31st July 2007

Meme

Stan has tagged me with a meme about 8 random facts about myself -- I'm meant to pass it on to 8 other peeps but I'm too ill and lazy to do that. However, I will complete the challenge of the facts...

1) I once mistook Colgate for Savlon with very loud consequences.

2) Along similar lines, I once mistook hairspray for deodorant which called for some serious dowsing.

3) I too, have a degree in Mathematical Science (something Stan and Cruella share with me -- we must have a third each to share between us). And no, that does not mean that we can beat Carol Vorderman on Countdown. That is arithmetic, not maths -- I haven't seen a digit (other than bank statements and budgets) since I was 15.

4) Up until the age of 16, I never got lower than 99% in maths exams. And the only reason I did get lower was because I failed to spot the pesky last page of questions. I cried when I got the results back at a measly 87%.

5) I was the only kid in my year at school to get 100% in my German exams. I dropped it in favor of French (too much pressure from the Germanic side of the family).

6) I'm actually not bad with a camera. I'm better at taking pictures of flowers than other stuff -- I guess that comes from working in the vision industry.

7) Eight out of ten cats prefer it. Guinness.

8) I once absailed down a cave on the Isle of Man. It scared the bejesus out of me, but it had to be done. What do they call that? Character building? More like destroying! :)

And, in the immortal words of Austin Powers, I'm spent. For the moment anyway. I'll try again later.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 07:23 BST, by Kenny
 

30th July 2007

The paths of glory lead to the grave

I had a terrible day yesterday. I went out for lunch with both my grandmothers and Mater and Pater. Upon our return, the conversation somehow got on to benzene. Pater is a chemical engineer. He was saying that they used to wash their hands in the stuff. I find that hard to believe. If you have even an O-level in chemistry, you know that stuff is bloody lethal.

When I pointed this fact out to him, he went off on one. "Do not tell me my job". Sorry mate, I was violently agreeing with you about the lethality of benzene. I remember some of my A-level chemistry -- in fact, I could still draw the atomic structure of a benzene ring.

It spoiled the whole day. I had made the effort (in great pain) to go out with them and my father just ruined the whole thing in 30 seconds of venom. I don't understand people who flip their proverbial lids over something so trivial.

I guess I must have my mother's disposition -- I get angry every now and again but for the most part, it's frustration and/or annoyance. I just swallow it. No point in causing a scene where one is not merited.

For most of my life, it was postulated that I had my father's genes in demeanor and my looks. But a few years ago we found a picture of my great-grandfather on my mother's side of the family and damn, if that is not me at his age, I'll start speaking Aramaic and build a Kibutz in Platt Bridge.



Trouble with this is that he died at the age of 43. Hmmm. Not keen on that idea!

Anyway, thanks dad for wrecking a lovely afternoon over a violent agreement -- very mature.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 09:38 BST, by Kenny
 

28th July 2007

Clousseau again, yer ner

Stan pointed out where I could get a Clousseau hat and I'm severely tempted to do so. When a Kenny hasn't had enough sleep and has his debit card at the side of him, he tends to the dafter side of daft, which is going some.

I have no idea as to when one would wear such a thing but I have a compulsion. It's like my red Fedora -- utterly useless. That is, unless I decide I want to be the local eccentric, which maybe I already win but there are countless old blokes around here that make me look like a novice.

I'll have another coffee and ponder on this one. Chances are insanity will prevail and I will order one just for shits and giggles.

I'll be back later with something more interesting, once I've got my mind off this hat: I should just buy it so I can get it off my mind, but if I do, I will be equally cursed with quoting Pink Panther dialogue even more than I do now. It's a no win situation. God help anyone who is cursed with a mind like mine.

Later peeps.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sat 08:28 BST, by Kenny
 

27th July 2007

Service resumes

Back to being Kenny Angry Person.

Floods. Yes, it was bad in Gloucestershire. Horrible. But for God's sake leave it alone. There are wars all over the place and the best the media can come up with is a flood in BFE. Oooh, it might threaten the capital, which we all know is the only place in the UK -- get over it. I don't give a rat's ass about what happens in London. Or Reading or whatever other places the Thames passes through. If this had happened in Lancashire or Yorkshire, Kate Silverton would not be stood in Wellington boots in Ostlethwaite. Well, maybe she would 'cos she's a complete adrenalin junky nutter who is about as ambitious as you can be ("hey - it's Christmas - I'll go to Iraq"). But it wouldn't get anywhere near as much news coverage.

During the time I lived in the US, I used to bitch and moan about the navel contemplation of the US media. We are becoming increasingly similar. In the US, the only things you could rely on were CNN and NPR to give you more than just GOP/DEM bent stories. The only thing we have here is the BBC, and even they are starting to fail (ref this WTF -- a heifer is about as dangerous as a watergun).

In terms of print journalism, the UK can still hold its head up high and, to be honest, frown down on their US cousins. US newspapers are just crap. No need to mince words. Utter crap. "Austin cab driver in burst tire horror" (tire spelling deliberate). Nski used to insist on getting the paper in MN and I used to read it and despair -- "Anoka man lands 2-inch trout in ice-fishing contests -- wins $20".

At least we still have the bastions of stability that are the Telegraph, Times and Guardian. I'll leave the Independent out -- their crossword may be okay, but they are complete moonbats. The rest...brain-dead. I know my favorite (sorry for the Yank spelling - I alternate) columnist, Bryony Gordon used to be one of the 3am girls (there you go Stan) but I can forgive her on the basis that she is "with" and can write.

Sensationalist dumbed-down bollocks gets my back up. As much as I love Suzanna Reid, Dermot (can't spell his last name and can't be bothered to look it up) and Sian Williams, I have to say that sometimes the content is just pants. Obviously it's not their fault. Whoever the ed is makes some crumby decisions.

I have a theory on this. (Snore). In a world where we have 24 hour news channels, they have to actively look for content just to bulk it up a bit ("Oxford man caught with Mars bar").

Our newspapers are daily so they have the time to be more selective and pick out the more important stories. And they have the space to allow some optional reading. Bryony's column is one I read religously -- sometimes frivolous, sometimes a bit more acerbic, but all the same, I choose to read it. As I do Boris's. Both are the first thing I do on Thursdays -- sod the headlines. :)

It's about time we stopped assuming the world is the UK and the US (okay, we can bugger France because we hate their politics and they didn't vote in the hot chick :) ) and started focusing on real matters rather than bumpkin tales of potato theft, what whatever Bimbo is doing and whatever the environmental issue du-jour there is.

I'm done. Media -- recognise your arse from your elbow and know what people want. If that is Courtney Cox's bust size, I despair. But please do some market research so that the next generation don't grow up thinking breasts and films are all that matters.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 12:20 BST, by Kenny
 

26th July 2007

And now for something completely different

Damn, I've been a morbid git recently. We need more levity here. More horse-radish. More tinsel-town tacky satire. I will promise to try. The thing is there's not much in the news to take the proverbial out of at the moment.

Well, we could have a go at the fact the BBC reckon it's really hard to find some with a Queen's English accent and that they postulate you need to be able to affect any accent. Yeah, whatever. I'm a Mancunian and I have no intentions of changing my accent. I can emulate any accent under the sun (apart from American ironically) but were I to visit somewhere, I would not insult its inhabitants by doing a faux dialect.

Anyway -- parting gift; some of my favorite Clousseau quotes:

"It's just a slight singe" as his back is erupting into flames.

"Clousseau, are you hurt?" to which the response is "Ner" -- what follows is shots directed at him by his boss.

"I ner that you ner that I suspect you ner..."

God, I can't stop with these things. Somebody call a doctor -- oh wait -- I did earlier on. 10:10 tomorrow if any wants try an assassination attempt; but if you do please make it comedy! ;)


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 18:30 BST, by Kenny
 

Grrrrrr

Find me a little bloke: I want a fight.

Today is just going from bad to worse. Nski really has gone on the offensive. Her father died last week. I sent a card immediately. I loved that bloke -- he was a hoot and a half. I would have sent flowers to his funeral had I known when it was, but I didn't because due to interweb problems and being flat on my back, I never got the email -- indeed I still haven't. I happened to mention on here that I had sent flowers to K, who is one of the medical team looking after me and Nski went ballistic. Since then, there's been a caustic email exchange that has culminated in "You did not deserve to know him" and "Consider any future email from you unread". Charming. She just makes no effort at all to repair.

