15 minutes with a bum deal

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Photo by Gratisography on Pexels.com

 

It wasn’t quite 15 minutes, almost though. 15 minutes with a flexible tube up my backside, that is. Clearly, this may be a fine case of too much information, but hey-ho, sometimes you just have to share.

Having reached that age when the good old NHS sends a letter inviting you for a bowel cancer screening scope, there was no hesitation about going, even if the invitation was not all that appealing.

So off I went yesterday. Enema done at home first, check. Checked myself in and did the looooooooooong wait for my turn. Caused a bit of confusion when hearing the nurse calling “Ruth”, mind. Off I charged, eager to get done and dusted and head to work. Problem was, I was the wrong Ruth, but we shared the same date of birth – bizarre. The nurses then moved me from room to room leaving me to wonder if they’d forgotten about me. They hadn’t. Eventually, the paperwork was sorted. My lower clothing replaced with modesty shorts – a giant gaping hole at the back, and off I went to the procedure room, carrying my worldly goods in a large, supplied, plastic bag.

3 lovely nurses took care of me and before long they were pumping gas into me and doing their best to distract.  During our general chatter, I did my best to watch my inflating lower intestine on the big screen. Let’s just say viewing wasn’t exactly Downton Abbey. Anyway, the procedure was a little painful or more discomfort and so I eventually took the offered “happy gas”, sucking on that device as if my life depended on it.

So why am I telling you all this? Well, so many people won’t go, indeed as the nurse explained to me, many just don’t arrive for appointments, wasting time and money. For me it was a no brainer, and I’d encourage everybody to go along and take one for the team(sorry), but mostly take the opportunity to get the all clear, or catch something early.

Bottoms up 🙂

 

 

 

 

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15 minutes with WWE, give me strength and Brexit

potatoes fun knife fork
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

Honestly, all to be found tonight for viewing is WWE. I know, I know, you’re probably thinking what the heck is she doing, lost her mind and forgotten how to use the TV remote. Well, no – debatable of course – there’s simply nothing else on. Other than repeats of repeats of repeats of Midsomer Murders, NCIS, Downton Abbey and so much more. Give me some tips for good viewing, please.

Now I like WWE, well used to. These days mind, all they do is chat and or throw insults at each other from afar. A bit like watching grown-up children in a playground, antagonising each other with stoopid comments that result in a bit of very staged argy-bargy. The difference being that unlike school kids in comfy uniforms, the wrestlers are prancing around in colourful lycra, ripped trousers, barely there tops or no top at all, and of course none of this takes place until after a regular visit to the tanning studio. I wonder if the WWE wrestlers are contracted to take out obligatory tanning contracts? Probs do.

I had a tanning session once, came away smelling like a freshly peeled potato. Not pleasant as you can imagine.

OK, that’s it, I can’t take it anymore, let me rather watch all the Brexit news. Now where is that blooming remote?

 

 

 

 

 

This blog is here for me to write for 15 minutes and then stop. No great theme, no great planning, only tap away on the keyboard. Thank you for popping by

15 minutes and forgetting my password and a pair of flared jeans on the Bee

So here’s the thing. After signing up for an online course that will increase my knowledge, career prospects and challenge me muchly, without denting the old pocket – it be a free one, I’ve forgotten the password! Now, some would say not to worry, there be a link for forgotten passwords, it does cross my mind that perhaps it means I’m not as excited about this course as I should be.

 

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photo from: eBay – pattern just in case you fancy running up a pair this weekend

Onto better things. The Great British Sewing Bee tonight is back to the 1970s and tasked the sewers with a good old pair of flared trousers. The hubster, in all seriousness, tells me he was pretty fond of his flares. GASP, would have liked to see him in those, and not being the tallest bloke on the street, I can imagine they flapped around a pair of platform shoes!

And now they are pogo-ing! Hilarious, poor old Esme almost got wiped out by Patrick

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Gif borrowed from HERE

 

 

If you came across this blog, it’s here for me to write for 15 minutes without worry about too much. Thank you for visiting

 

15 minutes without my Valentine

stone artwork

Flipping heck, in the 25 years of being together, the hubster and I have never, and I mean never missed spending Valentines together. Not that we go all out mushy or anything, we just share a nice meal and enjoy being together. This bloody year though, I will be working on Valentines night. The graveyard shift 2.30pm – 10.30pm. WHAT! And I mean WHAT! the flaming heck am I going to do, eating my leftovers from a plastic container in the company dining room, amongst many, and I mean many other folk who are no doubt lovely, but not who I want to be with.

