News update

First, and foremost, I had an appointment with the Advisory service yesterday regarding suitability for John to live with me or his mum. The meeting was very late, very rushed and very interesting. In short, to be told that what I have done so far is "admirable" says that I already have the person dealing with our case on side.

Secondly, I have a new photo. Most of you that did look last week were disappointed at what you saw, so this week I thought I'd give you a view of what you were expecting.
See it here
Again, no responsibility will be accepted by vomit inducing clicks. The yellow stuff is iodine, not "goop" (TDT's lovely description of what has been coming out for weeks). In the meantime I have been seen by a doctor regarding my much bloatedness (as much as 8" extra around my waist from one day to the next), and expressed my concerns regarding sleepiness. This also set off warning bells and I was sent for a blood test, where a young nurse who obviously previously worked at Dewhirst (the butcher's) made a right mess of my left arm. To say I felt a prick is an understatement.

Big cats in the neighbourhood

Back in the land of the South Londoner, imagine my surprise to find out that a black puma/panther has been spotted not two miles from where I was dragged up. Then, more surprisingly, it made it into that local paper that another (presumeably same) black cat had been seen not only in the locality, but in the woods where I played as a child.Then the hysteria started. NewsShopper reported on it (with artist impression), London Lite, and apparently even the Sun (but I can't find the link for this).
Then, some bright spark posts a video. It follows the path from the top of the woods right down to the bottom, and as you get near the bottom a big cat can be very clearly seen. Meanwhile, both me and BLS will be screaming with glee that someone's actually filmed where we were regularly caught lighting fires or playing man hunt.

Enjoy!

The Beast of SE19 from Andy Pontin on Vimeo.

A nice easy quiz

Apparently my quizzes are too difficult, so here's a nice easy quiz for you.

1. How long did the Hundred Years War last?
2. What was New Mexico named after?
3. Which country makes most Panama Hats?
4. In the story "1001 Arabian nights" what nationality was Aladdin?
5. What nationality were the original Pennsylvania Dutch?
6. From which animal do we get Catgut?
7. In which month do Russians celebrate the October Revolution?
8. What material was used to clad the sides of the US warship "Old Ironsides"?.
9. What is a Camel hair brush made of?
10. The Canary Islands are named after what animal?
11. What was King George VI's first name?
12. What color is a Purple Finch?
13. Where do the Cuban Lily and Confederate Rose come from?
14. Upon what hill was the Battle of Bunker Hill fought?
15. Who is buried in Grant's tomb?
16. What bird has the scientific name Puffinus puffinus puffinus?
17. What is another word for Thesaurus?
18. What color are White Rhinos? 

Answers please, as normal, in the comments box.

Blame

I blame TDT (the delightful Tania) for lateness again. Up at silly o'clock last night ("I don't want to go to bed, it means the weekend will be shorter"), and then up at silly o'clock this morning to take her to Bristol Airport. I returned home at lunchtime, and fell asleep.

So, it's all her fault. Talk amongst yourselves.

Apologies for lack of post...

Today I have mostly been driving to Bristol to pick up the delightful Tania (stopping on the way to drop the Johnaitch at school and to see my old boss and have a cuppa), driven home again (stopping on the way to have lunch), visited the doc (seeing the surgeon next Tuesday), gone shopping (booze), made dinner, eaten it, fired two fireworks, typed my blog, watch TV and a film, and finally gone to bed.

Normal service service etc on Monday, at some point.

In the meantime, why does time see to fly when TDT (the delightful Tania) is here?

OK, Health update time...

