I've written about Huckleberry before, the dog that was born when I was about seven and whose nature was so lovely that I want to replicate that by naming another dog after him. Yes, I know that doesn't work. Doesn't really matter, after all, I don't really expect Ro to strangle a leopard to save someone's life, although he's named after my great-uncle who did just that.
Huck was the only dog I've known who led you where he wanted you to go. He would take your wrist in his mouth (it never hurt, he never hurt anyone) and take you there.
He was left-pawed and his father, Simon de Montfort, was right-pawed. So, Simon opened the drawing room door and Huckleberry the dining room door.
Neither of them was in the least needy or dependent. We were certainly the staff and did what was expected of us. Simon had an exaggerated sense of dignity - in his life, I never saw him empty his bowels, nor Huck, and they wouldn't "go" when taken for a walk on a lead. Simon had a huge vocabulary - some words, if we didn't want him to know what we were talking about, we had to say in French, then after he learned that, Spanish and finally spell them out. The biggest insult was to say "you smell", when he would stalk out of the room in high dudgeon (what does high dudgeon mean, exactly, I wonder? Is there any other sort of dudgeon?) Once, he got shut in the downstairs loo and, when we realised and opened the door to let him out, he wouldn't talk to any of us for the rest of the day.
The dogs would all work as a team - if one was shut in a room and couldn't open the door, one outside would push the door open. Or, if it was latched, Huck would come and bring someone to open it.
The dogs had chair rights. My father usually managed to hang on to a place on a sofa, but the rest of us usually had to sit on the floor.
I've got a picture upstairs - I'll look it out tomorrow and add it. It has a young Z in it, from when I was about 10 years old. It was taken outside, it doesn't include any chairs.
Tuesday, 9 March 2010
Monday, 8 March 2010
Proof of the reading
We proof-read the catalogue very carefully, all three of us, before sending it off to the printers on Friday. Today, we went through it again, against the original Excel draft, because we knew alterations had been made from that, and it's that spreadsheet that Ro will use to upload the catalogue onto the website. We found another two mistakes - one didn't matter at all, it was just a decimal that should have been altered to a fraction on a measurement, but the other was a description of the provenance of a piece of china that had, somehow, been put against two different pieces. Very relieved to have picked that one up. It would have been quite a blunder to have that printed. So Weeza has notified the printers and it'll be corrected.
Otherwise, the main event of the morning was the Sage, unasked, doing the hoovering. Honestly, he really is a treasure. And he bought kippers for dinner, yum. Real Lowestoft kippers.
He had, and deserved, a lovely time this evening while I was out at a meeting, buying stuff on eBay. One item, he got for less than half what he'd bid - it was slightly mis-described and went for a lot more than the vendor probably expected, but a lot less than it should have. He suspects that the underbidder is kicking himself.
There's not a lot going on here at present to tell you about, I'm afraid. It's Squiffany's birthday later this month and I haven't been shopping at all yet. I did ask her what she was hoping for (in a general sort of way, not asking what she wanted from us) and was discomfited when she replied "Barbie". That is where I draw the line, I'm afraid. I may buy her a swing for the garden instead.
Otherwise, the main event of the morning was the Sage, unasked, doing the hoovering. Honestly, he really is a treasure. And he bought kippers for dinner, yum. Real Lowestoft kippers.
He had, and deserved, a lovely time this evening while I was out at a meeting, buying stuff on eBay. One item, he got for less than half what he'd bid - it was slightly mis-described and went for a lot more than the vendor probably expected, but a lot less than it should have. He suspects that the underbidder is kicking himself.
There's not a lot going on here at present to tell you about, I'm afraid. It's Squiffany's birthday later this month and I haven't been shopping at all yet. I did ask her what she was hoping for (in a general sort of way, not asking what she wanted from us) and was discomfited when she replied "Barbie". That is where I draw the line, I'm afraid. I may buy her a swing for the garden instead.
Sunday, 7 March 2010
Zowgli
I'm afraid that I have done nothing this weekend. I could and should have - the sun has shone and I could have done some gardening, or at least got on in the greenhouse, but I pottered about relaxedly instead. I say this with no excuses and no shame or guilt - I see nothing at all wrong in taking time off or not doing much if I don't want to.
I suspect it's something about being brought up with dogs. Certainly, I've always described myself as more than half dog. But if you look at a dog, it will concentrate hard on what it wants or needs to do and then it sees no reason at all not to lie in front of the fire for several hours, sleeping. And then it eats dinner and lies down again, probably being cuddled by its human companion. Dogs have got things sussed. Cats have too, but they're not as bright as dogs, because they know everything that they want to know already while the average dog admires its human and wants to learn. I read recently that a dog is the only animal, other than a human, that can follow the direction of a pointing finger and understand what is meant by it. If that's so (that is, that other primates can't do it too) then it's really remarkable.
I like cats, very much, and I'd be quite happy to have a cat live with us (though the Sage wouldn't), but it's the open mind of a dog that I really appreciate and understand.
I've a feeling that cat people won't agree with me here. But does your cat follow the line of your pointing finger?
If the answer is "yes", I withdraw my case. But I'm still more than half dog.
I suspect it's something about being brought up with dogs. Certainly, I've always described myself as more than half dog. But if you look at a dog, it will concentrate hard on what it wants or needs to do and then it sees no reason at all not to lie in front of the fire for several hours, sleeping. And then it eats dinner and lies down again, probably being cuddled by its human companion. Dogs have got things sussed. Cats have too, but they're not as bright as dogs, because they know everything that they want to know already while the average dog admires its human and wants to learn. I read recently that a dog is the only animal, other than a human, that can follow the direction of a pointing finger and understand what is meant by it. If that's so (that is, that other primates can't do it too) then it's really remarkable.
I like cats, very much, and I'd be quite happy to have a cat live with us (though the Sage wouldn't), but it's the open mind of a dog that I really appreciate and understand.
I've a feeling that cat people won't agree with me here. But does your cat follow the line of your pointing finger?
If the answer is "yes", I withdraw my case. But I'm still more than half dog.
Saturday, 6 March 2010
What? The annunciation hasn't even happened yet
I am not happy to announce that, in today's Times, there is an advertisement for a construction toy "The most amazing Xmas gift for your child." No, really. It's not right or proper.
Since hardly anyone reads blogs on a Saturday (Dave reckons it's Sunday, but I find that I get more readers on Sun than on Sat) I will update my hiplog - I realise I'm doing this to death and I apologise but it's an easy way to make notes for myself.
In the last week, I've graduated to using a step to get into the bath and standing, to getting in without the step and sitting on the edge (with a towel underneath, it's chilly else), to kneeling in the bath to, last night, with great happiness, sitting properly in the bath like a Christian, splashing happily. I quite naturally seemed to know when I wasn't ready to progress to each stage and then when I was. To get out, I drew up my unoperated leg underneath me, put one hand on the rim of the bath and the other on its bottom, went up to a kneeling and then a standing position before stepping out.
As I said, that was last night, but yesterday morning, I got up a bit late. I was awake, but the Sage wasn't, so I was happily playing games on my phone until I realised I only had 20 minutes before I needed to be out of the house. Time was, 10 minutes was ample but now I need to put a face on and a breakfast in, and then I couldn't find my handbag, so I was 4 minutes late leaving. So I ran down the drive. Yes, darlings, I ran. And it didn't hurt. I haven't run without pain and lurching to a stop after a few steps for at least 3 years.
I was extremely puffed out by the time I'd run 100 yards, I admit. Still.
