A CHRISTMAS DEBACLE

So, I expect you’ve been wondering where I’ve been for the past few months?  Oh I see, you’ve been watching ‘I’m a Celebrity’ instead of checking to see if I’ve updated any new posts.  Well, never mind because now I’ve got Mondays off, there’ll be a whole lotta blogging going on.  (Spare us!)

I finally managed to ditch the troublesome gallbladder and spent a month ‘convalescing’ under the watchful eyes of Nurses Kitty and Catty.  I’m sure they did more resting than I did!

NHS cat nurses recommended to aid recovery after surgery

Thanks to the soup and cream cracker diet, I lost a few pounds too but with Christmas on the fatty horizon, I’ve got a lot of lost meals to make up and no doubt the scales will soon be tipping the other way. 

When you’ve got time on your hands and nothing else to do all day, you spend more hours in self-examination than ever.  I contemplated my navel most days and that was purely to check on the stitches from keyhole surgery.  Healed yet?  Nope, check again tomorrow.   I did this for about 25 days before finally getting bored and moving on to obsessing over signs of ageing.

Have you noticed how pouty, pink lips suddenly become the thin red line of displeasure almost overnight?  Mine get slathered in plump action lip balms on a daily basis but there’s more substance in a plastic bag for life than in this ‘kisser’.  It’s truly depressing.

I've spent thousands on lip plumping balms!

Almost as depressing as this novel I’m reading called ‘A Christmas Debacle’ by Charlie Wat-the-Dickens.  It’s the bleak tale of a middle aged chimney sweep who finds his livelihood has been stolen by migrant children who can climb up chimneys quicker and for fewer pennies. 

On his way to the workhouse, the chimney sweep encounters three terrifying spectres:  the Ghost of Christmas Past (a ghoul stuck in the 1970s that wants to bring chimneys under state control), the Ghost of Christmas Present (only there’s no present, cos it’s a phantom Tory) and the Ghost of Christmas Future (a larger than life phantasm who is propping up the bar with a pint in one hand and a ciggie in the other). 

These three ghosts then proceed to spend half the novel trying to befuddle the poor chimney sweep with conflicting Christmas policies and half-baked mince pies.  In the end driven to desperation and trapped in his hovel by a large pile of election decrees blocking the front door, the chimney sweep dies in tragic circumstances when a small, ugly green dragon accidently sets fire to a lump of straw instead of the Christmas pudding.  

Ah, they don’t write classics like that anymore.  The sequel is due for release after 12 December.

Warning - contains distressing scenes and child poverty

I DON'T LIKE MONDAYS

Break out the bubbly and pass round the Ferrero Rocher, Boris Johnson’s not the only one who’s got a new contract of employment.  Let’s raise a toast to giving work the finger (part II). And don’t you go nicking my idea for a 4 day week Jeremy Corbin because I got there first.

‘Don’t Give Up!  Retirement can be fatal’ proclaimed The Times supplement back in July.  Of course it is but not for you.  The Government has been crapping itself since the launch of its ‘pension freedoms’ which has allowed many middle aged muggles like myself to gleefully kick off their working shoes and skip joyfully into a sunset nirvana of early retirement or part time employment. 

Imagine how fatal it will be for employers when they realise that the younger, more energetic version of you they recruited gets their mum to phone in sick on their behalf every time their iPhone stops working?  Ha, ha, ha!  If only you could see me now, you’d know I’m playing a tune on the world’s smallest violin. 

For years I’ve been telling myself I couldn’t possibly afford to give up a full time job.  Who’d pay the bills?  Who’d buy treats for the cats?  How would I fund all those decadent trips to the theatre or metal gigs?  Well that was before I whipped out my trusty Casio pocket calculator and worked out that if I dipped a toe into my pension pot now, I could actually afford to work less or not at all.  And so from next week, I will no longer be reporting for duty on Mondays.

Like the Boomtown Rats, I’ve never liked Mondays. Or for that matter any other day that involves getting up at 5.30 am in the cold, or dark or with over exuberant radio DJ’s blathering on about how great it is to be a ‘six o’clocker’.  Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.  Really?  Personally, I’d settle for being a ‘nine or ten o’clocker’ if only I didn’t have to go to work.  

