The battle of wounded knee

I haven't written here properly for ages. It's been a busy month at work and outside work too come to think of it. This month we've had fiends Andy and Vivian to stay, and cousin Silvia. All guests have gone now, but we have more coming at the start of August. Like I said, busy.

In addition to all that, my knee has swelled up like a balloon. I first noticed this last weekend. That would be the weekend of 18-19th. So I made an appointment with the doctor on Monday 20th. As usual I couldn't actually get to see the doctor for a week, so by the time I did see her, on Monday 27th, it was the size of a football. It didn't hurt though. The doctor confidently informed me that it was a cyst. In my usual blunt manner I asked her what a cyst was, and she told me it was a collection of fluid. Brilliant I thought, I could have told her that. Anyway, she offered to drain this cyst.

It gets a bit gory here.

She stuck a very large hypodermic needle into the swollen knee and sucked out about a gallon of bloody fluid. Then she held it up to the light and said, "hmm, wasn't expecting blood". Doctors should really think before they speak. This didn't fill me with any confidence at all. I'd spent the previous evening reading the family medical encyclopaedia and had already convinced myself that I was crippled with arthritis.

I tend to think of doctors, lawyers, and accountants as a separate breed of people with special powers. I think I would treat witches and wizards with the same kind of reverence if I was a muggle living in Harry Potter world. Point is, I will believe anything a doctor tells me without question because I consider that even a bad doctor probably has more knowledge about medicine than me, and the consequences of not believing my doctor are too awful to contemplate. It's the same with lawyers and accountants. But I digress...

So, picture the scene, she's looking at this fluid, deep in thought, and muttering things like, "I wonder if...", and "I suppose it could be...". And I'm thinking about writing a will. Eventually she decides to send it off for analysis, and I'm all for that because then some other super-human doctor can tell me something definite that I can believe. She also says I should see a knee specialist. Why do doctors all specialise in such specific things? I mean why don't you get knee and elbow doctors? They can't be that different. She also sends me for an x-ray and a blood test to make sure there's no broken bones or internal bleeding.

Apparently bloody fluid means that there is likely to have been some knee trauma. Well I don't remember any knee trauma recently. There is certainly something going on there though because although the swelling went right down to nothing when she sucked the fluid out, it went right back up like a water balloon 24 hours later.

So I went to the diagnostic radiology department this morning for my x-ray. I got there early thinking I'd be waiting for hours in a waiting room full of sick people. I had my laptop and book. Actually I was called very quickly. They have this funky system of changing cubicle things, all in a row. They ushered me into 8B and told me to remove my trousers and put on the robe, which I did, backwards as it turns out. I was expecting to have to come out of the cubicle in my robe to go to the x-ray room, but no, they have this secret door in the back of each cubicle which suddenly opens as you take off your robe to put it on the right way round, and it leads straight to the room itself. Lucky I was wearing underwear.

So the x-ray took all of 15 seconds and the bimbo who pressed the button told me it would take up to 10 days to get the results to my doctor. 10 Days!!!! Why don't you email it? I mean what is the issue? I could walk to the doctor with the blasted thing in an envelope under my arm in about an hour. Well I could if my knee wasn't doing an impersonation of Mr Greedy.

So I had my x-ray done, the next thing on the list is the blood test. So I went back to the doctors' surgery at 10.20 to be drained of blood. They were behind schedule and I didn't get out until maybe 11. Apparently my doctor is leaving to be an accident and emergency doctor. While I was there I decided to make a new appointment to see the doctor after my x-ray results come back. So I made an appointment for 12 Aug, and made a joke about grouse shooting which went completely over the head of the receptionist. I wasn't sure whether I needed to make the appointment since I'd been referred to the knee specialist anyway, but I figured I could cancel it if I wanted.

When I got back home I found a letter informing me how to make an appointment with the knee doctor. It's a very neat system. You can book our appointment on the interweb with the password they supply. Sadly, the waiting list to see the bloody knee doctor is 5 weeks apparently, so it's lucky I did make an appointment with the other doctor first.

So, that's where we are now. I have a swollen knee and I'm waiting on test results. I can't help thinking there are some jokes here about it costing an arm and a leg or something. I'll work on that.

Anyway, it's Wednesday and I'm going to try and write at least one more entry before the end of the week.

