Tag Archives: M.E.

Weekly roundup

We cruise along in life blissfully ignorant of the fact that on any given day, totally without warning, our world could come crashing down.  That’s what has happened to my sister-in-law this week when she was diagnosed with breast cancer at the age of 49.  Of course, it would be the s-i-l that helps me with my parents, has a full-time job as a home care manager and still has a child living at home, and not my other s-i-l who does absolutely bugger all – it’s the unfairness of it that makes your blood boil.

As you all know, I’ve been trying for over 2 years now to find a reason for my Dad’s severe sensorimotor polyneuropathy.  The neurologist at the RVI in Newcastle, as a last resort in July 2019, ordered a lip biopsy to check for Sjogren’s Syndrome (the gold standard test for SS) and sent the report through to my Dad’s GP.  The GP couldn’t make head nor tail of the histology report, but as the neurologist said in her letter that the result showed “mild inflammation” my Dad was referred to a Rheumatologist for further consultation.  We saw him in October, but he hadn’t been sent the histology report.  He ordered a load of further tests which all came back normal and we waited, and waited, for a follow on appointment.  In the last 3 months I’ve rung his secretary twice to ask what the hold up is and she just kept saying they hadn’t received the lip biopsy report, so I told her to bloody well chase it up.  Then last week my Dad gets a letter from the Rheumatologist to say he still hadn’t had a copy of the biopsy report, but as all the other tests were negative he was discharging my Dad from his Clinic.  WTF?!

The same day, I rang the RVI and it took less than 3 minutes for them to email me the biopsy report, so why the hell the Rheumy’s secretary couldn’t have done that is anyone’s guess.  And the report shows “focal lymphocytic sialadenitis; focus score = 1” in other words it is absolutely positive for Sjogren’s Syndrome, or possibly the blood cancer lymphoma which we already know my Dad has a marker for.  I am LIVID.

Livid that this was done 6 months ago, yet for some reason the neurologist has called the result “mild inflammation” when it’s nothing of the kind.  Livid that my GP didn’t bother to Google the result if she didn’t understand it, and realize it was positive for SS.  And livid that the Rheumatologist would discharge my Dad from Clinic without bothering to get hold of the biopsy report first.  These people get paid tens of thousands of pounds each year of my tax money to do their job – I shouldn’t have to be doing it for them.  Needless to say, I sent a very sarcastic letter to all 3 health care providers and requested an urgent appt to discuss.

My Mum’s been having some stomach issues lately, so on New Year’s Eve I sat for 2½ hours in the hospital waiting for her to have an endoscopy, which in the end had to be halted mid-way through as Mum couldn’t breathe due to her severe COPD.  She went back on Tuesday to have the test repeated, but this time they put her on oxygen and it was much better.  Thankfully nothing sinister was found, though there was a large area of inflammation which was biopsied and we’re now waiting to find out if she has h-pylori, which can cause ulcers and needs a course of antibiotics.

I’m so fed up of hospitals I can’t even tell you.

In amongst all of the above, I’ve been trying to sell my house and buy a knackered bungalow – more on that in my next post!

 

Weekly Roundup

It is week 5 of my cold virus and, although my runny nose has finally dried up, I’m still coughing.  It’s making me grumpy and irritable and I tell it to fuck right off twenty times a day 😉

Despite my Mum’s endoscopy appointment being for 9am on New Year’s Eve we still waited a whole hour before she was called in for her pre-test checks and were there over 2 hours in total.  It isn’t physically possible to be running an entire hour late at 9 o’clock in the morning, so one can only assume the way the department is run leaves a lot to be desired.  I know when my Dad had his endoscopy it took 4½ hours, 3½ hours of which were spent sitting in the waiting room.  The upshot of Mum’s endoscopy was that it had to be halted mid-way through because of a drop in her oxygen levels (having half a lung and a humongous tube down your throat will do that to you), so we’ve got to go back and have it done again.  Oh joy.