Maybe Monday’s – that’s what I’m going to call them from now on.  Maybe I’ll get out of bed (or not).  Maybe I’ll get dressed or spend all day in my PJs.  Maybe I’ll do some housework or binge watch ‘Nailed It’ on Netflix.  Maybe I’ll walk round to the charity shops for a bit of fresh air (isn’t it polluted?).  Maybe I’ll spend the day standing by the window peering through the nets to see what the neighbours are up to (you already do this says the other half).  Maybe I’ll knit myself into a garishly patterned strait jacket.  Maybe I’ll update my blog every week (miracle of miracles).  But there’s one thing for sure, I most definitely won’t be getting up to go to work on Mondays!

I don't like Mondays much either

PICTURE PERFECT

Art is in the eye of the beholder.  Tricky if you’re wearing an eye patch but nevertheless, what is one man’s Picasso is another man’s Pollock and believe me when I say, there’s a load of old ‘Pollocks’ out there that is trying to pass for art.

Cubism - Pablo Picasso

Abstract Expressionism - Jackson Pollock

I’ve spent the past few weeks battling a sinus infection and scouring the internet for something suitably arty to hang above the bed but nothing I’ve seen so far has captured my imagination.  So what to do if you can’t find the perfect picture?  Create your own!

Since I dabble in photography, I’ve turned to my vast collection of photo ‘art’ for inspiration.  I want something semi industrial with lots of interesting shapes and colours.  Hmmm.  Not easy to find something of that ilk in a million cat or plant photos but wait, what’s this?  It’s a day out at the Thames Barrier – perfect!

View of the Thames Barrier

I remember that cold, grey day in 2016 and how captivated I was by those fabulous metal domes, symmetrically spanning the river Thames like a row of alien sentinels.  The light glinting off the silver ‘scales’, moody grey clouds rolling across the blue sky, the bitingly cold wind turning my cheeks into a bright pink sorbet.  It was magical.

Low tide at the Thames Barrier

An amazing architectural structure

My barrier photos taken with a ‘dramatic’ filter at the time aimed to capture a sense of that magnificent architectural structure.  All those wonderful domes, angles and symmetry, with the kind of texture and shapes that Picasso might have fashioned into some weirdly compelling cubist painting if he’d still been alive.

With dramatic filter applied

With no filters applied

With a bit of imaginative cropping and a few adjustments to the contrast and temperature of the image, I’ve changed the look of the original prints to give them blue tones and vibrant colours.

Love all the shapes & symmetry

How to print off your masterpieces in a fairly large size?  There are loads of photo printing companies on the internet who can print off anything from a postage stamp to a wall sized poster, so no worries on that front.  I got my 30 x 40 cm prints done by Pics2Posters and was more than impressed by the quick order turnaround and quality of the prints (£9 each including image enhancement).

Photos cropped & enlarged

Colour contrasts adjusted to make vibrant

Bringing out the blue tones

Chunky silver frames with mounts (keeping with the metallic element of the Barrier) purchased from The Range provide a fitting setting for my bedroom art which looks stunning hung above the bed.  

Colours look stunning against the yellow backdrop

Given the Kitty Cat Seal of Artistic Approval

Homemade art – go on, give it a try, you might surprise yourself.

TREASURE CHEST

She’s not the Messiah but a Very Naughty Girl.  That’s the verdict according to Ebay.  Fancy listing items for sale then ending the auctions prematurely.  Apparently this is a crime worthy of a damn good thrashing so I’ve been sent a ‘slapped wristies’ email to make sure I don’t do it again.  Next time, it’s crucifixion.  Out of the door.  Line on the left.  One cross each. 

We'd never do anything that naughty...

Selling my tat on Ebay has been the least of my worries this past week compared to the challenge of finding a set of drawers to fit in the available gap in front of the old fireplace. And as you know, dear readers, drawers that don’t fit can cause extreme stress.

The real ball ache is that we’ve only got 158 cm to play with and most of the IKEA chests are 80 cm wide.  Unbelievable what a difference of 2 cm can make to a bedroom design scheme!  With just a smidge more space, I could have had a couple of lovely MALM four drawer chests but no, thanks to this poxy 2 cm deficit I’ve had to settle for some HEMNES three drawer chests instead.  It’s infuriating!

Mind the gap

Now I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with the HEMNES range as we’re already using their bedside cabinets but its slightly less modern, Shaker type design wastes a lot more space than the sleeker MALM design.  Wooden tops that overhang the sides, legs taking up space that could have accommodated another drawer, I think IKEA should go back to the drawing board to rethink some of the HEMNES features.

Okay, so now we’ve got some HEMNES chests but they still don’t fit in the gap because of the overhanging tops.  

Getting to grips with flat pack assembly

It takes a lot longer than you think

Where does this bit go?