I know that some of you will want to know how things are going in my belly button department, so it's time for an update. First of all, what they actually did. I found this out yesterday, when Paul the nurse at the local surgery told me the notes from the operation had finally arrived. 5 Hernias. Yes, 5. The belly button itself was the worst one (obviously) but the other 4 were spread across the area, which is why so much of my belly was distended (that's my excuse, and I'm sticking to it). The operation went to plan, with major reconstructive surgery on the 'umbilicus' (note: why can't they just call it the belly button?). Successful with the hernias, they then placed in the large titanium mesh that now sits behind my whole belly, by sliding it in rolled up and unrolling it. Unfortunately, this required a large 'pocket' to unfold, and this is why they filled me up with so much air, and also required that they cut through my abdomen muscle. They then tried to sew me shut. It was at this point that things started to go wrong, hence why it went from a 30-40 minute op to 2 hours. Sewing the area shut was, in Paul the nurse's words, like "sewing wet tissue." It was disintegrating as soon as anything pulled on it, meaning that in the end they sewed my belly to the front of the mesh in pockets of 3 dissolvable stitches (9 pockets in total = 27 stitches). They also glued the whole kit and caboodle into place, which will explain why I now have a fetish for superglue (just kidding Tania). They then sewed and glued the incision across the belly button itself, with two very large and complex stitches. Job done.
Now for the past 2 weeks things haven't gone to plan. A week after I came out, I had a haemotoma (see: pocket of blood) on the front of the belly button. This should have been reabsorbed back into the skin, but wasn't and is now dying. This means I have a large black lump at the front of the belly button. I say large, but Paul the nurse keeps cutting it away. This amuses BLS immensely, who has asked repeatedly if she can a) have the lumps or b) at least have a picture. Here you go sis (I must warn you, do NOT open this link if you are even slightly squeamish, or like Pork Scratchings. I accept no responsibility for messy vomit contained woe.) This also means in the meantime they have to repeatedly clean and redress the wound, and yesterday another 4 chunks were debrided (I'm learning all the terms). I even mentioned how we could dry them out, add a little salt and sell them in a pub. Even Paul the nurse was green at this. The dead stuff is obviously rotting whilst still attached however, and the smell is completely unique. Take something slightly sweet, chocolate is a good example, and then mix it with the smell of the worst feet you've ever known (Remember Ian Susan?) and then multiply the whole thing by 10. Yes, that bad. It has also lead not surprisingly to an infection, so I'm back on the no alcohol anti-biotics.
Now the other problem is when I saw the surgeon, he said that the distension will pass after the surgery, meaning my not insignificant belly would get a lot smaller. Following the op I was put on Anti-inflammataries (Diclofenac = Man's Ibuprofen) and sure enough, the swelling was reduced significantly. I even got me a new jumper and jacket. Then the Diclofenac ran out, and now the jacket no longer fits properly, and the jumper makes me look like Eamonn Holmes. This is not good, and I have expressed this several times, hence the post on Tuesday. Tuesday afternoon saw me seeing the doc again and he had a good poke around and thorough examination. His conclusion was "it's one of those things," which wasn't the answer I wanted and also upset the delightful Tania immensely. Knowing this, I went back yesterday to see Paul the nurse again, and taking a leaf out of BLS and the delightful Tania's books, I banged my spoon a little. I made light of it, and Paul the nurse can see how frustrated I am. He also was shocked when I mentioned the fact my jacket fitted 3 weeks ago, and doesn't any more. So, not wanting to tread on my Doc's toes, he booked my new dressing appointment and noticed that my GP wasn't in at the same time. This means he has a legitimate reason to ask another doctor what his opinion is. This is a good thing. The delightful Tania meanwhile was more then happy that I'd done this. Even better is the fact she'll be with me when I go.
So, there you have it. I have had a hard time about what to do. In all fairness, I can't complain too much. Complications are to be expected, but all they can do is combat them as they appear. The disdain shown by my GP on Tuesday has upset me admittedly, but at least I might get a result tomorrow. I just can't wait until the day I can stop taking pills and wearing large plasters (see elastoplast if you're from the US).

More on Crashing

Ever been in a crash at 30mph? You imagine what it'll be like, but you need to double the impact, or even more. It's surprising, and so when Top Gear did this back in the first series, I was shocked. I found the video of it this week, and it's as graphic as I remember.

Enjoy.

In the land of free healthcare

As British citizens, we're a lucky nation. One major benefit to living in these cold wet and windswept isles is that if we do get struck by a stray carved pumpkin in a force 11 storm on a Sunday morning, the trip to the hospital doesn't cost us anything.
Now, admittedly, there are some downsides to this system. Firstly, no one is excluded. This means that a visit to any Casualty department on a Friday or Saturday night will introduce you to the binge drinking culture, as one 15 year old chav after another is laid out in a cubicle, having their stomach pumped. Elsewhere, another bloke is sat there with blood dripping from a fresh cut in his forehead following a fight over someone "lookin' at his missus." But, in main, the NHS is a good thing.
People outside the system look in with scorn. Both BLS and the delightful Tania are an example of this. Following on from my sojourn nearly 5 weeks ago, I have taken to almost daily trips (4 times this week for example) to the local quack's to either see the doc, or the friendly male nurse. This is because the operation hasn't healed correctly, with parts of my belly button now blackened and dead, and other parts making a smell that even my cats find offensive. Both BLS and the delightful Tania say "Well kick up a fuss. They're obviously not looking after you. I'd move doctor if I were you, and make a point to the old doctor that he was incompetent and didn't treat your ailments seriously."
In an ideal world this would be possible, but the truth is rather starker. I can move doctor, but only to another one in the same practice. The whole area is covered by one surgery, incorporating some 15 or so doctors. So moving will mean you get a new doctor who's presumably a friend of the doctor you've just slagged off. Secondly, the doctor's doing his best. I could have stayed in hospital the past 5 weeks, making sure that all pain relief was administered correctly, any infections were combatted quickly and efficiently, and healthcare would have been second to none. The reality is a) this would have cost the NHS a small fortune, something that they just don't have, and b) I would have got MRSA, sleep depravation, aggrophobia and several other ailments from the long stay. So, what's the alternative? I go home, and they hope that the problem sorts itself. If there are complications, I can pop down to see my doctor, and if need be I can be returned to the hospital. Or, I can stay at home, kick up a fuss and demand that things are sorted, write to my MP and the Observer, and basically make their life hell. And then they put me on an 18 month waiting list.
Am I right?