Speaking of my Mum, we had a conversation in the car about menopausal hormones and how they can make you irritable.  “You were really nasty when you first started going through the menopause” she tells me, “I recognized it from when I went through it”.  Er, no, Mother.  I shouted at you because I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown because you are an alcoholic and were drunk every day by lunchtime, leaving me to run your life, my Dad’s life, your home, my home and my own life all the while suffering from 3 serious and disabling diseases!  I didn’t say that, though, because she was on her way for an endoscopy and I didn’t want to upset her.  This is the extent to which addicts are in denial.  They can’t see that their behaviour affects anyone but them and are unable to take responsibility for their situation.  I’m still seething about her comment a week later – pointless I know, but I’m only human.

I received the vet’s bill for Bertie’s tooth cleaning, blood test and dewclaw removal this week.  £400 ($523).  Arrggghhhh!  He wasn’t even in a day, let alone overnight.  And before anyone asks why he isn’t insured, he used to be.  I paid £19.50 a month until the insurers discovered he had a slipped disc and they demanded £179 a month instead.  Fucking robbers.

Things are starting to move with the house sale/purchase and I’ve received a ginormous wad of paperwork to fill in from my solicitor.  Several people have asked that I do pictures of the bungalow renovation, so I’ve set up a separate blog for that – I’ll let you know when I start posting!  I seem to be the only person excited about my house move – everyone else thinks I’m mental for taking on such a massive project, which is starting to get to me :-/  It’s happening, I’ve done my research, survey, costings and plans and it’s not like I haven’t done houses up before (admittedly not this level of renovation but still).  I’m not clueless or naive, so I wish they’d just get on board and be supportive.

My elderly, disabled friend who I called an ambulance for when he fell out of bed bought me a new hoover for Christmas 😮  He’s not short of a bob or three so £300 isn’t anything to him, but it’s a big deal to someone on my income and I’m incredibly grateful.  It’s a lightweight, cordless, stick one and doesn’t kill my back like my big, clunky Dyson – important as I’m still currently sans cleaner.  You know your life is a huge pit of excrement when you get excited by a hoover.

Well, I’d better get up and get my arse in gear.  I’m meeting my bestie for lunch today in the city, which I’m very much looking forward to, and am fairly sure it wouldn’t be acceptable to rock up in my jim jams and fluffy bedsocks with the hole in the heel 😀  But first I have to walk the mutt.  He knows the route with his eyes shut, so why he can’t just take himself off for a wander and leave me to have a lie-in is beyond me, the selfish article.

 

Weekly roundup

OMG I have the raging lergie and feel like the undead.  It feels so unfair – I don’t have the resources to be sick on top of being sick.  It started on Tuesday with one of the worst sore throats I think I’ve ever had.  Every time I lay down I felt like I was choking and my entire oesophagus felt inflamed.  I didn’t feel ill with it though – that came later.

Wednesday I woke up streaming.  Every time I moved my head my nose dripped and trust me when I say my nose isn’t exactly small 😉  I still didn’t feel poorly but, though I was off my food.

Thursday I woke and the streaming had stopped, but in its place was feeling like I’d been run over by a bus, which had backed up and run over me again just to make sure I was truly dead.  I had zero energy, my head pounded and every part of me ached.  I took my temperature which was normal, then spent the day drinking elderflower codial like a woman lost in a desert and consequently peeing like a race horse.

Friday I woke sounding like Donald Duck.  My throat was on fire and my neck was visibly swollen.  No ulcers though, or puss, so it isn’t tonsilitis – just a virulent virus which everyone I know has succumbed to.  My voice had almost totally gone and I ached from head to toe.  I only got 3 hours sleep that night because every time I lay down I either started coughing or felt like I was choking.  It didn’t help that I was woken at 2.15am by what sounded like someone tap dancing on my bedroom ceiling in hob nailed boots but which was probably just a little vole scuttling about.  It needs to eat the poison that’s up there quick smart and die!

Saturday my throat was worse than ever, which I didn’t think was physically possible, and my nose was back to streaming.  While writing the 4 paragraphs above I sneezed no less than 7 times and went through 5 aloe vera infused tissues.