Now I'm going to gripe about something a lot less important but bloody annoying.

Message to those that know me and know who I work for:

I have nothing to do with the mobile phone side of our business so please do not call me with your problems or queries. All I will do is scream that message back at you, just like I have just done with my mate B.

Even I call the proper numbers when I have interweb problems even though I know exactly who to go to in my own office to get them sorted out. Cliquey abuse of your job is like an old-boy's club, and there is nothing I detest more.

It's a good job I cannot get out of the house because the first person that said "the" in the wrong way would be bludgeoned.

I'm off to shoot kittens before I start the rest of the things I need to do (I have started!).


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 11:46 BST, by Kenny
 

I'm a pro...

Procrastinator, that is. I have a list of things that I need to do as long as my arm and I'm sat here feeling tired and hurting in places I didn't know I had.

I'm having spats with Nski too, which always really gets me down. She is just so bloody negative about everything related to me. I send positive emails and they are responded to with utter pathos. I smell a guilty conscience. All she's interested in is a Western Union transfer each month -- were it not for the kids, I'd stop funding her little affairs and being sat on her arse, perfectly capable of working yet choosing not to.

One felony, two felonies, three felonies...oops! Might be the best thing that could happen for the kids, and I would dance on her proverbial grave singing "Yes Sir, I Can Boogie".

Harsh, I know, but I'm getting sick of living in a really crap soap opera.

You get to a point where the weight gets to a level where you are scratching your scabbed head wondering where to start.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 09:47 BST, by Kenny
 

25th July 2007

Holy mother of God, Allah, Krishna etc.

I'm not usually one to be too crude but after you read the sentence after next you'll appreciate the humor, not that this is funny. I've been constipated for a few days now. A letter drops through the box this morning and it's a lawsuit that my ex-wife of over 7 years (separated for 9) has made against me for over £16000 -- guess where I ran and was cured. Talk about shitting bricks. I can barely type I'm shaking that much.

An early morning sherbert may be required along with the whole batch of ADs I have left. Shocking. Today is now officially a write-off as I fret myself to death. Who the hell does she think I am? Donald Trump? She might as well have added a claim for my non-existant Ferrari. Oh, and the equally non-existant holiday villa in Tuscany. I have a wife and two kids to support in the US, I'm 38 and have to live with my grandmother because I can't be trusted living on my own, barely able to walk and shortly due to do an extended period in hospital where, no doubt, I will be tortured to death. I spent everything I had in the US keeping us afloat for 15 months of unemployment. Yeah, I'm rolling in it lady -- all I have in my bank account is my pay check and I have a few pension funds to bequeath (that cannot be touched until I'm 60 or in the event of my popping my clogs inherited). It's hand to bloody mouth.

However, being the sensible soul that I can be, I will calm down for 24 hours before I call/write etc. or whatever I decide to do. I don't have a lawyer here although, ironically, given the state of my legs, I was looking for one last week to help me make out a will. Looks like that little problem just escalated to top of the priority list.

It's just "wow, left field isn't far enough left" for this one.

Any donations from reading billionaires would be most grateful, either to just pay the thing or the legal costs to fight it.

Happy Wednesday Kenny.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Wed 11:33 BST, by Kenny
 

24th July 2007

What is wrong with me?

I can hardly make it up the stairs, yet I have done. And to what? Get on here to endulge in my increasingly annoying (not to mention expensive habit) of buying flowers for the girls who are doing so much for me at the moment. K has called twice already today and has been utterly fantabulous for months now so I went all crazy by nearly killing myself getting upstairs to get on t'interweb.

I think my favorite doc leaves at the end of the week too, so I guess there's another interflora order.

I had so much to say but I don't have the energy right now. In the meantime, just call me either kind or daft -- it matters not a jot to me. Random acts of kindness and senseless acts of beauty and all that...


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 18:48 BST, by Kenny
 

23rd July 2007

Sorry for the silence

In true Clousseau mode, I had a bermp to ze ed which has resulted in my being out of it for a couple days. Quite the gash really, and damn can your head lose blood quickly or what? It was the erld "svine legs" ploy that gave way, thus allowing my head to hit concrete at terminal velocity.

Anyway, I'm nearly over it now so all is well (apart from the scar it will inevitably leave). Thanks to prostration, I now remember why I love Joni Mitchell so much. That lady is right up there with Fiona Apple. She is the 60s on a single CD. Screw the Rolling Stones and the Who. Nowhere near Joni at all.

More tomorrow, when hopefully I might be a little more conscious.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 18:24 BST, by Kenny
 

21st July 2007

Ouch, part 2

I spent a long time on the phone last night with my mate B. She's in all kinds of hell. I'm still hurting for her.

We've decided that we're off for the weekend with her daughter. Anything to get away. Her eldest is a piece of work but her youngest is absolutetly gorgeuos. The younger one is so pleasant and appreciates everything anyone ever does for her.

We'll probably head up to the Lake District where the hills are big and the grass is greener than average. And I'll smile for the first time in ages. I so love the Lakes...they wake you up like nothing on earth.

Yet I am still knackered so I need to go back to sleep. And then travel.

Oh well.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sat 06:58 BST, by Kenny
 

19th July 2007

Dr T

Well today was a washout. I pitched up expecting to see Dr T and ended up with Dr V. He was kind enough, but he isn't Dr T. I know I have been overly complimetary about her, but she really does kick ass. This girl could have you doing anything she wanted in seconds. "Wow" is not the word. She's amazing on so many levels. She just bloody rocks. I so love her.

Dr T, if you read this, which I am fairly sure you do, I hope that you get my drift. Wentworth looks like what will happen but not until Sept 3rd.

Take care my duck. You've bloody saved my life. It could have been an awful lot nastier couldn't it? I owe you a damned holiday. Thank you so much. You are the best GP knocking around. I've written to Dr A to try to ensure that they keep you on. Failing that I have contacts in the Stopford building (the profs) who might be able to help. Someone of your skills should never, ever be ignored.

Love ya lass. Thanks for the help.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 17:55 BST, by Kenny
 

No pigging way

I've just been up for the paper. It's Thursday so it's Bryony day, and guess what? She's AWOL. I am gutted. I'm sure that whatever her name is completely competent but Thursdays mean my dose of Bryony so anything less is like a kick to the kidneys. I am definitely going back to bed. Thursdays without Bryony are like Christmas without a tree. I love that girl so much -- she kicks arse and takes names, and she writes like Nski so you cannot help yourself -- you end up completely enfoiled in how good she is.

Bah, guess Kate Silverton and the crossie will have to do.

Dr T at 10:40 so I don't have that much time. And if the crossie isn't 90% done, she's going to think I'm thick. That would be a disaster. After Nski has divorced me, my dream is to run off with Dr T to somewhere sunny and just spend hours sitting chatting. Given that she is probably 10 years younger than me, she is a force to be reckoned with.

As I said before, I have written to the head of the practice to request that they keep her on (at the moment she is only locum). Today might be the last time I see her. I hope not, but it might be. She is gold-dust -- you cannot let someone so influential to your health just walk. And, believe me, Dr T has done more for me than any doctor before. If she diagnosed walking off a cliff would be the right thing, I would do it. That is how much faith I have in her. She's definitely A-league.

I guess I'm back to my favorite things. Even though I hate medicine.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 07:00 BST, by Kenny
 

18th July 2007

These are a few of my favorite things

Cue Julie Andrews (Stan -- yes, a musical reference from me! I must be turning gay, however if this post pans out like I think it will, I'm definitely not).

I love it when I wake up to Kate Silverton on Breakfast. She's simply gorgeous. A long time ago my mate, the Waaart, promised me he would introduce me to Kate Bush and then failed to deliver. I guess it's just a Kate thing -- I think my first love was called Kate -- I bumped into her after 20 years a month or so ago, and I was reminded why she grabbed my attention; she still looks stunning, and she is brighter than a spark. I'm surprised she didn't end up as a doctor -- her A-level results were stunning. Anyway, Kate Silverton is on this morning and I've been in Kenny heaven.

