I’m not wearing my brace
You’ve had it out for an hour now, put it back in
I don’t know where it is
It’s behind you
I know
Well get it then
I don’t want to move
Turn round
I could blog this
But that would be really lame
Yeah. I’m gonna, though

Someone came to Dreamdust having done a search for ‘how to clean blackberries?’. In case they return, I feel that, in the name of science, I should reveal my two patented methods: (a) don’t bother - dog piss and exhaust fumes from a country lane are part of the “experience”, or (b) pick the blackberry, lick it and then eat it. Or, I guess you could run them under a tap if you have lots. Licking a punnet of blackberries one by one would probably take a while.

You’ll all be disappointed to hear that despite my blackberry wisdom, I have nothing to offer on the other search that came up a couple of weeks ago: “english male to male spanking”. Now there’s bigotry if ever I saw it. Bloody immigrants, coming over here, taking our spankers.

—

Somewhat later: my hearing sucks. I thought the guy on the phone wanted Fernie. He’s not here, I said. Who’s that? he said. Sarah, I said. Who’s Sarah? he said. Hmm, maybe he didn’t say Fernie after all, I thought. I’ll ring his mobile, he said. Ok, I said. 1471, I dialled. Local number, it said. Ah, wrong number, I concluded. My ears don’t work, I lamented. Blog entry, I wrote.

There’s something mighty satisfying about having a reasonably good hair day, wearing good clothes and having an expensive camera slung round your neck when you come face to face with someone from your past. After all, nothing says high achiever better than a Nikon D50 ;)

I’d gone for a walk, taking my camera with me, and came across a wedding at St Thomas a Becket church. That said, I didn’t actually see a bride, but I thought cars decked out with ribbons and women in hats was a fair indication of nuptials. Having taken my pictures of the view from the Glebe, I came out towards the lane just as the guests were heading towards their cars. Having first seen and greeted the secretary from my primary school, I then saw Mrs Rowell (headmistress of Weald)! We said hello and I gave her the concise version of what I’m doing nowadays: self-employed - web design - big Austrian. Mrs R admired my camera and off I went on my merry way.

I took 177 photos today, which nearly filled my 512mb card. It’s clear that I shall be putting SD cards on my birthday/Christmas list, cause I’m planning on taking mega-millions of photos on the Galapagos trip. I must also teach Suzy how to use my camera, otherwise there isn’t going to be any proof of my presence on this trip!

mmm, chocolate barrel …

Just got back after nearly two hours at the hospital. I had a bit of a wait as there had been an emergency earlier in the day, so they were running about an hour behind. Still, I’ve been the emergency myself at least twice in my career, so I don’t mind waiting a while. Even if there are dangerous-looking mullets and slightly crazy people sharing the same waiting room with me. Not to mention the hospital assistant with the fiercely over-pencilled eyebrows, who would actually look quite cool, were she to only learn the art of blending and of not-pressing-the-eyebrow-pencil-into-one’s-eyebrows-as-if-one’s-life-depends-on-it.

Eventually I was called in to see Mr Cynk, who looks a bit like Nigel - but you wouldn’t mix them up, even in a dimly lit room. But quite what Mr Cynk and Nigel would be doing in a dimly lit room together is a matter for another day. My x-rays were up on the lightbox and rather than simply waving them around in front of me, I was actually allowed to look at them this time. My conclusion? That stone is one big mofo. If this was an x-ray in Harry Potter, that lump of calcium would have waved at me, or at least winked.

The doc proudly told me, “I have a little laser” and it is with said laser that he plans to burrow into me, come face to face with the stone and beat the living crap out of it. The laser will vaporise some of the stone and the rest will be turned to rubble. Maybe that’s how they make hundreds and thousands. Anyway, yes, rubble. Then he’ll put in a stent to act as scaffolding within the pipe where the stone doth currently reside and over the next couple of weeks, the rubble will pass through. Then back I go to have the stent removed. I will then sell it on eBay.

The stone is quite high up within, so possibly, the doc will go in, fail to come face to face with it and insert the stent to dilate things. Then he’ll come back and pulverise the stone with his little laser and take out the rubble and the stent all in one go. Either way, it’s a two operation, err, operation. Much as Chris’s removal of my abscess was. And we all know he only broke a bit of it off the first time as an excuse to see me again. Cos two weeks in a hospital without washing one’s hair does wonders, wonders, I tell you, for one’s appeal.

I was asked how tall I was (6′4″ for those of you who don’t know me) and Mr Cynk said he’d have to get a smaller stent, but it won’t be a problem. He’s marking my case urgent as the stone is in a slightly precarious place and although the kidney is doing pretty well in draining despite it, he doesn’t like to leave stones in longer than is necessary. So at some point, my kidney and I will be summoned to spend the day in hospital and once more I will have an anaesthetist telling me “this is just a painkiller” as he injects the anaesthetic and I drift into unconsciousness, thinking, “lying bastard”.

Not for the faint-hearted (not that they’re welcome here anyway)