I look at the hubster now, snoozing at my side, in front of the TV and feel positive the same will occur tomorrow, with or without me here. But you know what, I don’t give a flying hoot, because I’d rather be next to my man, snoozing and snoring his way through Valentines, than sitting in front of a computer screen and eating leftover risotto any day.

Groaning and moaning and feeling sorry for myself over.

Happy Valentines good people

#Valentine #Valentines #Hubster

 

If you have come across my blog, welcome. It’s here for me to type for 15 minutes and then post. No great theme to the blog, other than keeping me writing

 

 

 

 

 

 

15 minutes when (x+e)=Z(Good)

healthy vegetables hand gardening
Photo by Skitterphoto on Pexels.com

So here’s the thing, the appraisal is done, results are in, breathe for another year. You’d think after doing this process for more years than it seems good to admit too, they would be old hat and done and dusted without much thought. But no, each year the demand is greater to list all you have done, to sell yourself like a piece of prime beef, or for the veggies amongst us, the largest radish in the patch. To ask your colleagues for feedback on yourself, to deliver it all, including what you want to achieve in the next 12 months, before waiting for your manager to agree, discuss, disagree and finally after leaving a sufficient waiting time of about week, you receive the final report, with a rating that determines potential pay increases.

There are 5 ratings to be given for multiple behaviours/skills/ability, call it as you will. Me, well my rating came in as GOOD for them all. Sounds wonderful however GOOD is number 3, basically the average. Not quite sure how I really feel about it, because GOOD sounds OK, Average provokes much inwardly groaning.

Hey-ho, so it goes.

 

 

If you’ve stumbled across my blog, it’s here for me to write for 15 minutes and then post

Hope you’re having a good day

15 minutes on the Yoga mat and bring me a cup of beer and a sausage roll

balance body exercise female
Photo by Burst on Pexels.com

 

One of my all time favourites has been Yoga. I’m not the best, I’m not the worse, and my legs are never going to come up behind my ears, nor will my forehead touch the ground, when bending forward, no matter how close to the ground I find myself.

Still, the pleasure is much and it’s all about some exercise and being amongst others. There’s a new studio close to home, which I’ve joined, hoping to get there at least twice a week, if not three times. A challenge, but achievable.

Most practices start with the obligatory Oom’s, deep, vibrating and rather glorious to my ears. To the extent, I find it hard not to smile at how we all boom that ommmmmmmm out together.  Now, at this studio, they like to do a bit of chanting. And it got me worried. Not because of any moral or religious or self-consciousness mind, no, more about whether my chant is lost in translation.

Take, for example, there I am, eyes closed, legs folded, amongst many,  repeating oom shaka laka bing flow too, min coo – that’s what it sounds like to me! – which means something like “may peace be within me and let it flow beyond my soul to the world and beyond” when in fact my repeating (some 27 or 54 times) is better translated as “bring me a cup of beer and a sausage roll.”

I’ll try harder tomorrow to listen and repeat, but chances are the beer and a sausage roll will be on the mat once more.

Namaste, to you all – a lovely way to complete the practice, and perhaps Yoga’s way of saying, may the force be with you 🙂

 

If you have come across my blog, it’s here for me to write for 15 minutes without real purpose, thought or – at times – good grammar.

 

 

 

15 minutes with a cheeky piece of cod

Once a decade or so the hubster shares a joke that has me a-chucklin’. This week it arrived.

Photo by Matt Hardy on Pexels.com

A lady walks to her local fish shop, approaches the counter and says, “I would like a piece of cod.”

The fishmonger smiles and says, “Sorry, madam, but we have no cod.”

The lady wastes no time in reply, “But I want a piece of cod.”

“Madam,” the fishmonger says, “We have no cod.”

This goes back and forth for quite some time until the fishmonger says, “Madam, let me spell cod for you. C O F.”

The lady is quick to reply, “there is no F in cod.”

The fishmonger smiles, “Exactly, Madam. That’s what I’ve been telling you for the last half an hour we have no F-in-Cod.”

Should you have fallen on this blog, it is purely there for me to write for 15 minutes without giving the content too much thought

15 minutes before heading for lunch

It’s raining. Deep sighing. It always rains when a) it’s haircut day and b) walking to town to meet friends for lunch.

