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I was looking forward to starting this missive with a long and in-depth look at my recent rectal adventure. But nothing exciting really happened, so that’s a let down, and don’t worry, there’s no photos. But I’ve still written up for you to “enjoy”, I’m nice like that. No need to thank me, I’m all heart, (and arse.)
As you may or may not remember, I was referred for this exploration of where the sun doesn’t shine, by my GP.
My GP had referred me when I went to her to get the results of my blood test. The test showed that my cholesterol was up again, my liver function still knackered, and my vitamin D level nonexistent. Vit D deficiency is a massive problem here in Aus. Why, you may ask? Well it’s because Vit D is made by the action of the sun on our skin. But seeing as the Aussie sun can fry a chip in 5 seconds, we’re always totally covered up, (no bad thing in my case,) and slathered in sun factor 70. It’s a massive problem for our Aboriginal chums, who have gone from a totally outdoor based existence to an indoor one. So my GP put me on 3 mega tablets of Vit D a day, I’m waiting to turn orange, (or is it Vit C that does that?)
I was begging her to put me on statins too, as I am sick to the back teeth of eating a fat free diet. Fat is lovely, fat is cheese and butter and fried stuff, fat is man food!! She refused at first, but after my begging she agreed for me to try medication to see if that helps. The ones she prescribed me are not statins but statin analogues, called “Simvastatin”. I was over the moon, seeing as I was taking real medical type pills for my cholesterol, surely it meant that I could look forward to living on deep fried mars bars and pasties again? But when I got home and read the accompanying leaflet, I had the shock of my life, if you’re on these pills you should only drink alcohol in moderation!
That’s just fucking unfair, no man should have to choose between permission to eat cheese or permission to drink Scotch, just cos he’s on pills, it’s just cruel. Well I chose to drink moderately, moderately for me that is ( “borderline alcoholism” as it’s better known,) and to hell with it.
I was only going to take one day off for my bum mining, but reading the description here “The PIcolax Thread” of how devastating a dose of picolax can be, I thought I’d best take two days off. Oh yes, picolax, I had to take it twice, and the results of taking it are supposed to be life threatening.
On the day before my reaming I was due to fast, having no food whatsoever. Not a problem, me and Lee-Anne have the occasional fast day, it’s good for us. However, not only was this an enforced fast day, but I wasn’t allowed to have milk in my tea, which made it a real pain. I don’t know why, but not being allowed a cuppa, or at least a cuppa with milk in it, made the whole bloody day purgatory. I tried to satisfy myself with S.Pellegrino sparkling water, it didn’t work. I tried drinking marmite in hot water, they said I was allowed this. That didn’t make me any less starvo either. Never mind, at least I had the picolax fun and games to look forward too.
So come 4.00 pm and the appointed time, I drank the picolax. Bethy, being cautious, left the house. But nothing happened. For an hour or so I had some rather loud stomach rumbles, but nothing was forthcoming, if you get my drift. I did sneeze once, which was exciting/terrifying, yet, fortunately unproductive. So I went and sat on the loo, hoping that would be encouraging enough for the expected explosion to happen. Something did happen, although it was just mildly unpleasant, nothing like as dramatic as I had been warned of.
Nor did anything much happen for the next seventeen fucking visits to the loo.
Just enough happened to make it worthwhile, and to keep me kecks clean. Dear god, seventeen, (yes I counted,) minor shites in under two hours? I’d have preferred the massive explosion, at least that would have got it all over with.
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
The Hollow Men
T.S. Elliot.
To quote the Big Yin; “My arse was in tatters…” Bloody cleaned me out though. I’m sure I saw the silver sixpence which I’d swallowed when eating Christmas cake when I was ten.
Following that evacuation, for some reason, I wasn’t feeling hungry any more. Then Lee-Anne went and made this for the rest of the troupe’s dinner and filled the house with mouth watering aromas. Fuck.