The other thing I've graduated to in the past week is sleeping on my side. The operated side only, I'm not risking the other until I get the all clear from the consultant, and it wakes me up every half-hour or so, but I'd got to the stage where my back was aching beyond sleeping through, and it is improving. Usually, I can just lie on my back for a few minutes, then return to my side and go back to sleep. I'm not getting a lot of sleep, but I am resting and not getting up early unless I have to, and I'll catch up sooner or later.
Colour is returning to the membrane of my eye (I have been taking an iron supplement too) and I don't take an afternoon nap. I can dress without using a grabber, but I still need a sock aid for my right sock or for tights.
Yesterday afternoon, I picked up Squiffany from school and we played board and card games, which had me sitting in a lower chair than usual - this was fine for a while and then suddenly it hurt. The Sage went and got me my high cushion and it was all right then.
The operation was 6 weeks ago yesterday. A friend of mine had her second hip operated on on Monday and we've been exchanging emails today, she having returned home on Thursday. She had her first hip done when she was 58, 6 years ago, and she says that she feels noticeably more tired this time round. She doesn't consciously feel 6 years older, but her body says she is! She says she can get around very well, but feels breathless after a while and has to stop and sit down. I'll be seeing her in a couple of weeks, when I'll take her to a meeting in Bury St Edmunds, so we'll compare notes then.
Since hardly anyone reads blogs on a Saturday (Dave reckons it's Sunday, but I find that I get more readers on Sun than on Sat) I will update my hiplog - I realise I'm doing this to death and I apologise but it's an easy way to make notes for myself.
In the last week, I've graduated to using a step to get into the bath and standing, to getting in without the step and sitting on the edge (with a towel underneath, it's chilly else), to kneeling in the bath to, last night, with great happiness, sitting properly in the bath like a Christian, splashing happily. I quite naturally seemed to know when I wasn't ready to progress to each stage and then when I was. To get out, I drew up my unoperated leg underneath me, put one hand on the rim of the bath and the other on its bottom, went up to a kneeling and then a standing position before stepping out.
As I said, that was last night, but yesterday morning, I got up a bit late. I was awake, but the Sage wasn't, so I was happily playing games on my phone until I realised I only had 20 minutes before I needed to be out of the house. Time was, 10 minutes was ample but now I need to put a face on and a breakfast in, and then I couldn't find my handbag, so I was 4 minutes late leaving. So I ran down the drive. Yes, darlings, I ran. And it didn't hurt. I haven't run without pain and lurching to a stop after a few steps for at least 3 years.
I was extremely puffed out by the time I'd run 100 yards, I admit. Still.
The other thing I've graduated to in the past week is sleeping on my side. The operated side only, I'm not risking the other until I get the all clear from the consultant, and it wakes me up every half-hour or so, but I'd got to the stage where my back was aching beyond sleeping through, and it is improving. Usually, I can just lie on my back for a few minutes, then return to my side and go back to sleep. I'm not getting a lot of sleep, but I am resting and not getting up early unless I have to, and I'll catch up sooner or later.
Colour is returning to the membrane of my eye (I have been taking an iron supplement too) and I don't take an afternoon nap. I can dress without using a grabber, but I still need a sock aid for my right sock or for tights.
Yesterday afternoon, I picked up Squiffany from school and we played board and card games, which had me sitting in a lower chair than usual - this was fine for a while and then suddenly it hurt. The Sage went and got me my high cushion and it was all right then.
The operation was 6 weeks ago yesterday. A friend of mine had her second hip operated on on Monday and we've been exchanging emails today, she having returned home on Thursday. She had her first hip done when she was 58, 6 years ago, and she says that she feels noticeably more tired this time round. She doesn't consciously feel 6 years older, but her body says she is! She says she can get around very well, but feels breathless after a while and has to stop and sit down. I'll be seeing her in a couple of weeks, when I'll take her to a meeting in Bury St Edmunds, so we'll compare notes then.
Friday, 5 March 2010
Terribly good or awfully lucky
"I must have been terribly good in a past life to deserve all this," I said to the Sage as he brought in a pot of coffee and a mug, after having cooked and served my dinner to me an hour and a half ago.
"Past life, heh heh," he chuckled.
"Or a present life, maybe?" I added hopefully.
"Present life, that's it. I'll go and get another log to put on the fire," he said.
No fashionable angst here. And it's not all one-sided, I am very good to the Sage too. Why, only today, I ... um ... I - oh yes, I congratulated him on cleverly helping a friend to open a cabinet with the key missing, and I found out why the side door was sticking (no, that was genuinely deductive, he couldn't do it) and I gave Tilly her breakfast.
That's about it. I think he's about due for more cake.
"Past life, heh heh," he chuckled.
"Or a present life, maybe?" I added hopefully.
"Present life, that's it. I'll go and get another log to put on the fire," he said.
No fashionable angst here. And it's not all one-sided, I am very good to the Sage too. Why, only today, I ... um ... I - oh yes, I congratulated him on cleverly helping a friend to open a cabinet with the key missing, and I found out why the side door was sticking (no, that was genuinely deductive, he couldn't do it) and I gave Tilly her breakfast.
That's about it. I think he's about due for more cake.
Childhood is made up of sights and sounds
And smells, before the dark of reason grows.
Or something like that. It's from John Betjeman's Summoned by Bells - I've relied on a memory from 4 decades ago, so if I've misquoted, my apologies.
The reason for it is that I've just been listening to music that took me right back to childhood. The other day, you see, there was a programme about Mendelssohn's Violin Concerto and it made me want to listen to it again, but I haven't a CD of it, so I got it from Spotify. And, as is not uncommon, it got me downloading various other things of his, including the Lieder Ohne Worte. And, unexpectedly, it took me to my mother playing the piano in the evening while my sister and I sneaked out of our bedroom and sat on the stairs to listen to her. She wouldn't play in front of anyone, nor sing if anyone but us could hear her. Not surprising, perhaps, that I was acutely self-conscious about both things myself, but extremely odd that now I voluntarily, though with no enjoyment, play the organ at church services.
I've also been listening to the Italian Symphony which, as I remember, was about the first classical LP that I ever bought for myself.
Nostalgia tends to make me melancholy, with or without reason. I'm going to go and pick up Squiffany from school and put it all out of my mind.
Or something like that. It's from John Betjeman's Summoned by Bells - I've relied on a memory from 4 decades ago, so if I've misquoted, my apologies.
The reason for it is that I've just been listening to music that took me right back to childhood. The other day, you see, there was a programme about Mendelssohn's Violin Concerto and it made me want to listen to it again, but I haven't a CD of it, so I got it from Spotify. And, as is not uncommon, it got me downloading various other things of his, including the Lieder Ohne Worte. And, unexpectedly, it took me to my mother playing the piano in the evening while my sister and I sneaked out of our bedroom and sat on the stairs to listen to her. She wouldn't play in front of anyone, nor sing if anyone but us could hear her. Not surprising, perhaps, that I was acutely self-conscious about both things myself, but extremely odd that now I voluntarily, though with no enjoyment, play the organ at church services.
I've also been listening to the Italian Symphony which, as I remember, was about the first classical LP that I ever bought for myself.
Nostalgia tends to make me melancholy, with or without reason. I'm going to go and pick up Squiffany from school and put it all out of my mind.
Thursday, 4 March 2010
Wednesday, 3 March 2010
Timeo Googleos, whether or not dona ferentes
As you know, I don't have word verification or comment moderation here - occasionally one or the other might be put up, if there's a sudden spate of spam or if I know I'm going to be away from the internet for a week or two, but otherwise I just delete the ones with dodgy links. I do, however, have Blogger set to send comments for moderation on posts over 20 days old. There are a surprising number of dodgy comments left on them, and I've just deleted 17, from about the last fortnight. I didn't read any of them, but looked at the headings in case any of them wasn't actually spam. For the first time ever, I found one quite offensive. It said (and I have to disguise it, because I don't want to attract more of the same) "Attens10n, ch1ld d@t1ng m@n".