Photo: My daughter – her doggie

Today it’s a walk to lunch day. Hey-ho, the lunch and chatter will make it worth while. Big coat and large hat will keep me dry.

Yesterday was my first experience of going to work in the dark, and coming home in the dark. Left the house at 7.20am, and left work at 4.05pm. A new colleague had said to expect this, and I’d rather pooh-poohed it. HA! how daft was I. Not sure I’m going to like this though. 

Black Friday and Cyber Monday have come and gone, and my credit card was flashed about a little. Hubster got a new food mixer and I got – ahem – let’s leave it at an overlocker. Anything else purchased was purely incidental.

Talking of Credit Cards, learnt today my card has been scammed. Well done to my bank for seeing some odd transactions and blocking them mind. Seems these bloody crooks have racked up quite a few thousand Rands of purchases. GRRRRRRRRRR! 

Got myself a Fitbit in the sale – not admitting to buying anything else. Explained to the sales lady all that was needed was a basic model that tells me how lazy I am. Well, money well spent, daily it vibrates, many times a day, telling me to move or perhaps I’ve passed out. Just received the obligatory vibrate, so best I get up, run around the house for a wee while before heading for lunch.

If you’ve fallen on this blog, it is all about getting me to write again. Taking 15 minutes a day – hopefully – and writing whatever comes to  mind. 

15 minutes – a long time coming

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photo: mine – Boschendal

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photo: mine – view of Waterfront Cape Town from The Silo rooftop bar

Shew, since my last post plenty has gone on. Evidently not a single spare 15 minutes to blog though!  Unbelievable.

Well, most importantly was going home to Cape Town for 2 weeks – got back last Tuesday.  Going back is not so much a holiday, rather shifting a life from the UK back to SA, slipping into our old ways and patterns effortlessly.  Loads of eating good food, drinking good wine and seeing all our family and friends.

Hubster was barely moments of the plane when he began questioning the reasons for living in the UK again. Prompted by being gloved in the stunning blue of the sky, and space and familiarity. If it’s possible to be gloved in space.

Back in the UK there was an abrupt reminder of winter having arrived. And how dark it is by 5pm. Honestly can’t remember this from last year. We’ve already looked for the shortest day and willing the longer days to begin again.

Jobs to do today:

  1. blog – tick and done
  2. garden – shoes are ready, need to get a warm jacket and hat
  3. go to work
  4. catch up on Strictly

#needtodream

 

 

 

15 minutes and getting fit in the High Street while boosting the economy

 

architecture booth buildings commerce
Photo by Mark Dalton on Pexels.com

Two things on my mind right now. First being, time to think about tightening up the relaxed muscle around my middle, and second, how can we boost the High Street once more.

Both are really important in my life.

The flab, err, relaxed muscle is part of ageing I suppose and can be managed to a point without the need of a girdle – she hopes. I have memories of my Nan daily putting on hers until she was of an age that surely they didn’t sell them anymore, let alone make them.

There’s no surprise then to know how resorting to something confined such as Le Girdle, almost has me dieting and exercising 5 hours a day – well, perhaps not that extreme, but you get the idea.

The High Street falling apart makes me sad. What a joy it is, has been, to be able to wander around, window shopping, trying on, thinking, smelling, pondering, stopping for a chat with somebody I bumped into and compulsory taking a few minutes to stop for a coffee. The buzz, the vibe of being within life.  It can’t be beaten.

And also how sad to see retailers and small business being ground to a halt due to online shopping and dare I say a touch of laziness on our part.

With that in mind, I thought of a way of boosting exercise and, the High Street, without even knowing we’re doing it.  Bearing in mind there’s much put about regarding completing 10000 steps a day, why not walk and shop?

Simple. Doesn’t need a whole lot of explaining. In fact, you can get fit, support and enjoy the High Street, and you can boost yourself socially, face to face. And – yet another and – there’s no membership fee nor need to shower afterwards. For those who prefer a big shopping centre, great, even better, all-weather supporting and getting fit – you can’t go wrong.

Am I holier than thou? Not really. Just thinking about ways of achieving two things which are really important to me. Will I do online shopping? Yes I will. But sparingly.  Will I go to the gym. Did you hear the ground shake as I fell off my chair roaring?

 

 

 

What the heck is this blog all about?

Should you have fallen onto this blog, the purpose it serves is to ignite my love of writing once more by simply typing whatever is on my mind for 15 minutes and stopping