Real men wear pink

Several years' ago, me and my man visited America; starting at San Francisco before driving down the Pacific Highway to Los Angeles. We arrived at our hotel in the evening and decided to catch a tram down to the dock. There was standing room only on the tram, so my man and I stood. The tram pulled to a halt and a man squeezed between us, brushing his hand lightly across my man's bottom, saying seductively, 'my, you have a nice smile.' This was a bit of a shock to us both; being quite naively British and very 'straight'. My tall and macho man was wearing a pink denim shirt at the time and reflected that perhaps it was the pink shirt that 'did it' and he pondered on whether or not to wear it again. Yes, wear it, said I... real men wear pink... a colour does not denote your sexual orientation... (or does it)?

Now my new friend has just bought a pink polo shirt... he is a real man too! By 'real' I mean he is at ease with his sexuality and does not shy away from a colour that traditionally has not been seen as a man's colour.

For Me? I prefer blue!

New Beginnings

My garden and I have sprung to life once again! Hence a trip to a garden centre took place where I strolled through the Rose section and saw a Rose named 'New Beginnings'. A nice commemoration I think! And very apt!

It's been a long time since I felt this good! My stomach problems are drifting away and all tests seem to come back normal; I have lost a bit of weight, which pleases me and I have found a new friend.

For the first time in four years and seven months I feel as though I can move forward without looking back; plan things; do new things; meet new people; organise my career and start again.

Writing my blog along the way has been therapeutic, cathartic and enlightening... leading me forwards to this point. Thank you blog friends for making the sometimes unbearable journey with me... now I can begin a new Chapter of my life and will not speak again of death, bereavement and loss.

I may go back and buy that Rose!

Meerkat with broom handle

I wasn't looking forward to an Endoscopy, so opted for the heavy sedation rather than a throat numbing spray. The waiting room was packed with similarly worried looking people of all ages. My daughter sat with me, not reading her magazine; both of us quite silent... waiting. Eventually I was called into a room to have a 'chat' to the nurse. I explained that I had a sore throat and a headache, therefore, would it be better to come back another day? She took my temperature, blood pressure, heart rate and said I was okay to go ahead! Bugger! I really did have a sore throat and headache! She asked how often I suffered with acid reflux. "I don't" I replied. She asked why I'd been referred, so I went through the whole story again before returning to the waiting room and my daughter.

Twenty minutes later, a tall man in gown and pulled-down mask appeared and in a Russian or Eastern-block accent, called my name. I followed him in to a surgery. He was talking to me, but either I was mentally in another place, or his accent was too thick for me to comprehend. I sat on the trolley while he tried to find a suitable vein, (I think my vascular system had shrunk with fear)! He kept dropping things, so I asked jokingly, "Have you done this before?" he giggled. Now I was really starting to worry!

I laid down on my side, as instructed while he injected me with something saying, "you vil soon be very sleepy". Good, I thought! However... I seemed to be awake throughout the whole thing and remember them talking around me, discussing what was coming up on screen, while I gagged my way through it all. I remember them wheeling me into a little recovery ward, along with other women laying on their left sides, who were all happily snoring their heads off! I asked the nurse why I was awake. "Oh you've been awake all through it... some people are!" she said matter-of-factly. My throat was so very sore; I'm sure he'd used a broom handle!

My daughter was shown in and the nurse came back with a line drawing of what a stomach looks like and where they'd taken biopsies. At the bottom was a prescription. "Take this to your GP so that you can start taking it dear. It will help with the acid reflux." I replied groggily, "I don't have acid reflux". She smiled at my daughter and said I could go as soon as I could walk across the ward and back unaided.

The outcome? It seems I have ulcers, a sliding tear and a hernia. The biopsies were to test for Helocobacter Pylori, which my blood tests had highlighted, and was probably the cause. I am still waiting for the report to me and my GP and the possible and very necessary antibiotics for H.Pylori . Meanwhile I keep wondering how a tear can slide!

Different worries

There's nothing like a health crisis with another beloved member of my family to take my mind off my own health concerns; namely... daughter suddenly losing vision in one eye after suffering continued sharp pain at the back of her head! Several visits to the JR hospital (which I'm becoming quite intimate with) and endless waiting on chairs in numerous clinics later, she and I leave for home, armed with several further appointments on a little yellow card. No-one can explain it, so my daughter continues to take a variety of painkillers and is a little upset that the laser eye op two years' ago has now reverted to a worse prescription than before. No, it has nothing to do with the laser op, they say.

Then mid-week my daughter is admitted to the Stroke ward of the JR as the headache worsens, her speech is affected and eyesight just as bad! She undergoes various tests including an MRI and told to expect a lumber puncture at some point.

Then last night while I rushed down to her house to look after the two boys, I had a phone call to say the MRI scan was clear, she'd refused the Lumber puncture and was on her way home. She has not suffered a stroke and they still have no answer for the prolonged loss of vision. So... in the next few weeks she will be undertaking more various tests as an outpatient, while I will be having an endoscopy this coming Wednesday.

I have discovered that since giving up wheat/gluten products completely, I have felt much better. It has now been confirmed that I do not have Haemochromatosis; my liver is perfectly fine, albeit with a small lesion that is benign and like a scar that has probably been there since birth. I do not have kidney or lung disease and I'm not diabetic. However, one of my previous blood tests has shown an anti-body to B12 and is being investigated further. I must say, that while some of the administration processes of the JR vary in efficacy; the thoroughness of most of the medical staff are pretty good!