I didn’t need the worst cold of the past decade this week, when I’ve had the biggest news in 15 years :-/  It’s difficult to get excited about my house move when my head if full of cotton wool, my eyelids feel like concrete blocks and I’m feeling utterly dreadful, though I am of course thrilled to bits 🙂

Last Saturday I received a request from a couple who wanted to view my house.  The man booked it and I didn’t recognize the name, so imagine my surprise when I opened the door to find a woman on my doorstep who used to be my cleaner!  They’d moved away to run a business which sadly didn’t work out and they were desperate to move back to my village because both her Mum and Sister live here.  They put in a good offer the same night.

I couldn’t formally accept though because I hadn’t had my offer accepted on the bungalow I wanted.  However, I was in a much stronger buying position now I had an offer on mine, so rang the Estate Agent at 9am Monday morning to place my best and final bid.  Despite being on the market for 7 months and mine being the only offer, the vendor had another viewing booked for Friday so made me wait until that had taken place and the viewers clearly weren’t interested in buying before he accepted.  So one way and another it’s been a stupendously stressful week and I’m sooooo relieved it’s all turned out OK, streaming nose, aching limbs and razor blade throat aside.

Right, I’m going to attempt to get dressed in order to pay a visit to my local farm shop where they make Jersey ice cream, which I’ve heard can be very soothing for firey throats.  Well, that’s going to be my excuse for binging on a 6 scoop tub anyhow and I’m sticking to it 😀

 

 

 

 

Weekly roundup

Tomorrow I find out whether the next chapter of my life begins………..or not.  It’s the biggest thing to happen to me in 16 years, so please send some positive vibes out into the Universe that it goes the way I hope.  I’ll do a post on the outcome when I know.

This week has been spent mainly helping my parents.  My Mum is chocka with cold which has inevitably gone to her chest (she has half a lung, emphysema and severe COPD).  She has emergency antibiotics at home so started them early, but they make her nauseous and give her the runs so she’s pretty miserable and feeling really unwell.  My ‘nice’ neighbours both have the same lergie, as does my dog walker, so it seems like a pretty virulent bug :-/

My Dad is doing OK after his hip operation and subsequent huge bleed and is managing to walk outdoors for short distances.  He had 34 staples taken out of his leg on Friday and the wound is healing well.  His leg is swelling badly every day though and since the staples came out he says he’s getting severe pins and needles, so if it’s no better tomorrow I’m going to ring the post-surgery helpline number at Hexham to see if that’s normal or not.

Bertie also had his stitches out on Friday following the amputation of his rear dewclaw.  Unfortunately there is little skin to cover the wound so it will take some time to scab over.  I did notice a bit of puss last night, so put some Germolene on and covered it with a dressing, which I’ll change twice a day for the next few days to see if I can get on top of the infection.  Not sure if you’re supposed to put Germolene on a dog, but I’ve been doing it for years and as long as you cover it so the dog can’t lick it off and poison itself it seems to be as effective on mutts as it is on humans!

Other than that I’ve been trying to keep on top of housework/cleaning/laundry.  I am running on empty now and have told my folks I’m having 10 days off over Christmas to recoup my energy (famous last words!).  Despite everything I am miraculously ready for Christmas though – cards are sent, presents are bought and wrapped and Boxing Day lunch at a hotel is booked (we don’t do Xmas day lunch, we’re all too ill).

I felt sick last night with a mixture of nerves and excitement so didn’t have any tea.  Consequently, I’m starving this morning and ready for an early breakfast.  Then I’ll take Bert out before meeting my disabled friend D for brunch in a local cafe.  Tomorrow I’m taking both my parents all the way to Sunderland for checks following their cataract operations, while also trying to juggle my life changing (or not) event.  It’s going to be a big week and by the end of it I could either be stupendously happy or stupendously depressed – watch this space.

