the template. I tested it in Firefox, and it seemed fine. Tested in Chrome and Internet Explorer, and lo-and-behold, images clicked on displayed behind everything...

I'm not entirely sure why it was happening, but it was something to do with the "Lightbox" image display feature. So that is now disabled, and it SHOULD be working properly now.

I will get on to the Template designer and let them know. Thanks Sue for letting me know :)

Fingers crossed it's all fixed now!

Random 0dds & Ends

It occurs to me while chattering away on Twitter, that I have a few loose ends that I have never tied up, finalised, continued with or anything else...

I'm not sure why - I think I get posts done, keep things up to date, then end up needing a break from the world of Online and hide out in a book or something, then sort of... forget... where I left off the tale.

Not that they are particularly thrilling tales, and there is even a good chance that I HAVE in fact finished with the punch line, ended the tale of Mirth and/or Woe, but forgotten I have done so... Which means that you could be reading the same information twice.

Shocking, I know. That's what happens to the sleep deprived.

Which leads me nicely to Point #1:


The Not-So-New Sleeping Patterns
As you may recall, I am a proper insomniac. Not someone that has a rough night and cries to the world how they had SUCH bad insomnia the night before.

I am talking days, weeks, months, years of getting by on snatches (heh) of sleep here and there, so at the start of January, I started Sleep Restriction Therapy. Basically, I FORCED my body to stay away until ungodly hours, then got up before the crack of dawn even started to crack. After a week of sleeping for the allotted time, I was allowed to add an hour. Then after a week, add an hour, and so on.

When I started on Midnight-0600, my body decided to start going a bit wobbly. For the most part, it didn't mind too much having six hours of sleep, but every few nights, I would wake up in the early hours, and stay awake. So far, I have YET to manage seven straight days of 0000-0600 and staying asleep.

Don't get me wrong, I am MOSTLY sleeping straight through every single night which is amazing for me, but I think my body Circadian Rhythm is pretty much happy on six hours a night for most nights.

In order to test this theory out, the last fortnight I have been surprising my body with extra sleep. OK granted, I've been poorly and exhausted on and off, but none the less... A nap during the day, going to bed at, say, half ten in the evening, sleeping till 7am...

For the most part with the ODD exception, my body goes to sleep and stays asleep. Compared to someone that would go to bed EVERY night, doze off, wake up for a few hours, doze off for twenty minutes, then be awake for the rest of the day...

Sleep Restriction DEFINITELY works. I am still staying up till midnight on MOST nights, and still get up at 6am pretty much every morning, but I know if I want an extra hour or two here and there, I can - AND I sleep!


The Finaceé And Her Medical Woes
Kellie is a poorly girl, but is an improving poorly girl. Waaay back when, you may remember she was having weird stuff go on with her heart, then her Triglycerides level went past high, past stupidly high, hit the stratosphere of WTF High, and kept going. Case in point: a "Normal" person with a "High" triglyceride reading would be looking at 5 or even 6. Kellie was rocking a reading of 20.8.

The doctor even asked how she hadn't keeled over dead from a Heart Attack or Stroke.  Oops.

So they started her on meds, and every now and then, throw a battery of tests at her. She's had cardiac tests and Xrays and has a blood test every 4-6 weeks. The doctor started her on Statins which, as we are now learning, is a shitting horrible drug.

On the flip side, her levels have come waaay down, and now she's only... 8-9. Still in the realms of Stupidly High, but the doc has started her on a new stronger statin. The downside of this, is they are making her poorly - physically and mentally.

On top of this fun ride, Kellie also has problems with her Hands, Hips and Knees - pain that looks, sounds and reads like Arthritis, but no doctor has yet to say "It is Arthritis" and have only done a blood test to check for it.

She went to see the doctor last week, and he has given her another tablet to take which I THINK Is called Naproxin, maybe. It's sort of like a Super Ibuprofen. Downside? It will dissolve her stomach or something. So she has an additional tablet that will stop her insides melting. That one begins with an L. Oh here it is... Lansoprazole.

After one day, her hands hurt MUCH less. After a few days, only being busy made her hips and knees ache - ache, not hurt. So they are definitely a win.

However... This means that Kellie now takes enough tablets to choke a junkie. And more than me, which makes me chuckle no end.

She is, however, still having her funny heart turns, but we are pretty much convinced that is related to the high triglycerides in her body. One thing at a time. We're not happy with the statins (I say "we" but I mean "I") as they cause all sorts of nasty problems, but we're seeing how things go with her levels before we march back to the poor doctor and ask for new meds.


The Blinding of Yours Truly
Back last summer, my dear son tried to blind me, and if you read 0ddness back then, you may recall I was not a happy camper.. I spent ages trying to get a doctor to listen to me that there was something in my eye, then had to deal with needles, scraping the surface of the eye, drops, cream, fine pliers, rolled-back eyelids and eye-patches. 

Not to mention the hilarity of everyone on the planet that I have ever taken the piss out of.

