tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22641292335849766352024-03-05T20:02:58.463+00:00DawonderfulEddiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13563228134023228602noreply@blogger.comBlogger41125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264129233584976635.post-47546029399818435242014-01-04T22:29:00.000+00:002014-01-04T22:29:55.233+00:00Chrimbo Roundup.<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<![endif]--><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">There is a number that has a one followed by a hundred zeros.
It’s called a ‘Googol’. A ten to the power of a Googol is called a ‘Googolplex’
and as units go, it’s a biggie. Now then, if you were to add up all the
elementary particles (protons, neutrons etc) in the accessible universe you’d
have a figure that was twenty or so decimal places short of a Googol and
absolutely nowhere near a Googolplex. So, why have such bigger than
astronomical numbers? Well, it’s simple; the reason why such cosmotical digits
exist is to calculate exactly how many calories I consumed on Christmas Day.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-c-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-prn1/548489_10152161526334595_220633964_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-c-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-prn1/548489_10152161526334595_220633964_n.jpg" width="236" /> </a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">starters</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I stuffed so much booze, sweets and turkey that I was on the
verge of my own critical mass. I was a single delectable wedge of chocolate
orange away from a fatal implosion. Loose objects got stuck in my own personal
gravity. It was funny at first but then a fart failed to exit me with the required
escape velocity and became trapped in a geostationary orbit just under my nose.
For six hours all I could smell were semi-digested sprouts. Worse thing was I
don’t even remember eating any! The aroma brought a tear to my eye which
because of the gravity was now tidal and kept going in and out.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Density also had mothers “let’s see how much ingredients we
can stuff in here” chrimbo cake on its side. I’m not saying it is compact but
it manages to stay warm by a raisin fuelled self sustaining fission reaction.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-d-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash3/1475960_10152164760524595_19690636_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-d-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash3/1475960_10152164760524595_19690636_n.jpg" width="234" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">a chocolate covered black hole waiting to happen</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">By Boxing Day though, all was calm. Gravity had returned to
normal, the elastic in my pants had stopped making funny noises, I was no
longer on the ‘at risk’ diabetes chart, I’d finished washing the dishes, I was
nearly sober and the toilet enamel was lighter by several layers. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">By the end of Boxing Day the kids had finished opening all
their prezzies and when they enquired where the rest were, they were told they
had about as much chance of getting more as Daddy had of seeing his toes again this
side of summer.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Cheeky feckers! I still can’t work out how they got so many
gifts. Clearly, Santa must have got the lists muddled up again. The only plus
side to a mountain of boxed rewards was that while they were covering the floor
with wrapping paper, (and for nearly five whole minutes afterward), they weren’t
fighting or yelling at each other. This cessation of hostilities, this venture
into No Man’s Land, this fragment of peace alone was worth the build up.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Talking of presents, me’n’the missus did alright as well.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Well, we are awesome! </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Baby Jesus got gold, frankincense and myrrh but I got way
more than him. I had quite a few aiming for the number one spot. A new bell for
the bike, choccy, smellies, a hand knitted banana cosy.....yeh that’s what it
was, what else could it be? (no I’m not posting a pic).....some new clothes,
more choccy, more smellies and several rather fine bottles of fizzy over-priced
vino. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The best of which was a Moet 2004 Grand Vintage. It scored an impressive
9.5 corks which considering the scale only goes up to five made it even more
special. The only let down was how quick it got me plastered. I was barely a
pint in when I realised the lights on the tree didn’t have a ‘spin’ setting. It
crept up on me like a stealth ninja in ballet shoes. My all time fave, Veuve
Clicquot, would never dream of doing that and is much more polite. It prefers to gently
enquire well beforehand on whether sir would like to spend next few hours giggling
like an idiot before retiring.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">and boom! you're pissed</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">All thoughts of getting squiffy have been put on hold for January
as we undertake ‘Dryathlon’. I’d love to say we are doing it for charity but the
simple truth is our livers (and bank accounts) are still dealing with the
backlog. Normal service will be resumed in February, promise! Hopefully by
then, the Easter Eggs will be hitting the shelves!! </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I love Christianity.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Same time next year?</span></span></div>
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Eddiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13563228134023228602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264129233584976635.post-90916191748299395202013-09-12T12:51:00.001+01:002013-09-12T12:51:47.075+01:00Too Wet To Rain.<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Last night was not for the fair weather riders like Gary, (who I believe was having his vajazzle touched up). Only the toughest </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">and burliest of men were brave enough. Those magnificent heros were me,</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">obviously....kind of goes without saying actually, I can't believe you asked </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">really. Others included Wet Suit Sam, Crusty Crab Kyle, Scuba Shim and </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Nautical Dan.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqU8xbg4nfyA5LXf2N7TqUCo4oKxC1DLRO7iMeJTz6eanBlGWTs2mH15wzE_NmGUOPESyTVRxrN8C4tOA1QlmwS-EV7wvZLs9-wxqGQ1i38vg9Zwlu-PrU2_adw1Ou4mFUIMSlg77QSTQ/s1600/WP_001691.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqU8xbg4nfyA5LXf2N7TqUCo4oKxC1DLRO7iMeJTz6eanBlGWTs2mH15wzE_NmGUOPESyTVRxrN8C4tOA1QlmwS-EV7wvZLs9-wxqGQ1i38vg9Zwlu-PrU2_adw1Ou4mFUIMSlg77QSTQ/s320/WP_001691.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">lighting up time</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The rain had started well before the strictly adhered to 7:30pm start rule </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">but our set off was delayed by the salmon crossing The Royal's car park to </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">get into the snug where it was a bit drier. The route was to be another </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">jaunt into Chinley but via Roych Clough this time. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXlap8IGb0p_vTnLdM14_b-1b7sJ5Ew1R4juEsgadKIduMRPJjX87P3LQM67uMoDh57JbNkXWFhph3bEjPxeJzZeolaCIS4qAlUahh1TSq4nHxGi9B2cBPTJv9oPUPxDs3dfnoXDR5ecY/s1600/WP_001690.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXlap8IGb0p_vTnLdM14_b-1b7sJ5Ew1R4juEsgadKIduMRPJjX87P3LQM67uMoDh57JbNkXWFhph3bEjPxeJzZeolaCIS4qAlUahh1TSq4nHxGi9B2cBPTJv9oPUPxDs3dfnoXDR5ecY/s320/WP_001690.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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why do we do it? I dunno</div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">As we ascended towards </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">South Head I put my attack plan into action. By leading the ride from the </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">back I could dictate the pace and bide my time before an explosive finish. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">However, I needed a cover and also a cover as the rain really wasn't letting </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">up. I deployed my legendary tactic of looking totally knackered and falling </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">off the back. It worked a treat and the others were soon miles in front of </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">me. They were playing right into my moist and clammy hands! To keep up the </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">pretence I made all sorts of grunting sounds to add to the illusion of a </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">rider completely out of condition. I'm a method actor like that. Visibility </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">was at best, piss-poor and the mog and fist were so thick that Shim found it </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">easier to aim his light backwards just to see where he'd been. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The descent </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">into Roych Clough was a twitchy bum affair. It's got really loose in places </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">and slippier than an eel in a grease factory. With so much sideways-ness I </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">stopped midway down just to check my tyres were still inflated. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Climbing out of Roych I accidentally pulled the pin and passed Kyle and Dan </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">who had started in front of me. I glided up the hill like a meth-fuelled </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">mountain goat. This made Kyle maaaad and he unleashed so much torque that </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">his chain snapped. Rather than face a long wet walk home I stopped and fixed </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">his chain and agreed not to embarass him on any more inclines. Once gathered </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">at the top, Dan borrowed my pump to make his wheels float better. It didn't </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">work and we tip-toed down to the road into Chinley. Gravity favoured the </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">foolhardy and Sam's 'muddy gully pinball technique' was as audacious as it </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">was unintentional.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrvYYG2BAe97AyB06IEgC-j7qLSGufUH-LFOdvYDW2P1LithzSgb2Zl82yK_oATIukeBGj0l722xUnWT3A9UyoWH2-GrwjFGknLKd-FMKqxT9YUWYLM8pmzyACaL1YD-tVqUkO4DI_yTQ/s1600/WP_001692.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrvYYG2BAe97AyB06IEgC-j7qLSGufUH-LFOdvYDW2P1LithzSgb2Zl82yK_oATIukeBGj0l722xUnWT3A9UyoWH2-GrwjFGknLKd-FMKqxT9YUWYLM8pmzyACaL1YD-tVqUkO4DI_yTQ/s320/WP_001692.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">just take a moment to absorb the vista</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">With trench-foot now much in abundance we rode through Chinley towards Green </span><span style="font-size: large;">Lane and the back breaking climb to Overhill Road. Once again I feigned a </span><span style="font-size: large;">lack of fitness and mock-gasped for air as the others departed my view.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Several years later I got to the top and headed back toward Peep-O-Day Farm. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It was here that my cunning plan was suspected by former roadie Dan. He </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">contemplated a similar plan and falsified a crash by throwing himself over </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">the bars in the biggest puddle he could find. This counterfeit stack was </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">very convincing and I've no idea where he got the fake blood from. From here </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">on in it would be me and Dan at the back waiting, waiting, waiting for the </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">right time to pounce, or should that be ponce? Either way, the trail was </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">running out and I planned in my head (for a change) the Campsite Run as my </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">explosive finish of opulent magnificence. However, Dan's light had the final </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">throw of the dice and packed in just before the start of the downhill. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Rather than certain death, Dan opted to take the road route back to the </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">car park. Shim, Sam and Kyle had now cottoned on to the fact that I was about </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">to unleash a mountian bike fury of awesomeness in their faces! and that they </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">were piss wet through. So instead, we all surrounded Dan on the road and lit </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">him up like a 6foot plus fairy on a Christmas tree, with me heroically </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">leading the way.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Vital stats: a snip under 11 miles, a vasectomy under 1000ft of climbing, a </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">light trim over 2 hours</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Conditions: couldn't see the conditions for all the rain.</span>Eddiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13563228134023228602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264129233584976635.post-32778115848659907012013-09-05T00:14:00.000+01:002013-09-05T00:14:48.330+01:00The Second Coming.<span style="font-size: large;">Oh what a night! It shall be etched bold in legend wherever men revel and quaff. For tonight, I would be riding my bike in anger (and also the Peak District) for the first time since last October. It was time to commence <b>"Operation: lets see what this wrist can do"</b>. Six brave souls braved the warm, dry and dusty conditions with immense bravery to complete the bravest comeback ride of the century, Ben Creed's <b>"Chinley Double"</b>. This was the ride that broke me all those months ago. The fearless immortals were myself, Rik Ety, don't call me digger Chris, Sam Timenextweek, John Walsh'n'dry and newbie Craig Bonanza.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixtkiv1_IthV5hpleKQWb7Pp4KZyVAPJlgmq2ewMJx3vcIUmGnTZUYybe_AmbAVBaO7JUwze-0QwPbl6Kt77N9m50C8LX0Z-gLxhuSZ33YlPCjg1vPrb5oAE6TWRbWQIApvtxOZswd3L4/s1600/WP_001670.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixtkiv1_IthV5hpleKQWb7Pp4KZyVAPJlgmq2ewMJx3vcIUmGnTZUYybe_AmbAVBaO7JUwze-0QwPbl6Kt77N9m50C8LX0Z-gLxhuSZ33YlPCjg1vPrb5oAE6TWRbWQIApvtxOZswd3L4/s1600/WP_001670.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">behold their magnificents!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> The Royal had never seen such pinnacles of men in its car park. We were apon steeds the likes of which have only ever been seen before in the most grandest of Halfords. The rigorously adhered to "7:30pm start" rule meant we were away at precisely 7:40 <b>on the dot</b>. With lights charged and brows furrowed we ventured forth towards the Sett Valley Trail. It had clearly been a while since the others had been in the presence of one so awesome as myself and I could tell straight away that they were out to impress me. They'd show off by sprinting up the trail, leaving me far behind. At each gate in the trail we would bunch up like an accordion and as I began to pedal away they would fly past me once again. I knew they were showing off for me so to save them any embarrassment I pretended to be hopelessly out of condition. I managed to sustain the act for the entire ride. <b>I care that much!</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The first climb up past the quarries was a slow affair and as the road turned to track it became obvious that the lack of mud had turned the stones into marbles. Once up to speed, stopping and turning would be ambitious at best. That would have to wait though. First we had the tarmac descent to Dolly's Lane and the near vertical climb back up to Overhill Road to deal with. Again I hung back giving the illusion of a rider who was totally knackered at this stage. When I did get to the top I discovered mutiny in the rank! Chris, Rik and Sam were scared of the marble alley that lay before them and were positively cacking themselves at the prospect of an all out full frontal assault to the top of the peak. They opted for a more leisurely route while the real men tackled the wheel slippage and back breaking grassy climb with nothing but a few cows to cheer them on. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIUub_JnWocNVTcxhri_-TB2MyvG652XcI-4rGeTQNBcjtlTtCmQvLkPl87vOzJAWA8n8kx_ysZAa5mXzT-Akm79LJQKCUkuPwOum4TtE9esYQVgVohq7flUQk9flIqt8sItj0xkdtsag/s1600/WP_001672.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIUub_JnWocNVTcxhri_-TB2MyvG652XcI-4rGeTQNBcjtlTtCmQvLkPl87vOzJAWA8n8kx_ysZAa5mXzT-Akm79LJQKCUkuPwOum4TtE9esYQVgVohq7flUQk9flIqt8sItj0xkdtsag/s1600/WP_001672.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">yes Chris, you're not as manly as me!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Once at the top the only way was down, hurrah! and with the elegant grace of a moped on ice we pootled down to Peep 'O Day Farm. There was dust, there was a smell of burning brake pads, there was the warmth that only comes from glowing discs, there were squeals of brakes and squeaks from bums. It was romantic really. </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: x-large; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghmB7mKNl-css80hI6aPhbriD5K6-kYo3aSMvqA0RPoyadDttpNyPEwlDWyq8N1QglWMIBOhTkcEF77C-czSOkcGotqjBu6cGIwq0aDYEYM9IGNKPZ5QZQHY1FpV_BKQeD0MVUah0c11I/s1600/WP_001673.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghmB7mKNl-css80hI6aPhbriD5K6-kYo3aSMvqA0RPoyadDttpNyPEwlDWyq8N1QglWMIBOhTkcEF77C-czSOkcGotqjBu6cGIwq0aDYEYM9IGNKPZ5QZQHY1FpV_BKQeD0MVUah0c11I/s1600/WP_001673.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">However, next up was the descent to the campsite and then the campsite run itself. You could smell the fear! </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: x-large; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPnollJVlBHSKjzBKi2KMxzhEg86epwWYCVUqGf3ovYC4Hw5Xqv6i1sd0SErChMPFKF5j0Zxm8h29bSEjxy4-1N_w6uaTWBe-aXtOZ5f-dFK0HPhfI35rW0S3CphryBWAesQJAoZ8AkQU/s1600/WP_001674.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPnollJVlBHSKjzBKi2KMxzhEg86epwWYCVUqGf3ovYC4Hw5Xqv6i1sd0SErChMPFKF5j0Zxm8h29bSEjxy4-1N_w6uaTWBe-aXtOZ5f-dFK0HPhfI35rW0S3CphryBWAesQJAoZ8AkQU/s1600/WP_001674.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Sam stealthily shitting himself</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">One by one we tip toed down. </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: x-large; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBN8GbslUm57-liK_r7Eb7mj2uKtd7Gs51FwtoZRzaI-wWfla_4JjLA68zRVoIPJjYKL8zzFLG8eaV4ndBLAI0t-06WpXPvkfoWCPxddqLZQidJt1vZS-ZUt4ctZ8V_DmGLZDJ0xx4hTU/s1600/WP_001664.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBN8GbslUm57-liK_r7Eb7mj2uKtd7Gs51FwtoZRzaI-wWfla_4JjLA68zRVoIPJjYKL8zzFLG8eaV4ndBLAI0t-06WpXPvkfoWCPxddqLZQidJt1vZS-ZUt4ctZ8V_DmGLZDJ0xx4hTU/s1600/WP_001664.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">suddenly the memories return *parp*</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Half way down and the trench that had put me on biking hold for 11 months came into view.</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: x-large; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw09u3o0I36kKMQAZMFcnTNEtstFEkLiP15KFWW5LwtDBbkDXVcmoi0QCUxZ4f15FtzqelyGBttGu5F3y2w81D36r8ZN8sye78mrsXfTZl11YORxDzz8psCutpowc40YW6Ba9p2MrVCk0/s1600/WP_001666.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw09u3o0I36kKMQAZMFcnTNEtstFEkLiP15KFWW5LwtDBbkDXVcmoi0QCUxZ4f15FtzqelyGBttGu5F3y2w81D36r8ZN8sye78mrsXfTZl11YORxDzz8psCutpowc40YW6Ba9p2MrVCk0/s1600/WP_001666.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">this at speed, I don't think so</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> "Holy crap! no wonder I crashed" leaped to mind but there was no time to think. I had to use every single available inch of my skill (so about 29mm in metric then). It wasn't much but I navigated my way down without breaking any bones. Go me!! We then came to the final stretch, the campsite run. I'd not been down in a long time and my line choice reflected that. I accidentally took the harder left-line by the tree but somehow stayed upright and rode out the other side intact. *insert your hero comment here*. I even got some massive air off the bumps in the trail. I must have been 3 maybe 4 inches off the ground, both wheels and everything! A steady stroll back to the Royal ensued and we all agreed on how awesome I'd been. While this is true, I can't take all the credit, just most.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjesw3_L_5goThRMwUhDT4Rj6qUbDpgRoScIcP1GHcIOzvz5I3mXevT7Cpi75ZMufMmemYKQPClpqznLp5VD4wRHHhrg8aVJeCZ66RCprSjcmRyBpEICzMJX5Vj1FWFAXdbiaYW6LTXPeo/s1600/WP_001676.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjesw3_L_5goThRMwUhDT4Rj6qUbDpgRoScIcP1GHcIOzvz5I3mXevT7Cpi75ZMufMmemYKQPClpqznLp5VD4wRHHhrg8aVJeCZ66RCprSjcmRyBpEICzMJX5Vj1FWFAXdbiaYW6LTXPeo/s1600/WP_001676.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">home sweet home</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Roll on next week!</span><br />
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<br />Eddiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13563228134023228602noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264129233584976635.post-75568911897560058442013-06-20T13:42:00.000+01:002013-06-20T13:42:25.271+01:00Bubbles On A Budget<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">I like champagne….a lot. I also have virtually zero disposable income. This presents a quaffing conundrum if you’re a posh at heart
pleb like myself. However, there are ways of indulging in the scrumptious
sparkling sauce that don’t require selling a kidney.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">Firstly a quick word on Prosseco. IT IS NOT champagne.