What does it say about This Modern Age, however, that I take the offers of enhancement or paid-for romance in my stride? All aimed at men, I might add. Women are either deemed to be less easily duped or more content. Or possibly poorer.
Talking of poorer, I think that I've mentioned that the Sage has taken to using my phone for calls, as I can't possibly use 10 hours-worth in a month and he certainly can. Since the phone is a bit away from his mouth, he tends to shout a bit so, considerately, he uses my phone in a room I am not.
I had been preparing a rhubarb crumble, and returned to the drawing room (also, the Write Stuff, which I'd been listening to, was over) as he was saying "goodbye" to someone.
"I've been telling G about *article about G's former employers*"
G is in New Zealand.
I have rather forcefully explained that I would far rather have the cost of a call to New Zealand on the landline than on the mobile. He has apologised as if it was a personal insult. I had to explain that it wasn't. Just an expensive mistake.
Oh well. We're nowhere near as expensive to each other as our children were. Well, some of our children. Ro was surprisingly good value*.
Of course, they're all Worth It. Which reminds me, I looked after Pugsley this afternoon while his mother was at her tap dancing class (no, she doesn't fall off into the sink). When she came back, he was reluctant to clear up the pack of cards scattered on the floor. When her command didn't work (unusually), I said that I'd give him a count of five, and after that I'd pick him up by his feet and bounce his head on the floor. He picked up the cards. How odd. I'd have gone for the bounce, in his situation. Anyway, not long afterwards, he went to sleep. I said it was unusual for him to be naughty.
Weeza and Zerlina are visiting tomorrow. Huzzah! I am very happy. And, obv, I have forgiven the Sage. His rhubarb crumble will go into the oven in two minutes, and soon he will be as happy as I am.
*joke, Weeza and Al. Joke.
What does it say about This Modern Age, however, that I take the offers of enhancement or paid-for romance in my stride? All aimed at men, I might add. Women are either deemed to be less easily duped or more content. Or possibly poorer.
Talking of poorer, I think that I've mentioned that the Sage has taken to using my phone for calls, as I can't possibly use 10 hours-worth in a month and he certainly can. Since the phone is a bit away from his mouth, he tends to shout a bit so, considerately, he uses my phone in a room I am not.
I had been preparing a rhubarb crumble, and returned to the drawing room (also, the Write Stuff, which I'd been listening to, was over) as he was saying "goodbye" to someone.
"I've been telling G about *article about G's former employers*"
G is in New Zealand.
I have rather forcefully explained that I would far rather have the cost of a call to New Zealand on the landline than on the mobile. He has apologised as if it was a personal insult. I had to explain that it wasn't. Just an expensive mistake.
Oh well. We're nowhere near as expensive to each other as our children were. Well, some of our children. Ro was surprisingly good value*.
Of course, they're all Worth It. Which reminds me, I looked after Pugsley this afternoon while his mother was at her tap dancing class (no, she doesn't fall off into the sink). When she came back, he was reluctant to clear up the pack of cards scattered on the floor. When her command didn't work (unusually), I said that I'd give him a count of five, and after that I'd pick him up by his feet and bounce his head on the floor. He picked up the cards. How odd. I'd have gone for the bounce, in his situation. Anyway, not long afterwards, he went to sleep. I said it was unusual for him to be naughty.
Weeza and Zerlina are visiting tomorrow. Huzzah! I am very happy. And, obv, I have forgiven the Sage. His rhubarb crumble will go into the oven in two minutes, and soon he will be as happy as I am.
*joke, Weeza and Al. Joke.
Tuesday, 2 March 2010
Z shakes a leg
I didn't mean to make all the marmalade in one go, but that was how it has happened. Not in one batch, of course, that would have been silly (yes, I am silly, but not that silly. There are limits). I used a method I never have before, which was to cook the oranges whole and then cut them up. It was in the Times, Lindsay Bareham's recipe. I have a book of hers, which I like very much, so I'm inclined to trust (I know, darlings, it doesn't take much) - anyway, I thought I'd try it, if only to disregard in future.
You'd like a link, I daresay. I'm not sure if it's okay to quote someone else's recipe, because I've read that there isn't a copyright on them - not on a traditional sort of thing, anyway. If you can't access it, let me know - I"m afraid I've changed it, anyway. This is it. I'd advise not adding the sugar when Lindsay does, as if any of the orange skin isn't completely soft and you need to simmer it further, it won't work once sugar has been added. Also, it seems to me a really messy thing to have the seeds in a bag in with the sugary mixture. What I did was to cut up the oranges, put the seedy pulp in a stocking and dangle it in the water with the cut-up peel, and then simmer it until I was sure it was all done, then take out the stocking, let it cool a bit, squeeze it, add the sugar, let that dissolve completely and then boil the marmalade until done.
The proportions of fruit and sugar are the same as my usual (Delia) recipe, except for an extra lemon. She says 10 oranges, but the sizes vary vastly, so I went for a kilo, which happened to be 12 of mine. There is much less water, but the pan is covered, so it's fine. It's a good recipe and I'll use it again. Some comments on the website said that the marmalade was reluctant to set - she said it can take 24 hours, but mine set all right.
While I was doing this, I also thought I'd pinch some of the peel for my gin and vodka. Unfortunately, once I'd peeled off the, er, peel (with a potato, er, peeler), I couldn't find the bottle of gin that I'm sure I bought before Christmas, though I did find the vodka. I do think I bought it, but I know we didn't drink it. Anyway, in the end I looked in the freezer and found the remains of a bottle of gin and a bottle of vodka, not much of either, so I decided to make lemon vodka and Seville orange vodka. It was an ordinary bottle, not a litre, so I had to work out the proportions which, fortunately, turned out to be 140g of sugar, which is just 5 oz. I can do decimal, but I'll never think decimal and my scales are imperial. I only had the one bottle and a bitsworth of vodka, though two actual bottles, so I'll top up tomorrow. Then I'll make lemon gin too and compare in due course.
I got a production line going - simmered one lot of oranges in a big saucepan while I was finishing off the marmalade in the preserving pan, fitting in the washing of jars and the potting in between - oh, and looking after Pugsley - and it seemed a good idea to carry on. I did 4 batches, which is a yearsworth, including some to give away, surely. It was so successful that, if Al has a few oranges left, I don't mind putting them in the freezer in kilo bagsful, ready to cook if we run short.
All this took several hours, and I'd also volunteered to cook dinner - a deceptively simple number involving leeks, hot-smoked salmon, tomatoes, pasta, crème frâiche and courgettes. It was all done by 20 to 8 and I was glad to sit down. My back hurts a bit, I'll stack up the pillows tonight.
After dinner, I checked emails and was shattered to find that a friend is in hospital being treated for cancer. He and his wife are dear friends, and their son died suddenly, in his mid forties, from an unsuspected aneurism, just before Christmas. A mutual friend told me. I phoned Joanne, got the answerphone and had to leave a message. I'm ashamed to say that I was audibly in tears, which is hardly supportive. I couldn't help it. Fine friend I am, though. Honestly, darlings, useless.