Since then, and waiting the "allotted" time of 5-6 weeks, I started using my contact lenses again, but for some reason, the "poorly" eye wouldn't settle with the lenses. I kept trying and trying, to no avail. Eventually, I gave up and waited till I could see the optician for his take on it.

So, with my appointment booked, I strode in and told him what the buggery my son had done to me, so after a normal eye test, he focuses on the bad eye.

Now, considering the eye was injured at the end of August, and "sorted" a week later in September, and then given 5-6 weeks of "getting better" time with drops and cream, I was a little surprised and equally miffed to be told that it was still healing - healing slowly, no less - and that it could still be a couple of months.

However, this is a tale of MY life, which means there's always a punchline.

If it is not healed within the next two-three months, I will have to go and have bloody surgery on it... They will remove the damaged area, and allow THAT to heal back over. EYE SURGERY. Because of my own flesh and blood.

Should it come to surgery, that is exactly all they will find of him too - a little flesh and blood.


On Achieving Gainful Employment
As seems to be the punch line for me, things never ever seem to go according to plan. Back in August/September, I enrolled in a training program in order to get a Work From Home type job. I would have meant a company route calls to my phone, I do the Customer Service for them, and put in X many hours per week on a flexible basis.

I had to pay out of my own pocket with ZERO help from the government, for exams, courses, background checks, a new birth certificate (as clever-bollocks that I am, I lost mine) and everything else. I was quite happy I could not only do it, but do it well.

I was delayed a few weeks thanks to the Blinding Incident, which meant I missed getting onto the course I needed, which meant I had to wait for another with evening slots to appear. Despite assurances from various "high ups" involved, no such course appeared. Christmas sailed by, New Year came and went, but no evening course.

Since mid-February, I've not even had my emails returned asking what is going on, when will a space open up. Which means that plan - to get BACK to working, to earn actual MONEY - is very rapidly dying and soon to be buried. Unless someone there actually replies to me.

I am not, however, holding my breath. I am also trying my hardest to not get angry over it. We couldn't really afford the outgoings to get the introductory courses, exams (which I passed with 95%) and all the other crap, but instead considered that we would get it back once I was working... So, because of that, we are out of pocket by a fair amount.

Water under the bridge, maybe, but it still pisses me right off.


The Roast Breakfast
Do NOT be fooled into thinking I have forgotten about this.

Despite being called Mad, Mental, Crazy and similar, I will be cooking AND eating a full roast dinner for breakfast, probably during the Easter Break now. The weekend I was going to perform this miracle was the weekend everyone decided to be ill.

Including me.

So I sort of skipped it and didn't bother with it in the end. It was all Kellie could do to eat a single slice of toast, and the thought of food entering my body made me want to heave, so I figured it would only go to waste ;)

Watch this space.


On De-Fattising Myself
Yes, I was on a diet. Yes, I was doing very very well on said-diet and, Yes, I lost an awful lot of weight on said-diet.

But.

Again we meet our old friend The Blinding Incident. After being spiked in the fricking EYE, I couldn't go out as, to be honest, for the most part I could see precisely sod-all. Plus with a sore, angry eye, I didn't want to go out and "be seen" with a gross, watering eye that I could hardly see out of.

Secondly, around this time, there was a lot of gross brown stuff hitting the fan - I never really went into it, because the parties involved are petty and childish and would have used my personal site as ammo and stuff - which while I don't care what people throw at me, it would have been others upset.

Couple with trying to work through a course to get a job (*mutter grumble*) my free time dropped away like that door on a gibbet. I ran myself down, and found myself exhausted cooking the healthy dinners, and shopping all the time for healthy stuff.

Then, my Birthday Weekend rode around, and all attempts at being a good dieter went straight out the window. And I never went back outside to pick them up. After the birthday, we were still trying to get into the Back to School routine, then Xmas was coming, and one thing after another rolled up to greet us.

Looking back, 2011 was pretty damn shit. The last thing on my mind was dieting.

So yes, the diet is "on hold" at present, which means, I am not dieting, which means the weight is creeping back on. But, once I have been to see the specialist, once I can get things better arranged for me medically, then I will be restarting. And losing the weight.

And becoming a slimmer sexy beast ;)


So there you have it... Several loose ends, tied up neat and tidy-like. I am sure there are more, and I am sure people will remind me when they think about them. But until then, I disappear! 

Blue-Arsed Flies

It's always struck me as a strange saying, "running around like a blue-arsed fly" for the simple fact that MOST flies are always busy zipping around doing stuff. Yet the blue-arsed variety gets the fame, riches and bitches.

Very 0dd.

But I digress to the point, this week (and it ain't over yet!) has been manic and busy and full of stupid stuff that has drained me to the point of being dead. I am dead today. No flowers please.

The biggest ouchkabibble has been caused by yesterdays shenanigans, being that for the last couple of weeks, we've wanted to redecorate the living room. Earlier this week, we got around to buying the stuff to do it, and once the final child was thrown out the front door, I got cracking. I figured, the sooner I start, the sooner I'm done.

I should add, I nearly started in the ball rolling in the early hours of the morning, when, laying in the dark not sleeping, it seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to do. The only reason I didn't was because dragging furniture makes a noise, and I didn't want to disturb anyone.

