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Well Looky Here…

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Google Catecholamines and  Pheochromocytoma – actually, don’t bother ‘cos I’ve just done it.
One of these tests I have to do, is peeing in a bottle for 12 hours. Not 12 hours straight, of course. At least I don’t think so… I think I’m meant to pee in the bottle each time I feel the urge during a 12-hour period, but who knows…

Well, anyway, I was suddenly curious; why in God’s name am I supposed to do this? What is the mad-endo-bastard trying to prove? As if he hasn’t pissed me off enough already. So I had a look at the paperwork.It says: Overnight urine test. Catecol-whatsit and Pheocrom-thingamajig.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered those Catecol-whatsits are hormones produced primarily by the adrenal glands. And the Pheocrom-thingamajig is actually a tumour on the aforementioned adrenal glands. Yep, the very same glands that were in perfect working order only yesterday.

That son-of-a-syphilis-ridden-bitch! 


Give ME Strength…

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Okay, here’s the thing: the-bastarding-endocrinologist-I-saw-yesterday-was-a-feckin’-wanky-condescending-smarmy-head-stuck-up-his-own-arse-self-righteous-arrogant-egoistic-pompous-supercilious-git-with-an-I-Am-God-You-Are-Dog-Poo-stinking-bloody-attitude!

 There. I said it. Bastard.

‘So,’ he said, ‘I’ve read your notes and reviewed the blood test results, and I can’t see anything wrong with you.’


‘So why am I sleeping all day? Why do I have wonky blood readings? Permanent exhaustion? Low blood-pressure? Palpitations when I walk upstairs? Why do I ache? What’s causing the pain?’

‘Let me ask you something. Why are you so convinced you have Addison’s disease?’

Huh? Now call me neurotic – I’ve been called worse things – but the only way he could’ve known I was concerned about the accuracy of the SynActhen test findings, was if my GP had stressed it in her referral letter. So now, I’m getting the picture: he’s got me pegged as a difficult, Munchausen’s Syndrome patient or a raving hypochondriac. Great.

‘I’m not. Who said I was? I queried the cortisol levels in the test. I thought they were supposed to double. I questioned whether they were accurate enough to exclude further investigation. There’s something wrong with me and I need to find out what it is. I don’t give a flying monkey’s arse what  the diagnosis is, I just need to find out what it is, so I can address it. I’m forty-four, not eighty-four! I’ve got things to do, books to write! I don’t enjoy feeling this wretched all the time, you know!’ By this point I was all high-pitched and quivery-lipped.

A toddler girl crying
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‘Well, it’s not Addison’s. I’ll run a couple more tests to check your hormone levels and pituitary gland, but I’m not expecting to find anything wrong. Here, ‘ he said, shoving my symptom list back across the desk, ‘take this with you when you see Professor Pinchin. I think you’ll find you’ve  got Chronic Fatigue Syndrome.’

Notice he said, when and not if  you need a second referral.

‘Just before you go, have you thought about taking anti-depressants?’


It takes 45 minutes to drive home from the hospital. I made it back in 26. I was steaming!

More Fast and Furious: Music from and Inspired...

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Where do these doctors get this I Am God mentality? Do they teach it in medical school? Alongside ‘How to humiliate, patronise and thoroughly piss-off a patient’?

I did what I always do when I need de-stressing: I shouted at The Ex. And then I marched into my doctor’s surgery, demanding to see my GP.

‘We’ll just had a cancellation, Tiny. It must be your lucky day!’

Yeah, right.

I repeated the whole conversation to my GP. By this point I was wailing with frustration.

‘I’m hanging on by a fingernail here, and now I have to wait three weeks for the results of these new blood tests and then another four months for a second referral! I can’t cope! And now I’m crying! I never cry! I just want to feel better! And nobody believes me! You all think I’m just lazy or a moaner! I need some help here! I need somebody on my side!’ Tears were coursing down my face, mingling with snotty snot bubbles.

‘To be honest, I always thought we were looking at Chronic Fatigue, but we have to rule out everything else first. You need to rest, my love. Take a year off from work, avoid anything stressful.’

