For the really juicy intimate bits you'll probably need to add me as a friend and get to know me. But for the external veneer you don't need to add me. However, if you would like me to add you, please leave a comment and I'll consider additions.
Spoke to my GP this morning and she was very sympathetic about Thursday nights events. She suspects that the potassium thing is more than likely related to the indapimide and any suggestions of Conns Syndrome, alien experiments or having a skive were poopoohed away. However, the ultrasound did reveal a concerning fatty liver which she would like to investigate further.
Protestations of not drinking anywhere near as much as I did 10 years ago, eating a healthy balanced fairly sugar and sweetener free diet and not having anything too weird genetically were taken onboard but signed off with a “let’s see what the results from today are”
So I’m back in the creepy repurposed SDEC clinic of Northampton General waiting for some blood nonce to count my potassium’s but this time I am armed with iPad, a fully charged phone and a bladder full of urine. They have just tested my blood pressure which was an alarming 167/89 but the nurse didn’t seem too arsed about it. Three days without blood pressure medication is going to do that sort of thing.
I’m also pleased that I have, I hope, finished the course of nasty fizzy potassium supplements. They’re little fizzy tablets that you dissolve in water and taste worse than earwax. Still, I’d much rather drink that shit for three days over ever eating olives or marmite for the rest of time so there are some mercies. Infinitesimally small.
Providing the bloods come back normal I will, at some point, be called in for a fibroscan on my liver and I have to make an appointment with the diabetic nurse so she can listen to how I have essentially maintained a fairly diabetic friendly diet for sometime. Mrs Gnomepants V1.0 did teach me something worthwhile at least.
The elephant in the room though is my lack of exercise. A few years ago I went to a local charity gym which specialised in cases like me. Sadly they have since relocated and, it seems, changed their opening hours. Going to the gym when you have a 1 hour each way commute to your 8-5 job is nigh on impossible in rural Britain. Yet still my old friend Min still says to me in my mind “The world is your gym fatso”. I guess I need to look into alternative solutions.
Recently I have been bothering the local shaman with complicated biological conditions linked to me being rotund and boardering on the mid-late middle age bracket.
Aside from issuing me with the usual jar of leeches and twigs of rowan or lectures on the incompatibility of DOING ANYTHING FUN on the human soul and condition they reluctantly recently sent me away with one of those new fangled ultrasound thingies (to make sure I'm not pregnant) and asked me to go and have my humours tested.
The ultrasound — a worrying experience where they asked during the scan if I'd had anything removed abdominally — revealed that I wasn't pregnant and I was also able to confirm that I hadn't recently visited any derelicts or colonies on LV-426.
The shaman, unable to find any bile or water analysis services locally, directed me to the blood extractors who, on Thursday, took a Hancockian armful of blood and made an appointment for further discussion on the various ethers and vapours that may be affecting my wellbeing both corporeally and spiritually.
And that, I was hoping, would have been the end of it....
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Then the phone rang. Well I say then. Following a day at work, a hearty dinner consisting of home made stirfry and a nightly catch up with Patrick Troughton era Doctor Who, the phone rang.
Mrs Mop was a lovely little cat. Rescued, she joined the Mrs Gnomepants V1.0 menagerie as company for Yoda while Mrs Gnomepants V1.0 was at work - Yoda's loneliness having been called out by our neighbour who didn't go to work during the day.
Her origins were unknown but, because of her skittish nature, it was assumed that she had lived somewhere where she constantly needed to be on her toes. Yoda just wanted to play the age old cat game of Bite Your Bum and would often chase her around the house. But her mischeivious nature often meant she encouraged Yoda to get into trouble and could pass off the "I'm innocent" look like the best of them.
Like Misty, Mrs Mop's favourite thing was sleeping on the bed and obtaining cuddles by appointment only. Often opting for the full belly tickle and playful lick. Indeed, such was her personality she coined the household phrase of "Lick both knees" which she would do to show she was happy with her situation.
She outlived Yoda by a couple of years, spending her last days sitting outside in the sun and enjoying the relative calm and peace of the mid-terrace in Ackworth she moved to when Mrs Gnomepants V1.0 lived after we split up.
Today's picture is of Binwids once more. This time from when I took her to Aberdaron in 2013. If you look closely you can probably make me out in the drivers seat.
This part of Wales, in fact this view, is one of my most favourite views. Its lovely to wake up, open your tent flaps and see the view down to the sea. The sound of seagulls in the distance and the bleating of lambs and ewes in the neighbouring fields.
I later submitted this photo for inclusion on a website called "Someone Once Told Me" together with the slogan If you have a car you'll never have any money [http://www.someoneoncetoldme.com/gallery/05062013] . It's still there.
