Blah, blah and more bloody blah.

I don't really have a huge lot to say at the moment, being as I've been off sick for the past three weeks with another sodding flare up of the sciatica I had earlier this year. I have to say, so far 2007 has sucked. Big style.

I've just been to the loo (slightly TMI there, but just indulge me for a moment) and on the way back to the living room decided to make myself a cup of tea. Spiced Chai Latte (part of the instant tea range from Whittards, which I adore) and I've just had to stop myself from crying. I am so fed up with everything. I don't think I've had a year quite this bad for a long long time and I feel like I'm struggling to cope. I know it's small beans compared with other people, but then, as I keep telling people, you can't compare yourself to other people. Down that road, madness lies (as Yoda might well have said).

I think it's just that I feel like a big, fat, useless failure. Logically, I know that's not true. I have my own flat (which I bought all on my own), I have a pretty good job and I have a lovely family. I also have some absolutely terrific friends. I just keep thinking that I'm letting everyone down - that I'm a constant disappointment. And I can't seem to shake it off, that big black cloud hanging over me.

I've made a start though. My new doctor (same surgery, but different doctor - I will NEVER voluntarily see my previous doctor ever again) is lovely. So much so, that I actually mentioned my weight to him. And he didn't make me feel like a total freak or a total loser. He was just lovely about it. I rarely mention it - even to my family or friends - because it's horrendously emotional and I really worry about not being able to handle letting those emotions out. I can't spend my life like this, it's got to change. So I made that first step. And it felt good. Realistically, I know that it's going to take time and that it's not going to be easy, but I have to do it. Otherwise I'll go under.

Releasing my inner librarian

I have spent all day faffing about here. It's an absolutely fantastic site and a wonderful way to lose hours and hours of your life.

Being a qualified librarian (and certifiable geek) I've been after a way to catalogue things like DVDs, books and so on, but this is much more. You can add films that you've seen (big or small screen), the TV programmes that you watch, music you listen to and so on. So far I've catalogued all my DVDs (100) but I've barely scratched the surface of my book collection (151 so far). I suspect that's going to take absolutely ages.

I've done some of the films I've seen and some of the TV programmes that I watch now and used to watch. I haven't started on my cds yet, so that'll be fun too.

And, in other news, this week has been noticeably brighter than last week. In fact, I've had a lovely Easter weekend just pottering about happily. And my back is improving all the time, which I think helps immensely.

Oh how we love British Gas

Remember this?

Well British Gas are at it again. Or at least, that's what my suspicious mind suspects. I got home last night, there's a lovely note addressed to 'The Occupant'. This could be any one of the 4 people living in this building (in 3 separate flats), none of which are specified.

And yes, it's another disconnection notice. Just over a year since the last one. My gas supplier hasn't changed. It's still nPower, just as it has been for the last SEVEN years.

I have tried ringing the number on the slip, but 'Jasper' isn't answering his mobile. The nice people at nPower said that they must have the wrong address. I just suspect that they're trying to make a quick few quid. Muppets. No wonder people complain about them so much.

Happy Birthday Dad

It would have been my dad's 63rd birthday today. And I would have loved to celebrate it with him. Unfortunately, that's not going to happen, because he died 11 years ago. The reason I say this is because I've been thinking about him an awful lot of late, for reasons I am about to explain.

This year hasn't had the happiest or easiest of starts. My boiler finally gave up the ghost, leaving me without heating or hot water - and necessitating the expenditure of nearly £3000 to get the problem sorted out - I ended up (after laying out £500 in a desperate attempt to coax the old one back to life) getting a brand new one installed, which has been functioning perfectly.

Just after that was sorted out, my bathroom ceiling collapsed. There's a very long story attached, involving one of the stupidest people it's ever been my misfortune to meet, the previous owner of the flat upstairs who really couldn't give a damn and the new owners, who weren't told of the various failings of the previous tenant (aforementioned stupid person - who managed to burn a hole in the bath. Seriously.) That's still waiting to be fixed, so I currently have a big gap in the ceiling, through which I regularly get falls of rubble.

And then, just as I was getting my head round those two little 'problems', I ended up with a slipped disc and attendant sciatica. I have NEVER experienced pain like it and I never want to again. I was away from work for four and a half weeks, the longest I've ever been off sick. I have now been back three weeks and I am still snowed under. And my back/leg is not totally healead. It'll take a long time, these things generally do. And I am making pretty good progress, all things considered.

The one thing I tried not to think during all this year was 'Oh god, I want my dad.' Because it just makes it worse. I think today's brought it all out because my thoughts naturally drift his way at this particular time of the year. And because I know he'd have made it all feel better. He'd have dried my childish tears, given me one of his bearhugs and sorted it all out. He was always there. And frankly, I have sometimes have no idea how I have managed without him. I miss him every single day and for that there is no cure.

Time heals, or so the saying goes. Up to a point, that's true, but there are wounds that stubbornly refuse all efforts, scar tissue that remains resolutely painful. Things you learn to live with. You don't get over them, just accept that they are there. Some days are better than others, so you just have to steel yourself to get through the bad ones.

So there you have it. It's that day again. And I just want to say that I love you, Dad. More than I could ever hope to put into words. And I have to hope that you knew that.

Fashion tips for numpties

This evening, as I was waiting for my second bus (having shown myself up on the first one by appearing to have a seizure - I was trying to rid myself of unwelcome attention by an arachnid) I noticed a shifty looking character waiting at the same bus stop. He was clad in a white tracksuit top, black tracksuit bottoms and brown brogue type shoes.

