Tempus Fugit

Yes, I know, it's been a very long time since I last posted on here - so long in fact, that Blogger and Google seem to have spent the time conspiring between themselves on how to throw everything in the air and change it all and I think I have probably lost anyone who followed me many moons ago. 

I can't really explain why I stopped putting fingers to keyboard but no doubt from early 2020, the advent of the pandemic certainly didn't help. One thing it did help to clarify for us though, was that it might be a good idea to move a little closer to family. Claire's Charlie, born in September 2019 (remember?) is now two and a half and we have only seen him face to face a handful of times, although good old FaceTime has been a godsend and at least he does know who we are. 

And then there was the shed (sorry, workshop) which Keith was fast growing out of and he thought it might be nice to have a garage to use instead, so back in February, we started house hunting in the north east (England, that is) fairly near to Claire, Neil and Charlie. At this point, it has just occurred to me that Keith, being Welsh, may, under this current government, be considered to be foreign, so we may have to sneak him in as an illegal alien, but we are prepared to cross that bridge when we come to it.

Anyway, fast forward to now and we are surrounded by boxes and chaos as I write, so there is much more to tell and more posts will come in the next few days. 

Bet you can't wait ...  

Bus passes

One of the good things about being sixty plus is that you are entitled to a bus pass, which means that, within Wales, your bus journeys are free of charge and that even applies if you venture over the border into 'that there England', as long as your journey begins and ends in Wales.

I had a bus pass and I used it but then, a couple of years ago, our local buses vanished. From having a bus running almost past our house every half hour, we suddenly, with no warning, found ourselves without buses, busless, sans buses, which was a bit of a blow, but which was replicated in several other areas of Wrexham county. Unfortunately, this part of the country relies on private bus companies, which bid for contracts and receive little or no financial support, which means that they focus on the more lucrative routes and ditch the others. There are other routes within walking distance, but then a couple of weeks ago, I discovered that, following the example of the buses, my bus pass had also disappeared. Where it's gone, I have no idea, but as it happens, all Welsh bus passes are to be replaced with new style ones by the end of the year and everyone was urged to apply online on the Transport for Wales website, which promptly crashed and remained crashed for over a week. 

It did occur to some people to wonder what provision would be made for those who are not computer savvy, do not own a computer and do not use the internet, and bearing in mind that the concessionary bus passes are mainly used by the elderly, this was a valid concern.

'Well, that's tough' seemed to be the answer to that one and it was only after representations from Age Concern and other organisations, that it was  grudgingly agreed that paper application forms would be made available, with the warning that it would take a while for this to happen and much longer for them to be processed compared to online applications. 

I would describe myself as a 'computer anorak' and proud of it, but it saddens me to see an organisation like Transport for Wales assuming, without, it seems, any consultation, that everyone, young or old, has easy access to the internet and can be required to make their applications through this means only.

A new arrival

This time last week, we were relaxing after a journey from Gretna to Gateshead and back. Confused? You will be ...

In August, we decided that a bit of a break was in order and that as I had never been to Scotland and Keith had only made extremely brief forays into Glasgow and Edinburgh, we would find a cottage for a week so that we could take da dawg as well. The cottage we finally settled on was a couple of miles from Gretna Green, in a little place called Rigg which, as it happens, had once been the home of Keith's grandfather and father; but that's another story.

Earlier in the year, Younger Daughter had become pregnant and her baby was due in mid October. However, on the morning of our first day at the cottage, I got a panicked phone call from Claire saying that she thought her waters had broken and she and her fiancé, Neil were hot footing it to the local hospital. After many long hours of is she? isn't she? how soon? etc, it was decided that she would be able to give birth normally and things were allowed to take their course. As it happened, she managed to accomplish it with nothing more than Entinox, the infamous 'gas and air' but only because the doctor couldn't get the epidural set up in time and after five attempts, it was then too late for Pethidine to have any useful effect. 

So at just 12.36am last Sunday, Charlie Hugh made his entrance into the world, four weeks early but weighing a very healthy 6lb 3oz and that's why we were rushing over to see him.

It seems that a decision has not been made as to whether his photo can appear on social media, so I am playing safe for now and just showing you this one of Charlie's first outing yesterday with proud Mum and asking you to imagine, for now, the pram containing the most beautiful baby in the world.

Well, I would say that, wouldn't I?

Monday was such a great day!

You know how sometimes you get up ready to face whatever the day brings, and  a couple of hours into it, you're wishing you had stayed in bed - and then it just gradually gets worse? 

