Just so you don't think life's going swimmingly now..

A quick update.

Have I mentioned the new bathroom? That went quite well except for taking about three weeks longer than expected (one week) but as I had grown accustomed to being showerless during the summer I didn't fret too much. Even when it was "finished" there were odd traumas like thinking the cat had weed in there then realising there was a drip from up near the ceiling. I called the plumber and he came right back. We asked the neighbours if they had been doing something in their bathroom upstairs and they said no, but who knocked the hole into their staircase wall. Ooops, my electrician apparently. I'd seen a strange hole on my side (say nothing) but never imagined it went right through. Anyway, the leak was due to the old piping being put under strain - so the plumber fixed that temporarily and went home. An hour later that bloody cat had weed again at the other side of the bathroom. But no, it was a pipe near the sink leaking this time, and quite fast too. Back came the plumber. I was in my nightwear by this time but he wasn't as afraid as I had expected people would be at seeing me in my nightwear (the ultimate burglar deterrent, I'd always imagined). Fixed that.

More recently the car battery, new last winter, died again.

The temporary rail on which I hang my non-scary underwear in the bathroom fell on my head and hurt a lot.

I'm sure there's more bad luck, I just can't think of it.

I've joined a knitting group, they meet weekly and I go occasionally because it's at a funny time, 5.30, when most people including me are finishing work and heading home. It's kind of sleazy, in the back room of the pub - as if we are doing something dodgy like in the Victorian opium dens. The cats enjoy their free Wednesday evenings: last week they tried to get everything ready in advance for me, see the photo. A friend has commented that my frayed curtain gives away the fact that cats live here. I confess to the world, I never hemmed it. Whoever looks at the bottom of a curtain?

More of my exciting life soon .... ooooh the Christmas Message cometh!

I know what it was ....

... the next thing to happen. The washing machine stopped spinning. Or at least it never started. That's on the "quick wash" which is what I usually use. It's not quick when you need five attempts at spinning and it still doesn't work, dammit. So I've cut my losses and bought a new washer/drier, which I should have done last Christmas instead of buying this second hand washer from a friend, because a washer without a drier is no use to me in the winter in this tiny flat, it's damp enough without washing hanging around for days.

Moan over! And hopefully too the run of bad luck!

Had my hair cut in a different style yesterday. If I can galvanise myself I'll take a self-photo and show it. Sometime.

Car battery flat, toilet seat broken, sink leaking - what next?

OK, I managed to keep smiling through vandalism, arson and a broken ankle but today I am SERIOUSLY FED UP.

The bathroom rug was wet yesterday. I blamed the cats and washed it, but when I returned home there was a puddle where the rug had been and I see one of the water pipes has a slow but steady drip.

Yesterday the physio told me my ankle is far too swollen and I must keep it elevated and walk more. I'm not sure how that works. However, the good news is that the movement was good and she gave me no exercises to do.

Last night I got out of bed for a bathroom visit and the whole seat skidded off the toilet. Further investigation this morning has entailed much swearing at whichever bloke invented the damn things, surely they could have one without screws and nuts and sticky bits by now??????????

This morning I decided I would try a short drive to the shops as the only edibles in the place are catfood and ginger biscuits. Car battery is completely flat, it doesn't even attempt to turn over.

I hate to ask "What next?" because I am afraid of the answer.

Freedom!

At last, after 7 weeks of dependancy, frustration and one-legged sitting, the cast is off. Okay there were plusses - no petrol costs, lost weight as I was too proud/sneaky to add chocolate, wine and pork scratchings to my shopping lists.

According to the surgeon my wounds look great - I think the whole leg from knee down looks awful, but then, it never looked great. Big, I mean BIG, flakes of skin keep falling off, leaving a trail behind me. I shook a sock out of the window (disgusting I know) and it looked as if it was snowing.

Anyway, I am now shuffling along like a one year old (or a hundred and one year old - either way, I'm not wearing a nappy) and can finally carry liquids from one room to another without them being in a flask or bottle.

Things you need if you break your ankle - work out for yourselves what use they might be:
good friends and neighbours
a wheelchair (look for Wheelfreedom online and rent one)
a small backpack containing your mobile phone JUST IN CASE keep it with you always
a thermos flask
a large and a small empty lidded jar (ok I'll tell you why, for soups or casseroles, too much sticks in the flask)
a children's cereal container from Lakeland
a big book of sudoko puzzles
lots and lots and lots of whatever type of book you enjoy
small towels and teatowels to hand for mopping up
baby wipes (remember, you can't easily get into the shower)

if you are a woman you will also need to keep handy:
perfume
makeup
tweezers (those pesky hairs begin to be visible beneath the cast)
moisturiser as your toes will dry out

That's it, there's probably more but already I've forgotten. By the way, I haven't washed my hair since I broke my ankle, and I have no intention of washing it until I next go to the hairdresser as it looks absolutely fine, doesn't smell, and I'm treating it as an experiment

I've already forgotten all my hospital experiences, except the wind I had been conscientiously holding in for three hours and which came out like an uncontrolled explosion when I was finally wheeled to the toilet. When I came out I said to the ward staff at the nearby nurses station "Sorry about the noise", as I could see they were shaken. Or shaking.

The b*stard who spray painted my house & set fire to my conservatory...

I am writing this sitting sideways at the computer with my right leg up on a stool. Broken ankle, with plates and screws now in it, and a plaster to the knee. Please excuse any typos.

Where to begin? Sitting quietly at home playing on the pc and watching tv on Monday, the first "real" day of my two weeks holiday. The first whole fortnight off for years. I had vaguely thought to myself "I hope the rest of my holiday is a bit more exciting than this".