BROWN shoes? With black trousers? That's all kinds of wrong, right there. Not to mention that it just looked terrifyingly odd to be wearing fairly formal shoes with tracky bottoms. You would think people would know these things. Or maybe they just don't care.

Maybe I'm the freaky one for thinking about it quite so much.

Tranquility

You can't buy this in any shop, apparently. And I should know because I've seen the advert about 15 times today. And it's driving me ever so slightly round the bend.

Quite why anyone would want to buy a set of cds that include dodgy covers of such things as 'I Will Always Love You' and 'Nights in White Satin' done via the gift of pan pipes is beyond me. But perhaps that just speaks more about my bitter and twisted nature than anything else.

I've also discovered that any advert featuring Jamie Oliver gets my hackles up immediately. I can't even put into words exactly what it is that annoys me so much. I think it's the way he always seems to be showing off - 'look at me, just tossing all this stuff together'. Gimp. And don't lean over everything. I'm sure that's not hygienic.

I am back in the land of the (barely) living

At least, that's what I have to keep telling myself. After adventures in the land of sicknotes, I returned to work last Monday. And from the chaos rampant at work, you would think I had been off for months, rather than weeks. Okay, I know it was 4 and a half weeks, I know it was not well timed, but heavens above, do people not have initiative to use?

My colleague coped admirably with my absence, though given that we are already doing the work of three (possibly four) people between the two of us, you can imagine what he's had to deal with. And of course, once you're back at your desk, people automatically assume that you're totally tip-top and up to full speed. Nope. Nuh-uhh. Not a frickin' chance. I'm lucky if I get to quarter-speed. And then it's with a following wind.

But you're owed the saga of my sick note. Oh boy. A tale and a half. First week, I waited until the Wednesday (even though I didn't need it until Thursday), rang the doctor's surgery early in the morning. The first receptionist I spoke to was a beauty. I said 'I wonder if you can help me, I have a serious problem with my back.' At this point she interrupted me with 'Don't we all? I've got a really bad back.' I was so stunned I couldn't speak for a moment but carried on regardless. I explained that I wasn't in any fit state to go back to work and could I get a sick note. No, I couldn't make it to the surgery, the doctor would have to come out. Blah blah blah. Anyway, it turned out that the doctor was busy, so could I ring back later. Which I did, went through the same rigmarole and finally got through to the doctor. He was rubbish. Admittedly I already knew that he had all the bedside manner of an air raid, but there you go. He grudgingly agreed to a sick note for a week after I'd had to argue the toss. He also said that he'd write me a prescription for some painkillers and stuff. Lovely. Great.

Only not quite. Then came the small matter of attempting to get it picked up. First they said, we'll send it. Then, no, we can't do that, it's not policy. Could I get there to pick it up? My eyes were rolling so hard they nearly fell out at this point, but I patiently pointed out that if I'd been able to get up there to see the doctor, I might not even have needed a sick note. Pfft. So, I had to try and arrange to get the sick note and prescription collected. Unfortunately, the earliest this could be done was the following Monday, due to a combination of me being a div and other people being busy as busy things. Unfortunately, I didn't actually get the painkillers and stuff until the day after when a friend popped over to see me and went to the local pharmacy.

If I'd had the drugs earlier, I might not have needed a further sicknote, which I attempted to get on the Wednesday. By the way, this is the first time in my entire life I have needed anything like this and from the runaround I got, I will be making damn sure it's the last. So I started ringing at 8.45 on the Wednesday morning, explaining that the doctor wanted to see me, but that I was unable to get there, due to being in severe pain and whatnot, so he would have to come out to see me. And was told to ring back later, because he was busy. So I did, at which point he was in a meeting. Rang back, he was still in the meeting. Rang back, he was on another line. Rang back again, to be told that he wouldn't give me a sick note, because he needed to see me. At this point, I burst into tears and explained that I'd rung several times to explain this and yet all I'd been told was to ring back later. The receptionist was very nice and spoke to the practice manager, and they booked me in there and then for a home visit. Naturally they couldn't say when the doctor would be arriving, but it was definitely on his list.

So I waited. And waited. Then waited some more. Until 9pm in fact, when I pretty much gave up on it. I'd not done anything to eat or drink in case I missed him, so was feeling pretty grim. So I rang the next morning straight away and spoke to the practice manager. And asked why the doctor hadn't turned up. She was very good, said that she'd been there and seen that it had all been booked in and everything, couldn't understand what had happened. I said that I was now sans sicknote, in a bit of a state, naturally and still in pain. So she said she would hand this over to the doctor on call for that particular day. (The previous day, it was my own doctor who was on call. The one on whose list I am registered and who shall henceforth be known as Dr Shithead.) And give him his due, he rang exactly when he said he would. Backdated my sicknote to cover the correct days (in addition to being a grumpy arsehole, Dr Shithead had also started the sicknote on the wrong sodding day. Gimp.) and was the very model of politeness. And then, guess what?! They actually POSTED the ruddy thing out to me. Honestly, the mind, it just boggles.

When I went back the next week (I could actually sit for a few minutes, so risked a taxi ride up the hill), I saw the lovely new doctor (who I will be seeing from now on. Dr Shithead will be a distant, if annoying, memory) and discovered that there's only a sodding pharmacy IN the surgery itself. And that they have a collection/delivery service for people who are housebound. Words fail me. They really do.

I only hope that the next time I need to call on the services of a doctor, this particular practice has raised their game considerably. Muppets.