You'd like a link, I daresay. I'm not sure if it's okay to quote someone else's recipe, because I've read that there isn't a copyright on them - not on a traditional sort of thing, anyway. If you can't access it, let me know - I"m afraid I've changed it, anyway. This is it. I'd advise not adding the sugar when Lindsay does, as if any of the orange skin isn't completely soft and you need to simmer it further, it won't work once sugar has been added. Also, it seems to me a really messy thing to have the seeds in a bag in with the sugary mixture. What I did was to cut up the oranges, put the seedy pulp in a stocking and dangle it in the water with the cut-up peel, and then simmer it until I was sure it was all done, then take out the stocking, let it cool a bit, squeeze it, add the sugar, let that dissolve completely and then boil the marmalade until done.
The proportions of fruit and sugar are the same as my usual (Delia) recipe, except for an extra lemon. She says 10 oranges, but the sizes vary vastly, so I went for a kilo, which happened to be 12 of mine. There is much less water, but the pan is covered, so it's fine. It's a good recipe and I'll use it again. Some comments on the website said that the marmalade was reluctant to set - she said it can take 24 hours, but mine set all right.
While I was doing this, I also thought I'd pinch some of the peel for my gin and vodka. Unfortunately, once I'd peeled off the, er, peel (with a potato, er, peeler), I couldn't find the bottle of gin that I'm sure I bought before Christmas, though I did find the vodka. I do think I bought it, but I know we didn't drink it. Anyway, in the end I looked in the freezer and found the remains of a bottle of gin and a bottle of vodka, not much of either, so I decided to make lemon vodka and Seville orange vodka. It was an ordinary bottle, not a litre, so I had to work out the proportions which, fortunately, turned out to be 140g of sugar, which is just 5 oz. I can do decimal, but I'll never think decimal and my scales are imperial. I only had the one bottle and a bitsworth of vodka, though two actual bottles, so I'll top up tomorrow. Then I'll make lemon gin too and compare in due course.
I got a production line going - simmered one lot of oranges in a big saucepan while I was finishing off the marmalade in the preserving pan, fitting in the washing of jars and the potting in between - oh, and looking after Pugsley - and it seemed a good idea to carry on. I did 4 batches, which is a yearsworth, including some to give away, surely. It was so successful that, if Al has a few oranges left, I don't mind putting them in the freezer in kilo bagsful, ready to cook if we run short.
All this took several hours, and I'd also volunteered to cook dinner - a deceptively simple number involving leeks, hot-smoked salmon, tomatoes, pasta, crème frâiche and courgettes. It was all done by 20 to 8 and I was glad to sit down. My back hurts a bit, I'll stack up the pillows tonight.
After dinner, I checked emails and was shattered to find that a friend is in hospital being treated for cancer. He and his wife are dear friends, and their son died suddenly, in his mid forties, from an unsuspected aneurism, just before Christmas. A mutual friend told me. I phoned Joanne, got the answerphone and had to leave a message. I'm ashamed to say that I was audibly in tears, which is hardly supportive. I couldn't help it. Fine friend I am, though. Honestly, darlings, useless.
Monday, 1 March 2010
Zinsured
I finally bothered to look for a car insurance quote this morning. Not entirely to my surprise, I found one that had the same level of excess (couldn't think what it was called for a minute, nearly called it a surplus) that I'd had before, of £250 and the same other terms, for £210, rather than the £244 I'd been quoted from the company I'd paid £203 to last year, and this time they wanted £300 excess.
I'd rather stay with the same company, but it is made hard for me. I recognise that I've been charged a low price to get my custom and that I'll need to shop around again next year. I did ring the company, in fact, and was offered a price around £230 with a £250 excess - if they'd sent that to me, I'd have just paid it. So why on earth not? I'm not that bad a risk - I mean, anyone can have an accident, but I've never had a car insurance claim and I've been driving for 39 years.
Anyway.
Gosh. 39 years.
Sunk in contemplation.
It's an indication of my level of ... shall we call it relaxation, rather than laziness? Oh, go on, let us ... that this was almost all I did today. I wrote 15 letters, which was three letters and 13 copies of one of them and walked round the village to post them. I strode out, noting that this was the first time that I sometimes forgot to notice every step that I took. This is, I can't remember if I've mentioned, one of my simple and humble ambitions. Just to walk without noticing the action of walking. I'm nearly there.
I also made a couple of necessary phone calls, one of which was to cancel an engagement that I quite wanted to do, but which I can't get to next week as I may not drive yet. I could get a lift one way, but not both. Still, even for little prinZess, that isn't so dreadful, I suppose.
Last night, my back ached so much that I lay on my side for a while to sleep - on the operated side, so that there wasn't a danger of the joint slipping out. It hurt, but I was so tired by then that I slept anyway for a while. The Sage and I still aren't sleeping all that well.
Marmalade tomorrow. I have the oranges, the lemons, the sugar and the jars. I think that's all I need, isn't it? Preserving pan, of course.
I'd rather stay with the same company, but it is made hard for me. I recognise that I've been charged a low price to get my custom and that I'll need to shop around again next year. I did ring the company, in fact, and was offered a price around £230 with a £250 excess - if they'd sent that to me, I'd have just paid it. So why on earth not? I'm not that bad a risk - I mean, anyone can have an accident, but I've never had a car insurance claim and I've been driving for 39 years.
Anyway.
Gosh. 39 years.
Sunk in contemplation.
It's an indication of my level of ... shall we call it relaxation, rather than laziness? Oh, go on, let us ... that this was almost all I did today. I wrote 15 letters, which was three letters and 13 copies of one of them and walked round the village to post them. I strode out, noting that this was the first time that I sometimes forgot to notice every step that I took. This is, I can't remember if I've mentioned, one of my simple and humble ambitions. Just to walk without noticing the action of walking. I'm nearly there.
I also made a couple of necessary phone calls, one of which was to cancel an engagement that I quite wanted to do, but which I can't get to next week as I may not drive yet. I could get a lift one way, but not both. Still, even for little prinZess, that isn't so dreadful, I suppose.
Last night, my back ached so much that I lay on my side for a while to sleep - on the operated side, so that there wasn't a danger of the joint slipping out. It hurt, but I was so tired by then that I slept anyway for a while. The Sage and I still aren't sleeping all that well.
Marmalade tomorrow. I have the oranges, the lemons, the sugar and the jars. I think that's all I need, isn't it? Preserving pan, of course.
Sunday, 28 February 2010
Z prefers marmalade to dates
Looking in my diary, I've not got a lot on this coming week. Quite a lot of the sort of things that don't go in the diary - I've made a to-do list, which I only do when things are really piling up - but not much that's out of the house. So I think that the time has come to make marmalade. It's probably about the last week that Al will have the oranges, in any case.
I was talking to someone the other day who had met her husband over the internet. I know several couples who have got together that way, either via blogging or dating websites (when I say "know", some of them I only know through blogging, but I do know two couples personally). A friend of hers, whose life was shattered a couple of years ago when her husband walked out without warning, has been dipping her toe into the deep water of dating again - but, fifteen years on and with young children, she hasn't the confidence to go out looking. So far, her dates have not been wildly successful and she asked Our Mutual Friend for advice. OMF said that she and her husband didn't meet very soon - they corresponded for quite some time first, and felt that they had a rapport and that they would like to be friends, whether or not romance might follow. The Ex-Wife admitted that she had gone by photos, whether she'd liked the man's smile and his eyes.
It occurs to me that I am very lucky to have hung on to the Sage for yet another reason. It's not been long since I was last propositioned, in fact (no one you know, darlings) but I don't think I could face ever starting over again with another serious relationship. In fact, if ever he throws me out and I start casting my beady eyes around, don't take me seriously, will you? I'm afraid I would be quite unreliable.