Amputation is the only solution to this problem.  If you are in any way squeamish at the thought of slicing into perfectly decent IKEA furniture then look away now as what I’m about to type next is going to make your blood run cold…  We chopped off the overhang! 

Cutting IKEA furniture to fit - don't do this unless desperate

I guess there’s now a collective cry of horror reverberating all over the web at this IKEA desecration but sometimes small sacrifices have to be made for the greater good.  I must admit though, I did cringe when the jigsaw slid into the lovely dark wood especially as each chest cost £150 so ruining them was definitely not an option. 

Having survived surgery, the chests have now been shoe-horned into position between the wardrobes where they’ll remain for evermore or at least until the next DIY bedroom makeover.

The perfect fit

FAJITAGATE

What the hell is going on?  Can anybody tell me where all the jars of fajita sauce have suddenly disappeared to? 

Bring back the Fajita sauce!

I’m talking about the 2 step jars - you know the ones with the herby spice powder in the lid that you sprinkle over your chopped meat and the rich, red salsa in the jar which turns your marinated chicken into a finger-licking feast.  I’ve scoured every supermarket in the county but it appears there’s been an alien invasion with all sauce jars abducted overnight.  This does not bode well for Fajita Fridays.

Is this all part of Trump's master plan to push through a trade deal with the UK after Brexit by withholding the world’s supply of fajita sauce?  If so, that could explain why he’s so keen to build a wall between the US and Mexico.  It’s obviously nothing to do with migrant control but more of a ploy to keep the salsa south of the border and stop it being exported to the UK.  No seriously where have all the fajita jars gone?  It’s a global emergency!

Whilst I’m busy pondering on Fajitagate, there’s a whole lot of drilling, hammering and swearing going on next door in the bedroom as finally our IKEA wardrobes have been delivered and are being assembled as I type.  It’s so exciting!

Ready for wardrobe installation to begin

This time we’ve delegated the task to the professionals; a short, wiry toothless bloke that makes the Cheshire cat look like an advert for private dentistry.  I only hope his assembly skills are far less elusive than the aforementioned moggy.

Hours later… I’ve spent the whole evening refilling my wardrobe; finding a home for all those dated outfits, mismatched socks and umpteen pairs of shoes that now have their very own pull out shelf to live on.  The drawers are filled with Stubbs and Skubbs – IKEAs handy little compartment dividers which are an OCD person’s wet dream. 

Space saving and clutter free

What a difference these new wardrobes have made to our bedroom.  Having all that clutter out of sight - it’s heavenly!

Before - what an unholy mess

After - mess has magically disappeared

PAINTWORK AND PAW PRINTS

Aargh!  Is that a black mark I see on my freshly painted Jasmine white windows?  On closer inspection it looks suspiciously like a paw print…

Looks like a paw print to me

Freshly painted windows in Dulux Jasmine white

Clearly this means a call to Scotland Yard.  Since real crime solving has been replaced by dealing with nonsensical ‘fake’ crimes such as draining pasta into the local water supply, calling your ex-husband’s girlfriend a horse on social media or buying up all the beer in town to deter Nazis from attending a rock festival (Germany), my case should be top of their list.  Police resources can always be found to tackle these types of serious misdemeanours so they should have plenty of under-utilised detectives to figure out which of our two infamous feline felons have perpetrated this terrible crime. 

Could it be ‘Desperate Dusty’ that grey, silent but stealthy ninja cat that somehow always manages to find a foothold on even the skinniest ledges?

Dusty - always where you least expect her

Don't let them fool you into thinking they're innocent

Or could it be the ‘Five Fingered Fat Cat’ that troublesome tabby who feigns sleep as a ruse to disguise the fact that she's busy masterminding a complex and dangerous heist of the Dreamy treats tin.  (Do cats have 5 ‘fingers’?  If they don’t they should have or this nickname is never going to work).

Fatty/Pookie - don't let that sleepy cat face fool you

She may be greedy but she doesn't miss a trick

It’s a mystery to be sure.  And one that is likely to remain unsolved for many years.  I’m hardly going to be able to check under their paws for white evidence without getting my hand shredded in the process, am I?

Now who's going to volunteer to check their paws?

GIDDY

It’s week 3 of my pre-surgery ‘Slimfart’ diet.  The cats are starting to look mouth-wateringly appetising.  I’m as high as a kite due to reduced calorie intake and so full of wind that the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra has invited me to perform a trumpet solo as part of their winter concert season.  Dieters on Slimfast should be made to wear a T-shirt in public warning of dangerous toxic emissions.  What a pong! 