It isn't even a champagne substitute. For one, Prosicko comes from a different
country. It uses different grapes AND a different production method. Comparing
the two would be like trying to twin Yorkshire with Dubai.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span style="font-size: large;">To make champers you need classy grapes like pinot noir, chardonnay and pinot meunier.<span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"> To make
Poosucko you just need cold piss and a soda stream. </span><span lang="EN-US">Even Lambrini considers itself a
rung up the liquor ladder.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_DQoRDT-kih6jidxBXFW1nYwnrw6enGUzDtTUbFO_gAoGVqxlzob9tIoSe3zcLvwV4K7NlR_j6UEljwivFBOGXJgcRuxXvwHJOef_mQWvY5WiNaAfduRART-8INm0WBkCdfz6EevblMo/s1600/veuve.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_DQoRDT-kih6jidxBXFW1nYwnrw6enGUzDtTUbFO_gAoGVqxlzob9tIoSe3zcLvwV4K7NlR_j6UEljwivFBOGXJgcRuxXvwHJOef_mQWvY5WiNaAfduRART-8INm0WBkCdfz6EevblMo/s320/veuve.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">I only came in for some milk</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: large;">The big myth is that champers is expensive. Like all
things you get what you pay for but you really don’t have to spend an epic
amount to get a good one. A bottle of Louis Roederer Cristal is about £130 but
a bottle of Louis Roederer Brut is only £30. Both are made by the same company,
using the same technique, with the same grapes but one has a gold label and a
longer shelf life thanks to a clever UV filtering wrapper. See if you can guess
which one.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhicYPPFOs7YG3bkrg5wfalusdWyMg6bhQnSA5Y2l7FPvNAxEnuw_wWwtQrLXdb86zWhx7bNSWmFFmyNiqoOAYG6EcbeWBXlrcxT7hQEcEY22nAqdY23zEug404tyaSyx7Y5v9S7idBFf0/s1600/08012012126.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: x-small; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhicYPPFOs7YG3bkrg5wfalusdWyMg6bhQnSA5Y2l7FPvNAxEnuw_wWwtQrLXdb86zWhx7bNSWmFFmyNiqoOAYG6EcbeWBXlrcxT7hQEcEY22nAqdY23zEug404tyaSyx7Y5v9S7idBFf0/s320/08012012126.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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bargain prices!!</div>
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<span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">Think £30 is still a bit much? Well, if you’re
prepared to hunt around the supermarkets you’ll find some cork popping deals.
Veuve Clicquot Yellow Label for £24 in Sainsbury's?…..don’t mind if I do!
Nicolas Feuillatte and Andre Carpentier on a Fathers Day Tesco offer for £15
each……..we’re gonna need a bigger boot!</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">Impulse purchases can be dangerous
though. Etienne Dumont is constantly on offer. There’s a reason for that and
your toilet will thank you for steering well clear.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">If you’re going to buy champagne for the first time
don’t buy the cheapest. My pref’d tipple is Veuve Clicquot Yellow Label and if
I could, would drink it by the pint load. Which I do.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXjwwaBlKEF3RGo5BjVb3nRpB_tCyuZkDST2WFe2GhVuiZ9R6DpFW7RA166KOWac5jMHY-hHsJb3Dcfxfs8dUMtz5DQaeKyZ2n1KAlndnE51ZwdBRmmhKZXTWkKpvjfCVY7boDPgntrqc/s1600/veuve+%252B+rasp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXjwwaBlKEF3RGo5BjVb3nRpB_tCyuZkDST2WFe2GhVuiZ9R6DpFW7RA166KOWac5jMHY-hHsJb3Dcfxfs8dUMtz5DQaeKyZ2n1KAlndnE51ZwdBRmmhKZXTWkKpvjfCVY7boDPgntrqc/s320/veuve+%252B+rasp.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">mmmm frozen raspberries mmmm</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0LGhmW18o61rSkjJvKv1yhajtEWSVrI7nmkcNCIhlj6jZ-Wr4GJnEaKWveMXylcoSNWzHehNXYcOfUGhZORLusFY2TN0vp2IfeacuaKsP5tj8V_tw2qZjDVaNjvg8KjID_LXOXjPvo7E/s1600/nic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0LGhmW18o61rSkjJvKv1yhajtEWSVrI7nmkcNCIhlj6jZ-Wr4GJnEaKWveMXylcoSNWzHehNXYcOfUGhZORLusFY2TN0vp2IfeacuaKsP5tj8V_tw2qZjDVaNjvg8KjID_LXOXjPvo7E/s320/nic.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">thicker glass keeps it cold</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0LGhmW18o61rSkjJvKv1yhajtEWSVrI7nmkcNCIhlj6jZ-Wr4GJnEaKWveMXylcoSNWzHehNXYcOfUGhZORLusFY2TN0vp2IfeacuaKsP5tj8V_tw2qZjDVaNjvg8KjID_LXOXjPvo7E/s1600/nic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><span lang="EN-US"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvqlkGreaU2hTi843ZstBfrf6LxqpR1WsXcoMFOtlrdzTeHSO20SVkOG1s6M1m3YpACaEqh5UPz1Qquas1pAZyj4o4Ul8ccoaZvswBtJy_UVzEy6bM8EGEqd5-X0yIcBAxpfG5S0CTbh4/s1600/moet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvqlkGreaU2hTi843ZstBfrf6LxqpR1WsXcoMFOtlrdzTeHSO20SVkOG1s6M1m3YpACaEqh5UPz1Qquas1pAZyj4o4Ul8ccoaZvswBtJy_UVzEy6bM8EGEqd5-X0yIcBAxpfG5S0CTbh4/s320/moet.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Iiii doonnt hav a pro blemm *hick*</span></div>
<div style="font-size: x-large;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Other bottles of note around £30 are Moet, Lanson,
Laurent Perrier and Tattinger. All of which are reassuringly French sounding
and rather scrummy but taste is only one half of the should I/shouldn't I
equation. According to the missus, Moet makes me a grumpy drunk. Tattinger
makes me a happy drunk but I get a longer buzz from Veuve Clicquot. Nicolas
Feuillatte made me not want to be near anything loud the next day.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD4Tz2QKGHpHmqtn3hp98c0dGPdfTnEbMFoljCKmrhwA9PEB1aOh3uj2Eqk_k_AUbowhnuJ20WVlhrci65xed_a2EO7sP2dLAh8fdPlZgEDY4I0lyo4ijKd3J-eoIuCj28UuK2T6RlU80/s1600/boll.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD4Tz2QKGHpHmqtn3hp98c0dGPdfTnEbMFoljCKmrhwA9PEB1aOh3uj2Eqk_k_AUbowhnuJ20WVlhrci65xed_a2EO7sP2dLAh8fdPlZgEDY4I0lyo4ijKd3J-eoIuCj28UuK2T6RlU80/s320/boll.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">bit a Bolly daaaaarling</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Drinking alone is a bit sad. You’ll need food as well!</span><br />
<br />
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">Through extensive research I've found that foods
beginning with the letter ‘C’ make a great companion. Chips, chocolate, crisps,
curry, Chinese and chiwawa all work really well. I've found champagne is a very
good pallet cleanser. The acidity clears and resets while the bubbles refresh
to leave a fruity aftertaste. Think Cillit Bang for your gob. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">Financing the fizz.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">World-o-Quid shops like Poundland will be your biggest
ally. Essentials like Warburtons bread, crisps, choccy and bribes for the kids
can all be procured at a hugely reduced outlay compared to even the cheapest
supermarket. If you can’t bear the thought of standing shoulder to shoulder
with the great unwashed then get your shopping delivered online. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">“How will that
save money?” I hear you gasp. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">Well, supermarkets now have an equal
opportunities policy that insists a percentage of their staff be local and
cranially challenged. In Stockport's case this means there's a never-ending
supply. It also means there are nearly always order cock ups. A reasonably
quick call to customer services should secure a free delivery and token
discount off your next shop. Et voila, cash back.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">If you're prepared to haggle and you can get over the
secondhandedness, then eBay and carboot sales are well worth a punt. They've personally saved me thousands of squids, no really! Besides, carboots aren’t
the embarrassing ailment you think they are. You've only got to look at the
clientele parking to figure that out. In amongst the crappy Fords and Peugeot's are spanky new Range Rovers, Lexi (plural of Lexus), Beamers and Mercs. My
personal fave parked up in a field was a 1year old Nissan GT-R in go-faster
black. You've only got to Google the starting price of one to realize the rich
aren't stupid. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">I think my best buy was a pair of pristine Fire XC Pro bike
tyres which cost a grand total of £3. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">Total amount saved = <b>£30</b>. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">In just one purchase I'd got the rubber my bike needed and enough left over to get thoroughly mortaled.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">Take my advice and start saving now, the drunken bliss
that awaits you is well worth it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Eddiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13563228134023228602noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264129233584976635.post-8738626110478381142013-06-14T16:59:00.001+01:002013-06-14T21:26:51.126+01:00Cast Off!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBwOFAi7hRZc0PZBLQXCaf7IaNXtvZ3LpXnC_S_Rj0lbOQFHQak1emTee3sxttNGQj7SPBnK8OZcD8oYXbiDooedwwp3iw5M93LgaX_T350eTHXcJHqh3fs19QaCd-FvUyVd5riPCpcq4/s1600/inside1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="display: inline !important; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBwOFAi7hRZc0PZBLQXCaf7IaNXtvZ3LpXnC_S_Rj0lbOQFHQak1emTee3sxttNGQj7SPBnK8OZcD8oYXbiDooedwwp3iw5M93LgaX_T350eTHXcJHqh3fs19QaCd-FvUyVd5riPCpcq4/s1600/inside1.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">You might not be aware but last October I broke my
wrist, no really. I’ve tried to keep it low-key and not really mention it much. Today was the final day of
being able to use my broken wrist as an excuse for being a lazy bazturd. I’ve
been looking forward to this day for 8 months but it was here at last. The day was
finally here! I was getting out! My in-arm-ceration was to end. At last,
liberation for my re-scaffolded scaphoid. I would be free again to do the
simple things like drive, use my right trouser pocket, use doors keys with a
single hand, play darts, fire assault rifles and wipe my arse. I’d missed doing
these things the most.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqma8QVfkZ5-MWB9n8_56kFFAayMvwaWsvPDYscc5XVQmpIuu-jH1Ap12mNQLw-itaKStUPoow6zfNTkTLZMYPwDJQvO_2JM92RkbmTP3plwh1flEyXuJ2FmPXR2vVR-NjAYzZPH5D7xM/s1600/cast1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqma8QVfkZ5-MWB9n8_56kFFAayMvwaWsvPDYscc5XVQmpIuu-jH1Ap12mNQLw-itaKStUPoow6zfNTkTLZMYPwDJQvO_2JM92RkbmTP3plwh1flEyXuJ2FmPXR2vVR-NjAYzZPH5D7xM/s1600/cast1.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Formalities first though, hospital protocol meant a
trip to Outpatients to collect the relevant paperwork, before then being
dispatched to the Fracture Clinic for the necessary sawing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Once at broken bone central, I grabbed a numbered
ticket and made camp. On past experience I knew that there would be an amount
of waiting to do. The next customer being ‘served’ was number 52. I was 58,
this could take a while I thought but no, soon it was 53’s turn and then 54. 55
came around shortly after and 56 & 57 were just a blur. The numbers were
falling like pensioners on ice and I was next!! I quickly dismantled the
portable stove, packed away the sleeping bag and deflated the blow-up TV. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The slightly serial killer looking ‘Tony’ popped his
head round the door and grunted my number. Like a Thompsons gazelle I leapt up
and followed Tony in. Naturally he remembered me…how could he not? It seemed to
give him extra impetuous to crack on (or should that be ‘off’) with
proceedings. The Plaster Master sat me down, whipped out his power tool and
sliced through my cast like a knife through hot butter. It tickled but the
speed he was moving meant I was too scared to laugh. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Within seconds I was at the sink rinsing the crusty
bits off my newly emancipated appendage. While there I noticed a young boy with
his mother. He had also just been freed and we had a quick game of self-harm
top trumps. My go first, <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“How many bones broken?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“One”, HAH! I had TWO plus a dislocation and torn
ligament. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Yeh but I’ve broken it twice” he replied<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“The same wrist?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Yep”. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The little shit had beaten me on a technicality so
naturally I did the gentlemanly thing and conceded, <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“We’ll call it a draw, bye”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">With that I exited the room and Fracture Clinic. The
prospect of not having to see that waiting room again filled me with glee.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I strolled back to Outpatients for a liaison with the
reconstruction surgeon. She was very happy with the amount of wrist movement I
had but I wasn’t to ‘load it’ for at least six weeks. That meant no biking, no
darts and no shooting weapons. DAMMIT. I deposited a small chocolate gift on
her desk as a thank you for rebuilding me. Yes, she was "just doing her job" but
it’s still nice to say thank you and reward a job well done. She was ending this arm-saga once and for all and
that is something that the whole world should be grateful for. Before we parted
I had time for a question:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“What happens if I break this again?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Eeeerrrrrrrrrrrr”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Motionless and filled with fear she stated that to
her knowledge no one has ever been stupid enough. Only a crazy twat moron of epic
proportions would try. Cool I thought, I like being the first!! She’s going to
ask about a reconstruction-reconstruction at the next “Hand” meeting and let me
know at my 3month review. Until then, it’s probably best if I only fall off on
my other side.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I left happy and bound for the physiotherapy
department where an appointment would be made to get my oh-so stiff bits bendy
again. On my way I popped in to Ward D5 to say thank you to the short stay surgery nurses that had
put up with me three times. On my arrival they all legged it. They were
probably just trying to hide their emotions at the prospect of not seeing their
fave patient again. Yeh, that’ll be it. I really am that awesome. I dished out
more chocolately loveliness to the woman on reception. Realizing that I wasn’t
checking in for a forth time, she exhaled with relief and smiled. As I departed
I saw her skipping up the corridor to the nurses room. I have that effect on
people.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">As I left the hospital it started to rain. Before
today I had a real problem with trying to keep my cast-arm dry but it didn’t
matter now. My grin didn’t last long as the light shower quickly turned into a
monsoon. After a mad dash to the bus stop I pondered why it was called a ‘light
shower’. If anything it was getting darker. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I only had to wait a minute before a WiFi enabled 192
came along. Once relieved of £1.90 and seated I had another gawp at my arm. The
once covered up dead skin was drying up fast and falling off in a blizzard of
epidermis. I couldn’t stop this malt so I decided to speed things up. Turns out
that denim jeans make a good descaler. Who knew? There were only a few stops
before I had to get off so I did what I could and then put my jeans back on.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">My arm looks more or less normal now apart from the
sun tan marks. I look like I’ve just dipped my hand knuckle deep in diarrhea.