 

 

Weekly roundup

I have had one of the busiest times of my sick life this past 2 months and I thought that after I’d done my talk in Scotland last week that I could finally rest up, because I was on my last legs.  Looking back now, that seems a bit………..naive 😉

I can’t cope with the sensory overload, not to mention the physical effort, of going to a supermarket, so have my groceries delivered to my home courtesy of Tesco.  I’m in love with Tesco – they are the 8th wonder of the modern world – that is until Christmas, when the battle for delivery slots becomes a catfight to the death.  I have a delivery saver plan and therefore have access to the Christmas week delivery slots early, along with tens of thousands of other delivery saver plan subscribers.  We were informed that the slots would be available at midnight on Tuesday night and I knew I had to book my delivery then or I’d have to actually visit the store on Christmas Eve and, having done that last year and barely survived, I’d rather starve.  However, I have been so exhausted recently that there was no way I was going to be able to stay awake til midnight, so I went to sleep around 9.30pm and set my alarm to wake me, which it unceremoniously did at 11.45pm.  The ringing felt like a bomb exploding in my brain but I managed to come to and blearily got myself ready, finger poised, to book my slot on the dot of 12.  With a minute to go, however, I panicked and decided to reserve a delivery for Monday 23rd just in case something went wrong (last year the website crashed and I ended up delivery-less!).  Then on the stroke of midnight the slots for Christmas Eve appeared…………and they all said “unavailable”. Say WHAT?!  Either there were shoppers out there with freakyily speedy index fingers, or Tesco had failed to tell us they WEREN’T FUCKING DELIVERING on Christmas Eve.  Thankfully, though, I had my reserved slot on 23rd, and it’s a damned good job because at 3 minutes past midnight the site crashed.  Again!

It goes without saying it took me about 3 hours to get back to sleep and I woke on Wednesday feeling like I’d been dragged through a hedge backwards.  My plan was to rest up all day because I desperately wanted to go to my Camera Club in the evening, but the Universe had other ideas.  My Dad is on the waiting list for a hip replacement and it was booked for 24th January, but at 2pm on Wednesday afternoon the Hospital rang me to say they had a cancellation for Friday this week and would he like to come in?  Holy crap!  So then I had to go through to town to break the news to my (very nervous) Dad, who’s never spent a single day let alone a night in hospital in his life.  Mum and I got his hospital bag out (they both have one packed ready in the wardrobe for emergencies, well they’re 80 and we think it prudent) while my Dad got in the shower, as you’re supposed to bathe with antiseptic body wash for 5 days before the op.  We then had to change his bed, because he needed to use fresh sheets every day after his shower.  I did still make it to my Club, but by the time I got home at 11pm I was so ill and exhausted my brain was swimming, I was literally seeing stars and could barely focus.  Proabably shouldn’t have been driving – don’t tell anyone!

Thursday I’d arranged to go to my elderly, disabled friends’ house to finally finish his unpacking.  I knew I should cancel because I needed to conserve my energy, but he’s been in his new house 2 months now and hasn’t had the internet all that time because his laptop, modem, printer etc. was still in a box in the spare bedroom.  So I made the effort to go, and thank God I did because I arrived to find his house freezing and him flushed.  Neither the heating or hot water had come on and he obviously had a temperature.   I discovered his gas boiler had no pressure, so I re-pressurized it which got the heating back on but there was clearly a leak somewhere, so I arranged a visit from the plumber the following day.  I then forced him to ring his GP (he wouldn’t have if I hadn’t made him) who told him to go straight down to the surgery.  He landed back with stronger antibiotics because his chest infection was back with a vengeance (it never went – he should have been admitted to hospital the other week for heaven’s sake) and an insulin injector, because she’d found his blood sugar was sky high (he’s type II diabetic).  I wonder, now, if I hadn’t gone that day whether we’d’ve found him the next morning in a hypothermic, diabetic coma :-/

Thursday night I felt like the undead and barely slept in case the alarm didn’t wake me the next morning.

My Dad had to be at Hexham Hospital for 7am, which meant me getting up at 4am.  I have fucking M.E. and waking from deep sleep in the middle of the night, then having to get dressed, eat and venture out into the pitch black freezing cold of winter was never going to make me feel my best.  I dropped Bertie off, picked my Dad up and at 5.30am set off to make the 80 minute journey over the Pennines to the North East.  It’s a windy, twisty, narrow road over the mountains and my brain lurched around in my skull every inch of the way, which made me massively motion sick and at one stage I thought I was going to have to pull over to throw up, but I somehow (and I really have no clue how) got there without crashing and killing us both.  All went well and he was home at 5pm the next day – as it was Saturday my brother offered to go and collect him which was great.  My Dad’s not going to be able to drive for the next 6 weeks though, so it’s going to be a busy time for me – my life is never anything but busy and I just have to give up the expectation of it being anything else!

