Thursday, 11 April 2013

Don't Mess With This Miss

I have come to the startling conclusion that I must be a man in a woman's body.

Let's examine the evidence.

I prefer comfort over style, am happy to be seen without make up, I hate any kind of shopping, especially for shoes. I loath going to the hairdressers. I only have one handbag and my make up consists of a little face powder, mascara and a neutral lip gloss, just three items. On the other side of the coin I love bubble baths, perfume, painting my nails and having Indian head massages. However what makes me think I might actually be a man is my ability to drive, or to be precise parallel park.

I had to go back to the GP today for a check up and to pick up my month's supply of tables. As Peter is at work and I haven't had a funny turn in the last twenty four to thirty six hours I drove myself there. The actual car park with full but there was a space between a land rover and a van on the road out side. I parked up making sure I'd given the land rover plenty of space to get out. The van had clear road behind it, albeit with yellow lines, but the Land Rover was hemmed in by a low wall.

I went in, saw the doctor, who was pleased with my progress but warned me to come back on Monday if I wasn't totally better, and collected my drugs on the way out. When I got outside there was a woman leaning against the Land Rover glaring at my little Mito. "Is that yours?', she demanded rather aggressively. I nodded and then she went on a tirade of how I'd blocked her in and how inconsiderate I was etc, etc. I checked the space and I couldn't work out what she was talking about. You'd get me length ways into the space I'd left her. There was almost enough room for another Mito for heavens sake. Not exactly in the mood to pacify her I retorted with the offer to move her car for her if her driving was so bad she couldn't risk getting out of the enormous space I'd left her by herself. By the time I'd pulled out and was on my way down the road she was still trying to get her juggernaut started.

There are two morals to this story, don't buy a big car if you are incapable of driving it and don't pick on me when I'm not well.

My cold is improving, I haven't felt dizzy or sick since late Monday, for which I am very grateful and my hearing is returning for which the whole street is grateful. Even the crackling and popping has diminished. My appetite, unfortunately, is practically none existent again and I'm living on soup, tea and Complan, though I did branch out and have a cheese omelet for lunch yesterday. I finally got on the scales and to my dismay I have lost weight again. I'm around seven stone eight now but on the plus side I am still heavier than I was last time I went to Papworth.

It was a quite day as far as phone calls went.

From Tuesday when it was almost none stop, hence my little joke yesterday, I had just one call and that was a wrong number. I have to admit I was a little disappointed as I'd dug out my rape alarm to use as a deterrent. I was fed up, armed and ready but unfortunately unable to deploy. Maybe it was just as well as a test showed the battery had died and I don't have another of the right size.

Talking of deployment, D-day passed without anything happening , just as we all knew it would. This morning we are told that Dough Boy has missiles upright and ready to launch. Well I've been told that one before pal, and nothing came of those encounters either.

So what to do today as another afternoon of sheer boredom stretches before me. I have promised Peter I will behave but it is getting so hard. However I've made a promise and it is one I intend to keep so it is back on the settee, book by my side and remote in hand. At least tomorrow I get to go out, even if it is only to the hospital and back. Funny what you look forward to when you are desperate.

Wish me luck.