To save embarrassment I’m just going to tell everyone that I’m a bovine vet
with fingerless latex gloves. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy9pw3OVL0lXDQSEfDOW3IT0ZQVnfRmp2OFgUUx-GkKFdjAnY7XFWxhBQ5JlJ7OP25WruJ6oIkkHGPYDJndF9SYg6Ybenp-N3NfPMUIiZkzs0YGfjAG-TYXTe5bsUg3qcB-akNOqI_HfM/s1600/free.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy9pw3OVL0lXDQSEfDOW3IT0ZQVnfRmp2OFgUUx-GkKFdjAnY7XFWxhBQ5JlJ7OP25WruJ6oIkkHGPYDJndF9SYg6Ybenp-N3NfPMUIiZkzs0YGfjAG-TYXTe5bsUg3qcB-akNOqI_HfM/s1600/free.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The next blog I do will be about getting fit again. My
legs have zero miles in them and my hard bits are floppy. Don’t even mention
the impending saddle sore! With that in mind though I think a good title for the next
epic diatribe should be:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Let the arse hardening begin!!</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!-- Blogger automated replacement: "https://images-blogger-opensocial.googleusercontent.com/gadgets/proxy?url=http%3A%2F%2F2.bp.blogspot.com%2F-V_g0IrV3jtE%2FUbs3wnQn14I%2FAAAAAAAAAjw%2Fo1iillyGTBI%2Fs1600%2Fcast1.jpg&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*" with "https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqma8QVfkZ5-MWB9n8_56kFFAayMvwaWsvPDYscc5XVQmpIuu-jH1Ap12mNQLw-itaKStUPoow6zfNTkTLZMYPwDJQvO_2JM92RkbmTP3plwh1flEyXuJ2FmPXR2vVR-NjAYzZPH5D7xM/s1600/cast1.jpg" -->Eddiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13563228134023228602noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264129233584976635.post-49471535205104128902013-05-10T22:52:00.000+01:002013-05-10T22:52:03.439+01:00A Wristed Development.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Exciting News Wrist Fans!!</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBefgfYkI95TpZkZ4yaA7gS7Y0ATeOwg6HIz2wMenWvqizlq7hKZWEAc4HslCNiIV2WEkrwDmDIx2mm2feoOqgwQ1alnocXya6QNRCZcVk9evLq56EARSHu746ppC9faFO7QTMZ0-XZ9M/s1600/WP_001253.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBefgfYkI95TpZkZ4yaA7gS7Y0ATeOwg6HIz2wMenWvqizlq7hKZWEAc4HslCNiIV2WEkrwDmDIx2mm2feoOqgwQ1alnocXya6QNRCZcVk9evLq56EARSHu746ppC9faFO7QTMZ0-XZ9M/s1600/WP_001253.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I thought today was supposed to be a routine post-op cast change but much to my (and your) delight, there was a very nice surprise. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I should have known something was different because it was raining. </span>Normally<span style="font-family: inherit;"> when I'm incapacitated there is uninterrupted warm sunshine </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">and the birds sing like a rumbled Stuart Hall. Today though, it was different. It was wet and cold, like a trout with a grudge.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The journey to Stepping Hell began as it always does with a short adventure up the A6 on the WiFi enable 192. The free bandwidth was being </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">battered by the students upstairs who were no doubt downloading important school stuff. Judging by the comments about '</span><span style="font-size: large;">Brazilians</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">' and 'coming first' </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I can only assume they were studying F1 race drivers. Soon it was my turn to get off.....the bus. I pegged it </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">for cover so as my existing plaster wouldn't get too soggy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">As I made my way onto the hospital grounds I didn't even bother looking at the signs. I knew the layout like the back of my hand. The hand I could still </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">see, obviously. The hand I couldn't see was about to get its first airing in a good few weeks. I got comfy in Outpatient reception until the lovely Michelle called my </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">name across a sea of bored and broken faces. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I was taken into the back room reserved for really brave soldiers. "Do you know </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">why you're here today?" said Michelle in her best, let's get this cracked out so as I can have an early lunch, voice. "Yep" I replied. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">That was a lie. The only information I had was gleamed from reading my post-op notes whilst the </span>anaesthetic<span style="font-family: inherit;"> wore off from Op3.0.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">She explained that today I was indeed going to have a new cast. Yay! I was also going to have my stitches out. Cool! </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimk-e-5X8bfQauDnIbMftaOsUs8l2Yx0ZaOQccdWJRI1D4tjQLzipefdDev-dtNLaihXWkeYOqgKIiOfi8YM9_RXwsR5ruzkWtKsaT6cvdJqw09Ipzm-g57whx2hhnNyGHn8eZTA_DpHo/s1600/WP_001294.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimk-e-5X8bfQauDnIbMftaOsUs8l2Yx0ZaOQccdWJRI1D4tjQLzipefdDev-dtNLaihXWkeYOqgKIiOfi8YM9_RXwsR5ruzkWtKsaT6cvdJqw09Ipzm-g57whx2hhnNyGHn8eZTA_DpHo/s1600/WP_001294.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The old plaster was only solid on one side so the weapons grade scissors cut through the bandaged side like a well oiled </span><span style="font-size: large;">ferret</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> down </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">a drainpipe.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR-6CiqhoVzQoP7D2OPDra7A5PjhqWOZZzUjqkqe_8uSoaiG9WRLOUONiFh2Xb9Ur6U-Ok2WDCOcjjZP5-o0aIq62CfFaKHf4hcpQaoxbMm6k6VHmmyrh-rI0xccDxml5SB0H-x_ts_RY/s1600/WP_001295.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR-6CiqhoVzQoP7D2OPDra7A5PjhqWOZZzUjqkqe_8uSoaiG9WRLOUONiFh2Xb9Ur6U-Ok2WDCOcjjZP5-o0aIq62CfFaKHf4hcpQaoxbMm6k6VHmmyrh-rI0xccDxml5SB0H-x_ts_RY/s1600/WP_001295.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The wounds underneath confirmed what I'd always suspected. <b>I was part Jesus!</b> The sun never shone in front of me because it was </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">too busy shining out of my arse. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBrWj0SiWyWRqa-a49sUSg_YvelUDB_KWNzx0IK8MjIGBNmro7PhhrFuTjPCMb7zyHzjXtzuSKBpIWdWgakUzCURYu_KSQvAhyqotSp7aXfsw6LAPhTS46VJAKcYKFEcpoVp9fXpoB0cc/s1600/WP_001296.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBrWj0SiWyWRqa-a49sUSg_YvelUDB_KWNzx0IK8MjIGBNmro7PhhrFuTjPCMb7zyHzjXtzuSKBpIWdWgakUzCURYu_KSQvAhyqotSp7aXfsw6LAPhTS46VJAKcYKFEcpoVp9fXpoB0cc/s1600/WP_001296.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">I literally am, Christ on a bike.</span> </div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Stigmata aside, the stitches were uber close to my median nerve which seemed to enjoy reminding </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">it was there every time a stitch was pulled.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5XwDyoB7XRwVhbm5CYslFTBMF78olQlKxf3Bvk6ZKlZ5c0pjujEN-ObRLaz1E49x8f-cgYEatZuoj201WaizzkC1-i4UljMosk2KiNxSwhTu8Ke4u5qo5oHpAHOaI2h3Hml8nvtOPZxE/s1600/WP_001297.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5XwDyoB7XRwVhbm5CYslFTBMF78olQlKxf3Bvk6ZKlZ5c0pjujEN-ObRLaz1E49x8f-cgYEatZuoj201WaizzkC1-i4UljMosk2KiNxSwhTu8Ke4u5qo5oHpAHOaI2h3Hml8nvtOPZxE/s1600/WP_001297.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">I might have noodles for lunch.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">My request to 'ave a go' at removing the threads was flatly ignored, but once I had been un-crocheted I enquired about the pins still inside me. Michelle had a quick conflab with Ms. Machete Maestro </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">who had performed the surgery and who just happened to be passing at the time. In reality, she was </span><span style="font-size: large;">probably</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> just hovering </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">around her favourite patient/deity. It turns out that I don't need anymore operations!!! What I thought were k-wires under my skin are </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">in fact bone anchors very similar to the ones holding my capsule together. The anchors had a good enough bite, so the pins </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">were pulled out during the surgery.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This is indeed good news </span>because<span style="font-family: inherit;"> it means I only need to spend four more weeks in a cast before I can start fizzeo again. </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQz3CwYtMIL7FK2RYBymj0P62UomUPUsO8jEJY2wY4moSKha5XwxraXCzZQ8Ci3ib_HyKAL_fdmkJ6lfjyeAsdTKsMcPzD-bgFYjHd4ajVIhehejS_AYW8nnZBySJvzeV-90Ap5f-VjxE/s1600/WP_001298.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQz3CwYtMIL7FK2RYBymj0P62UomUPUsO8jEJY2wY4moSKha5XwxraXCzZQ8Ci3ib_HyKAL_fdmkJ6lfjyeAsdTKsMcPzD-bgFYjHd4ajVIhehejS_AYW8nnZBySJvzeV-90Ap5f-VjxE/s1600/WP_001298.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Time to get plastered.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Even better news is that I won't have to bore you all with more blogs about my ailing appendages.</span><br />
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">See, there is a God. I call him Daddy.</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">bye bye</span></div>
<br />
Eddiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13563228134023228602noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264129233584976635.post-38271527766881624362013-03-14T11:47:00.002+00:002013-03-14T11:47:22.208+00:00Nearly there people!!<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You all knew what you were getting into when I started this
so it’s too late to back out now. We’re in this together but fear not there is
an end game in sight, no really. I know I’ve said that before but rest assured
that the adventures of Scaphoid and the Hurty Wrist are barrelling towards a
full stop just as I did last October when this Lord of the Rings style epic yawn
fest began. What you’re reading now is the penultimate chapter of a book that even
Tolstoy would consider wordy. This is a novel that has about as much depth as
Ant & Dec, with more twists and turns than snake in a drainpipe. The chief
protagonist is a sweet toothed hero in more than just words, there are
paragraphs and commas and everything. The
antagonists are gravity, NHS waiting rooms and chocolate biccies.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The latest ramble began on Monday with some interarmular
arthroscopy and the slim chance of a permanent fix. I say slim because with the
amount of damage I’d already done a quick in and out fix was unlikely
despite the fact that the CT scan had come back more or less ‘alright’. I was
checked in and made comfy before the endless wave of fans came by to catch a
glimpse of their hero. Doctors, nurses, surgeons and an anaesthetist all wanted
a piece of my ass. There were endless forms and questions to answer and I had
to keep reminding them all that they didn’t need to make up excuses to see me,
and that under this epic layer of awesome I was just like they are but a little
bit better. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-b-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash3/577825_10151305572491646_560697544_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrBYMpXIwz3p9_MlCqPd6nnIry6wfC70vAfIz8pYrR2Pt2D_vWLVRUhzKe_JkXSU9UPuFvo4UtM-QRf8q_E_7tb9HdmRGQZsW89UpN-urOjNjJQehLdPOCxg8ECHIIPQCqSIeGmk9-CVs/s1600/WP_001094.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrBYMpXIwz3p9_MlCqPd6nnIry6wfC70vAfIz8pYrR2Pt2D_vWLVRUhzKe_JkXSU9UPuFvo4UtM-QRf8q_E_7tb9HdmRGQZsW89UpN-urOjNjJQehLdPOCxg8ECHIIPQCqSIeGmk9-CVs/s1600/WP_001094.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">outpatient fashion baby!</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGWw9BVHZapDCsWzd97VNcsYAf7c3WB3YN4Lzzg360rjxSlk7QxTZjkFUnFFwjgzj10yJZ03gTtt1zw5ISB6Z_MAy4RdAI5I9shO80XVLHfHNTjTNwz7_WnqhP6vMysBkal5SU-MKzPlw/s1600/WP_001095.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Unsurprisingly some of the
nurses remembered me, well, how could they not? They took my post-op food order
of sausage, egg and chips with a smile and a “I’ll see what I can do”. I hadn’t
eaten all day so as a distraction I parked my bum in the TV room half expecting
some show tunes from a drag act but instead was greeted with daytime television
and a second floor window in which to jump out of. After minutes of local Beeb
programming my thoughts turned to our home Sky TV subscription and how it was
now worth every single penny.</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGWw9BVHZapDCsWzd97VNcsYAf7c3WB3YN4Lzzg360rjxSlk7QxTZjkFUnFFwjgzj10yJZ03gTtt1zw5ISB6Z_MAy4RdAI5I9shO80XVLHfHNTjTNwz7_WnqhP6vMysBkal5SU-MKzPlw/s1600/WP_001095.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGWw9BVHZapDCsWzd97VNcsYAf7c3WB3YN4Lzzg360rjxSlk7QxTZjkFUnFFwjgzj10yJZ03gTtt1zw5ISB6Z_MAy4RdAI5I9shO80XVLHfHNTjTNwz7_WnqhP6vMysBkal5SU-MKzPlw/s1600/WP_001095.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">the hours of waiting just flew by</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">After a few hours of unconscious viewing it was my turn to
head to the theatre. This was another play that I didn’t want to miss or be
awake in. The junior meat slicers had yet more questions before wheeling me off
to the knocker-outer room. I think my confidence and general awesomeness
unsettled them. I don’t think they’re used to patients that aren’t bricking it.
The lovely Tina wired me up to the monitors while hippy Rob banged the cannula in.
Flexible friend Harry and I compared how bendy our joints were before he
slammed in the morphine. This was the weirdest feeling in the world. It resembled someone<span style="line-height: 115%;"> lightly
grabbing my insides and was not unpleasant but way too weird to be nice. A bit
like the wife’s attempt at a meringue. </span> Next, the hibernation hooch
was injected. As my eyelids closed I
pondered whether my sphincter would still hold back the guff I needed during unconsciousness.
Ah well, it was too laa........ zzzzzzzzzzz </span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When I woke up I was on my way back up to the ward.