I was talking to someone the other day who had met her husband over the internet. I know several couples who have got together that way, either via blogging or dating websites (when I say "know", some of them I only know through blogging, but I do know two couples personally). A friend of hers, whose life was shattered a couple of years ago when her husband walked out without warning, has been dipping her toe into the deep water of dating again - but, fifteen years on and with young children, she hasn't the confidence to go out looking. So far, her dates have not been wildly successful and she asked Our Mutual Friend for advice. OMF said that she and her husband didn't meet very soon - they corresponded for quite some time first, and felt that they had a rapport and that they would like to be friends, whether or not romance might follow. The Ex-Wife admitted that she had gone by photos, whether she'd liked the man's smile and his eyes.
It occurs to me that I am very lucky to have hung on to the Sage for yet another reason. It's not been long since I was last propositioned, in fact (no one you know, darlings) but I don't think I could face ever starting over again with another serious relationship. In fact, if ever he throws me out and I start casting my beady eyes around, don't take me seriously, will you? I'm afraid I would be quite unreliable.
Saturday, 27 February 2010
Three Years?
Lemon Gin Recipe
Ingredients:
Ingredients:
- I litre bottle of medium quality gin
- 200 g white granulated sugar
- 3 unwaxed lemons (just the rind, avoiding the pith)
- Make space in the bottle for the sugar and lemon by pouring off at least 200 ml of gin (reserve this).
- Gently pare the lemon rind from the lemon. Be really careful to avoid the bitter pith (at a pinch use a zester – although the results are not nearly as good).
- Add the peel to the bottle.
- Using a funnel add the sugar to the gin and shake well. Top up the bottle with the reserved gin. Find a use for the surplus (I usually mix myself a large gin and tonic at this stage).
- Label the bottle. Wrap it well (bubble wrap is ideal) and place securely in the boot of your car (The alcohol will not allow the bottle to freeze completely in cold weather).
- Drive the car hard for three years.
- Remove the bottle. Taste and taste again.
I was looking on my computer for a recipe that I'd been given for vodka flavoured with Seville orange. I couldn't find it, and I think that I was told it and didn't write it down. However, I think that this recipe, which I did find, could be adapted satisfactorily.
But three years? Don't think I can wait that long. Maybe I can just give it a regular shake and wait a few months.
I don't know who gave me this recipe. Any of you?
Not you, Dave, I know that already.
But three years? Don't think I can wait that long. Maybe I can just give it a regular shake and wait a few months.
I don't know who gave me this recipe. Any of you?
Not you, Dave, I know that already.
Friday, 26 February 2010
Tested
A couple of days ago, I was looking through Blogger and found that one can now email a post directly to the blog. When I was last staying with Wink, I went down to her local library and found that I couldn't write on the blog, not even a comment - they were blocked. So I was just checking that it worked. I was going to take it down again, but several keen people sent in comments, so it didn't seem polite. Anyway, it's of limited use, but if you're using a hospital network or a school one or anywhere where usage of some sites is blocked, it's a good thing to know.
I'm a slow learner when it comes to this sort of thing, and it takes me ages to work anything out. I sometimes think back nostalgically to when I bought my first computer, which came with a surprisingly helpful manual which told me stuff. Now, it's all about clicking on 'help' and asking questions, which usually give nil returns, or looking through a list of topics which don't seem very relevant.
A few months ago, I was struggling to change a document which had been written by Excel by someone else and sent to me - the trouble was, previous people in her job had set it up and then altered it, and it was a complete mish-mash - I was having to change each thing individually and then it kept wanting to revert back to the original. Weeza happened to visit while I was still complaining about it, and she showed me that if I removed all formatting, I could then redo it how I wanted. How was I to know? The person who now writes that document does it in Word, which is just as annoying. Actually, it's worse. For instance, when it arrives in a font I hate and which won't fit anyway once I've done my alterations, why, when I've selected all and changed it, does it keep putting any new writing in the original font? I've tried everything. I don't understand it (btw, I've got an elderly version of Word, because I'm not buying anything new and it doesn't come with a Mac). Another thing I look back nostalgically to is my first computer, when I used Clarisworks. Lovely Clarisworks. It was brilliant. It did exactly what I wanted to and I only had to ask once and it remembered but it never imposed anything. Honestly, it was even better than a husband, in many respects.
No, of course not in every way. In nearly ten years, it never once took out the bins or brought in a bucket of coal.
I'm a slow learner when it comes to this sort of thing, and it takes me ages to work anything out. I sometimes think back nostalgically to when I bought my first computer, which came with a surprisingly helpful manual which told me stuff. Now, it's all about clicking on 'help' and asking questions, which usually give nil returns, or looking through a list of topics which don't seem very relevant.
A few months ago, I was struggling to change a document which had been written by Excel by someone else and sent to me - the trouble was, previous people in her job had set it up and then altered it, and it was a complete mish-mash - I was having to change each thing individually and then it kept wanting to revert back to the original. Weeza happened to visit while I was still complaining about it, and she showed me that if I removed all formatting, I could then redo it how I wanted. How was I to know? The person who now writes that document does it in Word, which is just as annoying. Actually, it's worse. For instance, when it arrives in a font I hate and which won't fit anyway once I've done my alterations, why, when I've selected all and changed it, does it keep putting any new writing in the original font? I've tried everything. I don't understand it (btw, I've got an elderly version of Word, because I'm not buying anything new and it doesn't come with a Mac). Another thing I look back nostalgically to is my first computer, when I used Clarisworks. Lovely Clarisworks. It was brilliant. It did exactly what I wanted to and I only had to ask once and it remembered but it never imposed anything. Honestly, it was even better than a husband, in many respects.
No, of course not in every way. In nearly ten years, it never once took out the bins or brought in a bucket of coal.
Thursday, 25 February 2010
Second best
Then, of course, there's the other side of the coin. Things that we often buy to use, which actually are better home-made but are just too much trouble to make all the time, or which require a level of skill which one may not have.
In my case, the first among these is pastry. I almost always buy it - quite forgivable with puff pastry, I think, but I buy short crust too. Simply, it is one of my more puzzling failures as a cook. I've tried every way recommended, and it's never very good. The best is if I make it in the food processor and don't actually touch it with my hands at all until it's rolled out - but it's still not as good as other people's, and it's all pretty messy. In fact, I'd usually make a scone or crumble topping and avoid the pastry issue altogether.
Something that is better home made is mayonnaise - but how many of us always have a jar of bought in the fridge? I certainly do, though I will sometimes make mayo for a nice meal - won't bother if it's to dip chips in, though. Chips as in french fries, that is. Not potato chips, ie crisps. Although, of course, chips are made of potato.
Tins of beans (plain haricot, blackeye, kidney etc) and chickpeas - they aren't even hard to do, one just has to start them off the day before and then actually cook them. And fresh are better than tinned. But I often get out a tin.
Orange juice. Freshly squeezed is far, far better. But the supermarkets sell an awful lot of tetrapaks - and there's one in my fridge right now.
Yoghurt. This is no longer the 1960s, which was the last time I made yoghurt.
Muesli. Now, why does anyone buy it? It doesn't take long to make your own, enough for weeks at a time, and you can get the proportions you like. But I don't.
Biscuits or cookies. Home made are far better, far cheaper and not that much trouble. And I did make flapjacks yesterday - but generally, I'm likely to buy biscuits, especially savoury ones. British flapjacks are not the same thing as American ones, by the way. You melt sugar, butter and golden syrup and stir in rolled oats, then put in a tin and bake, then cut into slices. I can't remember what American flapjacks are.
Bread. Time was, I used to make all my own bread, but that was a long time ago.