So 8am start it was. Furniture dragged out the way, sweeping, washing walls, picking remnants of paper off the wall, and slapping up paint. There has been so many years of abuse on these walls, with so many colours UNDER colours UNDER paper, that in total, there were three different colours and a patch of raw plaster to paint over.

Even finish? Not on your nelly. So it was two coats of white ALL over to start with, followed by three/four coats of Magnolia...

And here I digress. For many moons, I have been under the impression Magnolia was actually a sort of yellowy/orangey sort of colour. While slapping it up on the walls, I was looking thinking "Shit, what is going on with my eyes" Bare in mind, I was covering white paint, all I could see was this very light coffee/latte type colour. "Are you sure this is magnolia?" I asked Kellie. "Yes, it's definitely magnolia" she tells me. A few minutes later, I've lost all sense of colour and ask her to look at it. She repeats her "Yes it's fine" with the exasperation of a parent telling her child the same thing over and over.

"But it's sort of greyee/brownee/coffeeee/creamee" I whine.
"That's what magnolia is knobhead..." she replies.

Well, I've never been so insulted. OK, I have. Daily. By most of you lot in fact. However, being colour-blind - and some of you readers are colour-blind so hopefully you'll get this too - I find that if I stare at colours too long, especially when decorating so the colour is up-close and I'm concentrating on not leaving streaks - I lose all sense of colour. I can't process what I am looking at, I can't work out what is what if the colours are fairly close in shade/hue or whatever.

But I digress. Aside from being a knobhead, I'm making one holy hell of a mess. After painting just ONE wall - just one ten foot section of wall - I was splattered, smeared and smooshed in paint. Hair, arms, hands, body, shorts, legs and feet. Oh, and UNDER my feet. I don't know how I manage it, but I think it's a skill and not a flaw.

Kellie was very impressed. At least, that's how I interpreted her look.

Interestingly, not long after starting, the paint fumes took over. I was CERTAIN they smelled like cheap tequila. Hey, there are worse things they could smell of, like paint, for example. But yes, I was sure it smelled like Tequila. Kellie, however, decided it tasted like... Well, I don't know how to spell it, but *sound of someone trying to puke*

No, she didn't like it much.

But, with paint fumes comes craziness. With me attempting to take a photo of my paint-splattered self, Kellie tried to disrupt the photo. First with a slice of toast (I don't know... I really don't), then with a cat (who, it turns out, just legged it from her) and then, interestingly, with herself.  Now, I'm not sure if she pulled an "interesting" face in order to stop me posting the photo, but honestly... Did she think my train of thought would be "I know, Dan's trying to photograph his leg to show people he's a knobhead that can't keep paint on a paint-pad, so I will pull a silly face because SURELY he wouldn't post that!"

Interesting...

Just ONE wall later...

 If you look closely, top left, you can see where she's realised just too late who I am, and what an asshat I can be at times. Usually, I would say "Clicky to Embiggen" but in this case, I've done the embiggening JUST FOR YOU!

In a "That's What She Said" moment, she clearly didn't pull out in time. Bless.

So, we're in a room, painting everything including me, the colours aren't making sense, the fumes are making one of us think "Tequila!" and Mexican Hat Dancing, while the other is making retching noises.

Oh, and the cats are smeared in emulsion too, just for good measure.

ALL DAY. That's how long it took. From starting at 8am, pausing for a slice of toast around ten, then plugging on till 3pm, we sat down to eat lunch just after half three. Everything was back in it's place, paint brushes and pads and trays were washed, and all was tidy. We sat to eat, and the bloody kids started arriving.

After getting kids and stuff sorted and everything else, we didn't get to shower till gone seven, and didn't get to flop out on the sofa till half eight. We were fragged. Properly, full on, ouchie. It didn't even occur to us to eat till ten, and by that time, it was literally "click click click Dominos pizza on the way"

 I knew today was going to be rough when, at 4am, I woke up for no reason, and, on reaching for my phone (because I was actually awake) I could barely reach it. My body was working on the Emergency Shutdown procedure and nothing was functional. It took me ten minutes to get out the bed just to go pee. Lucky for me I didn't need to rush and puke or anything because in that case, I would have been on the floor in front of me.

Classy, I ain't.

It's quite depressing, feeling like this. I have painted a grand total of two walls, one of which is ten feet long, the other twelve. I was ready to fall over by about one yesterday afternoon, but didn't want to leave the job half-arsed and make Kellie finish it, so I plugged on with it. I HATE it. Properly, properly hate it. Today, as you can probably tell, I am all over the place. I can't focus, I can't think straight, I'm knackered, I'm in proper agony, I'm paranoid, I can't even form sentences properly. You should see this post - every three or four words are mis-typed. Even TYPING is causing discomfort.

And the sad part is, this is WITH painkillers in my system. I am loaded up on Co-Codamol and Lyrica. If I weren't deathly allergic to Ibuprofen, I'd knock some of those back too. In two weeks, my Lyrica doubles up again, so in the six weeks I've been on them, I will have gone from 25mg once a day, to 100mg twice a day.