And then we have Bryony's column on Thursdays. That rocks my little world. I so want to take her out to dinner. I bet she's an absolute riot.

What is it with me and journalists? I think I always wanted to be one but my father forced me into science as a teenager. I think I'd be a far better journo than I am techie. Hence my fascination.

What else?

Ah yes. A piano. That makes me more than happy. That can do things to me that any woman would never be able to. When I get my defrauded cash back, I need to buy a piano. Sadly a synth no longer cuts it with me. I sit with my music going all day. It struck me about six months ago that all I ever listen to anymore is female pianists. In my teens, it was all guitar with an addendum of piano and synth. Now, if you look at my MP3 player, the only guitar you will find is Counting Crows August and Everything After -- incidentally a masterpiece.

I have a bittersweet love of Jodie in Leeds too. I'm not going to go into details because it's kind of sad and I'll depress myself, but she's fab, and I wish I could do more for her. But she's chosen her route so who am I to tell her otherwise?

Emma always makes me smile as well. When J and B took me out on Sunday, we went down to the newly refurbed th'Oddies (very, very posh). I caught a brief glimpse of Emma but didn't have time to say "hi". Shame because she really can reverse your day. I have lost count of the number of times I've had an utterly shite day only for Emma to completely turn it around. She just exudes happiness and it is infectious. In fact, I would go so far as to say she should be available on prescription.

Speaking of medical things, another one of my favorite things is my GP. I have written about this extensively over the last few weeks. Dr T is right up there with Fiona Apple and Tori Amos in my books. Fiona and Tori calm me. Dr T fixes me. So I guess she's above them. (Note to self: need to book appointment in less than an hour). You will never meet a better doctor. This lass is like knowledge in a box, packaged in the most beautiful wrapping. To be honest, she's every man's dream: gorgeous, brighter than hell, personable.

Anyway, I have things to do. But those are a few of my favorite things.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Wed 08:17 BST, by Kenny
 

17th July 2007

I am so lucky

The storm we had last night eventually beat phsyics and I'm going to have organise a funeral for my router. Fortunately, I'm off into Leeds this afternoon to see my boss, and the QA boys have sorted me out a new one on loan until I get a replacement. I called S in our secret team and told her what had happened and she's on the job -- I should have a new router within days. I love that girl to bits -- she always has a smile on her face and she's cleverer than heck.

I feel really bad because, at the moment, I'm using someone elses' bandwidth. Still it serves them right. I could hook onto any of five different connections at the moment and they are all hackable with just basic computing skills. Indeed, were I malicious I could make sure that only I could use their connection, but I'm not, so all is fine.

Advice: as soon as you get your router, change the admin password. You think that people who have half a brain cannot get into that? Duh.

Anyway, I have to boogie to Leeds now so need to get in the erld bath ploy.

Later.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 10:27 BST, by Kenny
 

Damned electricity

Once again I haven't slept at all. Too many things on my mind. We had a storm last night. It was nowhere near Midwestern proportions but it knocked my internet connection sideways, and that just pisses me off. You can steal my money, yell at my wife, whatever, but NEVER mess with my internet connection. Me and that router have been doing battle for 6 hours now, and I can tell you who the only winner was; his name is Kenny. I wonder how people who don't work in the industry cope sometimes. I mean, if it takes me 6 hours to figure out what is wrong, how long would it take my mother? Would she even manage it in a month of Sundays?

Anyway, now I have won my fight, I'm back off to bed. I have to get to Leeds later and I'm feeling sicker than a dog thanks to a lack of sleep and legs that do not want to work. Joyous or what? At least I found my cigs -- there was an awful ten minutes where I could not remember where I had put them so was scrambling through the house and any pocket I could think of in a desperate attempt to find them. Stupid really since they are the weakest you can buy, but the psychological dependence is there so you panic. Completely illogical, I know.

Anyhoo, as I said I need some damned sleep.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 05:43 BST, by Kenny
 

16th July 2007

Lordy

Okay, the ongoing fraud debacle continues.

Everyone is very kind, but, to be honest, ineffectual.

I called the police again and the lady promised me they would be round today. I have not been anywhere yet here I am, still not having given a statement.

I checked my bank-balance and my cash had still not been refunded so I called them. Again, the lady in the fraud department was really kind, took all of the information I have found out (again) but could only say call back in a couple of days if the money is not refunded by then. She was astounded at how much I had discovered in such a short space of time. I nearly smiled with pride. If you can't pride yourself on your intellectual skills, there isn't much left really is there?

That said, it's a bloody good job that I have extended family to help me out -- otherwise I would be stuffed for going seeing my boss tomorrow. Bad enough that my legs kill me, but worrying about crap like train-fare thanks to some criminal is just too much. Kurt Vonnegut was always right and none more so than when he stated that an extended family is the passport to being reasonable. They shape you from being a glint in your father's eyes to being the character you are. As far as I know, none of my family (well apart from Nski's federal conviction) have a criminal record and I entirely put that down to the fact that they have always been so close to each other. Before last week, I hadn't seen my cousin A for years, yet there she was as soon as she knew where I was. It really is touching. All I remember really is that I thought that I knew she was there. The thing that made it click, as it were, was I could see the kindness in her eyes and there is just no way you can imagine that (or forget it) unless you've seen it. The sparkle, the passive care that just radiates is palpable - you can literally taste it. I wrote about Angela's Eyes a couple of days ago -- A's are just as impressive. Maybe feminists are on to something. You never get that look from a bloke, ever, yet A dishes it out like it's Cornflakes.

Guess I'm get back to hero-worshipping people who actually do their jobs well and give a shit about their fellow people.

Ah, maybe not. Music and cigs are the cure-all. :)


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 15:26 BST, by Kenny
 

More fraudulence

I don't know whether I find it cute or desperately annoying that Die Fuhrer is so tech-unsavvy and believes Radio 4 to be gospel. She's just been up here to tell me to switch the radio on because they are explaining how fraudsters manage to get your money. I know how they managed it, and I know who it was. I wouldn't be much of an engineer if I couldn't work that out. I'd name and shame but until the police have done their bit, I'll play shots on the back foot.

There's a definite trend in the older generation to rely on the media to explain modern technology and modern crime. I had a great aunt and uncle, who even in the 90s, did not trust banks and kept all their money in cash under their mattress. My paternal grandmother kept £2000 in cash in a plastic bag strapped to the underside of the lid of her garbage can. WTF? You cannot buy drugs that could make me do either of those things. I think I'll trust the bank and if anything does go wrong, which it obviously has, I'll rely on the fact that they are regulated.

It doesn't help that the media usually (a) over-exagerate and (b) are generally wrong in their dumbed down over-simplified explanations. All it does is prey on the elderly and make them even more worried about what could happen if they even leave their glasses on a bus:

"OOOHHHHH - IDENTITY THEFT WILL ENSUE WITHIN 10 MINUTES OF LEAVING YOUR GLASSES ON A BUS -- EXCLUSIVE by our most senior reporter, Dan Ostlethwaite aged 5 and 3/4 -- we pay him in Chewitts per hour".

I know we share at least 70% of our DNA with lettuces, but I swear some people share a significant amount more. In fact, it is a testament to those "with" that we manage to get these people to survive into adulthood. Darwin may have been right but we're bucking nature's laws by doing what we do. If you cannot see the disadvantages of lighting your own fart, I hope you never reproduce.

This is going to sound like your archetypal Telegraph reader, but we do need thick people to do all of the crap that the rest of us don't want to do. While I was doing my A-levels, I worked in a gas-station. The lady who managed it was nice enough but I'd be surprised if she had a single O-level to her name. She could barely do arithmetic and the outrage is that she was raised in a Western country with every opportunity available to her. She was either lazy or just plain thick. I know where I would put my money (and yup, it would not be under a mattress or taped to my garbage can lid).