I’ve woken with a stonking migraine this morning and a raging sore throat (my sign that I’m way overdoing it).  Of course I have, it’s all been too much this week, but I swear I’m going to deck the next person who says to me “you need to rest more”.  Which part of my life would they like me to cut back on, exactly?  Should I leave my sick, disabled, friend to die in a hypothermic, diabetic coma or to live without central heating or hot water in the middle of winter, or without his laptop even though he’s too ill to leave the house so relies totally on the internet for just about everything?  Or should I leave the care of my parents to my siblings, who all work full time and aren’t available at the drop of a hat at 7am on a Friday morning to take my Dad to hospital, or at 11am on a Tuesday morning to drive my Mum 90 miles for a cataract operation?  Or should I not walk my dog?  Or should I not eat, which would negate my need to cook?  It’s not like I’m doing stuff unnecessarily, well apart from going to my Camera Club but even that feels vital – I need something of my own in amongst looking after everyone else.  Instead of the pseudo-caring advice I’m given, it might be more useful to me if these people who tell me to rest more actually fucking helped me in some way – offered to walk the dog, for example, or brought me round a casserole, or offered to change my bed or hoover my floors because I currently don’t have a cleaner.  But they don’t because that would mean they had to put themselves out.

I’m a bit tired and grumpy this morning, as you can probably tell 😉  I’d sell a kidney for someone to go and make me a brew or bring me breakfast in bed, but as I gave up waiting for my Prince to arrive on his white charger about a decade ago I guess I’ll have to do it.  Then I’ve got Bertie to take out, despite the fact it’s -6C outside (and will feel like -10C on my scooter!) and my skull feels like it’s being stabbed by ice picks.  I’m delighted that my Dad is OK after his operation, but I have to be honest and say that just now and again I wish someone would care for me, just for a little bit.  Dream on!

Note:  It’s 8am and I’ve just logged on to my email.  The first mail of the day isn’t from the Lottery saying I’ve won the jackpot, but from my parents’ energy company requesting a meter reading from disabled customers who are on their ‘extra care/at risk’ register.  What the fuck ever happened to Meter Readers?  Y’know, people who came to your home to take a goddamn meter reading?  It’s not like we don’t pay a shit load of money each month for our energy, more than ever before, yet we receive fewer and fewer services.  It’s another chore to add to my list.  And the first person who says to me “have you heard of smart meters?” will die.  Just sayin’.

Weekly roundup

Mr Sod and his Law have made their presence known this week.  I’m guest speaker at a Camera Club on Wednesday evening and have gone down with a raging throat infection.  My left tonsil is huge and I want to gag every time I swallow 😦  I also have a headache and feel generally bleugh.   WHY NOW FFS?!!  I have no clue how I’m going to talk for 2 whole hours.

My 75 year old, disabled friend who fell out of bed last week was discharged from hospital less than 24 hours later.  He was admitted with a fever of 101C, a chest infection and abnormal heart rhythm (he’s already had a heart attack, has a stent fitted and has angina).  He spent 12 hours in A&E, without any food despite being diabetic (he’d barely eaten for 3 days), and was eventually placed on the acute admissions ward at 1am.   He was given IV antibiotics, there were no beds, so at noon he was asked if he wanted to go home.  “Yes please” he says, because there isn’t a person alive who actively wants to be in hospital.  So they whipped his drip out and sent him home.  Alone.  With no carers or any other help in place.  I was fucking livid.

I met him this morning for our weekly brunch at a local cafe.  He looked awful and had apparently fallen asleep in the car in the car park.  He only lasted til 11am before telling me he had to go home because he was exhausted.  I’m going to ring his GP surgery tomorrow and speak to his doctor because something is clearly not right and men are hopeless, on the whole, at telling doctors what’s really going on.