Ho hum, I suppose. Just got to keep increasing it to the point it starts doing something. Fingers crossed that "something" is "pain relief" and that it starts sooner rather than later :D

OopsArseOuch...

For those that are not aware, this little blue dude is a member of Roger Hargreaves Mr Men that goes by the name of Mr Bump. Since I can remember, most of my family - my late Granddad in particular - used to refer to me as Mr Bump.

If you've been reading here for any real length of time, you will probably understand WHY, but if not (or if you're a bit special) it's simply because I am accident prone.

From the youngest age, I have managed to find stupid things to fall into, on to, off of or even through. I've had bumps, scrapes, cuts, stitches, sprains, tears, fractures, breaks, concussions and various types of poisoning. When I say the following, I don't mean I did it on purpose, but MOST of all of this has been self-inflicted.

Sheer stupidity, for the most part. Not looking where I am going or whatever.

However, a fair few of these incidents over the years have just been sheer bad luck. Gravity being a bit stronger here, a pool of flammable liquid there...

This last week, gravity seems to be a bit thicker where ever I go, and has definitely got it in for me. Having a busy Saturday planned - which is a post all of its own to come in the next few days - we decided last week that I should take it easy, not do too much, and not knacker myself out so I could enjoy the day.

Despite my body attempting to sweep, mop, lug laundry around, wander to and from town, I resisted. I was determined to feel good for Saturday.  Thursday, Kellie goes off to work, and I bring down a few bits of laundry to do - not much, just a few odds and sods to keep abreast of things. I realise I have left my phone on the bed, so go back up, get my phone, and come back down. 

Gravity struck.

About halfway down the stairs, my brain frazzled. With confusion in my brain I kinda sorts forgot how to walk, and decided the simplest way down the stairs was to tumble down on my back side.  As I toppled, the gum I was chewing flew straight down my windpipe and wedged in there good and tight. I crashed down seven or eight stairs, bouncing on my coccyx, jarring my spine good and proper and finally, coming to a crashing rest on my lower back. Lucky for me, that final bump caused the gum wedged in my throat to cough out.

The thought crossed my mind that had I managed to save myself falling, I would have probably choked to death. So hurrah for little victories I suppose.

I was a very very sore boy from Thursday onwards - including Saturday unfortunately.

Saturday was a very busy day, so by about 5pm, I was dead on my feet, but carried on.

Sunday, I took it easy as best I could.

Monday, I was a bit of a crap mess. I could hardly walk, I was shuffling around like a prat, but as usual, everything went pear-shaped. Thanks to changing our electricity supplier, the cheeky gits that we were with previously opted to take a final charge from our electric meter. Which left us with 11p to see us through till Wednesday. Which wasn't going to happen. Added to this, we were skint. Proper broke. Not two coins to rub together (to generate electricity I suppose)

A quick phone call to the 0dd Mother, and she had some money we could borrow for a couple of days - but she couldn't come out as she has ManFlu. With the girls due to go to Beavers/Cubs, and dinner on, I told Kellie I'd shoot over on the bike. Granted, I felt like arse, but didn't want her out in the dark riding across Basildonia. It's a good few miles each way, and she's not cycled for ages, so I said "It's all good, I'll go..."

Just over the halfway mark TO the 0dd Mothers, my brain frazzled out once again. While peddling down St. Nicholas Lane at a decent rate of knots, I literally, honest-to-god, could not figure out how to PEDDLE. I got so confused, and my brain stepped in.

"Hang about Dan, you're doing it wrong..." it piped up "You need to be peddling with your ARMS and HANDS! DUUUUH!"

So, my body dutifully responded. While gripping the handlebars, I tried to push and pull them forwards in an attempt to peddle with them.

No, I know it makes no sense what-so-ever, but that's how it was at the time.  Of course, jamming the handlebars ninety degrees left while travelling at speed only ended in one way. Gravity, once again, took over, and down I went. CRASH! onto the left knee, THWACK! onto the left shoulder, SPANG! onto the left side of my noggin.  However, the knee took the brunt of it, and I hit with such force, my knee tore through my very nice and very favourite pair of jeans I got for my birthday and left several inches of flesh on the pavement. In a trade, however, the pavement left several nice deposits of grit and crap (not literal) in the flesh on my knee.

Being fifteen minutes from mums, I opted to walk the rest of the way, and when I got there, I showed my mummy my owie.  Mummy then proceeded to SCRUB it clean with disinfectant and SCRAP out the grit and crud left behind.

I phoned Kellie to tell her I was a knobhead, and after she finished laughing, she called me a few choice names for being a dick.

I still maintain, however, it was NOT my fault. My brain frazzled out and completely lost the plot.

Silly brain.

After getting scraped and bleached clean, having a drink, knocking back some meds, I then proceeded on the very long, slow and painful journey home, rushing as best I could so the tribe I had abandoned wouldn't be left in the dark for long. It took me twice as long to get home, but I made it just in time and saved the day.  Granted, I was mocked for being a twat and laughed at, but Kellie did give me a cuddle.

