We were looking forward to my dear wife’s birthday. All our plans were laid for the shopping trip to gather the necessary things for dinner and guests, the celebration with her parents and the last of the Christmas shopping. Before turning in for the night my wife decided the dogs needed a last walk. So, wrapped up in her winter clothes, she ventured off into the snow clad evening. Which was all OK until she arrived back at the house. Missing her footing on the way up the steps, she slipped and landed face first on the concrete. Bleeding, crying and spitting shards of broken teeth, she staggered into the house. Not surprisingly, she had suffered a little damage, breaking two upper front teeth and splitting her lip where her teeth had been forced through the skin.

And so it was, to add to all the other things that have gone wrong for us in 2009, we ended up in the hospital at a little over midnight and waited there for over an hour for a doctor. The doctor was of no help at all. “We never sew lips.” was the only response that years of medical training could come up with. Home again.

I didn’t sleep well. Nor did my wife, but she managed to fall asleep in the wee hours and I resolutely rose my bed and waited for the dentist surgery to open. I rang them the minute they opened at eight in the morning. Explaining the accident and describing the damage to my dentist, he promptly cleared his calendar and made room for my dear lady at 10.00.

By 11.00 we were out of the surgery and on our way to the shops. My wife has a fat lip that looks like something out of a Hollywood plastic surgery. Drinking is a hit and miss affair due to the swelling but her teeth look good. The lip will heal but it puts a damper on her birthday celebrations.

Hopefully, this is the last bit of bad luck for this year. I have to believe that 2010 is going to be a whole lot better!

I’m sure you all know the phrase, “Lay down with dogs and you wake up with fleas.” Said in other words, beware the company you keep. Our two Dachshunds keep us in very good company. Especially now, where the nights are getting cooler and sleeping in their beds on the floor may not offer them the comfort to which they have become accustomed. Which leads to some pretty strange nocturnal shenanigans going on at the shack in which we all abide.

It isn’t so much that we lay down with them, it’s more them laying down with us. They absolutely love sleeping in the same bed as we do. Preferably, in the middle of the bed. Between us. And they are very fond of pillows too. Which all means, that it gets crowded at the top end of the bed at night. So much so, that I sometimes have to simply do an about turn and end up sleeping with my head at the foot end of the bed.

This has nothing to do with me being sentimental with regard to the dogs. No. It is all physics. Gravity, to be precise.

I am heavier than the dogs. This means that I, being of the size I am, cause a deeper depression in the mattress than the dogs do. They, being the shape they are, then roll inexorably downhill and end up in my armpit. Or jammed solidly up against my back. They are wire haired. That itches. I move away. the dogs roll further downhill. I move again. So do they. I fall out of bed. They don’t. They now have my side of the bed to themselves. If I try to sleep in the middle of the bed, then i am eventually squashed between my good lady on the one side and dogs on the other. Yes. I’m heavier than my wife too. So she gets to roll downhill as well. My case is hopeless. I am, as they say, undone. The solution is my 180 degree flip. Isaac Newton, eat your heart out.

The good thing about all this is, that my feet stay warm. The dogs are delightfully warm. Electric blankets are no match for those two and it’s cheaper by far, electricity prices being what they are thanks to the bloody social demofarts and their bloody green taxes on everything good, modern, useful and comforting.

And the fleas? No. Between the baths, the constant combing and the flea drops, the dogs are pest free.

I’m not so sure about me though….

I’m home after the operation to remove the cancer from my ear. It isn’t pleasant. I have a huge wad of gauze in my ear, soaked in gooey yellow antiseptic fluid that leaks slowly down over my neck and sloshes backward and forward in my ear canal as I move my head. The surgeon, not wishing to encumber me with bandages, has stapled a dressing to my head. It is anchored by six staples, one through my upper cheek, two in my scalp and one or two behind my ear. This is uncomfortable but acceptable. I now have body piercing that would make a youngster writhe in ecstasy. Luckily, there is no pain at the moment but my ear itches like the devil was tickling me with a feather. I have been measured, weighed, starved, stuck with needles and had catheters inserted in my arms. My blood has been harvested several times. I have had the “don’t smoke” lecture and finally, yesterday, I was hacked about by a very clever surgeon. I am told, they got it all. My upper left arm has donated skin to my ear. That wound hurts more than my ear does.

I don’t recall much about last night. The anæsthesia had it’s grip on me still. My wife was there, I was hungry and tired even though I’d been asleep for most of the day. I ate, took pills and sat on my bed. I watched TV while trying to recover some sense of consciousness and mobility. Finally, after my lady had left me, I fell asleep.

And then I saw the angel.

Soft white light emanating from somewhere above and behind her illuminated a shock of short, wild, wavy white-blond hair that perfectly framed her face. I gazed into the greenest eyes I have ever seen. A button of a nose above the most perfect mouth one could imagine. She was dressed in brilliant white.
Something had obviously gone very wrong during the night. I felt a bitter sweet regret and was glad that I had spoken with my wife the night before and told her I loved her. I felt relief, knowing that I had lived a good life and that now I was being welcomed into heaven by this vision of loveliness before me. It appeared that we atheists are right after all. I closed my eyes for a second. Opening them, she was still there. As I looked upon her, she spoke the three words a man loves to hear. She spoke softly in a language that I understand, but with an accent that was slightly foreign to me.