Aunt Flo paid me a surprise visit this week and it was most unwelcome.  I had my last period 132 days ago and had thought I was well on my way to full menopause, to the point where I’d chucked out all my sanitary wear, but obviously my ovaries have other ideas.   I’m now consulting with my solicitor to issue my hormones with an eviction notice.

On a more serious note, for the past few months I have had god awful nerve pain in my legs.  Both shooting, electric shock type pains and more general heavy achiness from the knees down on both legs.  I’ve had continual back and hip pain for years so thought it was coming from there, but the day my period started the nerve pain almost disappeared!  Very odd.  It is still present, but has gone from maybe a 8/10 to a 3/10 and for that I am truly grateful.

I made a complete and utter arse of myself this week.  I have a gas fire that works from a remote control.  A couple of weeks ago the knob which turns the flame up and down started to get really stiff, so on Tuesday I called out the gas engineer to take a look.
“Have you tried new batteries?” he asks.
“In the remote control y’mean?  Yes I have” I reply, smugly.
“No, in the fire”
I look at him puzzled.  “Didn’t know there were batteries in the fire” I admit, turning crimson.
So he pulls a black box out from under the fire, slides the back off and shows me 4 x AA batteries.  “If you haven’t changed these in 8 years I’m fairly sure that’s the culprit” he tells me, trying not to laugh.
And sure enough he changes them and the knob works perfectly.  That little lesson in being a complete airhead cost me £50.  FFS.

Wednesday I made it to my camera club.  I haven’t been for a month as I’ve other things on so it was nice to be back.  It’s a much more relaxed club than my old one, with younger members and more light-hearted banter but although some of the older members make a point of talking to me none of the women my own age do.  They all just sit in a group together and don’t even look in my direction, which is a bit shit and I don’t feel all that welcome.

Yesterday I had coffee with a couple from my old camera club.  They’d contacted me out of the blue to suggest meeting up and I was really touched they wanted to stay in contact.  I didn’t even know them that well as they’d only been at the club for one season, but we had a lovely couple of hours catching up and it was nice to know that at least some of the members were missing me.

Well, it’s time for another salt water gargle (eugh!) and a honey and lemon tea.  I’m resting up for the remainder of the day and having a binge fest of Love Island  Australia on catch-up.  Thank God I’m no longer in my twenties and feeling pressure to find my soul mate – it all looks like far too much hard work and disappointment and makes me happy I live with my dog and not a bloke 😉

 

Weekly roundup

I’m a bit late with my roundup on account of the fact I’ve spent the morning with paramedics – more on that shortly!

My week actually started out relatively OK.  Well, if you can ignore the fact I was feeling shite and on the verge of a relapse ME-wise that is.  As I mentioned in last week’s roundup, I’ve been doing wayyyy too much in recent months and it’s now seriously affecting my health.  So, this week I decided to cancel everything in order to rest.  Sounds simple doesn’t it, but in reality it’s like wrestling a bear.

Monday I’d arranged to meet my 75 year old disabled friend, Dave, at a local furniture centre to choose a riser-recliner chair, on account of the fact he can now barely get out of an ordinary chair to standing position.  It took 2 hours, not that I minded, but I’d already spent the morning helping my parents, then 2 hours with Dave, then I walked the dog on the way home and by that stage it was 3.30pm and time for bed.  So Monday was a bit of a right off.

There’s also the minor irritants of still having to feed myself, stack the dishwasher, bathe, shop and walk the dog every afternoon (and 3 mornings).  And let’s not forget the fact I’m guest speaker at another Camera club (booked a year ago!) in 10 days time so need to put together a 2 hour speech from scratch.  Oh, and I’m selling my house and this week my fucking cleaner decided to quit on me, so now on top of feeling rubbish and everything else that’s going on I’m having to change the bed, hoover and mop the floors, despite the fact it kills my back.  Other than all that, though, I’ve been resting – honest  😉  I’ve had to, because for 3 days I had one of the worst bouts of vertigo I’ve had in ages and every time I moved my head the entire room spun.