So now today I am really feeling it. I have no energy, am eating painkillers like Smarties, am trying my damnest to do Sod-All (but failing, it has to be said!) and generally feeling very sorry for myself.

I often hoped, as a child, that this whole "Oops-Crash-Ouch" was just a phase. I hoped as a youngster once I learned co-ordination, it'd be better. Then as a teen, I hoped it was just where I was kind of gangly. Then as a young adult, it was because my body had stopped grown. Now, as a proper adult, I am hoping it's just a phase or something.

Maybe I SHOULD be one of these people that is wrapped in cotton wool - for the safety of others, if not myself...  But for now, I shall remain Mr Bump. As it says on the Mr Men homepage:

"If there were a prize for being accident prone, Mr Bump would probably trip over it."

Incidentally, for anyone wanting a big ol' picture of all the Mr Men/Little Miss, there's a high-res picture available by Clicking Here.

Medical Advice...

While it could be said that some of us present are susceptible to the occasional accidental mishap, there are others of the female persuasion that seem to cause personal injury at random.  Some of the time, these incidents are even more avoidable that the issues that strike at me.

In order to protect the Not-So-Innocent, I will use a pseudonym for the accused to protect her identity... We'll call her Schmellie.  Today, Schmellie, has spent the afternoon in her daughters bedroom clearing up, putting handles on the wardrobes, hanging a mirror - that sort of thing.  The wardrobe handles, however, needed to have a hole filled before they could be attached, so Kellie Schmellie used some Epoxy Resin putty.

So Schmellie plops it into her hand, splodges it around to warm it up and make it malleable, and fills the holes on the wardrobe. Half an hour later or so, I get in from shopping, and she shows me her handy work. While showing me the filled holes, she makes mention that her skin feels "a bit strange"

Having a look at the tube, I see the words "Epoxy Resin" and the penny drops. Like a rock.  I KNOW from personal experience* that it's nasty shit. So I point out to Schmellie that it's evil, and you really shouldn't get it on your skin... "But it says to warm it up in your hands first" she tells me, and takes the packet from me and reads it.

Line one: Always wear protective hand wear while handling this product.

"Oh"

With her fingers very sore and very red, and with me being a fully qualified Doctor** I set about trying to find a way to make it better.  I found plenty of "For-The-Love-Of-God-Don't-Get-It-On-Your-Skin" advice, lots of "Always-Wear-Gloves" advice, and even a fair bit of "Just-Don't-Use-This-On-It" advice, but very little actual advice on how to sort it.

Finally, I came across - of all places - a model rocket club help page with the following cure to remove Epoxy Resin from the skin:

Wet hands in hot water, apply a good splodge of washing up liquid, some granulated sugar, and scrub your hands together. Rinse and repeat. Once the hands are clean, rinse in clear water, dry thoroughly, apply moisturiser. 

Armed with my Fairy Liquid, my Tate & Lyle and my Atrixo, I ordered Schmellie into the bathroom.  She might have looked at me like I had had some sort of massive brain-fart, but after ten minutes, her hands were mostly clean.  I say MOSTLY as the advice is to do the cleaning within a few minutes of getting it on you. NOT the better part of an hour. Aside from one hard bit on one finger, her hands were clean.

They still looked very sore though, so with liberal blobs of hand cream all over them, we got her hands nice and soft once more

The moral of this story is twofold:

1) Always read the label, and
2) I WILL tell the world.

I'm sure there are more morals to be had, and am sure that Schmellie won't be playing with dangerous chemicals again any time soon.  I say "I'm sure" but I think a more accurate line would be "I'm hopeful"




*A story for another day (when I'm not ripping someone else for their silliness)
**My degree says I am in plain black and white crayon.

Um, Oops?

There are times when my brain well and truly farts, and things slip by that probably are best NOT allowed to slip by.

So I figured that I had already told people about Tams incident, but after talking to Gemma earlier, it would appear that, no, I haven't mentioned.  I checked back on the blog and I went back through my Facebook.

Somehow, I seem to have missed telling everyone that Tam has a broken arm.

Yep, last week during the holidays, she was playing on the trampoline at her mums with her step-brother when a collision occurred, followed by gravity taking over, and a 12 year old boy landing on the 6 year old girl.

End result, Tamsyn has a compression fracture of her right arm.

So last week, the hospital put on a half-cast and a bandage, bunged her in a sling and told her to come back for proper plastering today.  And so, today, Tamsyn and I went up to the hospital and sat around for just over an hour waiting to be seen... Finally, when we got called, the doctor took off the backslab, checked her over, poked and prodded, said it's healing well, the swelling was gone, and had a proper plaster put on her.

So, she's armless for another three weeks.  On the bright side, she got to choose the colour of her cast and opted for bright red.  Thankfully, she's back to school on Monday - they didn't want her in without a proper cast (cue the rant about "Health and Safety" rules) and the poor little Peanut has been bored out of her proverbial skull.