I couldn’t smell any sausage, egg or chips, maybe it was already waiting for
me. It wasn’t. Yet again all they had in the cupboards was toast and the offer
of some hot brown stuff in a cup. I opted for the hot brown stuff labelled
coffee. Last time I was here I asked for tea, that was a mistake. That was
about as close to tea as North Korea is to Amsterdam at night.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As I munched I perused the <span style="font-size: large;">medical </span>notes left behind. Blah blah
blah, what a hunk, blah blah, awesome this, blah blah epic that, blah blah blah
another surgey. Wait! What the fudge!?! </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">At the start I referred to this as the penultimate chapter because
there is one last throw of the dice which will start in a couple of weeks. A finale
surgery to end all surgeries and it will be awesomely epic. A Ben Hur style
reconstruction of my wrist using bits of me that aren’t being used (i.e. stomach
muscles, bollocks, brain etc) to form a new tendon to anchor my absconding osseous
matter. My scaphoid’s days of wondering free are now numbered, and when the
little fecker has been lassoed with some high level hatcheting the mountain
biking will commence once again. Only then will this drivel end and you will be
free to get on with your lives.</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-b-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash3/577825_10151305572491646_560697544_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-b-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash3/577825_10151305572491646_560697544_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">bye bye..for now</span> </span></span></div>
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Eddiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13563228134023228602noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264129233584976635.post-68931072067391890652013-02-27T14:28:00.000+00:002013-02-27T14:32:04.838+00:00The further adventures of Scaphoid and the Hurty Wrist!<br />
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">A quick recap: First there was this.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE3NFaG_m6IS39t5guInzOIwTv1ets7WjvVAVl8sgB1D9c0JDFMJTsES5emLVpD4vpa6BkZwGSpxqm_JpVfTe_c5QMlOIZ1CJFv-32Q58wTiBL-IOfgadtO3L9Z52nRfZutouAPi7ErK0/s1600/broke.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE3NFaG_m6IS39t5guInzOIwTv1ets7WjvVAVl8sgB1D9c0JDFMJTsES5emLVpD4vpa6BkZwGSpxqm_JpVfTe_c5QMlOIZ1CJFv-32Q58wTiBL-IOfgadtO3L9Z52nRfZutouAPi7ErK0/s400/broke.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: small; text-align: start;">Then this.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: small; text-align: start;">And then a bit of this.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Well, t</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large;">he good news is that my scaphoid is now one again.
The titanium screw that once bound the two halves together is now superfluous
like the list of ingredients on the back of Findus Beef meal. The bad news is
that it’s still not on speaking terms with the lunate bone next to it. My
scaphoid is moving and with its new sense of freedom, is on a mission to explore
the world and 'find itself'. The ligament that holds the two bones together is
being stretched to almost Spanish Inquisition levels thanks to my scaphoid and
its new found hippy mantra. A CT scan revealed nothing obviously nasty but the
only way to know for sure is to open me up again. Last time that happened there
were power tools and screws made from exotic metals. This time there will be
arthroscopic wizardry through two 1.9mm holes. One hole will have a camera on a
chopstick while the other will carry the tools required. If all looks ok then
the ligament will just be cleaned (debridement) to speed up the healing and
reign the little blighter back in. The more probable outcome is that my wayward
bone will have its gap year cut short. This could mean a whacking great pin
holding everything together like a bone kebab, or a cheeky lasso will be
constructed from bits of me. This cowboy surgery would involve removing the
screw and passing the lasso through the hole before reattaching it to the
lunate. Afterwards we would all sit round a campfire and eat beans.</span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">Before any of this can happen I needed a pre-op
assessment to make sure I was fit enough. One look at me should have told them
that but they insisted on asking me some questions. I was dispatched with my
notes to the “Magnolia Suite”. Trades description would have a field day as it
is neither magnolia or suite. I would have gone for "Lavender Drab". Fortunately I didn't have to wait very long, I didn't even have time for a proper game of “guess your illness”. I was taken
into a room where vital stats were recorded and yet another nurse asked for my
phone number under the ruse that she would need it to let me know when the
operation was. Being pestered by nympho nurses is something you get used to
when you’re as gorgeous as me…..and you've broken something. My height, blood
pressure and sub60 BPM pulse were all confirmed as awesome but then came
probably the most scariest part. </span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">I had to be weighed!!! </span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">It is essential that an
accurate weight be obtained in order for the knocker-outer lady to work out how
much sleepy juice to administer. A plaster cast, erratic exercise regime, bad
weather and Christmas had each taken their toll and my winter coat was still
very much evident. Just like the mirror at home, the scales didn't lie. Since
my failed argument with gravity last October I have stacked on an extra stone
and a bit, and trying to ignore it was like trying to pretend the drunk, sky
high fruit loop in the Post Office queue wasn't there. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">Over an epic lunch of crisps, chocolate and cake I
have decided it’s time to commence “Operation: Put The Fork Down”. If I am to
regain my honed athletic physique I must conquer Professor Biscuits in his
secret under ground base, otherwise known as “the jar in the kitchen cupboard”.
Time and time again he has returned despite numerous attempts to drown him and
eat him in boiling hot tea or coffee. This time, his fete will be sealed in the
belly of two more fearsome creatures that will tear Professor Biscuits and his
army limb from limb in a psychotic armageddon of baked chocolatety loveliness.
Behold the minions of which I speak!</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitbBz8-Jcp4werbE-N7-gZ2fjfYWMrSwWqTmMJuRNchimUhTqdkwvGpvu1y64NYtb-jYyYpQ09icTyei7iq2oE5isrNKLjppxvP78UT8Wofj19x-IQhyphenhyphen6Rt7IvVwHGSx2CTTgJ6LLqTbw/s1600/kids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitbBz8-Jcp4werbE-N7-gZ2fjfYWMrSwWqTmMJuRNchimUhTqdkwvGpvu1y64NYtb-jYyYpQ09icTyei7iq2oE5isrNKLjppxvP78UT8Wofj19x-IQhyphenhyphen6Rt7IvVwHGSx2CTTgJ6LLqTbw/s400/kids.jpg" width="366" /></a></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">With a tail wind my next blog will be post-op and I'll have some lovely new scars for the chicks to dig! Heck, I might even be lighter....</span></div>
Eddiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13563228134023228602noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264129233584976635.post-59075076792580192212012-11-06T23:41:00.000+00:002012-11-06T23:41:13.488+00:00Hurty Wrist Fans...I Have News & More Pics!!!<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It's been nearly two weeks since the good lady surgeon Sweeney Todd sliced and diced my broken appendage. It was time then for a return visit to the Fracture Clinic on the promise of more growing old slowly in reception. I started my journey with what I thought was ample time to make the short bus trip up the road to the hospital. What I hadn't bargained on was the near Biblical traffic jam on the A6. I was convinced that the non-movingness could only have been caused by something which would make everyone in Stockport simaltaneously jump into their cars. I pondered what it might be and the openning of a MegaPoundShop with free hog roast, beer and bouncy castle for the kids where the Stone Roses were putting on a free gig leapt to mind, but it turns out the council are just fannying around with the road near Stepping Hill. I've seen evolution move faster. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Amazingly, I arrived only a few minutes late. I've just no idea why it mattered so much for me to be there on time. I knew what was coming and I'd brought my travel pillow, ration pack, a change of clothes and the complete works of Tolstoy in readiness. Actually it was more browniness but it doesn't matter, I was here for the long haul and sure enough the NHS didn't disappoint. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">To maximise the experience, the reception is a complete wifi dead spot. Surfing the t'internet was painfully slow but I'd downloaded several games to keep me amused and sure enough the first forty minutes just flew by. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">On minute number forty one I was summoned by one of the old deers behind the desk. At last, progress! alas, not. She ordered me to the X-ray reception with 'a note' and a smile that made Stalin look like Ronald McDonald. I was looking down her half moon barrels at yet another yawn fest but I didn't mind, it was a change of scenery.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I wandered up the corridor and passed over my note. After confirming my name, rank, and serial number I parked my arse on yet another fart stained piece of moulded plastic the NHS call 'a chair'. Surprisingly I didn't have to wait too long before my name was called, but don't worry, there was enough time for Commandant Deirdre to mandate my mobile be changed to a not-on position. Cow. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">After I was zapped I was dispatched back to the Fracture Clinic reception for more waiting where the phone went straight back on and the ether evaporated faster. Eventually it was something resembling my name that was belted out across reception in the key of bored flat. We were knocking on an hour and twenty but this was now my time with what appeared to be the only actual professional in the hospital that day. It was time to go into one of the little rooms and see what damage had been undone. The X-rays came up on the screen and with my good hand I began snapping pics left, right and centre and then left again because the flash wasn't on.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">As the images were explained, a nurse began to cut off the old plaster. The operation had in fact gone perfectly,(dear diary), and all looked good. The screw holding my scaphoid together was doing its job.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_0TEad6HHeSpha7PgfRXAOqqTpVnMrTfKT12LyqqB6Czgqj-_Ac4KfQNTLAwVoOzs5Kr5fDn8x2gRMMByYfJ8ccCSzhh5hO8JzPNl9-SKd3Z6HjdNLHVLPMa43zVcxQJhQdwfaC38auc/s1600/screwed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_0TEad6HHeSpha7PgfRXAOqqTpVnMrTfKT12LyqqB6Czgqj-_Ac4KfQNTLAwVoOzs5Kr5fDn8x2gRMMByYfJ8ccCSzhh5hO8JzPNl9-SKd3Z6HjdNLHVLPMa43zVcxQJhQdwfaC38auc/s1600/screwed.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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Now available at ScrewFix</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">One other injury I wasn't fully aware of was the acute perilunate dislocation variant. The fix for this and my wayward radius is the insertion of two metal rawplug people. I have named them Bert and Ernie. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjARjIARs0Ffq-PWN4IKwmQXaBbtUAeKPxI6wJ0KxunDMuHP-yJSn4IB-baITRcG9RQoGQIoFZhlPAnvh9-HThyphenhyphen9yoZbF27gq1fdzdOja2mbi2WE_6DozuJmZauqLhjlcX4DfuFMiymZdg/s1600/BertErnie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjARjIARs0Ffq-PWN4IKwmQXaBbtUAeKPxI6wJ0KxunDMuHP-yJSn4IB-baITRcG9RQoGQIoFZhlPAnvh9-HThyphenhyphen9yoZbF27gq1fdzdOja2mbi2WE_6DozuJmZauqLhjlcX4DfuFMiymZdg/s1600/BertErnie.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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Can you tell me how to get to Seaseme Street?</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When the plaster came off I noticed that my wrist had shrunk in diameter. This freaked me out somewhat but apparently if you don't use something at all for three weeks it gets smaller. This is a generic statement that applies to every part of me.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw0DFkCkIQleJN5lHvr45YFLE5FNb_7fu9quMZGOGTdKAQWXelgVCkjJmAxlXBL0P5i4XQfanM0iZt87ZKyUJjYhzLEu8JISwS9YNGvcC8O-Jp80QORk75JJzWG88SAfM_UEZRaA-1BU4/s1600/notmyshoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw0DFkCkIQleJN5lHvr45YFLE5FNb_7fu9quMZGOGTdKAQWXelgVCkjJmAxlXBL0P5i4XQfanM0iZt87ZKyUJjYhzLEu8JISwS9YNGvcC8O-Jp80QORk75JJzWG88SAfM_UEZRaA-1BU4/s1600/notmyshoes.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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Chick! Please form an orderly digging queue.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">After my five minutes were up I returned to reception to get a new plaster. By this time I was the only person left but I still had to take a ticket and wait my turn for the plasterer. It seemed a bit frivolous but I'm not one to break protocol, (just bones). I still had to wait but the end to this visit was finally in sight. My plaster master was a guy called Tony. He was judge gypsum - the dressing director. We got yapping and I asked him how many casts he'd made. He stopped trying to work it out when he got to 170,000. Now that's job satisfaction.....or just mental, I haven't quite worked it out. Either way, he'd clearly done this before. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipTBK6lxwFDvYd5nIMGuCWFQBC9rSYGCgG34rlHYybot6JQ-trh80FiL2bx1-9e85ezufGbRdVWdpOEms_DVYSeuaibPpgIC_Ezs3Bk5lVf2RnvEM2BMtKrQ6T5xZt12lx6YRS6i6dMFE/s1600/plastered.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipTBK6lxwFDvYd5nIMGuCWFQBC9rSYGCgG34rlHYybot6JQ-trh80FiL2bx1-9e85ezufGbRdVWdpOEms_DVYSeuaibPpgIC_Ezs3Bk5lVf2RnvEM2BMtKrQ6T5xZt12lx6YRS6i6dMFE/s1600/plastered.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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Behold!.....I wish I could!!</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">After encasing me for my third time in as many weeks I was free to leave. In four weeks I would be back to have it off with power tools, (sorry for the mental image), how exciting! What wasn't exciting was the journey home. The traffic was still jammed. I've seen tectonic plates shift quicker. Fortunately I did get home where apon the family atteneded to me with benevolence and compassion. They put up a brave front by pretending absolutely nothing important had just happened. That must have been hard for them. The kids knew that a sense of normality and familiarity would relax me and with that in mind jumped on me with the same gusto and vigor as if my arm wasn't in plaster at all. Sometimes I think they care too much. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">To be cont'd.....in four weeks.</span><br />
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Eddiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13563228134023228602noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264129233584976635.post-11733691599782055582012-10-26T20:44:00.000+01:002012-10-26T20:45:20.398+01:00That's me screwed.<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Until 11am yesterday I had a closed intra-articular fracture of the distal radius AND a fracture of the proximal scaphoid. I also had the pics to prove it. Today I've got a really hurty arm with a headless titanium screw in it. The fun began at 7:30am yesterday when I was admitted to the ward for people that can't ride mountain bikes properly.</span><br />
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A room with a view.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I was third on the list so I had a wait before 'Operation Frankenstein-hand' began. I was nil-by-mouth which was the nurses way of telling me to shut up. However, I was allowed to put in a food order for post-op. I asked for sausage, beans, chips, fried bread and a mug-o-tea five sugars when ya ready daaaaarling. Nurse Laura said that they were all out of everything, otherwise that would have been fine. All she had left was toast and some brown stuff that resembled tea or coffee, she wasn't sure. The food though would have to wait until well after I'd been cut-n-shut and even more after all the form filling. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Nurse after nurse, doctor after doctor and even the hand job surgeon wanted to yap about the procedure and more importantly me. They can't have all fancied me....could they? Even the nice lady surgeon freely admitted I had "acute scaphoid". Some of the questions asked were very repetitive and my answers might have gone a tad off topic as my eagerness to crack on with proceedings grew.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">"Any allergies?", "hard work"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"When did you eat last?", "are you asking me out?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"How many units of alcohol do you drink?", "I'm a Lambrini girl, I just wanna have fun"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Any hearing aids?", "pardon!" (yes, even doctors still fall for this one)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Any caps?", "yeh they keep my head warm"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"....or crowns?", "you may call me king!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Any piercings?", "kinky!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Have you got any internal metalwork?", this was my favourite question by a long way and the answer required a thick monotone Austrian accent, "are you Sarah Connor?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The silliest part was having an arrow drawn on the arm which was to have the surgery. You'd have thought the whacking great back slab paster cast from A&E might have been a clue but it's probably best to make sure. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr1xrWHDXv1dAHbTA-PSacNFouRxhng5FzkpA4Tr6drZfNKhOrutsiQUJeBBpiLpBCYPot_AL8r5qwbdDY9D1USe4Vf1cX7Ao4KY5Dir-FXzwvd6JS9dCfd05jVBHjLJW55Fw_cXcbtNw/s1600/WP_000647.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr1xrWHDXv1dAHbTA-PSacNFouRxhng5FzkpA4Tr6drZfNKhOrutsiQUJeBBpiLpBCYPot_AL8r5qwbdDY9D1USe4Vf1cX7Ao4KY5Dir-FXzwvd6JS9dCfd05jVBHjLJW55Fw_cXcbtNw/s320/WP_000647.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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This'll be the arm then!</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This seasons must have fashion in short stay surgery is a white patterned strappy backless number with white trim ....</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEOI7N0XloBCrVESqWdu7wU2h-fejcSluv28r-FSFZeQ4_vtcpxuuQxeCE2UudScV1qghF-RIOD3xNKfJgbz7V-44S119bqTWH7tUFB-ZcLwmvBRqIHchQtWOMCFIvA8w-LJl2tHMQSHU/s1600/WP_000648.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEOI7N0XloBCrVESqWdu7wU2h-fejcSluv28r-FSFZeQ4_vtcpxuuQxeCE2UudScV1qghF-RIOD3xNKfJgbz7V-44S119bqTWH7tUFB-ZcLwmvBRqIHchQtWOMCFIvA8w-LJl2tHMQSHU/s320/WP_000648.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">.....and unmatching </span><span style="font-size: large;">disposable</span><span style="font-size: large;"> slippers in a variety of colours from brownish landlord magnolia to landlord magnolia with a hint of brown. Anything else was the models own.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp92TVftZen7raGooUK9pN40nD6LmxvXIw1GKbhNPc79S4orRyMZ4AJ11QKqv1qlJtJEPJWpKta_1aYfxPF_p0hZoUtRlT_JLo5gotWumUwMqKiI33Hf6Uncfq-BQtrtDe-ue0pHXG21E/s1600/WP_000650.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp92TVftZen7raGooUK9pN40nD6LmxvXIw1GKbhNPc79S4orRyMZ4AJ11QKqv1qlJtJEPJWpKta_1aYfxPF_p0hZoUtRlT_JLo5gotWumUwMqKiI33Hf6Uncfq-BQtrtDe-ue0pHXG21E/s320/WP_000650.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Three and a half hours of nothing but aircon noise and no kids just flew by. It was like heaven and I'd forgotten what it was like to be bored.</span><br />