Man, I must have had a bad night's sleep because I am just seething today. Guess I'll call the police again and ask when, exactly, they might get around to doing something about the theft from my bank account. Or maybe I should just steal a headline by calling Radio 4 and worrying countless pensioners into an early grave while lining my pockets.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 12:40 BST, by Kenny
 

15th July 2007

De-efficiency

I rang the police on Friday to tell them who the thief was who drained my account. To be honest, I'm not really phased because my bank will refund the cash; my problem is with people who do things like this being at liberty. The police said, on Friday, that they would send someone around to take a statement. Two days later and I have to follow up with them to make sure they're taking this seriously. I'm sure there are things happening that warrant more attention, but, Hell's bells, this just screams of extremist nutters who are intent on blowing us all into the next dimension. It's bad when you have to do the legwork yourself. I've given them the guy's name and address yet they won't do anything until they have a written statement from me (which they can't have until they get their arses around here). Two days! For all anyone knows, these people are already in England -- even if they are not terrorists, they are fraudsters. Just bloody arrest them and ask the questions later. The fact is that they have commited a crime, ergo they should be locked up. Whether that crime be just a simple fraud or something more sinister matters not a jot. The fact is that there is undeniable proof they are criminals -- why do I have to do anymore?

Oh God, I'm annoyed and about to go off on one, so it's probably better I just get in the bath and mellow for a while. A tad of Radox will chill me, and then I'm being taken out for a ride with B and J. Bless 'em.

You may hear more about this later. Actually I'm sure you will because it is driving me daft(er).


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 14:51 BST, by Kenny
 

Ongoing bank saga

As I suspected, Lloyds under-promised and over-delivered. Within two days, I had a new debit card drop through the letter box. I've not logged in to see whether the money has been refunded yet, but if it hasn't I'm sure it will be by Monday or Tuesday at the latest. I am so impressed with their efficiency. Admittedly, I'm not so impressed with their Indian call-centers but show me a company that doesn't have weak points and I'll show you Shergar munching the grass in my back yard.

Increasingly, companies are touting the fact that their call-centers are "UK-only". I actually think they are on to something with this. I'm not xenophobic but I quite like dealing with people who speak English as a first language and who I don't have to repeat things to multiple times before they finally get my drift. You could argue that I speak Northern so I would have similar problems with Southerners but, to be honest, I don't have that thick of an accent really -- just a slight Mancunian twang.

Anyway, at least I have my debit card back and functional, even if there isn't anything in there to spend until next week. Very nice it is too -- black horse and all that.

Oh -- last random thought before I start abusing my lungs. I am so in love with the lass from Angela's Eyes. She's not really stunning but her eyes are breath-taking. They're like a honeycomb brown with twists of green, and draw you in like nothing on earth. If you haven't seen it, make a point of doing so (whether you're male or female) -- you'll see what I mean. I can't find an image on t'interweb of what they show as they go into a commercial break (which is a shame because I'd have that as my background on my computer) so you'll just have to watch it.

In the meantime, I'm off to admire my debit card and memorise the security number.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 08:54 BST, by Kenny
 

14th July 2007

PC gone mad

One of the nurses who looked after me in hospital was awesome. My cousin, A, reckoned she was a student nurse but nonetheless rated her very highly. I rated her way above high -- had it not been for her and A, I would have been in a seriously bad place. A is more bloody qualified than most doctors. I just called to try and find the nurse's name so I could send her some flowers but even though the girl I spoke to is convinced she knows who I am talking about, she is legally not allowed to give out her name. Nae matter -- she's on holiday for two weeks anyway. Guess what I'll do is go back in two weeks time in person and deliver her flowers directly.

The thing that leaves a kind of nasty taste is that everyone automatically assumes you are up to no good when you ask for someone's details. This girl was so kind, it's only right that you show your appreciation (God knows, her pay packet won't). All I want to do is send her some flowers to the ward and a message of thanks, but we live in such a paranoid society that even that is construed as dangerous. Had I not been drugged up to the hilt, I would remember her name so could do it, but the fact is that I was so I don't.

Okay -- two weeks it is, and I'll pitch up in person with flowers for her. I'll certainly recognise her, just for being so kind. I hope she has a great holiday and the flowers will bring the smile to her face she will have inevitably lost going back to work after a holiday . Bless ya lass.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sat 18:06 BST, by Kenny
 

Hmmmmmm

I made one of my cholesterol busting Shepherd's Pies for lunch today and invited the parental units round. Die Fuhrer has lived on wurst and cheese all her 81 years but my parents are very health conscious so I always feel guilty when I add that final bit of cream to the mash, just before I brown it off. If this had just been me, there would have been some cheese involved too -- no bloody wonder I have neuropathy problems -- my arteries must be like the M25. I eat loads of fruit, but I cannot resist butter. Or HP sauce mixed with red wine and minced lamb. If you can resisit that, you should be sectioned. It is God's own recipe. I'd love to take credit for it myself, but it came to me in a dream. The one piece of evidence that says to me there might be a God. If it had tasted like crap, I would have refuted utterly a higher being, but honestly, until you have tasted what I can do in the shape of a Shepherd's Pie, you have never experienced anything close to an oral orgasm. These things rock your mind around and then spit you out.

When I was in the States, I'd make one every now and again with hamburger, which, incidentally is no substitute for lamb. The kids lapped it up like they had never seen food. All my kids love my mashed potatoes so add some lamb, HP sauce, red wine, onions and maybe a frisson of fresh garden peas in butter and their eyes used to dilate.

To be honest, it's about the only thing I can cook well apart from duck and chicken. Even if I do say so myself though, and I have three kids, a mother and a grandmother who will attest to this, my mash rocks. However good you think you are at mashed spuds, you're wrong. Most kids hate spuds -- I did. All of my sprogs would power through any mash I made. This is probably why they'll all be more than 6' -- too many carbs.

There's a little bit left so I'm off to make sure there is none of it left at all. I've surprised myself with how good this one was. I wish I'd made twice the amount. I think my mother is thinking along similar lines -- you'd have thought she had won the lottery judging from the look on her face as she was eating it. Remind me to tell you all what to do to achieve culinary excellence...I really should share the wealth -- it's not fair to keep it to myself.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sat 15:17 BST, by Kenny
 

Ode to A

I sent my cousin A some flowers as thanks for her help. As is her disposition, she she emailed me back with a "thanks, but there was no need".

She's so demure and selfless.

All I could do to reply was send something along the lines of if she hadn't been around to ruffle the proverbial carpet, I would have been ignored in hospital. She deserved flowers. As does the student nurse, but being so out of it, I don't even remember her name, let alone the ward I was in.

A signs herself with an elongated version of her name, and that endears her even more to me. She's an angel. If you ever end up in Wigan hospital, you need A looking after you -- words cannot express how much I admire her.

A, if you read this, take my advice on this one -- not pink. Unless it's a panther yer ner.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sat 09:14 BST, by Kenny
 

Kenny Clousseau reporting, yer ner

I've been having a bit of a think about how my debit card was used to book flights from Budapest to Manchester and thence to Dublin and Schiphol. It's one thing to have the card number, but it's another to have the security number from the back and my address. The fact that these were booked while I was ten feet underneath being conscious makes me suspicious. There is nothing in my wallet that says where I live, so the logical conclusion (yer ner) is that someone at the hospital has grabbed my wallet, got my card details and security code then looked up my address and ordered flights using that information.

Given the recent epidemic of NHS employees trying to blow up the civilized world, this has me quite concerned now. Theft is one thing. Bombing people by scamming their own money is another. Maybe I'm paranoid, but this is my money and my people.

Maybe I'm being illogical and just need coffee. Let me try drinking one and get back to you. The conspiracy theory may have melted by then.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sat 07:37 BST, by Kenny
 

13th July 2007

Le bunk yer ner

Yaaaaes - I'm already in Clousseau mode and it's barely 07:00. Guess what I spent yesterday doing. Yaaaaes.

I have to leave here in a couple of hours. Die Fuhrer is being assessed for a new guide-dog and having Jacques around will be counter-productive -- the last time she was due the assessment, she cancelled because I was carted off to A&E -- I told her to just get on with it but she couldn't leave it and insisted on coming to the hospital with me. Today, I'm being chauffeured to one of the local mill shops by the parental units. This would be great were it not for the fact that my bank account has been drained by some Turkish bastard who has booked flights using my debit card. As I said, I know the guy's name now and so do the authorities (Jonathon Ross, Vic Reeves etc.) so he's in for some severe pain when he and his compadres land in Manchester from Budapest. I hope the police polish their truncheons well so as to gain maximum impact just around the back of the head. I'm just so touchy-feely aren't I?