Mustard. I have several jars of different ready-made mustards, though I do like fresh mustard made from mustard powder (especially with roast beef), but it never all gets used and goes rock-hard in the mustard pot and has to be repeatedly soaked out. So I only make it occasionally. Interestingly, Martina reckons that mustard is better bought than made.
I'd have reckoned that I make most dishes from scratch, but now I look at this lot (tip of the iceberg, I'm sure), I realise that I could do an awful lot more. I also realise that I'm not going to.
Again, comments (or admissions) will be added to the post.
Frozen roast potato (for one, he points out) Dave
The best French mustard - Sarah
Bread sauce - Jane Goth (I only ever made bread sauce to go with the Christmas turkey, but we haven't had turkey for years, so I haven't made bread sauce).
Rice pudding - Martina, who says it's better than the pudding she makes, and cheaper. I think there must be more to rice pudding in the US than there is here, as it's just rice, sugar and milk, with nutmeg, cinnamon or whatever you like to flavour.
In my case, the first among these is pastry. I almost always buy it - quite forgivable with puff pastry, I think, but I buy short crust too. Simply, it is one of my more puzzling failures as a cook. I've tried every way recommended, and it's never very good. The best is if I make it in the food processor and don't actually touch it with my hands at all until it's rolled out - but it's still not as good as other people's, and it's all pretty messy. In fact, I'd usually make a scone or crumble topping and avoid the pastry issue altogether.
Something that is better home made is mayonnaise - but how many of us always have a jar of bought in the fridge? I certainly do, though I will sometimes make mayo for a nice meal - won't bother if it's to dip chips in, though. Chips as in french fries, that is. Not potato chips, ie crisps. Although, of course, chips are made of potato.
Tins of beans (plain haricot, blackeye, kidney etc) and chickpeas - they aren't even hard to do, one just has to start them off the day before and then actually cook them. And fresh are better than tinned. But I often get out a tin.
Orange juice. Freshly squeezed is far, far better. But the supermarkets sell an awful lot of tetrapaks - and there's one in my fridge right now.
Yoghurt. This is no longer the 1960s, which was the last time I made yoghurt.
Muesli. Now, why does anyone buy it? It doesn't take long to make your own, enough for weeks at a time, and you can get the proportions you like. But I don't.
Biscuits or cookies. Home made are far better, far cheaper and not that much trouble. And I did make flapjacks yesterday - but generally, I'm likely to buy biscuits, especially savoury ones. British flapjacks are not the same thing as American ones, by the way. You melt sugar, butter and golden syrup and stir in rolled oats, then put in a tin and bake, then cut into slices. I can't remember what American flapjacks are.
Bread. Time was, I used to make all my own bread, but that was a long time ago.
Mustard. I have several jars of different ready-made mustards, though I do like fresh mustard made from mustard powder (especially with roast beef), but it never all gets used and goes rock-hard in the mustard pot and has to be repeatedly soaked out. So I only make it occasionally. Interestingly, Martina reckons that mustard is better bought than made.
I'd have reckoned that I make most dishes from scratch, but now I look at this lot (tip of the iceberg, I'm sure), I realise that I could do an awful lot more. I also realise that I'm not going to.
Again, comments (or admissions) will be added to the post.
Frozen roast potato (for one, he points out) Dave
The best French mustard - Sarah
Bread sauce - Jane Goth (I only ever made bread sauce to go with the Christmas turkey, but we haven't had turkey for years, so I haven't made bread sauce).
Rice pudding - Martina, who says it's better than the pudding she makes, and cheaper. I think there must be more to rice pudding in the US than there is here, as it's just rice, sugar and milk, with nutmeg, cinnamon or whatever you like to flavour.
The real thing
I've been thinking about recipes where the only proper thing to use is a convenience food rather than making an ingredient from scratch - for example, an obvious one is that real custard is made from Bird's custard powder - sure, you can use cornflour and an egg in an emergency, though it wouldn't be quite right, but in a trifle, making a 'proper' egg custard would just be wrong. Oh, and making the cake for it is a bit dubious, too. Bought trifle sponges or boudoir biscuits are fine. By the way, powdered custard which you make up with hot water may be kept for when you are desperate, I suppose, but it's pretty rubbish. It has no body or substance to it and tastes of artificial sweetener. It has no place in trifle. And is barely passable on a treacle pudding or jam sponge. I agree with Sarah that tinned custard is fine though - and, for a trifle, it has the advantage of already being cold.
Salad Niçoise in a smart restaurant is a case in point. Seared fresh tuna is wrong. It has to be tinned. And those pallid salted anchovy fillets from the deli - no, it has to be the dark brown ones from a tin or jar. Anything else just disappoints. And, in fact, it's not even correct.
My mother used to make proper Boston Baked Beans, about once every five years. I did, once or twice, many years ago, and tasty it was. But it's hardly the real thing. Beans, it has to be said, meanz Heinz.
I don't often use tomato ketchup, but there are times when nothing else will do. With shepherd's or cottage pie, for instance. And fish fingers. And fish cakes, come to that.
There are foods which we remember from childhood, which are still a (possibly slightly guilty) pleasure, but that's not quite what I mean - it's foods or dishes that are actually more authentic when a tin or a packet is used. I thought I'd come up with a whole long list but, now I'm writing it down, I can't think of many. Any suggestions? If so, I'll add them to the post. Credited, of course.
Stock cubes (Sablonneuse)
Milk from a bottle rather than straight from the cow (Dave)
Oven chips (Mrs Rine)
Marmite as a flavouring agent (Allotment queen)
Worcestershire Sauce (Wendy)
Packet jelly (Wendy)
Tinned custard (Sarah)
Amoretti biscuits (Sarah)
Fish stock (Sarah)
Campbell's Tomato soup (Martina & Luckyzmom)
Wyler's Chicken or Beef crystals (broth concentrate) (Martina)
Heinz Catsup/Ketchup (Martina)
Ground mustard (Martina)
Salad Niçoise in a smart restaurant is a case in point. Seared fresh tuna is wrong. It has to be tinned. And those pallid salted anchovy fillets from the deli - no, it has to be the dark brown ones from a tin or jar. Anything else just disappoints. And, in fact, it's not even correct.
My mother used to make proper Boston Baked Beans, about once every five years. I did, once or twice, many years ago, and tasty it was. But it's hardly the real thing. Beans, it has to be said, meanz Heinz.
I don't often use tomato ketchup, but there are times when nothing else will do. With shepherd's or cottage pie, for instance. And fish fingers. And fish cakes, come to that.
There are foods which we remember from childhood, which are still a (possibly slightly guilty) pleasure, but that's not quite what I mean - it's foods or dishes that are actually more authentic when a tin or a packet is used. I thought I'd come up with a whole long list but, now I'm writing it down, I can't think of many. Any suggestions? If so, I'll add them to the post. Credited, of course.
Stock cubes (Sablonneuse)
Milk from a bottle rather than straight from the cow (Dave)
Oven chips (Mrs Rine)
Marmite as a flavouring agent (Allotment queen)
Worcestershire Sauce (Wendy)
Packet jelly (Wendy)
Tinned custard (Sarah)
Amoretti biscuits (Sarah)
Fish stock (Sarah)
Campbell's Tomato soup (Martina & Luckyzmom)
Wyler's Chicken or Beef crystals (broth concentrate) (Martina)
Heinz Catsup/Ketchup (Martina)
Ground mustard (Martina)
Wednesday, 24 February 2010
Z chuckles
I do apologise for three posts in one day, especially before 2 pm, but do go to ebay.co.uk and search for Real Snowman. Scroll down for full description of Thor the Snowman, and also for questions & answers.