Lazy blogging

Due on a job about 10 minutes ago, so here's a quick post for you...

Confucious say "if you can't find book you want, you're probably shopping here."

Also

Not related, but nicked from QOTW on B3ta

I saw my mate the other day, asked him what he had been up to.
"Went to Port Talbot" said he.
"?" said I.
"Met this girl in a bar, bought her a drink, got chatting, anyhow we went to my car and was getting down to it when she said "kiss me where it smells", so I drove her to Port Talbot

A serious post

On October 12th, 2009, Sheryl Laird was murdered by her ex-husband. He shot her multiple times and then drove her body to the top of the Sunshine Skyway Bridge. He set the car that contained her body on fire, and then jumped from the bridge to his own death.

The photo to the right was captured by a passing motorist. The man in the picture is Sheryl’s ex-husband before he jumped.


Sheryl leaves behind a 7-year old daughter.

BLS worked with Sheryl, and is collecting for her daughter's trust fund by selling wristbands in her memory. If you're interested in one, then please email her here. They're $3 each, plus postage.

Blogging the blog on the blog that blogged the blogdom.

Celebrating my blog's blogday, aka my 1000th post, I thought I should do some interesting facts and figures from the past 6 years (has it really been that long?)

I'm going to take an imaginary trip to all my long distance readers. First of all, how far is it?
Here to Ricardipus: 3400 miles (5473km)
Ricardipus to Sewmouse: 432 miles (695km)
Sewmouse to Debi: 313 miles (504km)
Debi to BLS: 713 miles (1148km)
BLS to Cuz'n Doug: 10 feet or so (1 metre)
Cuz'n Doug to Pseudonymph: 11303 miles (18191km)
Pseudonymph to Scaryduck (at work):9042 miles (14553km)
Scaryduck to my Dad: 69 miles (111km)
Dad to Bryn: 135 miles (218km)
Bryn to the delightful Tania: 183 Miles (295km)
The delightful Tania back to here: 228 miles (368km)
Total trip: 25818 miles (41556km)

Now, bearing in mind that Chemosaaby is averaging 32.9mpg at the moment, and petrol here is about 104.9pence per litre, this means that my wallet would be lighter to the tune of £3,737 if I drove it all the way. It would also take me at an average speed of 60mph only 17 days, 22 hours and 18 minutes. I would also need a quite a bit of waterproofing.

Now, if I decide I don't want to drive that far (can you blame me?) I might want to take the cheaper option and fly instead. So, flying from Cardiff first or business class where possible (I want to travel comfortably), and stopping at each and every location or as close as I can get reasonably (Sorry Bryn, no airline wants to go to Anglesey) would cost a comparatively cheap £22,514.

I have now posted on average once every 2.15 days, and have averaged 240 words per post. I have seen the MP3 take over the CD and Blu Ray take over DVD, which in turn took over VHS. I have seen companies come (google) and go (Rover), I have seen blogs become popular (Scaryduck) and less so (FJLathome). I have seen celebrities blog (Chris Evans and Stephen Fry), and I have seen social networking take off (goodbye Friends Reunited, welcome Facebook). I now read an average of 3.1 blogs a day (the 0.1 is down to my father or TRT), I have met 9 fellow bloggers, and I regularly appear on search lists on google. I have my own domain, paid for by advertising on my blog. I average some 23,000 unique hits a day (mostly from spurious search engines admittedly) and I regularly have someone solve a problem by reading my solutions posted on here.