“Here’s your breakfast.” said the angel. I thought, “Are all angels Norwegian?” and then, suddenly, I was wide awake.
Wow! Quick reality check. Yep. I still had all my vital parts and no pain to speak of. Oh, happy day!

“Tea or coffee?”

“Tea, please.” 

Six o’ clock and all’s well.

Man, it’s good to be alive!

I realise that title might be a little offensive to some, but here are a couple of pictures of the two birds that follow my dogs around as they rummage around in the leaf litter of Autumn. They show no fear of the dogs or me, realising that they can fly off at the drop of a shutter. A lot of people don’t like these big black birds. I find them magnificent and fascinating.

These two are fast becoming friends of ours. The dogs have given up chasing them and they follow us through the park picking through anything that the dogs have disturbed. The one with the sun burst markings on the chest is by far the least wary. He was about five yards from me when I photographed him. Enjoy!

I knew today wasn’t going to go well. I got up early, the sky was black with clouds and one of the dogs had thrown up. On the bed. There was nothing but a bill in the post.

Being my cheery self, I put all this aside and headed for the kitchen to get a cup of tea. There is nothing that tea won’t cure. My dear lady wife went out with the dogs and I sat down to enjoy my tea and read the news on the text TV. After this, the morning went as it usually does and at one thirty, I set off for work.

I got to work OK and we all got ourselves organised for the evening shift. There was a lot to get done. We started. My boss appeared out of his office and called me in.

The company is restructuring, he said, he had made a tough decision. Not lightly, he assured me and with deep regret, he fired me. The evening shift is no more. I am allowed to take the next three months off with pay and then I need to find a new job.

I’ve been here before. I’ve worked at several places during the last ten years, all with about two years between start and stop. Two places closed down while I was there, one I quit because it sucked, and one place fired me, but wrongly. I sued the guy and won.

But this one is a bit different. I was happy there. I liked the place and I had a good team working for me.

Ever the optimist, I’m sure something will turn up. We’ll see. In the meantime, I’m going to sort my garden out, explore a few possibilities and generally relax for a month or so. Life has taught me that when you’re at the bottom there’s only one way it can go. Up.

I daresay the dogs will enjoy having me home. I could always become a full time dog walker!

.. who says the Blues is dead, or all one number. This is a piece of modern Blues that will blow most people’s socks off.

Robert Cray and Shemekia Copeland. Cop this, break down over your coffee and believe. The Blues lives.

I was off to see my doctor the other day. I have been suffering with a minor irritation in my ear for a while now and decided he should have another look at it. I know it’s a form of eczema and I think I have infected myself around my eyes, having been sticking a finger in my ear to scratch the itch and then using the same digit to rub my eyelids and so on. That appears to be true, but while he was peering into my ear hole, the doc said something along the lines of, “I don’t like the look of that…”. “What?” I asked. “That sore.” he replied. I knew it was not going to be good news.

I was sent to a skin specialist yesterday. He peered into my ear hole too and said pretty much the same as my doctor. I have a skin cancer in my left ear lobe. It isn’t going to be any fun getting that removed. He took a biopsy sample of it. That hurts.

I’ll have to wait fourteen days for a result. The “result” being a confirmation of the type of cancer. I don’t really care what type it is, I just want it removed. The specialist is convinced that I will have to go to an ear hole expert, who will then recommend a plastic surgeon who will finally do the operation. I asked if I couldn’t be sent to a real surgeon instead of a plastic one, but the joke didn’t seem to work on him. This is serious stuff, apparently.

I’m having mixed feelings about this. After the scare we had a couple of months ago with my wife and the possibility of her having cancer in her throat, which luckily it wasn’t, it now appears to be my turn. At least I can see this little bugger. I can see it with the help of a webcam. It isn’t large, but it’s there. I can visually direct my hatred at it. I couldn’t do that in my dear lady wife’s case. Luckily, I suppose, this is external and get-at-able. I have had small skin cancers before. I have had one removed from my left cheek and one from my arm. Both were of the non-aggressive type, small and fairly common by all accounts. I hope this is the same. We shall see.

I suppose now, I will have to give up smoking through my ear.

Oh well. It could be worse. This is only my ear hole.

I could think of far worse holes to have this happen to!

We took the dogs for what is becoming the annual check up yesterday. The vet looked at them last year when we first adopted them. They have been with us a year now. The smaller one of the two was the immediate problem for us. She was underweight, depressed, apathetic and not really the happy go lucky young dog she should rightly have been. Months of being moved around from home to home, kennels and goodness only knows what else had really had it’s effect on her.

Her sister, the larger one of them was in somewhat better shape. Weight OK, happy enough, playful and generally in good health. Actually, she weighed a tad too much according to the vet. By about 500 grams.

This year things are different. Both dogs weighed in at 10 kg’s. Which means the little one is as heavy as the big one having gained 2.5 kg’s in a year. They both need to lose a little now. The little one has livened up no end. No longer depressed, curious about everything, lively and sometimes a real little bully. I don’t know why the larger dog doesn’t put her in her place. Maybe it’s sisterly love.