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Mr.Spock are you listening to me??</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivlrQ-jZSJ73MvNs3WargiarLHcbbIwqegngbUjPE7wIpo07hL7cepKY07-m8zVV60WQM9TsCM8R3GWnZF2Ulxuuayfj6k2uTDnZahexCsH7LhGDZXs1oBO_Gr7HCwH2DDV1dusC1Q9sw/s1600/WP_000651.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivlrQ-jZSJ73MvNs3WargiarLHcbbIwqegngbUjPE7wIpo07hL7cepKY07-m8zVV60WQM9TsCM8R3GWnZF2Ulxuuayfj6k2uTDnZahexCsH7LhGDZXs1oBO_Gr7HCwH2DDV1dusC1Q9sw/s320/WP_000651.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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.............I'm all ears captain.</div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> Then came time for a quick wee and into pre-op for yet more questions and some proper drugs. I was wired up and joking away with a BPM in the low seventies.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Those blue caps and green gowns, you can't all think they're fashionable?" I chirped. Knocker-outer lady had heard enough, I didn't even see her stick the sleepy stuff in. Either way, next thing I know it's an hour and twenty minutes later and my wrist is a tad sore despite the fact that I still had a fair bit of paracetamol neurophen, morphine and 'general' still circulating inside me. Nurse Laura made good her promise of toast and hot brown liquid. I even got biccies which are only reserved for really brave soldiers. By the time I'd come round a bit more it was early afternoon and time to go home. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguycr-Bdvx9JiDl7Cj5SJw77oZDsavbWd2nX_QvfKQ9DcChtK-1SYm9WGCLyEuEO9e0U3yfEjOObkU7dLZwNR9nLtowfH61187BEtNRZ2BsJfITxvKVQBac1EsOfWiHe1hMk27-QYCFsQ/s1600/WP_000652.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguycr-Bdvx9JiDl7Cj5SJw77oZDsavbWd2nX_QvfKQ9DcChtK-1SYm9WGCLyEuEO9e0U3yfEjOObkU7dLZwNR9nLtowfH61187BEtNRZ2BsJfITxvKVQBac1EsOfWiHe1hMk27-QYCFsQ/s320/WP_000652.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Ooh this stings a bit...even on morphine!</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The conveniently named Dr. Late-Twenties-Iranian-Possibly-Turkish-but-Quite-Fit had already prescribed some drugs to take home, which was nice. I added her to the list of admirers. Wifecabs arrived shortly after to take me and my codeine stash home but I'm not done with the NHS just yet..oh no! I'm back in a couple of weeks to the fracture clinic for more endless waiting around with the old, fat and broken. If robo-hand doesn't take then there's talk of bone grafts. How exciting! The cast comes off in six weeks but there's no more biking until FEBRUARY 2013.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">To be continued.....but let's hope NOT</span><br />
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Eddiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13563228134023228602noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264129233584976635.post-63871365039106870582012-10-19T21:26:00.000+01:002012-10-19T21:26:04.326+01:00Too Extreme For His Own Body.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It started off like any other Hayfield Hub ride with a prompt 7:30pm start, and by 7:30 I mean 7:45, and by start I mean general mince around waiting for someone to take the lead and purpose a route. One man did come to the fore and suggest a route so bonkers that it just might work. A route that consisted of nothing but 'up'. Even the downhill sections were up. If you weren't going up then you were stationary, it was as simple as that. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The author of such a ridiculous adventure was Ben and like cows to the slaughter house we blindly followed Ben on his "Chinley Double". We totalled nine in number and also in total. Nine just happened to be the temperature in the car park. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Coincidence!!!.... probably.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Despite the fact it wasn't raining, rivers of water were still draining off the hills. Water was everywhere and even the dry bits were wet. Waterproofs and mudguards were second only to webbed feet and gills. You could say, it was wet. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Ben's journey was the illegitimate love child of Niagara Falls and Mount Everest and after nearly two hours, one rider decided to speak up. </span><span style="font-size: large;">That rider shall simply be known as Ross for that was his name.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Naivety, stupidity and a mild case of trench foot led Ross to suggest a diversion. Driven on by the club moto "stultus ideae sunt bonum" Ross suggested we do 'The Campsite Run'. This idea was dangerous! For starters it was not 'up' and that would mean pedaless motion. This was a move which would surely anger the clammy and moist gods. Their revenge for such a brazen act would be cold and sweaty. However, any sort of detour off a cold wet peak at that time was as appealing as a curry when you're pissed and therefore could not be avoided.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We headed for the Campsite Run and one by one we began going 'down' for the first time all night. I started my descent and picked up speed. I had only built my bike the previous night but it was going superbly. It relished the bumps like a five year old on a bouncy castle until at a critical point I choose the wrong line and disaster struck!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Maybe I got carried away, maybe I'm just too awesome for my own good but I was drawn by siren calls into a rut that been carved out by the rain. With too much speed I instantly knew what was coming. In a scene resembling that bit in Star Wars where an X-wing crashes in a Death Star gulley, I clipped the side and then hit a largish rock which was illuminated with every one of the one thousand lumen's streaming from my light. With no chance to pull up I was ejected over the bars and I remember the rocky ground speeding towards my precious face at an alarming rate.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">With my arms slightly bent and supermaned out in front of me, I waited microseconds for the initial ooohhhffff and following tumble to a stop.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Once my motions had halted I knew I'd hurt myself. My wrist tingled a fair bit but I was sure it was just a scratch, a hair stretch at most! The troops behind stopped to pick me up and we were massively comforted in the knowledge that there wasn't a scratch on the bike. </span><span style="font-size: large;">Whoever had built such a steed had done a first class job and is available for other bike building/restoration opportunities at competitive rates.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As we rode the final mile or so back to the car park Ben hung back to keep me company and also to remind me in graphic detail that it clearly wasn't his fault in any way. Ross was to blame and maybe a call to the ambulance-chasers was worth a punt on the clear proviso that his testimony would only cost 50% of any compo.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Once back at the car park I managed to get everything loaded and drive home with what can only be described as a hurty wrist. The next day was fine. Rattling with ibuprofen I completed a full day at work with only a slight glimpse of non-man like behaviour. As the afternoon drew on a swelling appeared on my hurty wrist which was turning some interesting shades of black and purple. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I decided that no good could come from having a 'goth arm' and that I should probably get it looked at. A quick pootle up to A&E was in order but only once I'd had tea. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">At A&E reception I checked in and received my first of five "ooooh that looks nasty" from the medical professionals. After only about ten minutes of EastEnders on the TV in reception I was suicidal but the triage nurse rescued me and called me into her room. "Ooooooh that looks nasty" was how she greeted me "would you like some drugs?". The NHS is awesome I thought but it turned out to be some more ibuprofen. Once assessed I returned to the reception and its dismal TV soap scheduling.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The next two hours waiting for a doctor just flew by with the help of some improvised games like 'guess the illness'. The woman opposite clearly had problems 'downstairs' and I </span><span style="font-size: large;">surmised</span><span style="font-size: large;"> that she had got a case of the clap from a chance </span><span style="font-size: large;">liaison</span><span style="font-size: large;"> with her boss on the promise of future promotion. She was from that point on known as 'Dirty Cow'. The man behind her with the grimace on his face every time he moved I nicknamed 'Something Up His Anus'. Doctor House has nothing on me!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">After finally seeing a doctor, some more 'oooohhh that looks nasty's and yet more waiting in X-ray and reception the conclusion was that I had in fact hurt my wrist. They really don't miss a trick up at A&E. After an extended gander at the X-rays it was highly probable that the Grand Canyon sized crack in my scaphoid and the free floating bone bit near my Radius probably meant it was broken.....or something. </span></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLsViowCMyruNDYTiSaw5JlyVb2tXyuaczCFI2RqweOoWvd7fHqjBKiFgkPe2EicngvN5TTQy_gXhnvqGIeqnbMxQcb8DQWRp4SZvX2ouJH0FpmSK5-snjWQAQu4OKdYz0WgMoRyRqUEA/s1600/a+bit+fooked+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLsViowCMyruNDYTiSaw5JlyVb2tXyuaczCFI2RqweOoWvd7fHqjBKiFgkPe2EicngvN5TTQy_gXhnvqGIeqnbMxQcb8DQWRp4SZvX2ouJH0FpmSK5-snjWQAQu4OKdYz0WgMoRyRqUEA/s320/a+bit+fooked+1.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxM32Gqh6u6JcgwKG9d-CMHbUa456940CmcDAxe0zVnmtEOh8Wuf02VbCXW_SlXq4TnpdgrTla2-_cgcxt0jBHvPAvtYSPeK3vo-u_r54tHgw84vUN3h7PZSJ4ovQT1L4s7KxCAVYu0Zc/s1600/a+bit+fooked+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxM32Gqh6u6JcgwKG9d-CMHbUa456940CmcDAxe0zVnmtEOh8Wuf02VbCXW_SlXq4TnpdgrTla2-_cgcxt0jBHvPAvtYSPeK3vo-u_r54tHgw84vUN3h7PZSJ4ovQT1L4s7KxCAVYu0Zc/s320/a+bit+fooked+2.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">A back slab cast was made while a visit to the 'Fracture Clinic' was requested for the next day. I never did find out what happen to Dirty Cow and Something Up His Anus but here's a pic of me finally leaving A&E.</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp5sFGvcgMQX3_5EhmX-UsgKFEWPWJXWpVkfbdzf_3xONlfn5V_aLXcfCKPVBBxpKay0y1DBRymokt7pjM56YoZ18Yi73gA5BoCDhvm5q1CGeEF-hDoatg5us6YJZ52tGoX6hfNf0KTFY/s1600/me+leaving+hosp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp5sFGvcgMQX3_5EhmX-UsgKFEWPWJXWpVkfbdzf_3xONlfn5V_aLXcfCKPVBBxpKay0y1DBRymokt7pjM56YoZ18Yi73gA5BoCDhvm5q1CGeEF-hDoatg5us6YJZ52tGoX6hfNf0KTFY/s320/me+leaving+hosp.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">My appointment the next day was for 9:40am so naturally that meant 10:28am. Fracture Clinic is a strange place. It was rammed with the really old and the really fat and the really old AND fat. I had a whole demographic all to myself which was nice. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">When I eventually saw a doctor he took one look and referred me to the hand specialist type person. My scaphoid had broken near the bottom and was going to need some metalwork to hold it together. A date was made for next week, blimey I thought, that was quick for the NHS. I made a mental note for the future to only require hand surgery on a Thursday as this is clearly the day when decisions are made. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">A minion from trauma was dispatched to read out some do's and don'ts although I spent a large portion of the time asking to borrow the life sized skeleton behind them for Halloween. I was politely told to get stuffed, someone from cardiology had already put dibs on it. Dammit! So close! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I have no idea when I'll be back on a bike again but here's how it looks now.....</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhboe6njE9RtbwKb6wOu7ITGz1jILxNNgAU3c392dfeNbp1dtbX3gCZu_mvoYIGJukDNckUVXocAqVvZcfTr57MFaBTxeWN6aGeZYI7bnvrRgR6CeVnTM78yjoWoULR5xwp0lGHUBKZRg/s1600/hurty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhboe6njE9RtbwKb6wOu7ITGz1jILxNNgAU3c392dfeNbp1dtbX3gCZu_mvoYIGJukDNckUVXocAqVvZcfTr57MFaBTxeWN6aGeZYI7bnvrRgR6CeVnTM78yjoWoULR5xwp0lGHUBKZRg/s320/hurty.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
......<span style="font-size: large;">and here's an artists impression of what I'll look like after hand surgery. </span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpWhb7M1D07UXW0klwpNgXGBv1HSKmTLx7rvU7wMi6Xsjr9fSTjKL3rwaT9y-AtthZ10CvGAo0dWJgTmCWe6J-gs6R6WgYZpAIvBpW214j0lAHJ4eXfmQl7kRWe7tC3Pp6WExiBrqnpNs/s1600/lshand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpWhb7M1D07UXW0klwpNgXGBv1HSKmTLx7rvU7wMi6Xsjr9fSTjKL3rwaT9y-AtthZ10CvGAo0dWJgTmCWe6J-gs6R6WgYZpAIvBpW214j0lAHJ4eXfmQl7kRWe7tC3Pp6WExiBrqnpNs/s320/lshand.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">To be continued.....</span><br />
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<br />Eddiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13563228134023228602noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264129233584976635.post-47142987937426523972012-08-17T13:43:00.002+01:002012-08-17T13:43:51.958+01:00A Modern Day Bible according to Dawonderful<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED1:1 In the beginning God’s wife sent him to a Scandinavian
self assembly furniture store to buy the heaven and the earth.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED1:2 And the earth was flat pack and without form, and the
void that was Sunday afternoon was now filled with darkness and wrong sized hex
keys. And God moved upon the face of the waters where he promptly filled the
kettle.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED1:3 And God said, Let there be coffee: and there was
coffee with milk and two sugars.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED1:4 And God drank the coffee, and it was good: and God
divided the wafers from the digestives while he decided what power tools he
would need from the shed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED1:5 And God called the light in the shed bright, and the
darkness he called creepy. And God wasn’t overly keen on spiders.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED1:6 And God said, I must sort the paint cans out, some of
them are rock hard.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED1:7 And God tidied the shed, and divided the matt paint
which were under the shelf from the emulsions which were above the shelf: and
it was tidy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED1:8 And God called the shelf sorted. And the evening would
be clear to drink beer and the morning was to recover.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED1:9 And God’s wife said, Let the useless paint tins under
the shelf be gathered together unto one place, the bin, and behold the floor
did appear: and it was nice to see.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED1:10 And God called the bag of top soil Earth; and the
gathering together of the white spirit he called Something to clean paint
brushes with: and God saw that it was good but smelly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED1:11 And God said, Let the earth bring forth grass, and
something to stop the birds eating the seeds. And it was sown.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED1:12 And the earth brought forth grass, but in patches and
not very even and God was slightly miffed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED1:13 Day three.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED1:14 And God said, Let there be lights in the shed again.