How I slept that night I do not know, but the gamble paid off, with no change of sheets needed. The next morning I took the second dose of picolax, at 5.00 am as advised. Luckily, as me and Lee-Anne are up at 5.20 am, four mornings a week, to go to the gym, it wasn’t too much of a chore to be up at this time. Also as I was by now totally hollow, the picolax had nothing to deliver but windy pops.
Lee-Anne drove me to the clinic by 7.00am. I’d already done a reccy when I went in to pay for these fun and games, just so I knew exactly where to go on the day. Oh yes, pay, I was having this done private. I had nearly balked when I found out our healthy insurance, (now changed,) would not cover the procedure, but Lee-Anne insisted I go ahead. It cost us a fucking grand, yes $1000.00.
I mean, I’ve never paid to have anything shoved up my arse before, it’s always been free, part of the service, or as a treat, so paying for it came as quite a shock. (I thought at that price at least the nurses should be tasty. I was wrong)
I was due to be admitted by 7.15 am, so was a little early. I was soon ushered through, and my routine obs, BP, Pulse, etc had been taken. One noticeable effect of the picolax was my weight, which had dropped from 96.7 kilos the day before taking it to 92 kilos on the day itself.
I soon found myself robed up and lying on the trolley.
Then my nurse, I had one all to myself, Cynthia, (same name as me mum,) told me they were a theatre nurse short, and were running thirty minutes late. Ho hum… I was going to ask for a refund, but thought better of it. Then Dr Choi came and had a brief chat with me, apologised profusely for the delay, and took some details. Then he himself wheeled me into theatre. That’s posh, wheeled in by the surgeon!
I had been told I would be sedated for the duration of the event. I thought this meant a dose of diazepam or temazepam, just to stop me freaking out when the thing was rammed home. However, I was looking forward to having a look at my colon, live, to see if I am as pretty on the inside as I am on the out. But the anesthetist jabbed me in the arm with some white stuff, and I went out like a fucking light.
Next thing you know Cynthia is waking me with a cuppa, a real cuppa with milk in it, glorious. I had to wait, and by now Lee-Anne had joined me, before leaving, for Dr Choi to debrief me, and for the sedative to allow me to walk. Dr Choi brought around a collection of colour, (mainly red,) photos of my insides, and very nice I look too. He umm’d and ahh’d about what he had seen. He told me he hadn’t “rubber-banded” my Chalfonts* as they weren’t that bad. That’s easy for him to say, he doesn’t have to live with them. I had some “polyps”, but again not bad enough for him to have zapped them. He had found one patch of odd looking stuff, and had sampled that to send off for biopsy. Apart from that I was tickety-boo.
*Chalfont St. Giles, Nobby Styles, Bertram Miles, Emma Frueds, Piles FFS.
He sad he’d call me in to give me the result of the biopsy face to face, which was worrying. Until I realised it meant paying lots more $$$ to him again for the pleasure. Keep your fingers crossed that the biopsy doesn’t lead to more expense eh?
Bethy asked us if she could throw a student party at our place, seeing as all her mates have been doing so. Only fair we supposed. So Lee-Anne and I took ourselves out for the night, and returned to… chaos….
There were three young blokes fighting in the garden, with our neighbour Pat “the Bottler” egging them on. A police car was in attendance, and someone was being bundled into the back. Going indoors we found all our wine rack had been emptied, as had my homebrew store. Some of those wines would have been worth a fair few bob by now. Someone was riding a motorbike around on our back lawn, pulling donuts. The kitchen looked like a bomb site, with food up the walls and all over the floor. There was a mirror on the work surface with a razor on it and a suspicious white powder. I found a couple of pills in the fruit bowl, marked with a Mitsubishi logo. In our spare room a young lady was entertaining two boys in a way which she would either regret, or boast about, for the rest of her days. There was a rave going on in our dining room, and there were several “on one” kids freaky dancing, mainly on our new sofas. Bethy was in her bedroom with Brandon smoking a joint. Several windows had been smashed.