I'm hoping that Die Fuhrer gets a new guide-dog. She lived for Harmony and as I said at the time Harmony died, I have never seen her cry so much. When my grandfather died over 20 years ago, all she did was say "see you old lad". When Harmony died, she howled for hours. To be honest, she needs routine and focus; a dog would give her that, as well as the stability in balance that she needs.

I know I shouldn't do this, but I cannot resist. Die Fuhrer is all of 4'11" yet suffers from vertigo. How the hell can you suffer from vertigo when you're not even elevated? I know I'm bad if I have to stand on a chair or step up a ladder, but as long as my legs are on terra firma, I can handle it. Having my head 6' above the ground is not a problem. Fuhrer gets dizzy being at 4'11". The air pressure must be different down there.

Anyway, I think we can all hope she gets a new dog so that I don't end up being groomed each morning and running around catching grapes each evening.

Now I'm going to beat the other bastards to the newsagent's before they buy my copy of the Telegraph.

Update: It was not even 7:30 and there was only one copy of the Telegraph left. This battle is escalating. If the guy who has booked his flights on my card is the same guy who denies me my paper, he's in for a world of hurt. It's one thing to steal, but it's entirely another to deny a Kenny his Telegraph.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Fri 07:28 BST, by Kenny
 

12th July 2007

I'm officially annoyed

Die Fuhrer is planning her yearly invasion of Poland visit to her sister in Vienna. I've been trying to organize insurance for her and it looks like it will cost more than the flight. How can this be? Just because she's over 80 should not mean she should be penalized. She's in better health than I am. I am more likely to drop dead than she is, yet they want over £200 in insurance while if it were me, it would be around £40. Gob-smacked is not the word.

I'm amazed.

Thankfully, Bryony left a piece before she went on holiday so I have laughed my arse off all morning. That girl is better than sex -- she has me gasping for breath. Thanks Bryony -- I haven't laughed so much since I read Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency.

What I wouldn't do to spend the rest of the week with Bryony and get my grandmother's insurance premium down to something sensible. Neither will happen, but you can dream.

BTW, lads at work -- thanks for the card. It was unexpected but cheered me up no end. I didn't realise I was the primary source of amusement for you all! ;) I'll see you all next week and life will return to normal, hopefully. Le Palaias sounds like a plan. As long as the bank have got their act together, the beers are on me.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 16:25 BST, by Kenny
 

Sometimes, I surprise myself

Thanks to the arse who has fraudulently scammed a couple of grand from me, I have had to engage my brain. Thankfully, it still works.

I have his name (I got it within 10 minutes), and when he arrives from Budapest into Manchester, Her Majesty's finest will be there to welcome him. He'll be deported -- I have no problem with that -- if you have ever seen Midnight Express, you'll know why.

It probably cost me an arm and a leg while I was on the phone to a call center in India, but at least it should be resolved within the near future.

Ah well.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 14:42 BST, by Kenny
 

11th July 2007

Done over and dusted

I'm a computer pro and someone has managed to spend nearly £2000 on my debit card. How smart am I? I feel like I should be shooting myself. Thankfully, my bank are brilliant. The days when the money was spent were when I was in hospital so there is no way it was me. And it was all in Euros, not good old sterling or dollars so it absolutely was not me. If it had had been a Saturday night and I was pissed up, I might not have been so annoyed, but the fact is, I have been nowhere for ages. The only transactions I have made are to send Nski some money and to order some DVDs and flowers, none of which would cost me £2000 in random amounts. Lloyds have been ace. It may take 3-5 days to sort it, but at least they know.

I now have bugger all and will have to ask my grandma for some cash until I get a new card. Bastards. If I ever find out who they are, I'll shoot them. I've always been ever so careful with numbers on t'internet yet I appear to have fallen foul. It's madness. Thankfully, the bank are great. It might have taken 30 mins but they were straight on it. They'll have it sorted in days, bless them.

Back to Clousseau. I'm skint for the next few days so I might as well just sit around.

See ya A, soon.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Wed 18:16 BST, by Kenny
 

Naughty boy

Yes, we know he's not the messiah, but Shaun Ryder's little conflab with the law is a bit trivial. You know -- arrest him for using heroin, but FFS, having a smoke while he's performing is probably the least criminal thing he has ever done. And do we all honestly think that £50 is going to make even a slight dent in his finances? At any point in time, I could probably pony up £50 in cash to pay an on the spot fine for having the audacity to indulge in something that is perfectly legal.

I've been thinking this for a while, but have not said anything (that I remember anyway), but were it not for Nski and the kids, I would probably move to Asia. The opportunities are immense, the cost of living nothing. The only downside would be having to learn a new language, although I do know quite a bit of Chinese now. The reason I would not do it is because I'm having a hard time trying to convince Nski that the UK is a viable option for her and the sprogs (even though UK law says that given we have been married so long, it's just a question of filling in a couple of forms and sending a cheque -- then they would all have dual citizenship). If I suggested China as a home, Nski, being a thoroughbred Yank, would literally spontaneously combust.

"What no Walmart?"

"What do you mean the Simpsons are not on?"

"What channel is the Daily Show on? You're shitting me..."

"I feel angry -- switch on Fox so I can yell at Bill O'Reilly -- WHAT??? No Fox for me to scream at? That's it, I want 3 tickets to Chicago, leaving tomorrow. You'll never see me and the kids again you freak. No Simpsons, no Fox, no Walmart -- it hasn't even frickin' snowed and it's July -- this is like living in China. Wait a minute, umm. Okay, but I still want those tickets."

Guess I'll step outside for a smoke just in case Die Fuhrer arrives back early and fines me £50 for being all rock star and smoking a cigarette.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Wed 13:12 BST, by Kenny
 

Quiet - hush at at the back there!

This is nearly bliss. Die Fuhrer has gone out for the day with the parental units to Kirby Lonsdale which means I am all alone. It's strange how when I lived on my own it drove me batshit crazy yet now I have company, I long for some time to myself. The reason it is only nearly bliss is that my legs are starting to play up again. I can still make it up and down the stairs, just about, but there is an occasional squeal of pain.

I feel some of ze erld Clousseau being lerded into ze erld Day-Vay-Day playeur yer ner.

Does anyone know what the Clousseau style of hat is called? All I have in head attire is a woolen one and a red Fedora (wonder why?). One is too casual and the other too outrageous. I'd love to wear the Fedora outside but you cannot afford to be even slightly eccentric here for fear of being pounced on by numerous Neanderthals armed with clubs and dragging their long-suffering spouses/girlfriends by the hair. Actually nowadays it's more likely to be a flick knife and Shaz who will be the keeper of the pink version of the his and hers flick-knives. Oooh, and matching shell-suits. Suave, but not a red Fedora in sight.

Anyway, yer ner, I shell be watcheding Sir Charles Phantom, ze famouse Litton.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Wed 11:28 BST, by Kenny
 

10th July 2007

Is this real?

There's a number of things confusing me a ce moment.

I think Cruella is reading my blog which has blown my tiny little mind. She's utterly wow and I have no idea how to deal with that. Most men would run from her, but I find her irresistable; you cannot be so talented without brains, which she has undoubtedly got in spades.

I don't know what it is but people like Cruella and Bryony have me utterly compelled. I sit there waiting for them to write, just like I used to do with Nski.

I've just sent my cousin some flowers over t'interweb for being so kind last week. She is just stunning. She knows everything and could beat any doctor on any day. Thanks A -- you've made a world of difference. Expect some Lillies tomorrow. Unfortunately, I spelled Standish wrong but I'm sure they'll get it.

Love ya mi'duck. And so many thanks. Maybe we should have headed off into the sunset all those years ago. I might not be in the position I am had I had you directing.

Love ya lass!


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 19:10 BST, by Kenny
 

9th July 2007

The trail

I started off with the one I haven't seen for the most amount of time, The Trail of the Pink Panther (the one where Sellers died during the filming). I have tears streaming down my face. 50% pain and 50% laughter. Nothing funnier has ever been created, nor will it ever be.