I need to check the instructions.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED1:15 And let there be lights for the garden so as we can
sit out the back when the kids have gone to sleep: and it was so.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED1:16 And God made two great lights; the greater light to
rule the porch, and the lesser light to rule the barbeque: he made some stars
because they look pretty.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED1:17 And God remembered that messing around with lights
was fun but it wasn’t going to get the heaven and earth made.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED1:18 God’s wife ruled over the day and night, and could
divide the light from the dog kennel: and God pulled a finger out.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED1:19 And the evening and the morning of the fourth day
were spent bodging furniture together. God’s was happy: and it was nice to see.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED1:20 And God said, Let waters bring forth a garden
feature and possibly the odd duck.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED1:21 And God remembered the whales and thought of a pond
with some fish. Ducks love ponds. And God remembered the garden centre had a
sale on: and it was good.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED1:22 And God thought this was an ace idea. Lots of ducks
would soon mean baby ducks, and God’s wife thought they were cute.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED1:23 And the evening and the morning of the fifth day were
spent seeing what the neighbours had done in their gardens and buying something
even bigger.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED1:24 And God said, Wildlife is great, even the creepy
crawlies: as long as they stay outside: and it was so.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED1:25 And God pondered some livestock. Where there were
cattle, there was dung and flies and things that creepeth. It would take some
looking after.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED1:26 And God said, I must find a man who is the image
of me, with my likeness: who will have
dominion over the garden when I’m too old. I need him to look after the ducks
and every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED1:27 God needed to find a man in his own image, he was to be the
spitting image of a younger him. He had also to find a female as the man couldn’t be
trusted. With anything.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED1:28 And God pondered what to speak unto them, One day
you will need to replenish the earth, and weed it: and look after the carp in
the pond and the ducks in the pond, don’t let them boss you around.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED1:29 And God said, Behold wife, I have made a herb garden:
we will never use it but it will smell nice. God also planted fruit yielding
trees and trees for yielding meat. And God said, they are ham bushes: and God’s
wife did not laugh.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED1:30 And to every animal in the garden, to every duck by
the pond, even some of the creepeth things, pretty much everywhere, God had
created edible things: and it was awesome.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED1:31 And God looked out the next day and saw that
everything was still awesome.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED2:1 The heavens and the earth were finally finished, and
God was smug.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED2:2 And on the seventh day God put his tools back in the
shed; and he rested on the sun lounger.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED2:3 And God blessed the day, and sanctified it a day of
rest: because he was knackered.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED2:4 Heaven and earth would be around for generations; God
made the earth and the heavens and not the joker who had repointed the house.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED2:5 And every plant would grow in the earth, and every
herb but it would need watering. The LORD God had not caused it to rain upon
the earth, and there was not a man to tend the ground with a hose.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED2:6 But the clouds did gather, and watered the whole face
of the ground until it was sodden and squelchy under foot.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED2:7 And the LORD God formed shapes in the ground to create
a two tier drainage effect, and into each plants nostrils he breathed the breath of life
so as to make them grow.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED2:8 And the LORD God decided to ignore his wife's southerly suggestion and plant
a garden eastward in Eden; and there he put the plants in pots whom he had
formed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED2:9 And into the ground the LORD God planted nice looking
trees and trees that would bring food; the tree the wife liked also in the midst
of the garden but more towards the back, and the monkey puzzle tree of good
looks and evil sharp bits.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED2:10 And a pipe from the water butt went out of Eden to
water the garden; and from thence it was holed into four leaky rivers.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED2:11 The name of the first is Pison: that is it which
compasseth a bit too quickly. It shall be the first to get mold.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED2:12 And the mold of that land is not good: there is
bdellium and the onyx stone to hide it from God’s wife.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED2:13 And the name of the second river is Gihon: the leak
is much smaller and compasseth a land drier than Ethiopia.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED2:14 And the name of the third leaky river is Hiddekel: the
two tier effect which makes the water goeth like a train toward the east of
Assyria. And the fourth hole made the river Euphrates.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED2:15 And the LORD God spoke to Adam down the garden
centre, and put him into the garden of Eden using pictures from is smart phone.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED2:16 And the LORD God instructed Adam. Of every tree of
the garden thou may freely eat: instead of money changing hands.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED2:17 But of the monkey puzzle tree of good and evil, thou
shalt not eat it: for in the day that thou touch it, thou shalt surely get
pricked.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED2:18 And God said, Adam should not be alone, I don’t trust
him; I will keep him busy.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED2:19 And the LORD God bought every beast for his garden, and
even fowl of the air. He brought them unto Adam to see what he would call
them.Whatsoever Adam called them, that was the name thereof.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED2:20 And Adam gave names to cattle, and to the fowl, and
to every beast of the garden; for Adam was a bit too keen.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED2:21 And the LORD God caused Adam to get tired, and he
slept: and he took one of his hands, and placed it in a cup of water;</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED2:22 The ribbing which the LORD God would give Adam when
he woke would be good. It would be even better if women saw.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED2:23 And Adam said, There is now a wet patch and little
chance of pulling.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED2:24 When a man leaves his father and his mother, and
finds his wife: they shall not be one flesh if there is trouser damp.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ED2:25 If they were both naked, the man and his wife,
and were not ashamed then possibly.</span>Eddiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13563228134023228602noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264129233584976635.post-1136010732774479912012-07-12T14:28:00.000+01:002012-07-12T14:28:59.072+01:00No, I'm not dead....lazy yes...but not dead!<span style="font-size: large;">I know I know, it’s been like forever but I’ve been busy with stuff. Yeh you heard me, stuff! Nothing in particular, just the ongoing maintenance of the cycle fleet (which now numbers in the region of 1), the ongoing maintenance of the house and its interesting rain related water feature in the cellar, and the ongoing maintenance of the kids (the boys volume control is broken and the girls sleep mode is stuck on ‘absolute minimum’). There’s the ongoing maintenance of the car, which by the time you’ll have finished reading this will need new rear tyres and who could forget the ongoing maintenance of ongoing, which is appears to be directly proportional to alcohol intake. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The biggest bit of nothing in particular was only flipping “Butlins” baby yeh!!! Or as people without children know it, “hell”. Butlins is a low fat version of Disneyland and it’s a darn sight cheaper as well. A family of four can stay for a week and nosh themselves silly in the all-you-can-keep-down buffet for the same price as just one EuroDisney ticket. Its clientele are the higher end of the great unwashed, M&S shoppers who know where Poundland is.
To me Butlins was meat and two veg heaven with a million ways to tire the sprogs out. It is also home of the redcoats. American civil war fanatics shouldn’t get overly excited because I am in fact NOT referring to 18th century English soldiers. These redcoats are a collection of perma-grin reject air stewardesses and hugely camp failed local radio dj’s. They don’t eat, they absorb all the nutrients they need through make up and hair products. They all have an amazing affinity with children and a scarily similar I.Q. Their twee-ness is so much they could use it to cut sheet steel and you’ll be interested to know that it was a redcoat’s handshake that was used as the original template for those arcade claw grabber machines. Despite what you’re thinking though Redcoats are awesome! I’d get one for the kids to play with but then there’s all the injections, neutering, vets bills, cleaning up little piles of cheese, taking it to cabarets..etc.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The majority of the entertainment on site was completely free. The pool was epic, there’s no other word for it. Wave machines, slides, rafts, there were no end of ways to be drowned with a smile. The constant procession of shows in what was nicknamed ‘The Headache Tent’ kept the kiddies highly amused for hours. Sweetshops flanked the stage so our little angels were constantly buzzing and pinging off the brightly coloured walls. An early night was guaranteed, when it was time for their bedtime you simply stopped the sugar supply and waited for the resulting crash.
Once the little banshees were tucked up in bed, either the wife or I would wander the short distance to the nearest local convenience with a shopping list consisting of two items; booze and crap to eat. To make it worse there’s a Tescos AND Morrisons just outside the gate! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">By the morning the floors were awash with empty crisp packets and chocolate wrappers while the bin was converted into an overflowing bottle bank.
Those that remember last years damp-camp in Devon will be glad to know that we got away with the weather as well. Thank you karma monkeys. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So, in summary or indeed any season I would hole fartedly recommend Butlins. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">By the way if you’re thinking of having kids I suggest a weekend at a Butlins during peak season will give you a Grand Canyon sized insight. After going you might want to consider my vasectomy blog.
</span>Eddiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13563228134023228602noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264129233584976635.post-1256533997979551392012-04-05T14:40:00.002+01:002012-04-05T14:47:21.896+01:00Yay, sneaky lunchtime rides are here again!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNRYLAcwimC0lhaCrLhmqjhQTgNjNQyESBTVN0kf7MxCf10MI1mQJGGXxaXWMEl6fK0S0H31lQEkSU7BDRHCSI-Px6pSYA7QxiARbHCF3Zl9_zwPzR0jx5q7D_CFGjhukH0uhqqCSpDbU/s1600/05042012288.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNRYLAcwimC0lhaCrLhmqjhQTgNjNQyESBTVN0kf7MxCf10MI1mQJGGXxaXWMEl6fK0S0H31lQEkSU7BDRHCSI-Px6pSYA7QxiARbHCF3Zl9_zwPzR0jx5q7D_CFGjhukH0uhqqCSpDbU/s320/05042012288.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5727911518125257970" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs6_3-pO2AlnQQhofLpKWilpehCOBVbw3fxdBUJJpKCyV4Q4wci8pBYq9EOcuY26NLZkR2VyTdclgpQaDF4JHJyikCMBsNiVGuAHtHvGX9dXTujyL9bezRGZH1Xmp52tGuSqJ5GeRnLSA/s1600/05042012287.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs6_3-pO2AlnQQhofLpKWilpehCOBVbw3fxdBUJJpKCyV4Q4wci8pBYq9EOcuY26NLZkR2VyTdclgpQaDF4JHJyikCMBsNiVGuAHtHvGX9dXTujyL9bezRGZH1Xmp52tGuSqJ5GeRnLSA/s320/05042012287.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5727911502588891746" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXI0KuIRbBo2QzNqYMWaXE9R5_OqWvExHwH1xj8EFJvCCf_SK3h-LrZIWeCi-1AG1WpfGHHU387avyyeR4uRClu9yCq5kR2K5KLvpEz86XKJqAGCQHfFS5P8OaOHVZ1N_MoSOyLmAQaH8/s1600/05042012286.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXI0KuIRbBo2QzNqYMWaXE9R5_OqWvExHwH1xj8EFJvCCf_SK3h-LrZIWeCi-1AG1WpfGHHU387avyyeR4uRClu9yCq5kR2K5KLvpEz86XKJqAGCQHfFS5P8OaOHVZ1N_MoSOyLmAQaH8/s320/05042012286.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5727911494005593058" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJt_52yFYlHS82lDr8D8kh0GL32pPRUTral36pUwNsXHPc0oaysYFLaogy5s4JSOlrBVpcvg9-9CS1E-ZuLX1L_Vw_OwKKdTTZtXXZz5soWp6_Uq7rTfsl01OGYaKH3509zkdC1kGpRII/s1600/05042012285.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJt_52yFYlHS82lDr8D8kh0GL32pPRUTral36pUwNsXHPc0oaysYFLaogy5s4JSOlrBVpcvg9-9CS1E-ZuLX1L_Vw_OwKKdTTZtXXZz5soWp6_Uq7rTfsl01OGYaKH3509zkdC1kGpRII/s320/05042012285.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5727911478929587010" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN7uGjIyEr5XMaPEaRrG0yhFQH8Kc-LSnjE0XXPvcIn6BWx1cVR5BT5ZT0DWv6n7qBhkdgUWn9exxHRSipWG6lWV14gnsDlzqfYqJkfuxHfxIMEtLZUAN-YDzNk8F9zHxjwkGvEz76ggo/s1600/05042012284.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN7uGjIyEr5XMaPEaRrG0yhFQH8Kc-LSnjE0XXPvcIn6BWx1cVR5BT5ZT0DWv6n7qBhkdgUWn9exxHRSipWG6lWV14gnsDlzqfYqJkfuxHfxIMEtLZUAN-YDzNk8F9zHxjwkGvEz76ggo/s320/05042012284.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5727911468445421138" /></a>Eddiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13563228134023228602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264129233584976635.post-8487529007430135202012-03-30T15:20:00.008+01:002012-03-30T15:27:04.694+01:00Yes, you should feel honored to know me.<span>If CERN accelerated Awesome and Stoic to the max. </span><div><span>The resulting collision would look like this:</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6AE642bGounA5PAoZCO3bDczIqNuZb3O14lytZ-kwopdgVnySUR_-J7TtPrWJp24xHl0OzX8sfe0_eSdX-_N3FlBIbvQir1Z2sFSpbwAySz4IXeHOsvJ4UyAiQRxviuczq9n4wGNxOnA/s1600/stoic.jpg" style="font-size: 100%; font-family: Georgia, serif; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6AE642bGounA5PAoZCO3bDczIqNuZb3O14lytZ-kwopdgVnySUR_-J7TtPrWJp24xHl0OzX8sfe0_eSdX-_N3FlBIbvQir1Z2sFSpbwAySz4IXeHOsvJ4UyAiQRxviuczq9n4wGNxOnA/s400/stoic.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725695004882946034" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 375px; height: 500px; " /></a></div>Eddiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13563228134023228602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264129233584976635.post-74121670554226905172012-03-21T09:40:00.003+00:002012-03-21T09:43:46.581+00:00#1000DaysWithoutMichaelJackson<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 100%; ">and look how happy they are :-)</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 100%; "><br /></span></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLxHujgClaF5R8zM8tBpYZjc6aTGz57cMvtaPzCnyESgtCa3NuLiix1-H4bDwGT4tmnnA7lDo5Cb1nvALO8_S5gN01SElnz5JQuu16NqvwwoFiCmOswPQ5UhMHg3h_E-qT1l7fU-J8QfU/s1600/yay.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLxHujgClaF5R8zM8tBpYZjc6aTGz57cMvtaPzCnyESgtCa3NuLiix1-H4bDwGT4tmnnA7lDo5Cb1nvALO8_S5gN01SElnz5JQuu16NqvwwoFiCmOswPQ5UhMHg3h_E-qT1l7fU-J8QfU/s400/yay.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5722283138517255458" style="text-align: center;float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Eddiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13563228134023228602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264129233584976635.post-54665879878932490102012-03-06T17:22:00.016+00:002012-03-07T10:04:21.061+00:00Bean me up Scotty!<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span ><span lang="EN-US">All of you will remember from my previous bloggage I was drinking liquid veg in a vain attempt to get “healthy” and buff looking. Bikini season is closer than you think! Well, the results are in and are as thorough as a Russian election, as trust worthy as a Zimbabwean election and as disappointing boring as a UK election. I was lucky enough to get two tubs of green powder from </span><a href="http://www.ayurveda4life.co.uk/">http://www.ayurveda4life.co.uk</a><span lang="EN-US">, which would translate in to £76 of your hard earned. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span style="background-color: white; " >If like me you’re a fan of pepper favoured cold Earl Gray without the bergamot then you’re in for a treat! If not then don’t worry you get used to the taste very quickly. One thing you should completely ignore is the appearance. I’m trying to think of the last time I saw that colour green and I keep going back to when I cleaned out the pond. Luckily I’m a strong believer in form following function so I was happy to park the aesthetics to one side. For single people seeking a drink relationship, Energised Greens is expensive but has a “great personality”. You certainly wouldn’t look at the mantle while you were stoking this fire. Here though, is where the doom and gloom ends. Carnivores, may I present to you a volcanic gas cloud full of silver linings for you to chew over.