‘And how, exactly, am I supposed to do that? I’m a single parent, the only breadwinner in the house?’

‘Look, I know you’re upset. We’ll get to the bottom of this, but in the meantime, would you consider taking an anti-depressant?’

‘I’ve been on anti-bloody-depressants since September. Double dosage since Christmas!’

‘Oh, well, they don’t seem to be doing much to help…’

‘That’s because this isn’t fuckin’ depression!’  Yet!


I Surrender…

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White Flag on top of a snowy mountain and in f...

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It’s white-flag time, guys. I surrender. I’ve just crashed, hit the wall with this bloody un-specific, un-diagnosed illness and have to cut out all non-essentials until I’m feeling better. That – as you will probably have noticed – includes blog posts. I’ve got about twelve partially finished posts on the go – I couldn’t stay awake long enough to finish any of ’em.

I’ve got five chapters on my book written, awaiting a final draft before it can be sent off to agents, and a half-arsed pantomime plot that needs some serious input, and I can’t do any of it – there’s just no time after sleeping 16 hours a day! I’m going for the record full 24 hours, but not quite there, yet… I’ve got the endocrinologist appointment on Monday – if I don’t sleep through it – so hopefully, that’ll get the ball rolling towards some kind of answer.

I hope you’ll all still be around in a couple of weeks – Jeeze! – I hope I’m still around in a couple of weeks! But I’ll quite understand if you all piss off and find something more interesting to do 🙂

Love, light and happiness, my bloggy-buddies! X

I’m Considered Gorgeous, Cute and Versatile – no, wait. It’s just Versatile…

May God, Buddha and the whole darn Universe shower blessings upon my beautiful bloggin’ buddy Bernie for she has bestowed upon me The Versatile Blogger Award! Yay! Go, me! *does that celebratory circular thing with her arms, like she’s stirring two lumpy bowls of cold custard*

I luff Bernie’s blog; she is quite mad, and does quite mad things, like dressing up a life-size mannequin, hauling him all over the house, and photographing him doing the dishes or taking a pretend pee! How wonderfully awesome and creative is that? 😀
Thanks, Bernie for my wonderful new award!


Now I must share seven facts about myself. To be honest, I’m a little worried here; you’ve had my phobias, my dreams, my crushes and my mega-sized tampon-rolling stories. What is there left to share? My bra size? Oh, okay then, perv…

  • My bra size is 36B and my arse size is huge. Happy now? 
Ramoji Film City

I don't have a tail though... Image by varun_shinde via Flickr

  • I’ve got two tattoos – a Japanese symbol on the top of my left arm and a Celtic type thing just above my right ankle. It looks a bit like a flattened cactus. The Japanese one is supposed to mean ‘Good fortune, luck and prosperity’. I suspect it actually says ‘Stupid mare paid £50 for this crappy doodle. Lol!’


First the arm, and now the ankle – hell, at this rate you’ll be able to piece me together like scraps of dog-chewed socks. Okay, okay, here’s another morsel:

And I even shaved my leg – just the one in the photo though…

  •  I got my Master’s degree a couple of years ago, and now I really, really really want to do a Ph. D, exploring the changing gender roles within modern society. I also think it’ll make for a great chat-up line: ‘Take your clothes off, mister. You can trust me – I’m a Doctor.’  😉
115.365 - Porn for Women: Vacuuming

Image by Jeff the Trojan via Flickr

  • I suffer from Irritable Bowel Syndrome. Basically, this means I poop a lot. If I eat spicy, I poop; if I eat fatty, I poop; if I’m worried, stressed or scared, I poop masses. Once just before starting the MA – I was worried, stressed and terrified, and lost two stone in two weeks through perpetual pooping. Really, it’s an art…
Toilet Instructions

Image by dianaschnuth via Flickr

  • I’ve never broken a bone and I’ve only ever had one operation – a tonsillectomy, and boy! was that fun! I was thirty at the time, and you know how hospitals always feed children ice-cream after they’ve had their tonsils removed, well, I wasn’t allowed to leave until I’d eaten two slices of DRY toast. Oh yum. And it didn’t hurt at all, ripping away at my bruised and lacerated throat.
    But the post-op pain was the killer! A week after I’d had ’em ripped out, I phoned the doctor in tears, begging for horse tranquilisers. ‘It hurts sooooo much, *wail* I’m in agony! Help meeeeee! *more wailing, sniffing and snotty sobbing*
You make vita cry!