I picked up on a line that I must have missed in previous viewings:

"I woz just tilling ze capitaine about my wife's fazzer in lieu on my seargeant's side."

That is a hernia waiting to happen. I tell you, between my Clousseau and my bloody health you lot are going to be bored rigid for weeks.

Zat is not ma dog.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 16:16 BST, by Kenny
 

Oh God

My Clousseau DVDs have just arrived. Eight and a quarter hours worth. I will be back in hosptital within 24 hours with ruptured everything from howling with laughter.

Of course, to temper any kind of happiness, my mother is insistent that I read Catcher in the Rye. She's bringing it up tomorrow. I have spent every moment from being able to read to the present day avoiding it. The nearest I have ever come to psychological literature is Of Mice and Men, Death of a Salesman and the one with the kids on an island eating each other (I temporarily forget the name, probably for good reasons in that it mentally scarred me for years). There's a good reason I read Jane Austin and the Brontes more than any other genre; that's the world I want to live in. Over-analyzing the human condition is not useful and is a self-fulfilling prophecy -- the more you analayze, the more you realize the frailty and the more of your marbles go rolling down the hill into the sea, never to be seen again.

What we really need is laughter not languishing. There is no better cure for anything than having your cheeks ache from giggling like a schoolgirl.

I am about to start over eight hours of therapy. Okay, I may lunch first, but after that, I'm back to bed with Clousseau arresting minkys. This could be messy. And I can guarantee, my alter-ego Clousseau will surface as a result. The erld Kenny Clousseau ploy yer ner.

God blesss Peter Sellers. I bet he had read Catcher in the Rye, which is probably why he was such a miserable sod when he wasn't being Clousseau.

"Ah Monsieur Comissioner -- how err yu? And Mrs Comissioner? And all ze little baby Comissioners?"

I am so looking forward to this.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 12:31 BST, by Kenny
 

8th July 2007

Family ties

I emailed my cousin A (the nurse) today for some advice. She sent the sweetest email back. I thought I had imagined her visiting me last week, but she did. I can't remember what we spoke about or whether I was too forward about her or one of her compadres. When we were young, we swore blind that we would become Bible-belt cousin spouses. Strange how things work out. A has just sent me an email that cuts more mustard than anything anyone else has managed. I trust her more than anyone so her advice is that which I will follow. Three weeks of hell are about to begin in the near future...if A reckons it's the thing to do, I'm not going to argue. She's convinced me.

Thanks A. I know we've been remote for a while and I have only just told you about the old blog, but we've always been on the same page. You did more good for me last week than anyone else. And if you can find out the name of the student nurse, I'll be forever in your debt -- she needs some flowers as thanks, as do you. I don't even have your phone number, let alone your address.

Everyone needs a cousin like A. She is one in a million. She has the same compasssion in her eyes that the student nurse had -- it may be because she knows me, but I suspect that she has that look with everyone, because she just cares. I just wanted to give her the biggest hug I could, but she's way too uber and she'd probably batter me for even trying. All I can do is thank her for being there and apologise if I was stoned off my box thanks to the drugs.

I would not normally do this, but I'll cut and paste some of her email...

Hi there, yes you were sort of out of it thursday when I came to see you but then again that would have been due to the medication, but what the hell if it is the start to getting you sorted.
I can half understand why you left but Wentworth would be different in a lot of ways.
What you have to remember is that you were on a medical ward at Wigan therefore exposed to the world of the elderly who are usually very confused and vocal! But Wentworth is not a medical geri ward and you would be around young people in similar situations as yourself. I have heard nothing but praise for Wentworth and I have met some of the the staff on occasion when they have been to see and assess my patients and they are very good, pleasant but don't take any crap.

Tell me you're not completely in love with A. I've always been a fan, and now she's trying her best to save me. If it hadn't been for her, I swear I would have been ignored last week and in even more serious danger.

I need to eat and then hit the sack. Thanks A -- you're top of my Christmas list. We should do dinner soon.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 21:11 BST, by Kenny
 

Peace and quiet in Vegas

The locals around here call Ashton "Vegas". I've no idea why -- maybe I've been away too long. If someoneone asks you "Are you going up to Vegas tonight?", you know exactly what they mean, even though I'm sure no-one has ever explained the correlation to me. Our very own Vegas is basically a couple of supermarkets, a boat load of pubs and clubs, and as many fast food joints as you can fit in such a small place.

I mention this because Die Fuhrer spends 50%+ of her time in the kitchen. Her life revolves around breadcrumbs and cooking. She would never have been able to hold down a job and cook like she does. It is her living.

Yesterday though, I managed the unthinkable. "Bugger it", says I with a wry grin, "I'm going to order a pizza and some garlic bread to be delivered." The look of horror was priceless. "You should try it, just once." I said. After 10 minutes of 'banter', she agreed to the plan.

The pizza arrived and she started gnashing her way through it. She would never say she enjoyed anything that she objects to on principle, but she ate it so she can't have been that offended by it. In actual fact, it was a pretty damned good pizza. I still have some left for lunch.

The next little challenge is to get her down to th'Oddies for a bar-meal -- now it's all non-smoking, that should be a bit easier. And then the coup de grace will be Buraq's curry house at Bryn Cross. I've only ever been there once but it was damned fine.

The problem is that when you're an Austrian immigrant of obstinate tendencies, even though you have lived here for over 50 years, you still live on schniztelled everything and bierwurst. Okay, you may try to enjoy a bland Sunday lunch every now and again (that's not to say that my parents' Sunday lunches are bland -- quite the opposite, but when you're a Fuhrer, zer must be ze wurst ozerwize, eet ees nicht ein mealandoofer). Don't get me wrong, I love Austrian food (apart from pig-lung soup) and I think I favor my grandmother's cooking over anyone other than Nski's, but her reluctance to try other forms of food is mind-boggling. She would have hated China and Korea. I have guts that will handle almost anything but Thailand, China and Korea pushed me to my limits. I literally lived on gin and tonic with an occasional fish thrown in for protein.

Anyway, I'm proud of the fact that I got Die Fuhrer to eat pizza. If you have ever met her, you'll know what a monumental triumph this is. Flip-flop will probably comment in complete disbelief, but FF, 'tis true. I will award myself the George Cross when I get her into Buraq's.

Ooooh - Grand Prix time. I don't even know why I watch it because I don't have that much interest but it seems to be a mandatory blokey thing to do.

Later mein dudes.

PS -- I've had a bit of a rant over at Stan's, who incidentally has been writing some top notch stuff recently so get over there and read what someone with a brain has to say.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 13:01 BST, by Kenny
 

7th July 2007

A little bit of what you fancy doesn't do you any good at all

I sat up last night just waiting to fall asleep. Joy.

At 09:00 this morning, my cell phone rang. It was B asking me to do something about her phone. It was bad enough when people realised that I worked for an ISP and expected me to be able to work miracles with BT equipment that I have no authority over. Now we're an ISP/Mobile phone company, it's even worse. What the hell can I do? Okay, when I worked for a company of a couple of hundred people and was relatively senior, I had some influence, but I'm now a lackey who works in a company of tens of thousands of people -- not much influence there really. Okay, I know some of the people who can change things, but I cannot just keep throwing friends' problems their way -- if everyone did that, it really would be an old boys' club and I would soon lose a very good friend and co-worker.

So, if you're a mate of mine who uses our services, leave me out of it. As much as I would like to help you out, I can't. You will have to go down the same route as the rest of our customer base.

The other thing that annoyed me this morning is that B knows that I'm physically wrecked and need as much rest as I can get, and she knows I'm an insomniac at the best of times. If I knew that about one of my friends, I would not call them before 10:00 -- it's just common courtesy. What I should do is spill some sugar or something at 03:00 and call her to see if she can sort it out -- try walking in my shoes dearie.

Gah, I'm in a seriously bad mood. I had offered to do one of my cholesterol Shepherd's Pies tomorrow but the paternal grandmother doesn't do anything containing cream or wine in it, so that's off the cards. At least I'll have a day of peace tomorrow.