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span lang="EN-US" >I drank two 750ml water bottles of the stuff a day so got additional exercise walking to the toilet. The extra three pints that filled my plumbing also had the effect of stopping me from snacking and that included coffee’n’biscuits. As you all know biccies are my weakness so anything that stops them is good. Seriously, I used to live down wind of the McVities factory and had to wear a bib to catch the drool. I’d walk round mouth open wide taking large sniffs of the caramelized air. I looked like I’d fallen off a Sunshine Variety coach. With all the usual snack based sugar bereft from my diet you’d think I’d be lethargic but no. After a few days of necking the green stuff I noticed an increase in energy and alertness on a par with downing three gallons of Red Bull with an espresso chaser. After a week there was also about a half a stone of unexpected weight loss, which I attributed to having a more comprehensively flushed system. Green pooh fans today is your lucky day! There was also a slight increase in stamina. The leaner, meaner and greener me was consistently knocking time off a 25mile nighttime course I was riding. It’s hard to put a precise measurement on this as the environment insisted on changing every time I ventured out. At a guess I’d say I had between 5-10% more in the tank. Two tubs lasted a month, which is better than I thought. It doesn’t look a lot but it goes a long way, (like £5 in Poundland).<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span lang="EN-US" >The final benefit I’m going to mention is all the salad I didn’t eat. As all Simpson fans know, “You don’t make friends with salad”.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span style="background-color: white; " >In wintery, springy, autumny and summary:</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span lang="EN-US"><span >It works but it’s pricey. I’d give it five awesomes out of ten. At half the price it would easily be 9/10.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; "><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>Eddiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13563228134023228602noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264129233584976635.post-31484883352633190522012-02-20T12:30:00.004+00:002012-02-20T12:51:22.046+00:00I say bread and you say quack! I say bread…….<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9-RmgLLsy0G8WhnS6qrrd96SRATaobBxS4vNwO1HTmbxkj6CEW8cDSUZK8cGWM8pNthvtM0_q-w-qTH_P2Ge9V6jOvdh_2RekYBICXYq0v-jfqpcUikRnTwsI83unIcUnPOI_8VN41Lg/s576/you%2520taste%2520nice.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 508px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 337px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9-RmgLLsy0G8WhnS6qrrd96SRATaobBxS4vNwO1HTmbxkj6CEW8cDSUZK8cGWM8pNthvtM0_q-w-qTH_P2Ge9V6jOvdh_2RekYBICXYq0v-jfqpcUikRnTwsI83unIcUnPOI_8VN41Lg/s576/you%2520taste%2520nice.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><br /></div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Ducks. They’re playing us like fools.<br /><br />Ooh look at us, we’re too silly to feed ourselves even though we’ve been doing it since we were dinosaurs. Go on, flap off, you’re not fowling me! Ducks are the domesticated cats of the bird world. Both look cute in return for food, both only rock up when they want something, both don’t mix well with traffic, both taste nice (Google Goyangi-tan) and both know martial arts (cats become ninjas while swans learn wing karate). We need to wise up to these feathered freeloaders before we start having duck flaps installed. It’s time the ducks remembered our place in the food chain and learnt some manners. Think of a world where instead of trying to steathily eat sandwiches in the picnic area, you are free to put down your bread based snack for more than one second. Imagine a world where an orderly queue of geese would approach one at a time and ask for just the smallest nibble of your crust. Just enough to be going on with instead of the raucous, noisy, greedy, gobshites kicking off at a hundred decibels at the merest glimpse of a lunchbox. There’s nothing worse than a gung ho kamikaze mallard hell bent of scoffing your sarnies. To rub it in they even insist of flying in a ‘V’ formation as if to stick two fingers up at an altitude and speed where they know they’re safe. It would be lovely to take a gander without a gander on the take.<br /><br />The duck stops here! You’ve crapped on my windscreen for the last time!<br /><br />It’s time to fight quack in the only way how. I want everyone to order a number 42 with extra pancakes from your local Chinese every day. The excess demand will soon thin out their numbers and give them something to pond-er. The extra fat layer you’ll put on will also help keep you warm this winter. Now that’s what I call killing two birds with one stone! Except its only actually one bird and it’s not actually a stone, more like gas mark 8. Either way it smells like victory and victory smells delicious. Those afflicted with anatidaephobia, (essentially a fear of ducks) shall be given free plum sauce grenades but I reserve the right for the piss still to be taken out of you.<br />As an additional deterrent I want all airplanes fitted with Moulinex Food Blenders along the leading edge of their wings and in between the engines, just to make sure. Just like the RAF did in World War II, airline pilots will now paint their successes under the cockpit window. Crossed out swastikas will now be replaced with crossed out yellow duckies.<br />I know what you’re thinking, poor little ducks, how does he sleep at night? Very well, thanks to a goose down pillow, a goose down mattress and some goose down pyjamas and you too can enjoy such comfort with the aid of a pond, some bread and a large caliber firearm. The game is up, when ideally it needs to be in the oven alongside some seasonal veg.<br />Remember people, pancake day is fast approaching and this year we should all put a duck in it. It’s what Jesus would have wanted…and he was half mallard! Well how else do you explain walking on water? Exactly.</span></div>Eddiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13563228134023228602noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264129233584976635.post-43342435909181804072012-01-18T09:46:00.007+00:002012-01-18T11:06:43.056+00:00Diet Time…It must be the New Year!<span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;">As a rule I don’t make any rules and that includes New Years resolutions. The wife on the other hand has gone crazy health kick mental. She’s eating healthier and doing bonkers amounts of running. Quite frankly, it’s making me look bad. A wife should have more consideration for her lesser half but no, the missus wants to “be fitter” and “live longer”. It’s working too, she’s happier and losing weight like Facebook users are losing interest.<br />She has far too much motivation for one person and you can’t help but get caught up in her success. The chance to ride in her wind was just too tempting. Coat Tail City, here I come!<br />As far as diet goes, mine is pretty shocking but well balanced if you’re a carnivore. Essentially, if it moves, I’ll eat it with chips and gravy. When it comes to greens I tend to run in the other direction. By running I can also ensure I don’t get any verbal off slow moving veggies hell bent on giving us top-of-the-food-chainers a free lecture. Save your strength hippy!<br />But whether I like it or not I am a tiny part omnivore, which means I need to eat non-meat stuff. Annoyingly vast quantities of spuds don’t count. The better half is literally eating stuff that grows out the ground! Like plants and that, I think they’re called “vegetables”. Ain’t no way that’s going on MY plate! I mean, it’s green, like bogies but even more so. Do I look like a rabbit!?!<br /><br />Fortunately there is an answer! </span><a href="http://www.ayurveda4life.co.uk/"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;">http://www.ayurveda4life.co.uk/</span></a><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"> make this stuff called Energised Greens. It’s powdered veg which when mixed with water make a drink that resembles the stuff you find at the bottom of a pond that normally can only be removed with bleach and a sand blaster. That’s probably a bit harsh, some bleaches smell nice. I can condense the “How to Take” instructions into a single line; as quickly as possible and don’t let it touch the sides! Despite its appearance though it is still infinitely better than consuming the equivalent amount of daily fruit’n’veg portions. It also has the added benefit that you don’t feel like you’re depriving some poor bunnies of their food. Stick that in your lentil pipe!<br /><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEVYCNZdtgZkZSryIvXdknN6FRRXw9sq_ilTqhIN3T11gbdtZVn3ldtV8F7AZrDGBGajZOFNuAb7sip_GLwXzKav2bl_8K1FUqek-5PmRMZ5Hyl2I1jECXGyThiW0lInYk_T7TqdcgngZs/s576/war.jpg"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 539px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 368px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEVYCNZdtgZkZSryIvXdknN6FRRXw9sq_ilTqhIN3T11gbdtZVn3ldtV8F7AZrDGBGajZOFNuAb7sip_GLwXzKav2bl_8K1FUqek-5PmRMZ5Hyl2I1jECXGyThiW0lInYk_T7TqdcgngZs/s576/war.jpg" /></span></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><br />which one is which again?<br /><br />As for exercise, well those that know me will already know that on a mountain bike I am a laser guided, precision tuned, finely crafted athlete with unlimited strength and endurance…..in my head. The green stuff is designed to make me go even faster! This slightly alarming prospect is actually quite appealing, as I tend to go towards things that scare me a little. That particular behavioral trait would certainly explain the whole night riding thing, my vasectomy adventure and the people I associate with. My friends list on Facebook for example is like a who’s who of the weird, disturbed and wonderfully mental. I’ve set myself a weekly mileage target which would embarrass airline pilots and ride times which can be used to track my progress.<br /><br />It is my intention to pwn this health thing, (“pwn” – I am so down wid da youff innit!). My insides are now at war and war is never pretty. My stomach is having Vietnam style flashbacks to when it used to see green food on a regular basis. My alimentary canal will be a Waitrose where once there was a Netto. My arse will be its own Concorde moment. </span><br /></span><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">For someone who doesn’t do veg the future is a little bit squeaky bum. Results to follow. </span></span>Eddiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13563228134023228602noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264129233584976635.post-34161052762503403122011-11-18T10:14:00.001+00:002011-11-18T10:20:08.024+00:00Post Dramatic Snip Disorder<strong><br />There is no denying that I have saved the world. </strong><br /><strong><br />Having a vasectomy was sure to put the world’s population numbers on a plateau. You can all thank me later because right now I’m dealing with something of a growing problem. Anyone who has read the blog below, followed me on Twit’n’Facebonk will know the operation was a flawless success. Going in with eyes wide shut and outstanding naivety had paid off massively. However, rescuing mankind it would seem was not without its cost.<br />Becoming a jaffa can result in more than just losing your pips. Post Vasectomy Pain (PVP) and infections are the biggest nutaches. There are other possible ‘complications’ as well such as scrotal hematomas or allergic reaction to the chromic acid in the stitches. It’s well worth reading about…after you’ve had it done.<br />My little swimmers can give David Walliams a run for his money and they were none too pleased at being told they couldn’t go on the tube slide anymore. They aren’t suited to a life in the shallow end so they're taking their revenge.<br />In my case Day +12 was where the fun began. From nowhere I started to get plumpain on a par with giving birth to twin Zepplins. There was also a swelling in my pants, and not the good kind! The swelling briefly looked like a third love spud and I considered what it would be like to have trip-locks. A third more testosterone would get me kicked out of the Tour De France so it’s a blooming good thing I’m not a pro-cyclist. I decided that no good can come from having tiddlies that resemble a New Delhi train during rush hour and that I should probably get help or something. I won’t mention the oozing around the stitches, it was just too gross. The awesome Dr. M who had performed the surgery agreed to see them for a second time. His bravery was made even more impressive when you factor in the appointment time was after lunch. After a quick fondle he concluded that I had an infected man udder. He also suggested taking the stitches out. I agreed because apart from having a slowly inflating space hopper in my scrotum “all looked good”. Putting them in didn’t hurt, why would taking them out be any different?<br /><br />#EPIC #FAIL<br /><br />Naivety it would appear only works pre-op. It smarted a bit I can tell you but I’m glad he did because within minutes the vast majority of the pain had gone. Vanished like the prospect of becoming a daddy again. He made out a prescription for some anti-bi-ollocks and I was away at the speed of a legless sloth.<br />Space is still at a premium ‘downstairs’ but at least it doesn’t hurt anymore. I will just have to wait for the drugs to kick in and the swelling to unswell. I've single handedly halted the population growth, there’s no way I’m gonna let my plums fill the void!<br /><br />to be continued...(hopefully not)</strong>Eddiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13563228134023228602noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264129233584976635.post-69871372643115146152011-11-07T11:15:00.002+00:002011-11-07T11:20:21.848+00:007 Billion and NOT counting.<strong>Our species had hit the big 7 billion the media announced; it was time to commence Operation: Deweaponise My Nads. Codename: Seedless. Project: Blank. Objective: De-Plum. Mission: Unleaded !!!</strong><br /><strong>This is the story of my journey to slow the population explosion by having my bollocks taken off the grid. A gripping tale of transformation from Optimus Pomigranite to Bumblejaffa. A quest to defuse genitals and turn the tide by having “the snip”.<br />However you want to put it a vasectomy was the only way to protect our planet from my baby making love spuds. For too long they have threatened people numbers with a ‘semenly’ limitless ammo of man fat. This was the double dip the world needed.<br />Making the arrangements was easy and there were no end of local GP’s that could do it. I visited one and they told me in detail what was involved. However, all I heard was blah blah blah, no more babies. After four years of two babies and zero sleep this was all the incentive I needed. Being a bloke I naturally went into this the only way we know how, with eyes wide shut. I booked a date and began the countdown. At Day minus 20 all I could think was: ppff, I’ve got ages yet. At Day minus 7 this had been upgraded to the more serious: ooh, me thingy is next week, I should probably read the leaflet or something.<br />On the bloke scale of panic there is very little time between DEFCON 5 and DEFCON 1. From vague concern to headless chicken can sometimes be just nanoseconds. It was this realisation that made me read the leaflet at Day minus 1. My conclusion: yeh I’ll be fine. I’ve found that it’s very easy not to be worried when your head is in clouds of blissful ignorance and a fog of naivety. </strong><br /><strong><br />Day zero : cometh the hour, cometh the man #phrasefail. In total denial of what was about to happen, my only nerves came from my lack of nerves. Fortunately me, and the Victoria Cross worthy ‘Dr M’ hit it off like two Canal Street regulars on a bender. It was important that we did, after all future lives were in his hands.<br />Considering this was about to be the gayest experience of my life, Dr M was awesome. He’d probably fondled more scrotums than the local bishop but he did it at F1 speeds and with the touch of a Russian grand master. Seriously, the guy was a pro. He had a blade in one hand, a soldering iron in the other and only the slightest glimpse of sadistic pleasure in his eyes. If ever I need my undercarriage tinkering with in the future I’ll know exactly who to call. </strong><br /><strong>While he desparkled my crown jewels we chewed the fat about golf and mountain biking. He explained that there would be no riding for me for at least the next two weeks, and no biking either, fnar fnar. It was only a minor ballache to add to the major one I should expect after the op. While I lay there I enquired about installing Sky Sports on the ceiling but it fell on deaf ears. I explained to the nurse that a 19 inch flat screen would fit perfectly between the two strip lights but it wasn’t to be. Sorry future egg-bashers, I tried I really did, but you’ll just have to lie there starring into a world of poorly lit magnolia like I did. The previously mentioned soldering iron was actually for electrically cauterizing the offending tubes. The only off putting bit was the burning smell, it was me, it was my bollocks, they were on electric fire! Life doesn’t get any more awesome when you realise a stranger is tickling your plums with a scaled down light sabre.<br />All in all, apart from briefly having electro-balls it was a bit of an anti-climax #phrasefail. The whole thing from lying down to standing up took fewer than twenty minutes and was on a par with going to the dentist. The sterile environment is the same, the same anaesthetic is used, the proceeding pain is roughly the same, they both want you to jizz in to a test tube 16 weeks later etc etc. The only difference seemed to be which end they were working on.<br />After my bollockoptomy I found my wife waiting in reception. She was more worried than I was and was a total hero for ferrying me home during her lunch hour. She’d even prepared a ‘carepack’ for me which consisted of some mountain bike mags, some booze, some ibuprofen and a shed load of chocolate. She was awesome and in total agreement about how this procedure was way worse than child birth. I’m basing our conversation on the age old adage that when she says no she actually means yes. She REALLY meant it.<br />Back at home I made comfy on the sofa, but not as comfy as my now useless onions which nestled in the finest Endura chamois panelled cycling shorts. There they would lay locked down and motionless for at least the next day. If you’re squeamish I would advise not looking down for quite a few days as you might be surprised to find what looks like two rottweiler puppies chewing on a cocktail sausage. Apart from the initial change of vista in the trouser department the recovery time is quite quick. Sure, for a few days you’ll walk like you’re in Planet of the Apes but this is nothing when you consider the reward. I had done the world a massive favour by guaranteeing not to add to it anymore. There was also a second prise of equal awesomeness, the very real fact that with the current batch of kiddies growing up and with no more sprogs in the tubes, I could at last attain the parent holy grail.