Friday my Mum was having cataract surgery at Sunderland 90 miles away and it was booked for 10am which meant getting up at 6am, breakfast, dressed, dog walked, into town and Mum picked up for 8am.  I was fucked before we’d even set off.  It all went brilliantly, though, and we were actually back home by just after lunch (no mean feat when it’s a 1hr 45min drive each way!).  Of course, I had the dog to walk in the afternoon, so eventually got back home absolutely exhausted……..only to find a car parked in my driveway, blocking my garage.  It was a customer of the upholstery business at the end of my drive.  Regular readers will know that for 3 years the twat who leases the buildings for his upholstery business has allowed, nay encouraged, his customers to park in my drive meaning I can’t get in or out.  It’s illegal because the right of way that exists is to “pass and repass” which means to travel over, not stop on, plus it causes a legal “nuisance” to me.  But he doesn’t give a flying fuck.  I wouldn’t care but he owns the top part of the drive, so I asked the car owner to please pull forward 6 feet so I could get in my garage at which the upholstery guy went ballistic at me, red faced and ranting that I was being unreasonable.  I was as polite as always and stood there while he shouted, then asked the customer to please move his car.  Again.  Which he did.  After I parked up, however, I went into the upholsterer’s office and told him I had had enough and was taking legal action against him.  I’d already got it all set up because this has been going on for nearly 4 years now, so I made a quick call to my solicitor who will sending a pre-action letter this week.

The thing is, though, that I am selling my house so this “dispute” will now need to be made clear to any buyer, which is bound to put people off and may affect the sale.  I can’t be verbally abused every time I need to leave my house, though, especially as shit-for-brains is breaking the law and I am doing absolutely nothing wrong!  So it needs sorting once and for all.

As if all that weren’t bad enough, I enter the house to find a note through the door – Amazon had delivered a parcel in my absence which had been placed in the “grey bin with the black lid”.  Er, you mean the dust bin?  W-T-actual-FUCK?!

I was telling the tale on social media afterwards, and one of my friends says “I haven’t seen one of those since 1993.  The delivery guy obviously didn’t know it was a dust bin”.  Er, really?  The delivery note said “grey bin” so he was well aware it was a bin, but even if he wasn’t I’m not sure what else it could be masquerading as?  The giveaway would have been when he took the lid off to place my parcel inside and it was full of rotting food and 2 black bags of disgustingly smelly dog shit.  That I’m fairly sure, should have given the game away.  Needless to say I then spent the next 30 minutes chatting online to Amazon’s complaint’s department in some far-flung province of India because they don’t give you a goddamn email address to write to and Indian labour is cheap – who cares they don’t know what an English dust bin looks like either and couldn’t give a flying fuck in any event.

Saturday, of course, I spent the day with a stupendous migraine.  Par for the course after all that driving, not to mention stress.  Plus the vertigo was back.

Sunday mornings, after I’ve walked the dog, I sometimes meet my elderly, disabled friend Dave for coffee at a local cafe.  I had no intention of going today because I was feeling rubbish (no pun intended) but Dave had emailed me on Friday to say he wasn’t feeling well, so I decided to make the effort and see him.  He goes every week at 9.30am, but when I arrived at 10am he wasn’t there.  I waited for 10 minutes then started to worry and, to cut a very long story short, finally rocked up at his house to find him lying stark naked on the bedroom floor having fallen out of bed 😦  He’d lain there for 4 hours, but despite being cold he looked flushed, had a banging headache and a nasty cough so Sherlock Holmes here deduced he had a chest infection which is why he’d gone off his legs.  I rang for an ambulance.  While we waited I managed to get him sat upright on the floor, get his pyjamas on, socks and a sweater, got him a hot drink and made him eat a cracker (he’s diabetic).  Two hours later, with a confirmed raging temperature, chest infection and irregular heartbeat (he’s already had a heart attack, has a stent and suffers from angina), he was taken off to the Infirmary – I’ll ring at 6pm to find out which ward he’s been admitted to and will go through to the city tomorrow to see him.  Who needs to rest anyway?!