It's the first one on the page, the only actual snowman. All the others are models and costumes. There are several pages of q&a, which are very amusing.
Thanks, Dilly, for telling me about it.
It's the first one on the page, the only actual snowman. All the others are models and costumes. There are several pages of q&a, which are very amusing.
Thanks, Dilly, for telling me about it.
Hiplog again
Pamela has written an interesting post here about travelling by public transport with a new hip, specifically in London as it's where she lives. There are some very useful tips in it. I found, before my operation, that the Tube was the worst as there is so much walking and so many stairs. One time, I wanted to go to an exhibition at Tate Britain in Pimlico, travelling from Islington. I looked up the route online. There seemed to be no way of getting there without a change at a station where the escalators were not in use. The alternative was three buses. I tried to look up a route without stairs and with limited walking and the effort made the site crash. I didn't get to the exhibition.
I'm not up to a day in London yet, because it would be too tiring, but I think I'd feel fairly confident about a bus or a Tube ride. I'd certainly take a stick - it makes sense to warn people visually that you aren't going to be quick or agile and that you might be grateful to be given a seat. I've already said how very helpful people are, as long as they know you need a hand.
My friend Sally had a new hip just before Christmas. She had a bad fall and broke her wrist and the top of her femur, poor love. I expect she's finding things quite restricting, but for me it's the opposite. I was already so restricted in what I could comfortably do that any limitations now are much less disappointing than they were before.
I've noticed I've gained stamina in the last few days - I had an afternoon meeting and an evening meeting yesterday, which would have wiped me out for today, not so long ago, but I feel fine (although I slept badly last night, the Sage and I are still both finding this difficult). I'm getting heartily fed up with the limitation on movement, though still being patient about it - I can break the rules if I want to, but then can't blame anyone if I dislocate my hip.
This is still my greatest anxiety. Sometimes, in the dark 3am recesses of wakefulness, I've reduced myself to tears of worry - yes, this is silly but haven't we all got things out of proportion at 3am? It's because of my mother's experience - in brief, 3 months after a successful hip operation, when she was completely recovered, she had a bad fall which dislocated her hip. In the next 7 years, it dislocated 7 times, each time pretty well spontaneously. Not surprisingly, she became a nervous wreck. Other health problems were dismissed by medics as hysteria (you might as well say) and I suspect that she was thought to be bringing on the dislocations as a form of attention-seeking. It wasn't until she finally asked for the hip to be pinned that an x-ray was taken from a different angle that showed that the joint had been damaged in the first fall and that was the reason for the dislocations. She had another operation, which was successful - but we had all been through hell - I can't begin to talk about it all - and by then the cancer which had been looked for and not found (no blame, just a statement of fact) was about to spread fatally, so it was all too late to improve her life. I'm very glad to have had a youngish non-white surgeon, because she found her middle-aged, English, awfully charming consultant quite impossible to be assertive with - he should have investigated more thoroughly much earlier.
Anyway, I'm afraid of doing something silly or having an accident and dislocating my hip, which I believe would ruin my life and that of my family. In view of what happened, it's not completely irrational, but I can't tell the degree to which I'm over-concerned. I realise that the best thing to do is talk to my consultant about it (not in an emotional way, I'll be perfectly sensible I promise) and find out any sensible restrictions I should bear in mind for the long term, while not being over-protective of myself.
Anyway - the scar has healed beautifully, but still feels both numb and tingly when I rub it. I do rub and massage it, as that helps break down scar tissue apparently. It is slightly swollen compared to the other thigh, but this is gradually going down. I can feel some pain across the front of my thigh sometimes, presumably where the bone was cut off - it can be sharply prickly if I've moved about a lot or walked far without a stick. I can't in any way feel the new hip, as such - there's no sensation in the bone of a foreign body being there. It's all far less than the pain and aching I had before.
I can't test the full movement of my hip, but I've certainly got far more movement than I did have. i put my foot on a box for the Sage to tie my shoelace yesterday - I'd have found that very hard and sometimes impossible to do before, but my only care was to make sure I didn't have an acute angle of the joint. I am fine in cars and on firm chairs - I wouldn't try sitting in a low soft chair because of the angle and the difficulty of getting up again. If the chair is a bit low, it gives me some discomfort and I can deal with it by leaning back and stretching my leg out for a greater degree of angle - my knee should be lower than my hip. Having short legs is a help here.
Right leg still slightly long. I take a stick if walking any great distance, but actually I'm starting to find it a nuisance to use. I am taking great pleasure in walking very fast - possibly too fast for entire comfort, but it's been so long since I could walk briskly that I can't resist. I don't mind if my leg aches a bit afterwards as a result. I haven't walked *that* far at a time - not as far as a mile, say, though I'm sure I could, because it's cold and it keeps raining and snowing when I've got time for a long walk.
Around the house, I am getting on fine. I can bend as long as I stand on my left leg and put my right leg back in the air (it's the 90º or more angle that has to be watched). I can put washing in the machine, but taking it out isn't so easy because you have to reach right in for the last little things that stick to the drum. Similarly, I can put things in the bottom oven of the Aga and push, but you have to go lower to get them out again, so the Sage does that. Light housework is fine, heavier stuff depends on what it is and i can't move furniture about much yet.
The rate of improvement has slowed, but that's because I'm nearly better (it'll be 5 weeks on Friday since the operation). I was told to expect to be pretty well healed at 6 weeks and back to normal in 6 - 12 weeks. My follow-up appointment is 8 1/2 weeks from the operation - that's a bit longer wait than I'd have expected, but I'm rather assuming that the consultant is having a holiday - and I'm hoping to be told that, apart from some sensible precautions, to pretty well get on with a normal life then.
I know not to do certain things, like dig the garden, for instance, for 12 weeks, but it's movements that I want to ask about, with dislocation in mind. For example, sitting on the floor with outstretched legs or knees bent upwards, sitting in a chair with crossed legs, squatting, sitting cross-legged on the floor - those have an increasing degree of risk and if I ask that, it's short and straightforward. My joint hasn't been cemented - this is good, as it will grow in and make a stronger bond (often, people have to have another operation, not because the joint is worn but because the cement is breaking down), but it possibly means a less secure fix to start with - I don't know. I know I'll be able to run again, but I'd like some advice on what degree of exercise is sensible - weight-bearing exercise is good, but I want to balance being active (I never knew that I'd look forward to not being a lazy bastard, but it's not being able to do things that makes you want to) with wearing out the joint. I'd like to play tennis, for instance, but that means quite a lot of darting about. Mind you, I'm terribly uncompetitive and really can't be bothered to chase every ball. "Good shot" is a phrase that rings out quite often on my court.
I'm not up to a day in London yet, because it would be too tiring, but I think I'd feel fairly confident about a bus or a Tube ride. I'd certainly take a stick - it makes sense to warn people visually that you aren't going to be quick or agile and that you might be grateful to be given a seat. I've already said how very helpful people are, as long as they know you need a hand.
My friend Sally had a new hip just before Christmas. She had a bad fall and broke her wrist and the top of her femur, poor love. I expect she's finding things quite restricting, but for me it's the opposite. I was already so restricted in what I could comfortably do that any limitations now are much less disappointing than they were before.
I've noticed I've gained stamina in the last few days - I had an afternoon meeting and an evening meeting yesterday, which would have wiped me out for today, not so long ago, but I feel fine (although I slept badly last night, the Sage and I are still both finding this difficult). I'm getting heartily fed up with the limitation on movement, though still being patient about it - I can break the rules if I want to, but then can't blame anyone if I dislocate my hip.
