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 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 and some glue

When I was a little un at school the most annoying, and more so dreaded thing ever to be given to do was glue things, and perhaps that’s where my distaste for getting my fingers and hands dirty started. Anyway, glue time meant an eager teacher would bring forth a funny looking pot of glue complete with a brush that from the moment you looked at it was sticky from bristles to handle and back again, no matter how hard you tried to keep it clean.

So sticky you’d end up with fingers covered with paper that no amount of shaking and pulling would remove it, and if anything only served to move it from one hand to the other, and back again until you went half mad, had a tantrum and was told off.

Later we progressed on to a glue pot with its funny little rubber top. It had a bit of slit across the lid requiring you to push down hard to allow the glue to escape before dragging it over the paper. Evidently, my skills do not surround the glue pot of any sorts, because even with this one I always ended up in a sticky mess.

Sometimes I think about how life was simpler once upon a time and how it would be good to have some of that back.  But not if it meant going back to the darn glue pot.

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Photo from HERE

 

 

 

 

 

What the heck is this blog 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

15 minutes with a dumpling and Outlander

Had delicious dumplings for supper and fear they continue to expand in my tummy.  Within the hour I will probably appear to be 18 months pregnant and be in need of rolling down the stairs to seek out the hubster, requesting he flop me over a shoulder and burp me. Either way not all that attractive.

Busy watching several more episodes of Outlander. I’m up to season 3 episode 4 now, all very enjoyable with flashbacks to past and present. Much better than season 1 and 2 that all but drained me with every episode leading up to the Battle of Culloden and the Jacobite rising. Actually, after both season 1 and 2, the history of the Jacobites is still a complete mystery to me. I mean, were Jamie and Claire Jacobites or not, and was Bonny Prince Charles such a dope after all?

Ok, so right now Jamie has just had sex with another, and it seems she is preggers. Not good, when he is now the groom and she is the wife of a Lord who is old enough to be her grandfather.

Hmmm, hang on a minute, maybe she had far too many dumplings too!

You can find out about Outlander by clicking HERE

 

 

What the heck is this blog 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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

15 minutes with new Downton Abbey

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Photo: From here

Have you seen or heard? Hold onto your knickers. It be true. The Downton Abbey movie begins filming next week.

Really hoping Lady Mary is down on her luck and having to settle amongst the poor in this one.  I don’t mind if she’s relocated to a stone cottage with a tin sink in the hall, and outside loo, all down the road from Downton, or even up in London in a 2 up 2 down terrace she shares with a family of 10, most of whom are under the age of 2. Not overly bothered if she is married or not, but it would be nice if she’d put on a bit of weight because she really is way too thin to cope with the chill.

Lord Grantham and his lady need a bit of a shake-up too. My money is on them having themed murder mystery weekends where all they really do is drink endless cocktails while wearing knee-length costumes that allow them to float and fall about in a newly installed, heated swimming pool.

Lady Edith, she must have a good life this time around, because, for goodness sake, she had the crappiest life of them all.

Downstairs, well please no more weeping over husbands being framed for murder and whatnot.  Rather let’s have one of these good servants inherit a fortune and make a grab for Downton itself, or at least fall in the pool with a tray of cocktails while Lady Grantham reaches for another olive.

And as for those children. Well, let them be happy little people with no illness or anything.

 

 

What the heck is this blog 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

 

 

15 minutes with Serena Williams and afternoon tea

Well having not watched the US Open 2018 Ladies final match in its entirety, and having caught up with the news and clips on the WWW, I kinda feel like taking Serena Williams by the hand and suggesting she takes a good old break, read some lovely books, and have some time to dwell on why it’s ok not to always win. And, if she is on the losing side, not to push the blame at any other person or situation that ends up in this sort of madness.

Easier said than done, sure. But she was losing that match, no matter the coaching or not. The outburst was likely frustration on a catastrophic level. And sure, we all have those times when you just want to punch something or somebody when you’ve tried so bloody hard to win, get, gain, achieve only for it to fall apart on the day.

And, Serena, I would say. You’ve achieved so much. You have no need to do more for your daughter to be able to see this in years to come. Jeepers, what a role model you will surely be. Come on Serena, you are a WINNER. You don’t need another trophy to polish once a week to know it.

I’m going for Afternoon Tea today, maybe Serena would have liked to join us 🙂

Basically, in about 45 mins time there will be delightful cake and small sandwiches being shovelled down my throat, washed down with Earl Grey tea – actually, correction, a glass of bubbly will do better.

Hubster and I are heading off for this. Sadly this means no roast potatoes for him today, but he will cope because he is a WINNER on so many levels.

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Photo: mine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What the heck is this blog 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

 

 

Fifteen minutes after the weekend and Scroll Free September

Monday morning reflecting on the weekend. It was busy. It was good. There was a lot of fine eating, good wine, and very good company. Started Friday, ended Sunday. Today I woke, smiled and thought, “oh joyfulness, a day to relax.”

THWACK to the forehead, smile collapses to the ground. Nope, I’m working today. The graveyard shift.

Hubster has headed out to help fix a shed roof, leaving me to fling the vacuum around and spray some polish. Done that, now there are a few minutes to ponder the Scroll Free September that is upon us. Must say my feelings are this is a good thing. And that despite my own love of the world wide web and all that goes with it. Jeepers, I waste a huge amount of time on it. Just sort of flaying around and missing out on life. A bit like taking endless photos when you’re away or out and about. Seeing the world through a lens.