They have come along nicely in the past year. My dear wife treats them like children. They eat very well too. She fries liver, chicken, small steaks and pork chops, lamb chops, chopped meat and who knows what else for them, to compliment the dry food they otherwise get along with all the goodies they get as rewards throughout the day. They have each their own bed, complete with pillows and eiderdowns, not to mention the mattresses. These are abandoned in the middle of the night and they end up on our bed instead, filling the space between my dearest and myself. The sofa is their preferred resting place. They harry us to take them out for the morning, afternoon and evening “walkies”. They have toys to play with. They are getting used to being bathed and combed. We can handle them now without them growling or whining. They trust us now. They defend our property with all the bark they can muster. I rather think they enjoy the barking. They do it a lot. They come when we call them. They greet us when we come home, even if we have only been gone for minutes, with a real concert of bark and squeak and showing of plundered socks and slippers. I have very few socks left. They steal them and chew them up and then proudly present me with the remains.

All in all, I love having them around. They are the perfect distraction, a source of endless amusement and great company. They changed our lives and I wouldn’t be without them now.

I may be barefoot, but I’m happy.

And if you think I’m fat, you should see my dogs!

The Cote D’azûr is not quite what I expected. I was looking for golden sand beaches but I found only pebbles the size of footballs peppered with smaller pebbles and gravel. One cannot walk on the beach without some form of footwear to protect the soles of one’s feet. Apart from that, bathing in the Med was a treat and I enjoyed bobbing about in the 26 degree warm water. The weather was glorious and altogether too hot, about 31 in the shade. Even the locals were complaining. Blue skies, cold beer, good food and lots of water. The weekend in Nice was great.
We stayed at the Splendid Hotel, which it was, about 400 meters from the sea front which is known all over the world as Le Promenade D’Anglais. Once on the Promenade, one could easily believe one was in Brighton. The only difference being the huge palm trees and the traffic on the wrong side of the road for the Brits.
Old Nice is a pleasure to wander about in. The streets are narrow and the buildings are high and they protect one from the sun, which was giving everyone a hard time of it while we were there. Luckily, there were numerous places to fall down in a chair and quench the inevitable thirst.

And now a word of warning. I realise that one can’t take a holiday for free and that however you try to figure it, the tourist industry is only granted a certain amount of time each year in which to make it’s money, but how can a small beer possibly cost €10.00, no matter where you drink it? A small bottle of water costs €3.00 in any café. €8.00 for a coffee. Why? Overpricing seemed to be the order of the day. It was certainly so when it came to food. At least I thought so. What I paid for it, was way too high considering the quality, or lack of quality, of what I got. And that is a general observation. After eating at different restaurants for four days, one gathers a certain experience. Too little and too expensive is my own conclusion.

OK, for our last evening we went to the famous Koudou restaurant on the Promenade. The food was exquisite, the wine was to die for, the service was excellent and the price was actually not bad. Certainly not hugely over expensive compared with what we otherwise paid at lesser establishments. I recommend that others going to Nice try it.
Beware of the restaurants on the beach. They will charge you a tariff ranging from €14.00 to €26.00 per person just to sit in their chairs. That price goes on top of the bill. They don’t advertise the fact that they do this, so be bloody careful if you feel you want to eat close to the sea because it looks romantic. It probably is, but damned expensive too. And it could come as a nasty surprise if you eat close to the amount in your wallet. Suddenly finding out that you brought €50.00 too little is hard to explain away.
Nice holds local festivals. We were lucky to be in town on one of those occasions. We knew nothing about it in advance but simply believed that all the extra activity on the Prom was due to it being Saturday night.

Wrong.

We ate at a little restaurant from which we could see down to the beach. At 22:00, music could be heard coming from the beach area and then a 45 minute fireworks display that simply knocks the socks off anything I have ever experienced before, got under way. It was magnificent. I can’t be sure, but perhaps it was Jean Michel Jarre’s music we were hearing. It was a marvellous and totally unexpected event and I feel lucky to have seen it.

All in all, we enjoyed ourselves there. I used, perhaps, a little more money than I would have liked but the whole experience of the South of France was enjoyable. I tried out my broken French, learned a little more and generally had a whale of a time. I may even go back there in the future. If I do, I will probably hire a car and venture off into the area around Nice rather than stay in the town itself.

That will have to wait for another day and will be another story.

Nice is nice, or so they say. I don’t know, so I’m off to see it for myself. My dearest significant other has booked the flight and the hotel and packed the suitcases, so I only have to enjoy the trip. It’s not that I couldn’t have done any of that myself, but she’s a control freak where this sort of thing is concerned. I get put to other uses. Like distracting the dogs and such.

Talking of the dogs; I gave them a good bath this morning so they’re nice and fresh to go and visit my parents in law while we’re away. I don’t think they’ve quite forgiven me yet, but we’ll see. Tomorrow, I have to drive them about 40 miles up the road and they don’t care much for that either.

See you all again on Tuesday. I’m off to try a little luxury in the South of France.