Weekly roundup

My mobility scooter hasn’t been serviced in 2 years, and has recently been kangarooing on me, so I thought I’d better have it looked at.  There is only one mobility centre where I live and I loathe the men that work there: the salesman is a smarmy git who would sell his own granny and the engineer makes my skin crawl.  Considering they deal with mainly elderly, and often ill and vulnerable, people the fact that they behave the way they do is dreadful.

When I bought my second hand scooter the sales man told me the batteries, which cost £500 to replace, were “about 2 years old” and I was assured the scooter had been serviced.  In the first week of buying it, however, I noticed the batteries were flat after only 6 miles when they should do 30 miles on a full charge.  So I took the casing off myself and discovered the batteries were actually 6 years old and totally knackered.  If the scooter had been serviced they would have known this, so had lied to me.  And if they didn’t know, it means the scooter hadn’t been serviced and they’d lied to me.  So I demanded brand new batteries or told them they could have the scooter back as it had been sold to me under false pretences.  Luckily I was compos mentis enough, and physically able enough, to do that but I know for a fact my Mum and Dad wouldn’t have been – lying to old and sick people is despicable.

The engineer who comes to the house to service the scooter is a letcherous toad and last time he was here made me monumentally uncomfortable, so on this visit I wore a ring on my wedding finger and invented a fiance.  I shouldn’t have to do that though to stop him being a perv.  Just the way he speaks to me makes me uneasy.  He’s one of these know-it-all little shits who makes you feel about an inch high.  Being as though my scooter isn’t working properly I thought he’d take it away to the workshop to be looked at, so he stood and watched me manoeuvre the scooter out of the shed and back it up, ready to drive it into the back of his van.  Then after all that he pipes up “I’m not taking it away!” like I was being stupid.  I wanted to kick his bloody shins.

Bertie was back at the vets on Monday.  He loves to eat sheep poo and cow plop so regularly gets intestinal worms.  I worm him every 3 months, but despite doing that in July he’s recently lost half a kilo in weight, which is significant for a small dog.  The vet was concerned it might be due to his heart disease, but on checking his heart it sounded good.  So she was a bit flummoxed.  I know Bertie though and knew that he simply still had worms, so asked if he could have a full week of an anti-wormer called Panacur.  The vet agreed and 4 days later Bert had put on 0.4kg 🙂  You know yourself.  You know your kids and you know your pets.  You know when something is wrong and, often, what that something is.  You’re in a better position than many health care workers to make decisions on treatment so don’t be afraid to speak up.

I love summer, but I’m not so keen on all the little critters that come out to play when the sun shines. Unbeknown to me some annoying little varmint must have taken a bite out of my thumb this week and I woke up Thursday morning with a joint which looked like this:

Insect bite on thumbIt’s throbbing, and burning, and itching like a son-of-a-bitch!

All the histamine won’t help my insomnia, which has been rampant for the past 10 days.  I blame my hormones, but then I blame my hormones for just about everything these days 😉  I also have an outbreak of hives on my arse (as mentioned in my last blog post), which won’t be doing my sleep situation any favours.  Lying awake half the night sucks and after more than a week of no proper sleep I’m getting quite tetchy.

On to some good news.  I rang for the results of my bone density scan and was told that “according to the World Health Organisation guidelines your results are normal” which is great and means I don’t need any treatment or another scan until 2020 🙂

I had yet another tooth re-filled on Friday.  ‘Nuff said about that, other than adding I bloody hate dentists and am £84 poorer.

The coming week is a bit nuts, so I may not manage a blog post.  It’s Sod’s Law – nothing happens for ages then everything happens at once.  However I’m looking forward to Wednesday when, health permitting, I’m off to a wild deer park to photograph stags before their antlers are chopped off.  I appreciate it’s not everyone’s idea of a good time but, strange girl that I am, it’s mine 😉


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