I've heard it said: be careful what you wish for!

A loud crash and an explosion. I thought something had fallen off the roof of our 3 storey building. Glancing toward the conservatory I saw flames on the roof. I raced outside and grabbed my garden hose and stepladder, (I admit I was screaming and crying for help) scrambled up the ladder and trained the hose onto the flames. Upper neighbours opened their windows having heard the explosion, and yelled that they were coming down. We saw a man running down the field, he had a rucksack and seemed to be in his forties (it was getting dark, about 9.30 pm) so I thought he was a rambler who was rushing to get home before dark. Once the neighbours were in the yard and clearing up the mess from the roof, which turned out to be, strangely, charcoal, I had the idea of driving to the bottom of the field by road to see if I could ask the rambler if he had seen anyone suspicious.

I drove down the road and stopped the car in the road at the bottom of the field, left the keys in and the engine running, but shut the door. I ran into the field but couldn't see anyone there. Of course, he could have gone into the wood by then, or made it down the field and be sitting in a pub. I returned to the car - to find it locked. The slamming of the door had caused the self-locking mechanism to function (or malfunction, if you like!). I leaned my head against the car and whimpered a little, then set off up the hill on foot to get my spare keys.

On reaching home, the neighbours were still in my yard but there was more going on, they had discovered the whole northside of the wall was covered in graffiti - mostly symbols but including a bit of unimaginative vulgarity. My neighbours had called the police by now.

I collected my spare keys and set off back down the field to retrieve the car. There's a choice of routes down the field, I usually cut through the wood and then back onto the field and down some steps, but on Monday I thought it would be quicker to take the path down the middle of the field so about halfway down I turned to head for the central path.

slippppppp crunk crunk crunk

I knew it was my ankle, I've broken it before. I whimpered a little more. I may have sworn. I tried to stand, as the previous time I broke it I had been able to make my way down from Scafell Pike. My foot was just wobbling about at the end of my leg, at a very strange angle.

So I set off to crawl back home, up the hill. Occasionally I stopped to call for help but my neighbours, of course, were still discussing the graffiti and the attempted arson and couldn't hear me. The grass is really long this year, as there've been no sheep in the field, so they couldn't see me either. Eventually I came over the brow of the hill and could see home, and yelled again and they spotted me.

Richard and Tony carried me up the rest of the hill and into another neighbour's yard, one with no steps! I sat on a chair and was wrapped in a quilt. An ambulance was called.

The police arrived. They were in a faff because as they were on their way up to us they had received another call that a mad woman had jumped out of her car and run into the Rectory Field and abandoned the car. We tried to explain! Richard took my keys and went to rescue my car. Apparently at least one other car in town had also been sprayed with graffiti.

The ambulance came and I was slid in, still wearing my green linen dress, now covered in mud and grass stains. Thankfully no dog poo.

That's about it. The rest is hospital tales. I will put that on later. I was truly glad I'd worn a dress and thus proper knickers as I sat in the Emergency Room being plastered!

And I'm home now after 3 days in hospital. But I'm a bit scared with the crutches. I expect I shall get used to them.

(I've changed all my mis-spellings of graffitti to graffiti, at least I think I've changed them all. Sorry)

Could you kill them? 15.6.08

Told my friends in the pub about the large mouse/small rat episode. Apparently I was so dramatic about it they thought I'd either got cancer or was about to emigrate, so the rat thing wasn't so startling. However, now I've been told to report it to South Shropshire District Council so someone called Ken the Rat can come and sort it out. But I flushed it away, so it's dead, and it probably whooshed by its whole family out scouring the sewer looking for it.

I still haven't dared go over to number 5, empty for five months, to see if they've popped up there.

The other thing I haven't done is work out how to give friends a link to this blog. Still, I quite enjoy doing it just for me.

13th June - The rat in the toilet

13th June 2008 - the 18th anniversary of my dad's death - Stan Pollock (John Stanley William Pollock) - throat cancer, aged 72. I can't believe it's 18 years since we spoke, but I do dream about him, and my mum, quite often. They are always younger and healthy in my dreams.

On the night of 12th/13th June I had finished work for a one week break. I was relaxed and slept well, waking occasionally to reposition myself around the cats on the bed, and dropping back to sleep. I had a strange dream that I was walking around a garden. It seemed to be the garden to a new house I had moved to, and I came across a small pond in which half a dozen mice were swimming. Amazed, I commented that I was surprised how soon the mice had settled in and learned to swim.

My bathroom is dark, having only a small high window obscured by dried flowers and cobwebs. I hobbled to the toilet when I woke at 6 am on Friday morning, struggling as usual to open the bathroom door which I keep locked so the cats cannot do their killing on my furry bathside rug. Lifting the lid of the toilet I was mildly surprised to see a floating lump in there - I tend to be healthy bowel-wise and don't produce floaters, and anyway I always flush the toilet before putting the lid down. Anyway, I sat down, did the necessary, and stood to turn and flush. Focussing better, as I had now been up for a few minutes, I noticed eyes, nose and whiskers on the floater. It was a mouse! A large mouse. I gingerly touched it but it was dead, so I flushed it away.

Then I started to wonder.

The door was shut and the lid was down, how could a mouse get into my toilet?
More strangely, why did I dream about mice swimming?

Now (2 days later) I accept that the large mouse was probably a small rat, and I am nervous of going to the toilet at all having googled "rat in toilet" - DO NOT DO THIS UNLESS YOU HAVE A STRONG STOMACH AND AN UPSTAIRS TOILET.

more to come.