I had tried convincing her that they were going to take off her old arm today and replace it with a new one, but she wasn't having any of it... Though she DID pause to think about it when the bloke beside us had his old cast removed with a circular cutting thing.  Bad Daddy ;)

Bless the little spanner...

A Letter To The Human Race

Dear Human-kind,

I'm not sure this is the best forum to do this, but I have a confession to make.  Maybe a church would be the best place for it, however, I'm quite worried that by stepping into said-building, I might burst into flames or similar.

You see, I have committed a sin of such magnitude, they are going to add it as #8 on THAT list.  I have not committed murder, nor have I had thoughts of hate and revenge, nor have I been lusting after people I shouldn't.

No, this is much much worse.

After this is published, I will be collecting my fake documents, heading to Florida, and jumping on the next ship off this planet, in order to prevent every person on the planet rising up and tearing me to shreds.

All I can say is that I am sorry, so so sorry.  If I could change it, I would, but it is too late for that.  I was witnessed committing the atrocity, and now I fear word is already spreading of the deed.

I put the rubbish out this morning, and the man walking past at the time stared openly at me as I walked along the front path singing aloud.

I was singing Friday by Rebecca Black.

I bid you all farewell... Please know I am so so sorry.

-Daniel

Eeeeek!

You may recall, this week I made mention of me being semi-manly.  To be honest, I am quite glad I didn't go full-on manly, because I am quite sure there are hordes some of you that would refer to said-post and rub my face in it.

I have mentioned before that one of my 0dd phobias, is milk.  Not that I don't like it, I love drinking it hot or cold, cooking with it... However, as soon as my skin comes into contact with it, then all bets are off.  It might as well be Ebola-laced monkey phlegm.

People think is hil-bloody-arious at how I react to it.  A splash on the back of my hand, even a drop on my finger from making a cuppa will send me straight to the sink scrubbing my hand.  I've even been threatened with the bloody stuff.

I hate it.

So today, being the good housewife that I am, when Kellie left for work at 8am, I nipped into town, grabbed some shopping and came home - back by 8.45am, yes please thank you very much.  In the kitchen, I'm putting the shopping away, and the large four pint bottle of milk was next.  I reached, I touch, it slipped, and fell three feet to the floor.

Well, holy crap on a crutch, it exploded. The floor - obviously, the kitchen doors on all three sides of the kitchen, the cat, but worse of all... ME.

I think I might have made some sort of strangled screamy-type-noise too...

From my feet up to my man-boobs, I was showered in the stuff.  I froze in a sort of "OhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGod" kind of way not sure what to do first.

So I stripped.  Right there, in the kitchen.  My socks, my jeans, my boxers, my tee shirt - all soaked through to THE SKIN. I didn't care the neighbours could have seen over the fence into the window.  I didn't care that anyone passing the front could have peered in.  It needed to come off.

Arwen, you may recall, also got hit in the blast.  She, however, was happily licking the milk off her fur and the floor.

I grabbed a towel and ran straight up to the bathroom, and into the shower.  Yes, I left the milk all over the kitchen.  No, I DO NOT CARE I left it.  I had to scrub.  In the shower, I scrubbed from top to toe - my skin is still a little red - but I needed to remove all trace of the stuff.

When I came back down, the carnage was impressive, but now clean, it was just a case of wipe the cupboards, mop the floor, wipe the cat and play CSI Basildonia.

The bottle, it would seem, failed on two points - first, the seal and lid blew off, and second, a seam on the side of the bottle ruptured.  Not bad at all really.

Arwen is currently flopped out on the sofa with a rather fat tummy. I need a coffee but need to get some milk... Maybe I'll just have it black.

On The Doorstep

People, it would seem, are bloody nosey parkers. If something seems even the slightest bit out of place, they stare...

Yes folks, I am currently sitting on my front doorstep writing this.. Somehow while flying out the door first thing this morning, my routine of "Phone, Keys, Wallet, Tamsyn" skipped the keys part. Added to this, with Kellie feeling like shit and asleep in bed, I don't want to knock, and because my legs and back are screaming at me today, the thought of jumping over a neighbours fence just does NOT appeal.

Not that I mind - once again it's a beautiful day and I'm sat in the sun playing with my phone. Well, Blogging now...

So, my point of people being nosey. I'm sat, watching the world go by, and people see my tall, ominous form loitering at a door, and they just stare... Not even sneaky corner-of-the-eye staring but openly gawping at me.

You might argue that I am doing the same and, in fact, make a hobby of People Watching in order to have more blog fodder, but one, I don't openly stare, and two, I'm a blogger so it's acceptable ;)

You might think that they are concerned neighbours, but I know most of my close-proximity neighbours if only by sight. They might be people thinking I'm about to break in, but in that case, I'd expect the police to arrive and ask what I'm up to.

So, my only conclusion is that people are inherently nosey, prolly watching for my clothes to start sailing out an upstairs window, followed by records and a guitar, a woman shouting to go stay with the bitch... Or something.

So, here I sit in the now very-warm-on-my-legs sun, watching people watching me, listening to the birds and cars, waiting patiently because I'm a plank that forgot my keys.