This is still my greatest anxiety. Sometimes, in the dark 3am recesses of wakefulness, I've reduced myself to tears of worry - yes, this is silly but haven't we all got things out of proportion at 3am? It's because of my mother's experience - in brief, 3 months after a successful hip operation, when she was completely recovered, she had a bad fall which dislocated her hip. In the next 7 years, it dislocated 7 times, each time pretty well spontaneously. Not surprisingly, she became a nervous wreck. Other health problems were dismissed by medics as hysteria (you might as well say) and I suspect that she was thought to be bringing on the dislocations as a form of attention-seeking. It wasn't until she finally asked for the hip to be pinned that an x-ray was taken from a different angle that showed that the joint had been damaged in the first fall and that was the reason for the dislocations. She had another operation, which was successful - but we had all been through hell - I can't begin to talk about it all - and by then the cancer which had been looked for and not found (no blame, just a statement of fact) was about to spread fatally, so it was all too late to improve her life. I'm very glad to have had a youngish non-white surgeon, because she found her middle-aged, English, awfully charming consultant quite impossible to be assertive with - he should have investigated more thoroughly much earlier.
Anyway, I'm afraid of doing something silly or having an accident and dislocating my hip, which I believe would ruin my life and that of my family. In view of what happened, it's not completely irrational, but I can't tell the degree to which I'm over-concerned. I realise that the best thing to do is talk to my consultant about it (not in an emotional way, I'll be perfectly sensible I promise) and find out any sensible restrictions I should bear in mind for the long term, while not being over-protective of myself.
Anyway - the scar has healed beautifully, but still feels both numb and tingly when I rub it. I do rub and massage it, as that helps break down scar tissue apparently. It is slightly swollen compared to the other thigh, but this is gradually going down. I can feel some pain across the front of my thigh sometimes, presumably where the bone was cut off - it can be sharply prickly if I've moved about a lot or walked far without a stick. I can't in any way feel the new hip, as such - there's no sensation in the bone of a foreign body being there. It's all far less than the pain and aching I had before.
I can't test the full movement of my hip, but I've certainly got far more movement than I did have. i put my foot on a box for the Sage to tie my shoelace yesterday - I'd have found that very hard and sometimes impossible to do before, but my only care was to make sure I didn't have an acute angle of the joint. I am fine in cars and on firm chairs - I wouldn't try sitting in a low soft chair because of the angle and the difficulty of getting up again. If the chair is a bit low, it gives me some discomfort and I can deal with it by leaning back and stretching my leg out for a greater degree of angle - my knee should be lower than my hip. Having short legs is a help here.
Right leg still slightly long. I take a stick if walking any great distance, but actually I'm starting to find it a nuisance to use. I am taking great pleasure in walking very fast - possibly too fast for entire comfort, but it's been so long since I could walk briskly that I can't resist. I don't mind if my leg aches a bit afterwards as a result. I haven't walked *that* far at a time - not as far as a mile, say, though I'm sure I could, because it's cold and it keeps raining and snowing when I've got time for a long walk.
Around the house, I am getting on fine. I can bend as long as I stand on my left leg and put my right leg back in the air (it's the 90º or more angle that has to be watched). I can put washing in the machine, but taking it out isn't so easy because you have to reach right in for the last little things that stick to the drum. Similarly, I can put things in the bottom oven of the Aga and push, but you have to go lower to get them out again, so the Sage does that. Light housework is fine, heavier stuff depends on what it is and i can't move furniture about much yet.
The rate of improvement has slowed, but that's because I'm nearly better (it'll be 5 weeks on Friday since the operation). I was told to expect to be pretty well healed at 6 weeks and back to normal in 6 - 12 weeks. My follow-up appointment is 8 1/2 weeks from the operation - that's a bit longer wait than I'd have expected, but I'm rather assuming that the consultant is having a holiday - and I'm hoping to be told that, apart from some sensible precautions, to pretty well get on with a normal life then.
I know not to do certain things, like dig the garden, for instance, for 12 weeks, but it's movements that I want to ask about, with dislocation in mind. For example, sitting on the floor with outstretched legs or knees bent upwards, sitting in a chair with crossed legs, squatting, sitting cross-legged on the floor - those have an increasing degree of risk and if I ask that, it's short and straightforward. My joint hasn't been cemented - this is good, as it will grow in and make a stronger bond (often, people have to have another operation, not because the joint is worn but because the cement is breaking down), but it possibly means a less secure fix to start with - I don't know. I know I'll be able to run again, but I'd like some advice on what degree of exercise is sensible - weight-bearing exercise is good, but I want to balance being active (I never knew that I'd look forward to not being a lazy bastard, but it's not being able to do things that makes you want to) with wearing out the joint. I'd like to play tennis, for instance, but that means quite a lot of darting about. Mind you, I'm terribly uncompetitive and really can't be bothered to chase every ball. "Good shot" is a phrase that rings out quite often on my court.
Tuesday, 23 February 2010
Z prises open the cage door
Finally, I formally tendered my resignation as churchwarden, which means that a new one will be elected by the congregation in April, appointed by the PCC at the AGM and licensed by the Bishop in May. I'm feeling freer already. Still a couple of meetings to go, but then I'm leaving the PCC altogether, after quite a number of years - I can't remember how many, somewhere between 15 and 20. Too soon to plan an exit strategy from the governors, but another 5 years or so and I might be free.
I'm not complaining - these are all voluntary jobs and if I didn't want to do them, I should never have got involved. They do suck you in, rather. I have pondered over the reasons for me choosing to be a volunteer rather than apply for a paid job - for one thing, I think, I have to take some control over my time as I'm sometimes quite busy and it would be really awkward to need to be somewhere for fixed hours. For another, I have to acknowledge that I'd not find it too easy to work for someone I didn't like and respect and have no choice in the matter - if I don't like it, I know I can walk. I never have - and I must say, I've put up with things that I wouldn't have tolerated as an employee - but the element of choice plus obligation seems to bring out the tenacious side of me. In addition, I know I am lucky and I suppose I feel the need to give back. We chose a way of life we like over a bigger income many years ago and we're extremely fortunate that the work we do is one that we enjoy so much.
And finally, I'm a fidget. I need to have fingers in a lot of pies as I'd get bored with just one. Sad to say, if the choice is between doing very well at one thing or getting by at several, I'd go for the latter. I'm a perfectionist at wallpapering, but at very little else.
Come to think of it, it's nearly 12 years since I last did any wallpapering.
I'm not complaining - these are all voluntary jobs and if I didn't want to do them, I should never have got involved. They do suck you in, rather. I have pondered over the reasons for me choosing to be a volunteer rather than apply for a paid job - for one thing, I think, I have to take some control over my time as I'm sometimes quite busy and it would be really awkward to need to be somewhere for fixed hours. For another, I have to acknowledge that I'd not find it too easy to work for someone I didn't like and respect and have no choice in the matter - if I don't like it, I know I can walk. I never have - and I must say, I've put up with things that I wouldn't have tolerated as an employee - but the element of choice plus obligation seems to bring out the tenacious side of me. In addition, I know I am lucky and I suppose I feel the need to give back. We chose a way of life we like over a bigger income many years ago and we're extremely fortunate that the work we do is one that we enjoy so much.
And finally, I'm a fidget. I need to have fingers in a lot of pies as I'd get bored with just one. Sad to say, if the choice is between doing very well at one thing or getting by at several, I'd go for the latter. I'm a perfectionist at wallpapering, but at very little else.
Come to think of it, it's nearly 12 years since I last did any wallpapering.
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