It will be hard to not visit WWW completely because so much of life is done there, bookings, accounts etc, but my plan is to not do the really specific social media things, facebook and twitter. I’m 3 days late starting, but here goes.

Hubster is back, walked in and said, “what have you been doing this morning, my darling?”

“Oh really, you didn’t see the house is sparkling clean and your socks and underwear are packed away! What are you, so exhausted you can’t see further than the ends of your eyelashes?!!!!!”

Hubster’s response, as in backtrack, backtrack, backtrack

Time to get ready for work.

 

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photo: Mine, looking into the garden through a little bit of Home in my UK house

 

 

 

 

 

What the heck is this blog 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

 

15 minutes with Radio 2, getting older and the Wombles

Today at work my younger colleague kindly changed her normal radio channel to Radio 2.  The pair of us have been on the early shift this week starting at 6am. And after her morning coffee and my cup of hot water, we settle down and colleague streams her fav channel. The music is pretty much as expected, loud, good beat, sometimes a load of noise and meaningless, sometimes great, but whatever it is, it keeps you going and often I hear myself singing and humming along.  Anyway, a day or so ago, my colleague asked me which channel I listen to. Radio 2, I said. Today then, through no prompting or complaining from me, she streams my channel.

“That’s kind, and thank you very much,” I said. Very touched she would do this.

“I like old music too,” she said.

I laughed good and hard at being advised of my age and said she must change back whenever she wanted. We lasted, probably, about half an hour until the Wombles song came on, at which point she reached for her mouse and said it was time to change.

Can’t say I blame her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Five minutes if I’m lucky to put something down

I’m not good at waiting for the clock to hit whatever time it is I need to be ready to leave, meeting, phone somebody or anything. Hence why I leave any getting ready to the very last minute. Rush and do. Lastminute.com sums me up.

Right now I should be dressed and on  my way to a birthday party. Instead, I am writing here, sitting in the hubsters dressing gown and no idea what to wear.

Hey-ho, better go

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photo – mine – me up there

Fifteen minutes – day trip with the colleagues

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Odney – photo –  mine

Funny how the idea of a work road trip brings up such mixed emotions. Elation at a day out and leaving the desk, and familiar mouse to gather a few hours of dust. Panic – shit, who will I sit with on the bus? I don’t know them all that well. I’m not a great small talker, will I by virtue be bored shitless? Clothes, can we ditch the uniform for civies? How joyous to not wear my Business Dress shirt that likens me to a member of a local ten-pin bowling team. As in too big, in need of darts all over, and how can I forget the official shade of blue.

As it was the bus was OK. All official with its logo. Instructions to buckle up before we drive off, and even stronger instruction for no moonies on the motorway – jeepers who do I work with?! Everybody took up position, rabble in the back, graduating to the quieter ones and our leader up front with the driver.

We were off to the company Heritage Site, about an hour and a half away. Our leader having been there before, relayed how deciding to not leave her doggie at home, booked her into a local doggie day-care – at great expense. Lovely dog was provided with paw massages and facial, and our leader was provided throughout the day photo updates to her mobile of lovely doggie running freely amongst fields and orchards.

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Heritage site – photo mine

Along the road, newly married and about to be married colleagues shared how they were/would be ovulating during respective Honeymoons completely unaware of how their voices were travelling across the bus.  Needless to say, much laughter and blushes when I turned back and said, “Thanks for sharing, Ladies.”

“Members Only,” the signage said at this beautiful place we arrived at.

Heritage site, though small, holds a wealth of information along with an extensive fabric library, items conserved in various methods, physical and digital.  And if you were looking for bedtime reading, they have copies of the company magazine that’s been going for over 100 years and is the longest running in-house magazine – I stand corrected but think our lovely Archivist said in the world.

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Like a little boat trip – photo mine

As you enter there is a memory of the Oxford Street branch, bombed during WW11 – a small tin mangled, chared, with coins melted to the bottom. Very poignant.

We saw print blocks used for fabrics. An example piece called Tree of Life is on the wall. This beauty required over 300 blocks to produce and needed well over 3 years to complete. As you can expect these were pricey items, not for the regular man in the street. Jeepers one of the blocks I could hold was so heavy. Apparently, the printers knew exactly which block to use in sequence. Any mistakes, well the fabric was discarded at huge cost.

The entire place, not only the Heritage Site, for it is on a private members only estate, is idyllic. There are walks along the Thames, footbridges to take you across to further lush and extensive grounds, rowing boats available, accommodation, spa, the lot. You can even take your dog, and indeed we saw a furry friend swimming in the Thames, the ducks oblivious.

Back to the Heritage site, our Archivist – Hannah – was wonderful, sharing great snippets of company founder’s links to the Zoological Society and how after taking on a pair of gibbons to assist with breeding, founder managed to create quite an upset with his local villagers.  Apparently while he believed gibbons do not swim, he’d overlooked how they do wade, and in fact did so, deciding to take a pleasant stroll through the village.

We also saw some items pertaining to Queen Victoria, one being a rather solemn black, bejewelled funeral bonnet. The other was far more romantic. When she was sent a fabric print to agree to for Balmoral, Vicky added the silhouette of herself gazing across the printed forget-me-nots towards a silhouette of Albert. When the example was returned, these were incorporated into the print run, and yes, there they were, feint, but there.

We left in glorious sunshine, all keen to return. Let’s hope we do.

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Time to say farewell – photo mine

 

 

 

Might have cheated here a bit, this was written on the bus and needed a bit more than 15 minutes.