Nski sent me a brilliant email yesterday about her dad. It was gutting. I can't believe I will probably never see him again. The most I can hope for is that I will get to visit his grave in years to come. That guy is a genuine Midwestern working class hero, and I have nothing but respect for his tolerance, humility and intellect (you can tell where Nski got her brains from). I'll miss sitting out on the deck with him, armed with a smoke and a beer. I'll miss playing Euchre with him, as his devious eyes try to read you and he calls spades, having only the 10 but still pulls it off, and you're sat giving it a "WTF?". He is one of my favorite people on the planet, and I really don't want him to leave it.

Still, I might be joining him sooner than I would have hoped or imagined. Which reminds me, I really must make a list of "must-do's" -- fun ones as well as practical ones. It's funny, when I first got the bad news, I went into apoplexy with shock. Now, it all seems strangely serene. There's no guarantee that I'm on my way out but it's 50/50 at the moment.

Live for the moment -- I am. It's mid-day and I haven't even got out of my PJs. There's indulgence for you. ;) I'm so rock and roll.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sat 12:03 BST, by Kenny
 

5th July 2007

A small victory

To be honest, I've been trying to achieve my little goals towards becoming a contributary member of society again. I made it into Wigan sans stick, bought my dictionary/thesaurus, Pears and was tempted into buying a pair of trousers in Next. I was out of the house for all of 75 minutes and came home exhausted. I have not moved since -- the legs are shattered.

As I mentioned yesterday and today, Dr T is back today. I have an appointment with her first thing tomorrow. I've written my letter to the head of the practice stating that if he doesn't offer her a full-time role, I'm going to convert to Islam and start bombimg frogs with straws and nitrogen. We'll see how all that turns out. I probably have MI5 camped outside as we speak. Trouble is, a Beamer around here is probably a bit of a dead give-away.

I've written my letter to the principal doctor demanding that they keep Dr T on after the BMC computer debacle for delivery after I attend surgery tomorrow morning. It's not so much a ransom note as a plea to keep the only doctor I really, really trust within arms reach. This probably sounds very insulting to the other GPs at the practice but sometimes you just know who you gel with. Dr T spotted me in Wigan while I was in getting blood-work done and spent 10 minutes of her (probably 30 minute) lunch half-hour with me: she had none of of my notes with her but she remembered every single fact and figure off the top of her head. She's a natural and inevitably would be wasted as a GP, but for as long as she can only be a GP, I want her to to be my GP. I know I have a tendency to hero worship but if you ever needed a doctor, look no further than Dr T; she's a tribute to her profession.

I have a list of questions for her tomorrow before I have to make my mind up about incarcerating myself. Ultimately, I'll take her advice. I'll present the facts and she can comment. Chances are, I'll follow her guidance.

Medical shite aside, "Happy Bidet" Bryony. I'd love to say she was coming for a sunny couple of weeks in Wigan (I'd even stop moanining about the legs et al), but I'm sure she'll be off to somewhere romantic. And good on her. For all that she does and all the crap that she gets, there's something fundamentally unfair about the abuse she gets. I don't know whether it's jealousy or what, but she's a nice lass and someone who you would probably really enjoy a night out with. In fact, you certainly would not be embarassed taking her home to meet your parents. Have a good one lass!

Right, I have to be at Dr T's early so it's dinner, munchies, tabs and then sleep.

Gutte Nacht. (This German kick is getting tedious).


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 18:49 BST, by Kenny
 

My mission for today, should I choose to accept it

Yesterday, I set myself the happy little mission of testing my legs without a walking stick by heading to Ashton to pick up some essentials. Mission accomplished, with a certain amount of discomfort, I returned to batter the Telegraph crossword and veg watching really crap TV until the small hours. In fact, I hit every goal I had for yesterday so had the sleep of the just.

Today I have a more ambitious set of goals. No, I don't intend being at Utd's training ground in the warm up to the new season. And the 2012 Olympics are well off the radar unless they introduce synchronized smoking as a sport, in which case I have been in practice for over 20 years. No, I have decided I need a new dictionary. Die Fuhrer's was purchased in 1963 and I swear the word "computer" isn't even in there (I haven't checked but I would not be surprised). I also intend picking up a thesaurus (Die Fuhrer didn't even know what what one was) and no home is complete without a copy of the Pears Encyclopedia, so that's on the list too. This is ambitious in that it involves a lot more walking than I did yesterday. I'll mitigate the risk by taking enough cash for a taxi home if need be.

I think the government's latest idea to let locals decide how to spend council money is inspired. What was it Paul Weller said? "The public wants what the public gets". Well, around here, it will be all too obvious. Pies and pints on the NHS for those under-nourished souls who weigh under 250lbs. The eviction of anyone whose skin is darker than a tourist returning from the Costa Del Sol. In a cost saving measure, scrap the police force. Ban t'interweb because no-one understands or uses it. Free Sky Sports to every home. Simpsons on demand. The Sun delivered daily for free.

Cynical? Moi? Mais non.

Right, I need to boogie before they sell out of the Telegraph. I think there are three people in this area who buy it, and the sick bastard newsagent only orders two copies, so there's a rush job every day. Of course, it has a disadvantage in that there is a distinct lack of cleavage and show-biz gossip, and it uses words of more than two syllables.

More later, once my goals have been achieved.

Later mein dudes.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Thu 10:20 BST, by Kenny
 

4th July 2007

Cherchez la docteure

Dr T is back tomorrow. In honor of this fine moment, I intend releasing balloons and three hostages -- my camera, my Botanics shower gel and the Clousseau DVDs from my dad's house. Expect random Clousseau references for the near to medium future. I also had my fair locks (or what's left of them) sheared in honor.

Having been told to get some moderate walking done by Dr J, I got the bus into Ashton today and picked up some stuff for Die Fuhrer and a boat load of comfort food for me (yoghurt etc.).

Speaking of comfort food, try this one: get yourself a bag of ready salted crisps, open it and and pile an aircraft-hanger full of vinegar in the bag. Hold the top and then shake for all you are worth. Utterly divine.

Dr T's return reminded me that she is only here until the end of the month and that I must write to the head of the practice to insist he keeps her on. Thanks to the mad GP application system that has been so widely reported on, she may not have a job by the end off the month, which, to me, is unthinkable. You cannot waste talent like that; it is criminal. If she ends up sans GP position at this practice, I will not be voting labour again; it would show just what a bunch of officious, bureaucratic egghead spin-doctoring egotistical dickheads they are.

In fact, I will probably see her before the end of the month, but I'm still going to write to thank her for her efforts and state that I hope she can stay on. I looked her up on the GMC list and she is more than qualified. Actually, I think she is better qualified than most of the muppets who treated me in Wigan. I suspect the nurses knew more than the doctors there. Certainly my cousin did. And as for the NFP "doctor", he was a condescending, arrogant git who scare-mongered me into the next dimension; thank goodness I had a GP appointment straight after. I could sit and ask questions, tick boxes, take blood pressure and pulse and analyze a urine sample with a strip and then make the most pessimistic statements possible -- doesn't take Hawkins does it?

On a lighter note, I notice a certain young former 3am journalist has been on here over the last couple of days. She always seems to pick days when I'm ranting rather than taking the piss. Tomorrow, I will make a conscious effort to find a suitable topic to deride. And that's a promise!

Schlaft gut.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Wed 19:25 BST, by Kenny
 

3rd July 2007

I've seen that many quacks, I'm an ornathologist

I had two appointments today. The first one was in Wigan where this NFP group guy gave me a right dose of doom and I departed with a "that's it then then, I want to slit my own wrists before nature does it for me". I left feeling like throwing myself under the next 600 bus from Wigan to Leigh. I resisted the urge on the basis that I had an appointment with Dr J (my secondary GP). His advice was for 3 weeks of incarceration in some NHS camp somewhere. He gave me until Friday to make my mind up as to whether I wanted to do it or not. Given he has no access to my medical records, I wanted my GP's advice first.