Location : 2-27 Chittock Mead, Basildon, Essex SS14 1,
Posted on my HTC Desire HD (so apologies for strange formatting or random Predictive Typing spelling mistakes!)

Broken Laptop, Fixed Laptop!

I am a bit of a girl.  I admit it, we all know it, it's not news to any of you.  And if you want to make me a really sad panda, then tell me there is something wrong with one of my prized possessions.

Now, excluding various items of Kellies undergarments, one of my more prized possessions is my very pretty laptop. Considering I've had it for just over a year, I think I've done very well with it, but whoever owned it before me clearly didn't give a flying fornication about it.  However, last week (and again, I'm still writing on the 14th January!) it started acting up. 

When plugged in and the light on the front started going, shall we say, a wee bit mental.  As if someone was connecting and disconnecting the charger a dozen times a second.  Not likely.  So, checking over the cable, I discover that, somehow, there's a kink inside the wire itself where it meets the transformer.  Great, naff connection, going to have to get a new charger.

Bending the wire into a certain position actually improved the situation, but not perfectly, and every now and then, the screen would dim, letting me know it was switching to Power Saver as there was no electricity going into it.

A few days later, while the laptop was closed and minding its own business, the cat decided to leap OFF the TV straight down onto it.  I considered a boot-lobbing moment, but she used her evil cat powers, and ran out before I could follow through with it.  Thinking no more of it, I carried on about my day, and when I decided I had ten minutes spare, I popped it open, and noticed the mains power light wasn't on.  So I started fiddling, and flexing and adjusting the wire, but to no avail; I could NOT bed the wire into place.

Arsebandits, I thought to myself, the dodgy connection has died properly.  As I moved the laptop across my lap, however, I pulled on the wire, and noticed the light came on again.  Hold the phone... Why would the jack being moved make a difference.  So I wiggled the jack around, and low and behold, the light came on again.

I decided to be brave, and pop the part of the case open that covers the DC-in Jack, and was rather surprised/shocked/stunned/saddened to see two wires were kinda not connected.  To anything.  At all.

I like to think I kept rather calm.  I didn't scream nor shout nor throw a tizzy, but I was a little put out.  Not angry just miffed.  Clearly the dodgy connection wasn't the only problem I had.  I suspect the cat put the finishing touches to the wires in the jack point, but still, what was done was done, and it WAS my fault for leaving it out in the open with animals and kids.

So, I used my faithful friend, Mr Google and within minutes, I discover that this problem of these two wires is actually pretty common for the Acer Aspire 8930.  The wires and the power-in point are actually on a hinge for the lid/screen, so every time you open and close it, they move.  So constant open-close-open-close coupled with a dodgy connection, coupled with a flying cat...  Two unconnected wires.

I read through, and most people in there spoke about how annoying it was, but how easy it was to fix it.  As long as you could solder.  Now, I should point out that I used to be pretty damn good at soldering stuff in school.  The last time I did it, however, I managed to set fire to a vat of Epoxy Resin, and me and another kid, Andrew French, had to go to hospital due to fume inhalation.

I've not done it since then.

I decide that James is prolly my best bet, and talk to him about it, but as I'm asking if he minds doing it, that little voice in my brain tells me all sorts of outlandish things.  Mainly, that someone had posted a step by step guide to fixing it, and mentioned how easy it was.  He also mention that should you some how completely screw it up, the whole DC Jack point was available on Ebay for like £5.

A few days later, I find myself in possession of a soldering iron.  My subconscious made me buy it.  Of course, solder, it turns out, is like plutonium.  You can only get it if you have clearance, and speak to people that know of getting such things.  TWO DAYS it took me to locate some.  I wandered the town, I looked online, I wandered town again... Turns out the car repair place 70 yards from my front door sell it.

Doh.

So I sat down, cleared an area, and watched as Kellie turned her attention to me.  I don't know if she was interested, I don't know if she was amusing, or if she was willing me to cause the whole laptop to explode in a ball of fire.

It took me ten minutes.  Ten minutes, two burns, a yard of solder and a near-miss at starting a fire, but none the less, it WAS easy!

I am, in fact, a soldering GOD.

The ten minutes was the time it took me to set up, do it and clear up.  The burns were from picking up the soldering iron with the wrong part - that's to say, my bare fingers on the red-hot-metal part.  The amount of solder used because I kept dropping it.  The fire from wiping the soldering iron clean using paper - you know, the thing hot enough to melt metal, wiped with something that is known for catching fire when exposed to heat.

OTHER than that, I did a pretty good job, not dissimilar to the pictures shown on the step-by-step guide.  The burns are healing nicely, and the smell of smoke has left.  The laptop - most importantly - is working perfectly well once more, I just need to get a new power supply as this one still has the crappy connection in it.

So go me!  Two injuries so far this year!

Ouch+Oops

You know the phrase, "Some days you're the fly, some days you're the windscreen?" well for some reason, most days seem to have me in the role of windscreen.