Image by jpockele via Flickr

  • Number six… I’m really struggling here … umm… I know! Twitter! I have 121 people following my bird farts (phrase courtesy of The Coupon Queen. Sorry, I love that term. It’s mine now 😉  ) 119 of them are 13-year-old girls who really think I’m Tinie Tempah. I mean, WTH? Apart from the whole different name-spelling issue, doesn’t the gravatar image give ’em a clue? Do they really believe a big, butch, black rap-singer parades around in shiny bright red high heels?
    And I keep tweeting tweets like ‘Just to let you know – I AM NOT Tinie Tempah!’ but do they listen? No. I keep receiving messages saying ‘U R gr8. I luv U and Justin Beiber *heart, heart*’ Oh, the pressure of stardom…
Nine cadets from the Bluegrass Challenge Acade...

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  • Okay, I’m stuck now – ask me a question – any question – and I’ll edit the post to add the answer. C’mon, I know you’re nosy – what would you like to know?
    NB. I DON’T know where you can buy Star Wars’ Condoms, so don’t ask!  🙂

Life’s Just too Bleedin’ Short for…

ironing ~ I used to spend hours – nay, days! – of my life toiling to make clothes crease-free, and it was simply a waste of time! Kids just sit on your neatly pressed piles of laundry, or chuck it on the floor and kick it around the carpet, or the sweaty-wet dog, who’s just bounded through a dirty stream, makes it into a bed, or – best-case scenario – the kids’ll jam it into unforgiving drawers or cupboard recesses along with last week’s mouldy peanut butter sandwich.
And whoever laid on their death-bed – white and teary – mourning the demise of knife-edge creases running down the front of their favourite crimpoline slacks?

Got Caught
Image by DeHKsY via Flickr

… hanging your undies out on the washing line ~ it’s a fiddly, fart-arsey, far too time-consuming waste of life. And it’s no fun retrieving your favourite pair of comfy thongs from the elderly male next-door neighbour because there just wasn’t enough material to keep the little bastards pegged on the line. You know the ones ~ five-years-old, elastic chewed and dangling, dyed a murky grey from being washed, balled-up in the leg of your favourite pair of black, bootleg jeans, and marked with poo stains from that day you bent down to forage for a missing contact lens and the stringy bit really did go up your arse?
No? That’ll just be me, then…

A rear view of a woman's thong underwear.

Image via Wikipedia

… glossing woodwork ~ I hate, loathe and detest gloss paint with a passion reserved only for Jason; it’s just so gloopy, and you have to be really careful, working the paint, avoiding drips runs and drips on the carpet, and despite having to do it so carefully, you have to work super-fast, blending sections, because the paint you applied thirty seconds ago has already started to dry and just refuses to blend with the fresh stuff, leaving a lumpy, uneven ridge that looks like it’s been applied by a semi-conscious, drunk, blind cat  And, then, when it’s dried you notice a sketchy bit, but you can’t just dab a bit of paint on to fill in the gap, like you can with emulsion. Oh no, ‘cos then, it’d just looks awful, so you end up re-painting the whole of the bleedin’ skirting board or door. And, then, when that coat’s dry, you notice another sketchy bit and – arrrggghhhh! 

Thrown paint

Image by Rockies via Flickr

… moaning  ~ nope, I’m wrong. There’s always time for bitchin’.