Or at least that’s how it would have been, if Bethy took after her mother and me.
Instead the party happened at a lunch time, there were twelve student guests, half of whom were Christian. Bethy cooked a meal on a Jamaican theme, (Ratty’s jerk chicken!) No alcohol was involved, seriously, none what-so-fucking-ever, they partied sober (I weep.) After the meal they played board games, (ones where your clothes stay on,) until everyone departed at 5.00 pm. The house was probably tidier after the party than before. The most outré thing they did was listen to some classic reggae.
Fuck me, where did I go wrong raising my kid?
Me and Lee-Anne went out to watch “Inbetweeners Two” to give them peace, but Bethy said she’d have been happy for us to stay. If purile knob gags, and cringe humour, amuse you, I encourage you to go see Inbetweeners Two. Obviously I loved it. I am Jay Cartwright grown older after all.
It’s spring here now, the start of spring is marked by “Wattle day” (Sept 1st.) and thus the wattle is out in bloom.
It’s a really weird phenomena, they have definite days for the start of each season, and BANG, on that day the weather turns around. It goes from winter to spring, overnight, and in such a marked fashion, that the change is not possible to ignore.
As it’s spring the annual flower fair, “Floriade” is on. I wasn’t going t go this year, as it’s all getting to be a bit samey, and I’m not a flower fan in any case. But I was stuck for a birthday present for her indoors. Lee-Anne is an awkward bugger to buy presents for. Ask her what she wants and she’ll tell you that she wants for nowt, and mean it. Seeing as her hobby is cooking it’s always tempting to get her some kitchen equipment, but that always seems mean, and we both use all the kitchen stuff in any case. So I wondered down to Floriade for inspiration.
I looked at the flowers, yup, same as ever, and wondered about aimlessly. Then my eye was caught by people staring up at some strange fruits in a couple of the trees; these ones, can you see what they are?
Yes fruitbats, or “grey headed flying foxes“, to give them their correct name. Lovely creatures, I want one as a pet, but Lee-Anne won’t let me have one.
I took myself off to the traders stalls, they are often interesting(ish/relatively/interesting for Canberra) and flog stuff not seen in the shops. In one stall I saw the most amazing clock, huge it was, with all sorts of gears on show.
Ok, it was obvious that the gears were not driving the mechanism, but it was still a great, if batty, clock. I took a photo of it, and took that home for my arbiter of taste to see. Bethy said; “It’s great, she’ll love it. If she doesn’t love it then I’ll have it!”
Hmmm…
I went back the next day to buy it. The guy there asked me; “If I sell you it, can I hang onto it for a couple of days, as it’s pulling in masses of punters to my stall.” I agreed to collect it the day before Lee-Anne’s birthday.
Fortunately Lee-Anne loved it too. She was less enamoured of it when the clock itself didn’t work. The gears, powered by 4 “D” sized batteries, worked fine. The clock hands didn’t budge. I was all prepared to go back to Floriade and rip the geezer a second one, when I thought I’d best check something first. Ah! Someone, (not me for a change,) had put the clock battery in back to front. It works fine with it in the right way.
Oh Lee-Anne, approaching 51 years old, had entered herself into the Canberra 10K fun run, a week before her birthday. She’d done no training, but hoped to beat her time from last year. Mainly by walking a bit faster. But on the day she woke up with a cricked neck, so that put paid to that little adventure. But by buggery she’s still a fine figure of a woman.
The day after Lee-Anne’s birthday we went up to Sydney to see “The Last Confession”. The juxtaposition of these two events was pure coincidence, but a happy one. Not so happy was my discovering when they emailed me my “event reminder,” that I’d booked us tickets for the matinee, not the evening performance.
This involved a shift swap, (thanks Steve!) and a bit of juggling of the bus times. As it happens it wasn’t a bad trip. The coach got us up to Sydney by 12.30, the hotel we stayed in let us book in early, and after a brief refreshment, we were at the theatre in time for the 2.00 pm kick off.