The last few days seem to have been filled with me being busy, running around doing stuff, sorting stuff, going out and about and generally running about like a blue-arsed fly.  Housework, Blood Tests, School Runs, Shopping, Vet Appointments, School Appointments...

Last night was a proper Insomniac Night.  I was in bed just before 9pm, reading as usual and felt shattered.  Completely and utterly exhausted.  I was reading, but not sure how much actually sank in. Yay for reading comprehension skills.  Kellie was also knackered, and we skipped our usual night-time phone call as she had passed out on the sofa.  Bless.  So, I tried to get to sleep, and every time my eyes felt heavy, I popped awake.

No idea why, I just did.

And on and on and on... I tried listening to music, I tried listening to white noise, I tried silence, I tried sitting up, laying down, on either side, I tried the sofa...  I tried some milk, I had a wander around the house - where two sleeping children rubbed salt in the wound by snoring - but no joy.

So, today I am tired, I am cranky, and I have a hefty dose of "Can't Be Arsed Itus"  Of course, that doesn't mean I can just sit and flop out.

Sally dog needs a bath - I mean, she NEEDS a bath.  I am sure Kellie or Gemma will back me up on this, but a dog that is poorly an incapable of washing herself thanks to the Collar of Shame... Well, you can imagine.

Before all that, I had to get kids ready for school, sort lunch boxes, sort uniform, get Jaysen out the door on time, get Tam and me out the door on time...

So there were are, standing at the bus stop, freezing my proverbials off, when along comes Mr Bus.  There were a couple of people already waiting, so in true British fashion, I step aside and have the brief "No after you, no no, I insist" conversation.

So, making sure Tam is getting the bus - and thus, I am looking DOWN at the wee monkey - I step into the bus.  Well, that't not technically true.

I step into the buses wing mirror.  The great, big, bright yellow, made-of-metal, sticking-out-a-mile wing mirror.  And it's not just a brief *bump* but I give it a good KERBLANG! right on the side of my head.

I hit the bloody thing so hard, my knees went and I had to hold on to the door to stop me going to my knees, right in the side of the head on my temple, and cracked my pierced eyebrow good and proper for good measure.  My teeth cracked together, and there were little specks floating in my eyesight.

You know what makes it even worse?  Two things.  One; Mr Bus Driver says "Hmm, going to have to adjust that back now..." No no, I'm OK thanks.  Two; the bus was packed.  I mean, it HAD to be really, didn't it.  You never do really stupid things in the privacy of your own home, do you.

I got my ticket, and it was all I could do to not run hell for leather to the far end of the bus so people weren't looking down at me.  Every eye was on me.

EVERY. SINGLE. PERSON.

There were mutterings, murmerings, giggling, glances back at me, stifled grins...

Even when most of them got off the bus at the town centre, most of the got up and happened to look back at me.

The support from Gemma and Kellie was excellent thankfully.  Gemma and Pete both laughed and took the piss, and Kellie even text me a "heeheehee"  To save me SOME dignity, Gemma and Pete were passing town, so dropped me off there to get the bus home.

Guess which bus and driver it was...

Did You Know...

If you leave half a packet of biscuits in a cupboard with a bunch of bananas, that packet of biscuits WILL take on the flavour of banana...

Though, I'm not sure if it's an awful flavour or not.

Duuuuh...

There are those in the world that often believe I am hard and harsh and mean to everyone around me.  After all, everyone is fair game.  You do or say something daft, then I will pull you up on it or, worse, immortalise you in a blog post...

The usual recipient of my smirk and chuckle is Miss Kellie.  When she says or does something daft, it is usually under full view of my watchful eye, and within hours, the world knows about it.  She often says to me "Ooooh don't blog it, you make me sound stupid" to which I always reply "No it doesn't dear, but if you feel I am wrong or telling lies, then feel free to correct me and I will post an apology"

Currently, you will notice, no corrections nor apologies.

However, when the stars and the moon are at just the right alignment, it is not the world that does or says silly things, but me.  And every now and then, I feel it is only proper to point out that I am only human and share such mistakes...

So, take this morning for example.  Chilly autumn morning, me and Tam are stood in the playground where we usually stand, and I am doing my best to ignore the waiting horde of kids charging around screaming.  And, as usual, my attention is drawn to the fading things on the playground floor - things for the kids to run on, practice their counting, snakes and ladders - that sort of thing.

One item I've never quite understood is the yellow path painted in a wiggly line around the playground.  Surely, I think to myself, that a yellow path is not that much fun to run along...

The thing that always irked me the most about it is that one end is marked with "ON"

I always thought it was strangely worded...  Why On? Why not Go, or Start or even just an arrow pointing...  The other end doesn't have OFF or END or FINISH...

Now, there are probably some very astute people out there that have figured it already.  Well, it's taken me almost two weeks to get to the bottom of this very tricky problem.  See, it's not a yellow path.  It's a yellow road.  A yellow brick road, no less.

And that doesn't actually say ON...

Yes folks, it took a brief shift of perspective to realise ON is actually OZ.  Hopefully tomorrow will in fact actually make me a year wiser.

I doubt it, somehow...