… making the bed in the morning ~ sorry, Irene and Hilary, but I just don’t get it. Why waste the energy when you’re only gonna go and rumple it again at night? And if your duvet’s permanently crumpled, nobody’s ever going to suspect that you succumbed at 2pm and crawled into bed for an afternoon snooze.   😉

Messy Bed

Image by Patrick Q via Flickr

… regrets ~ however many ‘mistakes’ you make or ‘wrong turns’ you’ve taken, they’re in the past. Done and dusted. Gone. It’s just a waste of energy regretting stuff, unless you’re now in a position to put things ‘right’ – apologise or give it up or make amends, learn from it and move on.
Track back all those things that went ‘wrong’ in your life and, chances are, you’ll have learned an important lesson or developed as a person as a result of that trauma. Yeah, I know it all sounds a bit vomit-inducing and New-Agey, but you get my point!
Bottom line: we’re only human and we all cock-up from time-to-time, and let’s face it, even Spiderman could be a bit of a knob.


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… wasting time on selfish, disrespectful people ~ we all need to develop a healthy dose of self-esteem and acknowledge our own worth, and either help teach these people some manners or kick ’em into touch. I’m not talking about friends who have an occassional needy moment – don’t we all? – or those who need support because they’re going through a crisis. I’m talking about people who continually put you down or abuse your kindness by taking all the time and never giving anything back.

The 1976 book The Selfish Gene by Richard Dawk...

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… internet bleedin’ dating ~ ye Gods! I’d rather watch gloss dry than spend another minute of my pitiful life trawling the net trying to find a bloke with testicles in amongst all those weedy, needy, pathetic big girls’ blouses masquerading as men!

Nothin' like a dame...

Image by Lee Carson via Flickr

…listening to Rebecca Black ~ ‘It’s Frid-ay, Frid-ay! Gotta get down on Frid-ay! Everybody’s looking forward to the week-end, week-end…’ Actually, why should I just suffer?

And so endeth today’s rant.
Now over to you: what else is life just too bleedin’ short for doing?

10 Good Things on Monday…

I must apologise – sorry, sorry, sorry – for not reading any blog posts for a few days – I’ve been so busy, I’m all behind with the fun stuff. I went to a Creative Writing workshop on Saturday – I have to just share this with you – we all tried Automatic Writing (meditation, putting pen to paper and allowing a ‘higher force’ to guide the words – could be God, Spirit, or your subconscious mind, depending on your beliefs). Well, most of us had squiggles to show for it, but Diane, the lady next to me, had three lines of perfectly formed  letters – but written backwards! We all crowded into the ladies and shoved her paper up against the mirror – it read: ‘Hello. I am here writing.’ Wow!
We all stampeded back to our tables, determined to find hidden messages in our scrawl. Eldest son suddenly yelled, ‘Mum! Look! You’ve written LOL backwards!’   😀
Am I deeply philosophical, or what?

Anyway, moving onto today’s post where I’m linking up with Nina on Brush Up On Your Reading for 10 Good Things on Monday, and this time I’ve chosen my ten most-loved books:

       1.Wuthering Heights ~ Emily Brontë

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Probably my all-time favourite novel – it’s about love, passion and tragedy on the Yorkshire Moors – a once-in-a-lifetime, all compassing love that transcends the grave. A bit like me and Jase…   😉

      2. One Day ~ David Nicholls

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It’s the 15th of July 1988. Emma and Dexter spend their graduation night together. The next day, they must go their separate ways. David Nicholls tells their story on this one day every year for the next thirty years. I love this book! My favourite quote: ‘You’re gorgeous, you old hag, and if I could give you just one gift ever for the rest of your life it would be this. Confidence. It would be the gift of confidence, Either that or a scented candle.’

         3. Dear John ~ Nicholas Sparks

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Get your tissues out, girlies, this one broke my hardened, cynical little heart. Can love survive long-distance and the pressure of professional duty? Be warned: the book’s far more emotional than the film!

        4. Insomnia ~ Steven King

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I’m pretty much in love with anything Stephen King writes, but I particularly love this one. It’s all about pensioner Ralph suddenly developing insomnia, yet as he needs less and less sleep, his mind becomes sharper. And then the hallucinations start – dun, dun, dunnnn – the colours, shapes and strange auras. Needless to say, there’s an evil force afoot, and Ralph must play the hero and save the world!