Wow, what a play!
The Roman Catholic Church has always been a theatrical spectacle of the highest order, and this old-fashioned stage thriller is so lavish – with its cast of 20, elaborate costumery and stunning set – you half expect them to pass around a collection plate during interval. Luckily this touring production of a play that ran in London’s West End in 2007 stars David Suchet, guaranteeing ticket sales among theatregoers who prefer their theatre to be as comfortingly similar to TV as possible. Nor does the direction by Jonathan Church make any huge demands on audience imagination. It’s strictly one character per actor, while scene changes feature blackouts and sinister music to maintain the mood. Roger Crane’s play is based on conspiracy theories surrounding the 1978 death of Pope John Paul I, who expired after just 33 days in office. Suchet plays the remorseful Cardinal Benelli, who in the first half of the play recounts his part in bringing about John Paul’s election and in the second half swings into Poirot mode trying to solve the mystery of his demise.
As you may know, the reason we’d prioritised this play is that Bethy is a massive fan of David Suchet in his role as Agatha Christie’s “Poirot” so the chance to see him live was unmissable, though, just by being me, I nearly managed it. As it was, in it David Suchet gives a master-class in acting, which was just mesmerising. The large supporting cast of older men, and one old woman, was very impressive also. The set was very clever, playing roles as several different chambers in the Vatican, as well as external scenes. The story was intriguing, and not without a peppering of humour, in fact some real “laugh aloud” moments. But just seeing the man himself, live, was worth it.
They were hawking programs at the entrance, and I wanted to get one as Suchet had been doing signings at other shows. But for the same price as the program they were also flogging his book “Poirot and me”, so I bought that. (Don’t bother, unless you are a fan, or even if you are a fan. It’s boring as buggery.) Of course, this was the one show he wasn’t doing signings, the twat.
We had the evening free, so we hit Darling Harbour, and had a very average meal at “Nicks Seafood Restaurant “ there.
It was …well, ok… nothing bad, nothing great. The views across the harbour were fine. The food good, but uninspiring, good chip shop fodder at restaurant prices. The cost was what you’d expect to pay on Darling Harbour, (i.e. LOTS!) “Unenthused” is the best I can say about it. Our little wait-person, a London lass, was good fun and almost saved the experience from total mediocrity .
But one sad thing happened there. I saw on the menu that they served “Jugs” of ale, not a bad idea I thought as it would save asking the serving lass to get me endless “schooners” of beer. So I ordered a jug of “Coopers Celebration Ale” and it was served up promptly. Not a bad drop of ale, but, inevitabley, served at a temperature which would give a penguin an ice-cream headache. But I struggled to finish it, and not due to the temperature, but due to the volume. Which was a massive two fucking pints! Honestly, I drink so little beer these days that I no longer have the capacity for a couple of pints. I’ll be banned from Wales if this carries on.
Bethy and Brandon went off to hit a chocolate shop they like, (yup not a club or a boozer, a chocolate shop, honestly!) That left me and Lee-Anne alone in the big city, with all the fun, dangers, excitement, and pleasures of Sydney, and they are many, at our disposal.
So we went back to the hotel and had a early night. (I think Bethy’s a bad influence on us.)
The next day we had planned to have brunch in Chinatown before catching the bus back. (I’m frigging posh me, I do brunch these days.) Coming out of the lift in our hotel I bumped into Bill Bailey. Unfortunately not THE Bill Bailey (more on him later,) but Bill Bailey a nurse, and good bloke, who works in our crisis team. Him and his missus were up there for a show too, and were in the same hotel as us.
In Chinatown I saw this amusingly named place.
I’ve had a few of them.
We eventually found a place we all agreed on for a Chinese brunch. As I hate Chinese food, I was the one causing a fuss for a change, (Ok, I’m always the one causing a fuss, so sue me.) We settled on the “Little Chilli House”. We (I) settled on this as it had “chilli” in the name, and I was after spicy meal.