</strong><br /><strong><br />SLEEP.</strong>Eddiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13563228134023228602noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264129233584976635.post-74081941307575191062011-08-03T12:45:00.005+01:002011-08-03T13:05:51.577+01:00Why I'm better than you. Part 1 of loads.<strong>Humans are apes who have broken their instinctive programming patterns. We can easily override what natural selection has spent several billion years perfecting. We are the product of evolution, environment, nurture, nature and what’s on offer at Morrison’s. </strong><br /><strong>Every now and then our baser instincts get tested to the limit, but b</strong><strong>y tolerating the stupid and not giving in to anger we make our human qualities better. </strong><br /><strong>To make myself a ‘better’ person I like to test myself. I do this by listening to a short arsed mystic who seems to find it rewarding to stand aloft a sturdy wooden box in the middle of town while bellowing his witchcraft. I believe his book of spells is called the Bible…? My test is to see how long I can resist the urge to shout “Twat”. My current record is 4.8 seconds but I’m confident I can numb myself to his rambling bollocks and get my time to well over five or even six seconds by the end of the year.<br /><br />“You sir, are you a sinner?” he shouts.<br />“Yes I am!” shouts a local completely deflating the little gobshite.<br /><br />Yes he was a sinner, and proud, which is probably why no one was starring at him and thinking ‘freak’. The cards were heavily stacked against a looney with a soap box. First of all as I mentioned he was short, hence the wooden box. Secondly, he was ginger. Jaffa is the dominant gene that proves even nature can get it horribly wrong sometimes. Next up, he was wearing glasses. Finally, he was yelling the word of “our Lord”. Now everyone in this country loves an underdog but the Right Reverend Stumpy Gingafoureyes had crossed the tolerance line. He had one spanner-characteristic (spackeristic) too many. Even though I admire his gun sticking I think he would have had way more success/an audience if he’d shouted out Harry Potter instead.<br />Thanks to some seriously subtle penning, you might have noticed that I don’t really do religion. I have a Catholic upbringing to thank for this. The only religious saving grace is Hinduism, which acknowledges that the universe oscillates and is several billion years old. You’ve got to doth your cap for working that one out. </strong><br /><strong>Life in junior god squad was dull, I did all the usual: First Holy Communion, First Confession, First Naked Polaroids for the Bishop etc However, this worm turned at the point of Confirmation. When you’re young Confirmation is just a way of getting a middle name and some lame-arsed present to say well done you’re officially a Catholic now. To be confirmed meant extra bashing and no one wanted that. As some of my fellow pupils had already been confirmed the teacher at the time went round one by one and asked us who was being “done” this year. For some reason I was at the back of the classroom and last too be asked. I’ll never forget the look on my class’ face when I instinctively said ‘no, not me’. Without saying a word and in perfect unison the entire un-done class span round and gave me a look of “WE HAD A CHOICE????”. In hindsight I have to thank the reptilian part of my brain. In a fight or flight on-the-spot kinda moment my dino-brian did both. It’s yet more proof that I’m subconsciously awesome. Either way from then on life slowly got easier. I've gone off the lapsed Catholic scale and become a coma'd Catholic.</strong><br /><strong>I'll probably have to spend enternity in hell but I've been to Blackpool so it should be alright.</strong>Eddiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13563228134023228602noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264129233584976635.post-6903852093658802442011-07-11T11:57:00.007+01:002011-07-11T13:03:50.500+01:00Camping....part two<strong>After leaving a ruin in ruins we headed back to the campsite to rough it in our portable big top. The kettle, DVD, dry clothes and air con were put on in that order. I say air con, it’s more like a mesh window with its own flappy bit of tent material that controls the flow of air. It’s a floppy Velux really. When I opened it the warm damp humid air was instantly exchanged for much cooler damp humid air and some rather coarse language. But this was no time to moan, there would be plenty of time for that later. After all we were in a paper thin grandiose wigwam sheltering from teeming rain and a typhoon in a soaking wet field in the arse end of Devon. Life was good. With grumbling tummies we watched the bears catch salmon from where the car park used to be and our attention turned to food. The grizzlies were eating all the game fish and we were saving the venison for an emergency snack. The scallops in vintage soy sauce, assorted mushrooms and okra in lime cups were ready but the Krug was nowhere near chilled enough.<br />Only one course was open to us, we’d have to pub it.<br />We dinned and then dined heartily on burgers, chips, gammon, more chips, chicken nuggets, beans and a few more chips all washed down with several pints of lager and some Fruit Shoots for the wife and I. The more than reasonable prices meant we would have to buy more crisps and chocolate on the way back. </strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">larger lout</span><br /><strong><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOodsfuqKHd0XqfHx3zOn1BlCjoRsOWFAHObTYyEjt8Ic3pEW42NYRPEjBLY4WEdcmUYrg2-Eb2n7VDm6QrmZfltlGuOvmjWq6ULefOS6rNSXYitiKpqpfcY2d9jIwR0bl3n2RiLCl9x4/s1600/largerlout.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628047484209818322" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 180px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOodsfuqKHd0XqfHx3zOn1BlCjoRsOWFAHObTYyEjt8Ic3pEW42NYRPEjBLY4WEdcmUYrg2-Eb2n7VDm6QrmZfltlGuOvmjWq6ULefOS6rNSXYitiKpqpfcY2d9jIwR0bl3n2RiLCl9x4/s320/largerlout.bmp" border="0" /></a></strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Once our bellies were full we ambled, grunted, sighed and burped our way back to the unshapely chalet. Bloody good thing it was mostly downhill. The rain had eased a little and the bears had moved down river to buy ice creams. We reflected on the day in the living area and planned the next days adventure; the zoo. On the promises of lions and tigers the kids bolted and vaulted to bed like Thompson gazelle while the wife and I said prayers to Teflon, the god of waterproofing. Just one more night, that’s all we needed.<br />The zoo was a mere Howitzer shell away from the campsite so we had enough time to demolish an entire variety pack of cereals. I mixed some Corn Flakes with some Frosties together because I’m crazy and renegade like that. We had arranged to meet Granny and Granddad at the zoo car park at 10am before it became too busy. Meeting inside the zoo was too risky as first thing in the morning Granddad has the appearance of a tweed wearing silver back. Apart from the clothes the only thing that separated him from one of the primate attractions was a vague wiff of mothballs and Marmite.<br />We arrived at precisely 10am while the relics finally made an appearance at 10:02am. As a penalty for gross time keeping they agreed to pay our entrance fee. We waited patiently in the queue while Granddad filled out the necessary re-mortgage paperwork. One arm and one leg later we were in!<br />The hours flew by as we starred at empty enclosure after empty enclosure. With a little help from a tower and the Hubble telescope we did see a tiger. Well I say tiger, at that distance it might as well have been a sheep in a costume.<br />Just a note to all zoos out there: nocturnal animals, why have them if you’re only open during the day? rare fox my arse! it's a few random holes in the ground and you know it. </strong><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">An escaped monkey</span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSk2QAFSqMPa2J0WWHz8nFsEeL8d10_U_sqtySpnubYwuHcY4mNPmtkeKH1pVZJNMVxTJEzpMNVLSyG9EKga5n8BUVSam9_XuIHOOAv88CLBD5zdGIaAF5twRda5jj6SbALMWwrxbIsR8/s1600/escaped+monkey.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628047482531513922" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 180px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSk2QAFSqMPa2J0WWHz8nFsEeL8d10_U_sqtySpnubYwuHcY4mNPmtkeKH1pVZJNMVxTJEzpMNVLSyG9EKga5n8BUVSam9_XuIHOOAv88CLBD5zdGIaAF5twRda5jj6SbALMWwrxbIsR8/s320/escaped+monkey.bmp" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Fortunately this particular zoo had clued up on its typical audiences attention span and placed an adventure playground every two hundred feet. </strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">Colditz with wood bark</span><br /><strong><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOUDhjJvCyMRjdvOMWMMfZLhJ2Lr77Qgjg-7JYFUlWFjuFaLOmVYh8IawNlq33IVjDRM2sK2xwLL8jCjQCPAuJcfC4gY2t5IngHhQv1-evvd9qcszqdqPgsMBI3ed9-uuoGuF_S0kcJ-k/s1600/deathtrap.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628047481626271810" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 180px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOUDhjJvCyMRjdvOMWMMfZLhJ2Lr77Qgjg-7JYFUlWFjuFaLOmVYh8IawNlq33IVjDRM2sK2xwLL8jCjQCPAuJcfC4gY2t5IngHhQv1-evvd9qcszqdqPgsMBI3ed9-uuoGuF_S0kcJ-k/s320/deathtrap.bmp" border="0" /></a></strong><br /><br /><strong>As we progressed the adventure playgrounds became ever more like an SAS assault course and there were no end of opportunities for parents and carers alike to have heart attacks while they watched.</strong><br /><br /><br /><strong><br />By the time we got to the tourist trap at the end the kids were too knackered to bother with fluffy pink elephants or replica rhino turds. Result.<br />To be continued………</strong><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><br /><div></div></div></div>Eddiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13563228134023228602noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264129233584976635.post-33631339630726245322011-06-30T14:37:00.011+01:002011-06-30T15:01:38.393+01:00Holiday<strong>I’ve been camping!! </strong><br /><strong>No no, not the kind you’re thinking of. This involved pitching a tent, looking at who had the biggest and things going bump in the night. Despite the weather arsing it down for 72hours straight we still had an awesome time. This was largely due to the fact that our temporary abode was borderline palatial. There aren’t many occasions where you can proclaim how proud you are of your erection without much embarrassment, but this was one of them. Me, the missus and the sprogs slept in the north wing. The carpeted living room, kitchen area and south wing were used as a dumping ground for the wife’s vital essentials. </strong><br /><strong>We had gas powered heating/cooker, electric, TWO tv’s, four beds, four chairs, two tables, and a larder. We were proper slumming it. Drinking water came via two five litre water holders which were filled from a tap about 25metres away. It was like being homeless or something! </strong><br /><br /><br />(behold, the Ritz)<strong><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/270063_10150208595756646_678011645_7671070_7752464_n.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 566px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 310px" alt="" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/270063_10150208595756646_678011645_7671070_7752464_n.jpg" border="0" /></a></strong><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p><strong></strong></p><br /><br /><br /><p></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><strong>The only glimmer of luxury were the toilets. You’ve never seen clean like it. Confused men kept wandering out to check they were in the right bog. The potpourri and “soap” were really quite intimidating. The showers, crappers, urinals and sinks were cleaner than a royal wedding. The mirrors were so clean you could see your face in them! Despite my best efforts to draw willys and boobs in the condensation they never lasted more than a day. There was even piped in music.<br />I’m going to recommend them to the tourist board.<br />Other than the wc’s the campsite itself was barely acceptable. It only had two heated swimming pools! The crazy golf was nowhere near crazy enough although gaffer taping knives to the windmill and putting piranha in the water hazard did help a little. The shop was very good but their sensible pricing meant they lost massive points on the captive audience front. We had to spend nearly twenty quid on chocolate and crisps before even felt a little bit ripped off. The onsite soft-play was clean as well. None of the balls in the pit smelt of wee or anything! I can’t comment on the tyre swing as I was asked to leave before I could measure the tread depth. I felt this was a tad unfair as I was both “over 3 years old” and clearly “taller than the bunny ears”. I’ve left the exact details with my solicitor. A long time was spent at the outside play area with its wooden fortress and connecting slides, even the kids enjoyed it.<br />We decided that the rain shouldn’t ruin our camping adventure. We should let it ruin our excursions as well. With the sat-nav route set to “B-roads only” and “popular with caravans” we ventured out. Instinct and flood warnings guided me to a nearby castle. Small boy plus real castle equals a quiet afternoon. The castle in question had been there for six hundred years. I can’t imagine what it had seen and endured over that time but I’m pretty sure it’s biggest test was my son with his stick sword. You could feel the six feet thick stone foundations move as he charged the ramparts and shouted through every arrow slit. Hell have no furry like a three year old fuelled up on Hairbo. The noise he makes at full gusto could split atoms.<br /></strong><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/261355_10150208596161646_678011645_7671078_2002579_n.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 303px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 546px" alt="" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/261355_10150208596161646_678011645_7671078_2002579_n.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="right"><br />(he's smiling because five minutes ago there used to be a roof....job done)</div><br /><p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></p><br /><p></p><br /><p><strong>After several hours of charging round like a mentalist he relented and calm was briefly restored while he crashed out on the back seat. His younger sister is much more civilized and decided to do the usual and eat herself to sleep.<br /><br />To be cont’d….</strong> </p>Eddiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13563228134023228602noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2264129233584976635.post-79738932366595721862011-06-08T11:29:00.001+01:002011-06-08T11:34:43.360+01:00SUMMER, get it while it's hot!!!<strong>The rain is that little bit warmer and I’m down to just five layers of clothing. You know what this means!!!<br />Summer is officially here. If you’re a bee, wasp, fly or any other winged insect, then you’ll have probably flown through our house recently. Sorry about the state of the place. It’ll be a lot tidier when you reappear stumbling across the carpet in autumn moaning that it’s too cold to fly.<br />It’s also a time for us cavemen to make fire in a rusted out barbeque and give everyone food poisoning. Thanks to some industrial sized tree pruning I now have an inexhaustible supply of fuel. So much in fact that I’ve had to purchase a hatchet. Surely, it’s one of the all time man-tools of all time? It comes with a lifetime guarantee on all ‘chopper’ jokes. The leather sheath just adds to the man-ness of it all. It has a flat end for battering stuff and a nail puller, but I’m not sure what that bit does.<br />My little chiminea is now constantly primed and ready to go at the drop of a swan vesta. How can a mini-axe bring so much pleasure? Who cares! Now stand back while I try to cleft this wood and keep my digit count in multiples of five.<br />Ladies, there’s no point in you trying to rationalise our love of fire. After all we don’t rationalise why you need quite so many shoes, or your love of Glee. Gawd don’t even get me started on Glee. I’ve had to recalibrate the shite-o-meter for that one.<br />The all time man tool of all time full stop is the knife. Alas though, we’re not allowed a proper one in the house because you girlies will use it as a screwdriver and end up with a free trip to A&E. The sharpest blades in the house are on your Venus razors and you can’t whittle with one of them….I’ve tried. I ended up with a very smooth lollypop stick and not the vicious pointy sabre tooth scarer I was trying to craft.<br />Summer is short in the UK. Normally it’s two weeks in May and then about five good days spread across the rest of the year. The exception is the south coast, which enjoys endless summer suns. The old and people with a metabolism the speed of a glacier love it down there. However, the prevailing southwesterly wind has meant there is a constant smell of old wee wee and Werthers Originals around Dover. I’d love to blame the French I really would but this one is our fault.The rest of the country enjoys almost continual assorted shades of grey. It’s not always been like this though. Oh know! only a few thousand years ago in Skara Brae (Orkneys), (top of Scotland), (the lumpy bit above Newcastle), (haggis munching kilt wearing wineoland), (yes there), the sea was full of fish that today are only found in much warmer tropical waters. Nowadays those fish have long since vanished, probably down the gullet of the nearest penguin. Go back in time a bit further and you’ll find Birmingham under a mile of ice. Happy days. The UK is obsessed with the weather because we get so flipping much of it. In the two minutes it’s taken to construct this drivel it has rained, blown a gale, been nice and sunny and finally settled on rain again. Last week it was hotter than Miami. Today it’s colder than a vengeful polar bear drowning some kittens for fun. I don’t know whether to wear shorts or skis. I’d cover my arse and wear both but the colours would clash horribly. Maybe if I had a different pair of shoes to match every single item of clothing I own and then sub-divided them into say ‘winter’ and ‘summer’ outfits I wouldn’t be in this mess…..? It would take an organisational genius and a mammoth wardrobe space to figure that one out. Ladies, over to you.</strong>Eddiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13563228134023228602noreply@blogger.com1