         5. Spanky ~ Christopher Fowler

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Martyn Ross has a miserable life until he meets Spanky – his very own personal demon. Spanky makes Martyn’s wishes come true, but is Martyn prepared to pay the cost for such hedonistic pleasures? Really tight, witty writing with a story premise that explores the deeper issues of mankind, it’s a favourite, folks, it’s a classic!

       6. Blacklands ~ Belinda Bauer 

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A chilling psychological drama set on Exmoor. Twelve-year-old Steven Lamb’s uncle disappeared as a child, and the family are still grieving. Everyone believes he was murdered by Arnold Avery and then buried on the moors. Steven decides to contact the child-killer, hoping to discover the whereabouts of his uncle’s remains… A fantastic story full of intrigue and suspense as we’re taken into the minds of both a small boy and a manipulative serial killer.

         7. Hot Six ~ Janet Evanovitch

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Stephanie Plum is a blonde, sassy bounty hunter who keeps her gun in a cookie jar. Part six of a series that is outrageously, laugh-out-loud funny. This one starts off with: ‘Okay, so here’s the thing. My mother’s worst fear has come true. I’m a nymphomaniac. I lust after a lot of men. Of course, maybe that’s because I don’t actually have sex with any. And some of my lustings probably aren’t going anywhere. Probably it’s unrealistic to think I’ll ever get it on with Mike Richter, the goalie for the New York Rangers. Ditto Indiana Jones.’
I just love, worship and adore this woman: when I grow up, I wanna be Stephanie Plum.

        8. Where Rainbows End ~ Cecelia Ahern

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 Aww, another we-can’t-quite-our-acts-together romance, but this one’s funny and touching. Rosie and Alex are naughty seven-year-old friends, then rebellious teenagers and finally, fully fledged adults. They nurture their friendship through misspelled notes in school, e-mails, postcards and misplaced, emotional love-letters. Will these two ever get it together?

        9. Play Dead ~ Harlan Coben 

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I love, love, love this author and his clever plots and twists, always creating intrigue and suspense. I’ve chosen Play Dead because it’s the only one of his books where I’ve been able to work out whodunnit! Yay! Go, me! Laura Ayers is on her honeymoon when her new hubby drowns in the sea. Was it an accident? Or suicide? Or –gasp! – murder! A whole conspiracy plot evolves as Coben drip-feeds us clues and red-herrings.

        10. Pride and Prejudice ~ Jane Austin

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Do I need to say anything about Pride and Prejudice? An all-time classic featuring the wonderful Elizabeth Bennett and Mr Darcy, and let’s face it, we all need a Mr Darcy in our lives *sigh*   😉

Thanks, Nina, for hosting!

A Little Something for the Weekend…

Let’s start with a small treat for the guys:

Angelina Jolie at the Cannes Film festival

Angelina Jolie - Image via Wikipedia

 And now, a HUGE something for the girls:

Jason Statham


Last week I watched The Mechanic – eyes as wide as dinner plates, mouth hanging open and drool dripping off my chin.

Ladies, you have to see this film; within the first five minutes, the smokin’ hot JS had stripped down from silky wet wetsuit to black Calvin Klein’s.
Oh, be still my twitching knickers!

Despite the title of the movie, Jason doesn’t actually play the role of a mechanic – well, not in car-repairing sense of the word: he fixes people – for good.
That gorgeously erotic mass of streamlined, pulsating muscles is, in fact, an assassin. But he’s not a ‘shoot ’em first, ask questions later’ kinda guy, he’s smart (as well as sexy) and makes every death appear accidental.

Jason Statham

This has nothing to do with the film. I just couldnt resist...

All is going well in his world, until he’s ordered to kill his boss – a man he’s been friends with for the last twenty years…

I won’t tell you any more of the plot and spoil the story – I’ll just say, WATCH IT!

The Mechanic

And, guys, you’ll enjoy it, too – there’s action, intrigue, double-crossing, guns, suspense and hot, steamy rumpy-pumpy. Oh boy! Just those scenes’ll keep me in fantasies ’til Christmas.

The Mechanic


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