The food was reasonable, but not my cuppa I must admit. The service fine, the portions generous. I made the mistake of having the sweet and sour fish. I haven’t had sweet and sour since about 1979. I’m sure all my mates from Llanelli remember us having Sunday night feasts of sweet and sour pork? Though time and memory had so encouraged my expectations, that I was to be sadly disappointed. I fancied it, if I’m being honest, just for the novelty of it. It was far too sweet though, I finished it only due to my perverse (skinflint) nature, and that’s my fault not theirs. Seriously, I had a month’s worth of sugar in that meal, how anyone could eat that regularly is beyond me. It was like scoffing a box of chocolates in one go. I felt a bit pukey after it, even more so when I remembered I had 3 ½ hours in a bus ahead of me.
The servers, two VERY young Chinese girls (approx 12-14 yrs old) were very lovely, but I do wonder how much they get paid, if anything, for their work there. The entree snacks we had beforehand, however, were first rate. My brood stated that their noodle dishes were good.
I’d go there again, but would be more judicious in my choices.
Me and Lee-Anne went for a pint before going home. I had cider, which, as it was sweet, was rather daft of me, (no change there then.)
The journey back was enlivened by an Aboriginal woman, who spent the whole journey screaming at, and being screamed at, by two small kids.
Now then! Believe it or not, my image of “The Little Chilli House” is now the chosen image for that restaurant. Fame at last. 🙂
Oh, on the subject of Tripadvisor, they wrote to tell me;
| You’re in the top 3% | |
|
I’m sure you’re very impressed by that, and will now herald me as a sage of travel and fine dining, and point me out to all your friends. No?
I saw a car the other day in Canberra with the personalised registration plate; “Y2KBUG”. Seriously? Oh for fuck’s sake mate. Not only does that terribly date your motor,but if that was the last major event in your life, WTF have you been doing since then?
Remember the Y2K bug? That was a hoot wasn’t it? Every computer in the world was going to go loopy due to them not realising it was a new century. Never happened of course. I remember someone flogging Y2K compliant torches.
We saw Bill Bailey again, here in Canberra, on his “Limboland” tour. Cracking gig!! Bill was on top form, and extemporising beautifully. This is the fourth time we’ve seen him in Canberra, and he does seem to have a genuine affection for the place, (which is odd even for Bill.) He took many local issues apart, and had a few kind words to say about “Mr Abbot” our PM. He also did a hysterical riff about the West Country accent, this came following some drunk Welsh person in the audience calling him a “Wurzel”, (yes, me.) He did Lady Gagme’s “Pokerface” in a West Country accent too, and Millie Cyrus’s “Wrecking Ball” in the style of Kraftwerk!
I eventually got round to doing some astro-photos, but forgot to share them with you. here they are;
One Friday night at work I decided , just out of sheer perversity, to go to a local restaurant to order my supper, rather than my usual chip shop foray. I did this as the place advertised that they were ”Canberra’s best fish restaurant”, and that anything on the menu could be had as takeaway. Yes, you guessed it, they had fish and chips on the menu.
So I visited “The Peppered Prawn”, and came away with…The smallest serve of fish and chips it’s ever been my displeasure to encounter.
Some good news; My godson Tom, and his young lady Danny, are coming across to Aus for a holiday, before he starts work as a copper. Apparently her grandfather, (who is based over here,) will be hitting his centenary, so good on him! They will be staying with us for a week, and we’ll be showing them the delights of Canberra. (That should take all of a day.) Not only that, but Tom’s promised to bring me a few bottles of duty free Scotch! Result!!
But to end with some sad news;
Requiescat In Pace Dorothy, Mary’s best friend, who passed away recently. Bethy, the love, cut short her geology field trip to the coast, to come back for the funeral. Which was good of her.
Requiescat In Pace also my uncle Terry, dad to my cousins Dewi and Andrew. Terry passed away after a protracted illness. He was a good bloke.
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