Oh, it was my birthday on Saturday, so thanks to everyone who sent birthday wishes on facebook. I didn't realise that it magically informed everyone of my age, but there you go.

Did you notice by the way that yet another study has concluded that organic food is no different to any other food? It makes me wonder how many studies will have to come to this conclusion before anyone starts believing it.

I'm going now, Psychoville tonight I think. Have a nice evening.

Me and the Boy Playing Boats (pic)

So, Monday again, whoopee.

England just beat the Australians in the second ashes test at Lords.

I mentioned last week that his Holiness the pope slipped up in the bathroom and broke his wrist. That in itself had some comedy value, but today I read that three nuns in a Ford Fiesta were stopped for speeding at 120 mph as they raced to the Holy Father's bedside to check on his condition. The nuns, aged 56, 65, and 78, were pulled over an hour from the Holy holiday chalet and told police, "We had heard how the Pope had fallen over and we were on our way to make sure he was OK."

I so hope this story is true, but my hunch is that there is some exaggeration here. I've owned a Ford Fiesta and I'm quite sure mine couldn't have managed anything like 120 mph. Even if it did go that fast, I'm not sure I'd have the balls to do it. Damn things are only slightly more substantial than the average bicycle. I suppose that one could argue that the brides of Christ had better insurance than me. It does appear from the report however that the driver, Sister Tavoletta, lost her licence and was landed with a €375 fine. She is apparently planning to appeal.

My knee has swelled up like a balloon. It's most odd. I've made an appointment with the doctor. Seven days wait to see a doctor, shocking. I'm going to see if I can find a few other ailments to present while I'm there. I want my damn money's worth.

We took the radio controlled boat out yesterday to the canal. It was fun actually, though the battery only lasted a few minutes. The boy thought it was fun too, though he's not much good at driving it. He tends to send it rushing into long weeds at great sped. I had visions of having to wade in to get the damn thing. I've been wanting to try it out for days, but there's either been no time or it's been peeing down with rain.

Two Hours

I got to work late today, about two hours late in fact, because my train broke down and I was stranded between Didcot and Swindon for two, yes two, hours. I'm going to apply for a ticket refund, but I'm fairly sure I'm not going to get it. I figure they also owe me £8 for the taxi from the station which I had to catch because I missed the last morning shuttle bus.

The Pope has slipped up in the bath and broken his wrist apparently. I don't tend to concern myself with matters of the Holy Father, but this event occupied my mind for more than a few moments. Do you think he swore? And if he did, what language did he use? German? Latin? Italian? I have visions of his naked arse hitting the tiles and him shouting, "Holy Shit", possibly in classical Latin.

Someone has died in our local hospital from swine flu and it also appears that one of the staff at the boy's nursery is sick with it. Great, I guess that means we're all going to get it.

It appears that a company on the same industrial park as my office, has been "testing" an airport scanner in the street. They deny that is the type that sees through clothes, and that it is recording anything, but who knows? It's not like they are releasing any data. It would appear that the device has now been removed after concerned passers-by raised the issue with park security. But the story made it to the BBC web site and one or two ladies in my office appear to be slightly concerned that they have walked past the device twice a day for the last two weeks without knowing what it was.

My bus stops right outside my office building, so I seldom venture round the park on foot. I do occasionally stroll over to the post office, sweetie shop, or cash point machine, but I haven't noticed a "suitcase sat on a tripod". Had I known it was there, I'd have been dancing past it at every opportunity showing off my body piercing.

I started writing the following earlier this week, but it never got posted:

All the papers this week seem to be reporting that Tony Blair is "in the frame" to be first EU president. To be fair to the media, it isn't without substance, this is all down to Baroness Kinnock spouting about how Blair would be the government's choice of candidate. I still don't understand why they have made such a big story out of it however. There is no legal framework in place that even defines the role of EU president. In fact, the Irish have yet to approve and ratify the Lisbon Treaty, and until they do, or until another treaty is ratified by every nation, the job is simply not going to exist. Blair is absolutely desperate to be EU president of course, and for reasons that absolutely mystify me, the media are still in love with the bastard.

THE MAN STARTED AN ILLEGAL WAR ON A BULLSHIT PREMISE!