Well, this was our chain of events yesterday:

1. Front door lock breaks.

2. Front door is so strong and secure that it takes the whole morning for Keith to dismantle the locking system and fix it so that it does at least close.
3. A search on the internet for a suitable replacement because of course, our lock system is a different measurement to more modern doors.
4. It will be delivered tomorrow (if we're lucky).

5. Keith's van wouldn't start as the battery was flat.
6. Keith opened back doors of said van and the left hand one fell off due to corroded rivets.
7. Giles was invited to come and help repair said door.
8. Keith's riveter was a) too small
                                   b) broke.
9. This necessitated a trip to Screw Fix to buy another one.
10. Tonight I shall be sleeping across the front door, musket at the ready in case of intruders.
11. I may have made the last one up .... 

Update:

Door lock now repaired, thanks to Keith's hard work.

Van door also repaired.

A system was devised to keep us safe in our beds last night, but if I told you about it, I'd probably have to kill you. However, at least I was able to sleep in bed.

Yep - another one!

29th April saw me pencilled in for a hysterectomy. Not something to look forward to but definitely necessary. At my pre-op assessment, I was given six drinks, four for the previous evening and two for the morning of the operation. I gather they are to provide you with the energy you need for the operation and subsequent early recovery and I was told they taste pretty horrible, although I thought that, whilst not on the scale of a decent red, they were quite bearable. Unfortunately, on this occasion, they were also superfluous as the operation was cancelled while we were coasting round the hospital car park, searching for a space.

Fast forward a fortnight to May 15th and this time I did manage to make it to the operating table - and off it a couple of hours later, minus the relevant body parts and I came back home on 17th.

Keith has been holding the fort admirably as regards shopping, cooking and housework as I have to ease back into things gradually over six weeks. My post op. check up is in a week and after that, I am hoping that nothing else is going to raise its ugly head, at least for the rest of 2019. Three operations in a year is enough for anyone - I don't want to be greedy!

A doctor's note with a difference

I was amazed and very impressed to get this card in the post the other day. I mentioned in my last post that it looks as though I am in line for another operation in the near future, which is never the most welcome news, but this thoughtful note from my GP has gone a long way to cheering me up.  A small gesture but a significant one, especially these days when the NHS is under so much time pressure. Earlier that day, one of my dog-walking friends, who also recently needed to see the GP, remarked on what good care she had received.

Referring to our problems with our previous GP practice, she remarked, "I'm really glad you did your research and encouraged me to change."

After this, so am I.

A night in a skip

Having got through my second eye operation and survived to tell the tale, I mentally sat back and told myself I could relax and enjoy the rest of the year ...

Well, no. Instead, there have been recent visits to the hospital, including an appointment to see a very nice doctor who seemed to think he had to dress up his news by comparing it with a rose bush - the good news being the rose and the not so good being the thorns. 

Anyway, time has moved on a tad and this morning saw me back at the hospital, this time for an MRI scan.

Now I have heard about these, of course and been told more than one tale of people being so comfortable in them that they have dozed off, so I was quite hoping that my experience would be similar. 

Well not quite. Left arm was offered up for the insertion of a drain thingy so that dye could be pumped in. (I did wonder if I would come out a nice shade of blue, green or maybe yellow.) Then I was told it was very important to lie completely still and not move at all, and of course, as soon as you're told not to do something, you have the overwhelming impulse to do it; and finally, that the whole thing would last thirty to forty minutes, although it seemed so much longer, as I tried to relax and stay still, as well as breathing in and holding my breath several times for about ten minutes each time. (Okay, slight exaggeration but  that's how it felt.) As for falling asleep, no chance with all the clatters, bangs and whistles, which were the sound effects of the machine doing what it had to do.

'Well, how was that?' asked the nurse as she helped me out at the end.

'Something like spending several hours in a skip on a building site after a heavy night out, I think,' I said, 'Not that I've ever experienced that ...' 

She laughed. 'Sounds like a very good description.'

Last time I was in the Xray department, I noticed a mistake in the Welsh on this sign and mentioned it to the receptionist, who said she would pass it on. This time,  the mistake and the receptionist were still there.

'Oh yes, I remember you noticing it and I did tell the Welsh language speakers.'

'And they said, what was an English person doing telling them that they'd made a mistake?' I laughed.

The expression on her face told me I had hit the nail on the head.
Ah well, can't win 'em all.