Do not use in unventilated areas

So here I am, pioneering a new type of health regime that largely involves hi-impact painting and farting.  A few hours of repetitive paint rollering is perfect for toning up those flabby bingo wings.  It helps to put on a few catchy tunes so you can paint (or fart) to the beat.  Up the ladder, down the ladder.   Up the ladder, down the ladder.  Think retro step aerobics class without the clingy leotard.  I would wear my 80’s knitted legwarmers to really get into the spirit of this new healthy form of exercise but it’s far too hot for that.

First coat on the wallpapered wall

Before painting

After 2 coats of matt emulsion

The bedroom is now looking a lovely shade of eggy yellow, a colour aptly named by Dulux as a ‘Sunny Day' from its day at the beach range.  Dulux have obviously never spent the day at Bournemouth Beach or they might have had to call this paint ‘Litter Strewn Fag Butt Infested Apocalypse’ instead as this is what our beach usually looks like after a hot sunny day.  It’s a shade lighter than the previous golden yellow we had on the walls but contrasts nicely with the white ceiling, giving the room a warm, cheery glow.

Sunny Day matt emulsion by Dulux

After a sunny day on Bournemouth Beach

Next up is undercoating the woodwork, a task to make you feel as giddy as Boris Johnson after the ‘Remoaners’ have given him a good run-around.  In this heat, painting is not recommended unless you are doing it early in the morning or in the evening when ambient temperatures are cooler.  Hot weather affects paint as it tends to spread too thickly and dry quicker making it tricky to blend in individually painted sections often resulting in unsightly ridges.  Nobody likes unsightly ridges in their woodwork, especially me!

Jade green woodwork - so yesterday

Unsightly paint ridges - no, no, no

So if you’re thinking of picking up a paintbrush during this summer heatwave, my advice is best to go down to the litter strewn beach then come back for a spot of undercoating later.

QUIT SNACKING

Alas poor gallbladder!  I knew it well.  Not quite what Dr Shakespeare would have penned in my hospital report but I’m sure the sentiment was there.

Perfectly summed up by The Awkward Yeti

Like a faithful old nag being put out to pasture, it seems I’m being decommissioned piece by piece with yet another internal organ on the ‘body parts you can live without’ list.  Last time it was ovaries, this time it’s my gallbladder, a seemingly squishy and innocuous part of your anatomy located somewhere near your liver.  Mine’s in use as a rent-free squat by a large gallstone which is now in receipt of an NHS eviction order.

Do you know where your gallbladder is?

I’m surprised the frosty faced consultant (I’m not in charge of the NHS you know) didn’t blame gallstones on air pollution as this has become the new ‘fat’ which we all know replaced smoking as the cause of everything that’s bad in this world.  Noisy neighbours – yep, air pollution.  Cat bringing in dead birds – got to be air pollution.  Run out of cherry flavoured yogurts in Tesco – air pollution? You bet.  Gallstones – oh most definitely air pollution after all those years of breathing in particulates I didn’t know existed. 

Man-made climate emergency - fact or convenient financial fiction?

I’m sure I'm not the only one living in daily fear of the Pollution Police busting down the front door in one of those crack-of-dawn raids to arrest me for harbouring a gas combi-boiler fugitive in my kitchen such is the level of pollution anxiety the tabloids have reduced us to.

Quick hide!  It's a raid!

But let’s not get too hung up on air pollution in this post and return to my hospital consultation which lasted all of about 5 minutes in a minimally furnished room that would have made Colditz look like a 5 star hotel.  When I say consultation what I really mean was interrogation since I was not ‘consulted’ about my side of the story but accused of creating this monster problem by being too fat.  (She must have meant pollution, surely?)

Never mind that for years I’ve suffered from an underactive thyroid.  Did you know that thyroid hormones interfere with your bile production and affect the absorption of fat by your gallbladder?  Neither did I until I consulted Dr Google.  Miss Frosty-knickers MD was having none of it.  I’m a junk food scoffing couch potato in her eyes and that’s all there is to it.  Nothing could be further from the truth.

Gallstones because this is what I do all day long?

And so whilst I wait for a spot on the NHS operating list (more chance of finding a unicorn than being seen this side of Christmas), I’ve gone cockling.  No doubt this will soon be banned on the grounds that cockle farts cause gallstones and every kind of cancer known to mankind and some ailments known only to Martians.  Ah the joys of summer!

Saving the planet from cockle farts

Low calorie and full of minerals

The Gallstone Seafood Diet - see food and don't eat it