I'd like to thank each and every one of you. Charge your glasses and let's toast to the next 1000 posts eh?

Cheers!

Armstrong and Miller.

This comedy duo are relatively new to the TV world, and yet in the short time they've been around, what an impression they've made on it. Ben Miller was fairly well known as Rowan Atkinson's sidekick in the Barclaycard Advert spin off "Johnny English," and Alexander Armstrong has also appeared in a straight role recently celebrating the great micro wars of the 80s as a certain Clive Sinclair. Well, recent times have meant they've teamed up with some great comedy writers and produced some unparalleled characters. Like Enfield and Whitehouse before them, you tune in each week to catch up on some inspired writing. A good example is from the BBC's own trailer for the show, but this isn't the video of the week because for some reason the BBC have slapped a ban on it being shown outside the UK so some of you won't be able to see it. So, instead, I have taken their most famous characters. Two chums from the RAF in the 1940s, in a typical film of that era. But, what would they be like if they spoke like teenagers of today? Well, the answer is very, very funny.
Enjoy.

Happy blogday, and other animals.

Thursday is my blog's 1000th post, so please to be commenting how you found me, when you found me, and why you stayed (or didn't, and are reading this in the past).

Also, been given some sort of good news in the land of my belly button. (Don't read on if you've just eaten, or are squeamish.) The front of the belly button has died, and is a very messy flap of skin still being fed by blood vessels. This explains the extra blood. They can surgically remove it, in which case another trip to Chez Morriston is required, or they can dry it out and it'll fall off. I'm tempted to put the remaining flap when it does fall off into a sandwich, and take a picture... Maybe not.

Thirdly, the bear puzzler last week. The bear is white with red bits. It's at the North Pole, so it's a Polar Bear. The red bits are where BLS quite correctly pointed out it had been shot.

And finally, in my village, we have a barber who shaves everyone who does not shave himself/herself, but no one else. Who shaves him?

Careering off course

Mr Vassell, the strangely camp music teacher and supposed career officer at the school called me into his office.
"We need to sort you out a placement for your work experience. What would you like to do?"
"Anything with computers" was the unsurprising reply.
"Do you want Anything or do you know what you're doing?"
"I know what I'm doing," came the cocky reply, "I want a proper job."

I was handed a slip of paper giving the name of a company in the centre of Croydon. Chrysalis Computer Services was a very professional sounding outfit. Run by two partners, to this day I don't know what they did. They had Steve, a salesman who was all aftershave and Burton's suit, and Madeline, the bimbo on the front desk. I went in a week early to introduce myself. They asked about what they'd have to do, and what I was expected to do. Most interestingly was the fact I was told "Don't turn up if you don't want to. We'll just say you're out on an errand." Tempting as it was, and with my track record for taking days off, amazingly I actually decided to turn up every day for the next week. I realised that maybe, if I played my cards right, I could get a real job out of it that would run after I left school in 6 months or so.
The following Monday (and only 4 days after the chaos caused by the Great storm of 1987) saw me report for duty with Steve, the salesman. Our first task was to make tea and coffee, and after an hour of bacon buttie and sitting around chatting, the two bosses appeared.
"What should you do?" they asked.
"I dunno," I replied. "How about something computer related?"
"I know," said one of them, "what about you format these new disks for me." And he hands me a fresh box of 5.25" floppies, in need of formatting.
It is at this point that I should point out I know how run Command.com. That was my sum total of experience of MS-DOS. I had an inkling of what to do, but not how to do. So, in the corner of the big boss's office, I sit down at his behemoth Apricot PC, insert a newly unwrapped disk into the drive, and type Format.
"This will format the disk in drive c:. Are you sure? (Y/N)"

Yes. Yes, I did. After 20 minutes, and much chugging from the antiquated drive inside the pc, which was now reporting "27% done" I ask "should it take this long?" The big boss takes one look at the screen, and starts to cry.
The other boss says "You haven't... That was over 9 years worth of work on there. This isn't good."
He was, of course, right. Realising I shouldn't be left unsupervised, they then get me to complete the task with a boot floppy. I get relegated to the front desk for the rest of the week with the young bimbo Madeline. By the end of the week, I'd learned to make tea and coffee, been shown the stash of their playboy magazines, and done a lot of typing. I had not, however, done much else on the PC.
I returned a year and they confirmed they still hadn't recovered fully from my faux pas. Another year later and another revisit showed they no longer existed. I'd like to say they were a victim of the 1990 recession, but I suspect my little mishap with all their customer's data going missing hadn't helped.
Start as I mean to go on?