I think Irish ratification is far from being a done deal. And I think most Europeans see Blair for the slimy shit he is. The French would never vote for him, and I doubt that the Germans would either. The British probably wouldn't even drag themselves to the polling booth, but if they did manage to put a cross next to a name, I don't think it would be Tony Blair's. Why then does the media, almost without exception, seem to think his arse-hole plays the theme from Superman every time he farts? It's astounding to me.

Surely it is only a matter of time before someone drags up some ghastly evidence that will drown Blair forever. I'd like to know why his expenses were conspicuous by their absence when everyone else's were published. First we heard that the paperwork was 'accidentally shredded', then that it wasn't. But we still never saw Blair's expenses. He seems to have escaped without them being published. What about that time he lied to parliament about his involvement with Peter Foster, the convicted fraud whom he hired to broker a deal on some property in Bristol? How come he didn't fry for that? Then there was the case of Dr. David Kelly who apparently committed suicide after he was publicly abused by Blair's government for daring to question the contents of the now completely discredited Iraq dossier. Surely that should have ended in a trial, but it didn't.

My own opinion; he's made a pact with the devil.

I still have it

I have been reunited with my old unicycle. Long, boring story, but it turned up in mother's garage and I picked it up when we went down to Devon at the weekend. I can still do it. I've gone a bit rusty, but I still have it, see...



And in case you were thinking that I can't really do it and that the picture is just a snap that someone managed to get before I fell off, go to the Dragon's YouTube site to see me in action.

I was thinking, friend Dickie wants me to do the World Naked Bike ride with him next year. Do you think a unicycle would be over the top? I may try it in the garden first. It could be dangerous.

Not only was my old unicycle in the garage, but my brother had left a radio controlled tug-boat for his nephew. I'm not sure how he came to be in possession of this item, but it's really rather good. I haven't taken the boy down to the canal yet, but I am intending to do so. We need to get a charger for it, but it looks to be in good shape. I'm quite looking forward to it.

It peed down with rain on Saturday, and every moron in the country appeared to be trying to slow my progress on the M5 as we drove to Devon. It cleared up on Sunday however, and I cut the grass. It doesn't sound like much, but think field. And I have scratches up my arms from the hawthorn trees.

I didn't write anything last week because things were slightly hectic. Auntie Silvia came visiting from Taiwan, and I took the day off to go to Windsor on Thursday. The flag was flying, so I assume her Maj was there. I looked through a lot of windows but I didn't see her.

Nudity, just because

It's 8.45am. I've been at my desk for 20 minutes and I have achieved nothing. This is because the figures I need to compile today's reports have not arrived. On top of that, our new 10MB internet link, heralded yesterday as the greatest advance since man stopped eating dirt, is dead. So I can't even read the latest Michael Jackson news. Incidentally, Alan said yesterday that he was expecting Michael Jackson to rise again on the third day. Now that would be a hell of a come-back tour wouldn't it. But I guess it didn't happen. Or maybe it did. How the hell would I know without access to a news website?

So, I'm typing this on note pad, quietly cursing to myself and drinking black coffee. I actually managed to get here early this morning thinking I would be able to get some of my workload moved. Granted, I only achieved this by accident when the train in front of the one I was aiming to catch was sufficiently delayed that I was able to get on it. It completely confused me actually because we arrived on a different platform. I should count myself lucky that I made it out of the station really.

I have special discount rail ticket vouchers that I am intending to use this weekend. For a mere £40 I can take my family to London on the train first-class. I'm intending to take the boy on the London Eye. I can't book tickets or check the weather of course because the bleeding internet doesn't work. Well anyway, expect to see a report on that early next week. Come to think of it, I'm assuming the boy can travel free on the train but I'm not sure he can. If he can't, that will cost another £10. We can have lunch in China town and go to Hamleys. Oh, how we love Hamleys. Hope it doesn't rain.

Two nudity stories in the news today caught my eye. Firstly, a New Zealand airline has found a novel way to get passenger to watch the safety video, they present it naked. It's quite fun because they are all body painted as if they are wearing their uniforms. It's tasteful, but I watched it all the way through, and I don't think I can say that about any other airline safety video.

Secondly, an office in Newcastle has had a Naked Firday to improve staff morale. It's apparently going to be covered in Naked Office on Virgin 1 on July 9th. I'll certainly be tuning in. I wish my office would do something like that. It seems pretty much the whole office joined in and had fun doing it.