I pitched up to my GP (Dr J, not Dr T today) and awaited the worst from last weeks little holiday in hell. Turns out everything is on the up. My platetet levels are up 25% in just under a week, my clotting is up substantially, my neuropathy problems appear to be fading and all other vitals are fine. The only problem she spotted was the lumbar scholiosis is for real -- if you look at my back from the back, the spine bends to the right and if you look sideways, one part that should be curved is dead straight. There is also some slight vertebrae damage to S1 and S2. I put this down to my slouchy sitting position and a couple of falls.

While I was typing this the maternal unit called. I gave her the good news to which she responded with a gasp and told me I should do the three weeks. WTF? Were you listening lady? All the signs are positive so why do I need to vouluntarily imprison myself in hell? The only thing to worry about is the back and that's a chiropractor's job now.

As I said yesterday, until she retrains from being an art teacher to being a doctor or paramedic, she can butt out. This is between Dr T, Dr J and I now, and no-one else will be privy to it (other than you lot of course -- you don't sit demanding I take certain courses of action). The way I see it, I'll listen to medical advice and I'll take a view on whether I want to follow up on it or not. It's my body and ultimately my decision.

In the meantime, Thiamin it is, in large quantities together with a strong vitamin B complex, plenty of fluids (great excuse for loads of tea!!!) and loads of vitamin A and fruit. Oh, and protein -- loads of meat. Kenny heaven.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Tue 17:48 BST, by Kenny
 

2nd July 2007

Ahhhh....

I don't know about you, but it's about this time of the day that I start to think about informing the world about the state of my lumbar scholiosis. I'm still not sure whether I have it or not, but judging from the very severe looks on the two consultants' faces as they looked at my Xrays last week, I worry. The logical side of me is that consultants have a gene that prohibits smiling of any kind. The illogical side, as I watched the finger-pointing at the Xrays, was to do an Arthur Dent and panic. I wouldn't mind but they wouldn't even let me look at them -- I can read a frickin' Xray FFS. Curvature is easy to spot. Wazzocks.

Med school training must go along the lines of:

1st Semester: Learn to say "Stop drinking, stop smoking, eat healthier".

2nd Semester: "Better get some blood tests done".

3rd Semester: "Time for an Xray".

4th Semester: How to do a group huddle while appearing in deep consultation but secretly studying the racing pages and swigging whisky from a hip flask behind a file.

5th Semester: Genetic manipulation (a la Mutant X) to remove the humor gene.

6th Semester: How to appear morose whether delivering good or bad news.

7th Semester: Gaining the upper hand over a patient who is worried to death but is asking questions you need a text book to answer.

I tell ya, I'm surprised Dr T passed. You know, she was working at Wigan GI one day while I was in and actually took 15 minutes of her lunch hour to come and see me. That was the extent of my visitors, with the exception of the maternal unit. Show me another doctor who would do that out of pure good will.

I reckon I would have made a great doctor.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 17:48 BST, by Kenny
 

Bugger

I am not enjoying today. I got up early with the express intent of getting in to see Dr T today. No such luck. She's on hospital duty until Thursday which means I have to see my second choice tomorrow. She's okay but nowhere near as sympathetic an ear as Dr T. What this means is that tomorrow is just about filled with even more medical crap. This is getting tiresome.

Add to that the fact that the ultimate in PC laws comes into effect today and I'm only allowed to smoke in the pouring rain and it's all pretty miserable. I'm not sure whether th'Oddies is open again but I wouldn't be going because (a) the legs won't take me, (b) it will be smoke free so half my mates will have stopped going and (c) I offended E and am too embarassed to face her. Go me.

I need to hobble up for some cigs and Pepsi at what could only be termed a snail's pace (I can hardly see a sprint career in the near future) and it's chucking it down so I will arrive back drenched to the bone, shivering and totally despondent. Hello BST, not.

To add to mine and the national woes, some bunch of extremist nutters has decided that planting car nail bombs around the country will earn them a three-score and twelve virgins hit for their efforts. Funny how chastity on earth is a good thing while shagging your arse off in heaven is logical. Were this the case, why do we have a "next generation" of little madmen around to make these bombs?

Ack, I reckon I still have post-traumatic stress disorder from last weeks hospital visit. It really got to me yet no-one around me realises it at all. All I have is pathos and lectures on a subject they know nothing about (platelets).

I should just go back to bed.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Mon 09:39 BST, by Kenny
 

1st July 2007

Dog-house

God, I really am in the dog-house. The idea behind my little trip into this part of LGI was to build up my platelets from 44 to 150 such that I could undergo proper therapy. My mother has a habit of talking for me when I am perfectly capable of describing my own symptoms. She's mad because I have told her to butt out when it comes to medical interactions and because I left the clinic early. This commentary was coming from a liberal arts teacher who still hasn't even got maths O'level. Die Fuhrer is even worse -- she knows better than any doctor or me even though all she has ever done is clerical work and manufactured toffees. If I so much as take a leak, it's down to platelets. You know, the second world war was down to platelets. Infuriating. I have asked that we agree to differ and just leave it well alone and let me sort it out.

I know, they are important, but there are easier ways of increasing the level -- Thiamin and Vitamin B compounds. And I know these are working in that I can make it up and down stairs again without screaming.

I wrote a letter to K today apologizing for doing a flit. I showed it my mother thinking she might think it showed a little magnaminity. It just inflamed her more. At which point I bade her farewell.

I have only ever trusted three doctors in my life and one of those is Dr T. I'll do what she tells me to do, not what two pseudo-medics have to say and I am not going to spend each evening arguing whether my broken fingernail is down to the infamous platelets.

I hate lay-scientists.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 19:33 BST, by Kenny
 

Comparisons

You have no idea how nice it is to be home. The only analogy I can make to "that" place is Big Brother. I have never seen it on TV but I understand the concept. In this version, it's the housemates who decide the eviction. Seeing I was probably the only one there without a criminal conviction; guess who was the odd one out. Cue Kenny to do a bunk. Je ne regrette riens. I can now bathe in private in a clean environment, blog to my heart's content and pray that my bunkage does not affect my chances of home treatment on a one-to-one basis. Surely my mental well-being is just as important as my physical. We'll see.

I've written about 10 points to deliver to Dr T tomorrow as to why this was not going to work and a letter of apology to K thanking her for her efforts to get me in but explaining why I wasn't doing my full stretch.

Now I'm off for some R&R, after a visit to ye olde shoppe for some cigs. You may get more later if anything else pisses me off.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 16:29 BST, by Kenny
 

The deal

Okay, so here's the deal. I have long been awaiting a therapy class at a certain hosipital to deal with with physiological complaints and I finally got in there last Wednesday. I pitched up armed with a week worths of clothes only to find that this is worse than Strangeways. The clientele were bordering on jailable, the mattresses on the floor were barely 3 feet from each other and the routine was Nazi. I tolerated it for all of 36 hours before I cracked from the do-gooder lunacy. I'd hade have been just as sane watching Richard and Judy. Apparently, on my second night there, I had what is commonly known as a fit and started thrashing out at anything that even came near me. I was given librium, valium, anyotherums and sedated. Oh, and numerous drip-feeds.

The next morning I woke up in a ward within the general infirmary with rails at the side of my bed and nurses stood by to make sure I was sedated again. My only respite was that one was the kindest nurse I have ever met and that my cousin Anne, who is a nurse there came around to see me. Anne is my favorite cousin by far. She is so damned practical. She realy wanted me to stay but in a phrase "I took bogggarts" -- I was in a taxi before they even noticed I was gone. After you have spent two nights between a chap shouting out in his sleep what a crack sniper he was in every war since 1066 and a psychopathic snorer who just screamed not to hurt him all night in his sleep, while you lie thinking of cigarettes because you cannot sleep, enough is enough and you act.

This my have been a sleep-deprived hallucination, but I awoke to carnage with me being the only one intact. Discretion being the better part of valor, I packed and got the Hell out of Dodge. My family were furious; so be it. I'd sooner see my GP who knows me (and who will probably bollock me for doing a bunk) than put myself through that again.

The only point that sojourn proved is that the MRI scans on my guts, liver etc. are abnormal. So frickin' what?

Still, I saw Anne again and met the cutest nurse. I tell ya, these people are angels compared to most doctors.

More tomorrow when I have a day on my own for the first time in weeks.


Comments (), Permalink, Posted: Sun 02:19 BST, by Kenny