As for the builders and the man from NHBC... the damage is cosmetic only therefore does not need a claim, and the builder, he who was bullish and brutish, has turned into a lamb; he's sort of apologised for his previous behaviour and has offered to repair the rendering free of charge.

Result!

Surreal conversations

It's turned out to be a strange week... perhaps the moon is in conjunction with Uranus? No letter of appointment for the hospital after giving an armful of blood and an enduring an MRI scan; so I rang the clinic and asked Miss Efficiency (very politely) if I could expect notification soon regarding my next appointment. It was as if I'd unleashed the Gods down upon her..."How do I know what your doctor looked like?" But, I didn't ask! "Was she young with short fair hair?" she continued... "umm, can't remember, but I don't think her appearance really is the issue here..." I replied. "Did she tell you that you would have an appointment?" she shouted down the phone at me. "Yes, - I would get a letter asking me back to the clinic in three weeks' time... and that three weeks is up..." I didn't finish my sentence, she transferred me back to reception, whereupon I asked to speak to the secretary of the clinic's consultant. Answermachine! I left a polite, gentle message, not wishing to unleash the Gods again. I did get a response... a polite message saying my letter would be in the post... and an apology for not having received the letter by now. Result!

Then two days' ago I was driving along our narrow little lane, going slowly around the bend (ha), when a man in white van came straight at me at speed, I swerved into the hedge, narrowly escaping having a wrecked car. Boy, did I swear! I extricated my now scratched car out of the hedge (white van man didn't stop)... and went to the village shop (now housed in the local pub), and collected my paper, still shaking while relaying the incident to the ladies behind the counter. I drove back along my lane looking in all the driveways for the white van... no luck; he'd gone. I wanted to confront him, knowing full well I'd only get a mouthful in return.

And, just half an hour ago, the two builders whom I've been trying to get round here to look at the crumbling rendering on my new house, turned up. I opened the front door and about to say hello, when I had a tirade along the lines of: "It's Frost! Not our problem... you should have painted the rendering by now." "Hello" I replied. He continued, "We were only responsible for the first 2 years, and these houses were built 7 years' ago..." I interjected, "...no, five years and that's the date on the NHBC insurance certificate." He towered above me and shouted down, "No, 7 years!" By this time I was trembling a bit but determined not to show it. I said, "I don't want to argue with you, just tell me if you will give me a quote for the work and I shall contact NHBC." He calmed down a bit, and said, "yeah, we'll do the work... but it's your fault the rendering has come off." "How", I asked. "You should have had it painted, 'cos you live on an exposed site." I reminded him that my immediate neighbours had had their rendering painted two years' ago, and they are also pursuing a claim for cracked rendering, so clearly, painting it didn't prevent the problem. I stood back inside my porch at this point. He drew breath and I interjected again... "I shall get back to you after I've spoken to NHBC about this." I smiled and closed the door. I have just spoken to James at NHBC who is sending around an assessor and has assured me that painting the rendering is just cosmetic and that the rendering should be up to the job. Hey Ho... we shall see what happens!

Tonight I'm off to Art Club... someone very arty is coming to offer a critique of work... I don't think I shall put myself up for a critique yet! Not until the Moon disappears completely up Uranus!

Stately Garden in the Cotswolds

Last summer my friends and I visited many National Trust properties as well as other grand houses open to the public. I took lots of photos and upon stumbling across one the other day, ... decided to try and paint it!

It started out as just a simple line and wash attempt... but I wanted to play with wet-in-wet and this is the result... a doorway to who knows what...

Yesterday I had another scan... an MRI this time. Still no firm diagnosis; the consultant was annoyed that the previous Ultrasound scan doc had presumed to diagnose Haemochromotosis without all tests being concluded. I suppose she's right, but I'm still left with no firm diagnosis yet and don't know what to eat or do in the meantime. I actually feel a lot better, although still have some aches and pains in the upper right abdomen region. Trouble is, while all this is still in the 'don't know' box, I can't seem to concentrate or plan anything for the future. I just want to get healthy again and start living life to the full. I've spent too much time grieving and am now ready to move on... seriously!

All that aside... I am a member of the local Arts Group, and have just looked at other members' art work...Wow! What a talented group they are. I have just lost all confidence in my own ability! Perhaps I should take up plumbing instead!!

Enough!

Like most of the population, apart from Bournemouth who haven't had snow, I have now had enough!

I made my way to the John Radcliffe hospital in Oxford, skidding along my lane until I came to a road that was more drive able... joined the queues onto the ring road and stayed in nose to bumper traffic for an hour and a bit. Then came the trauma of trying to park the car at the JR with no electric parking signs working, cars abandoned all over the place, cars skidding into parked ones... in all another 35 minutes until I abandoned my car on a patch of snow-covered grass under a tree.

I entered the nearest door and then walked for another 15 minutes until I found the Radiology Department. I expected to wait another 30 minutes, but amazingly I was shown straight in and then began the ultrasound on my abdomen. In conclusion, and with phone calls to my GP and other departments, it seems my problem is Hemochromatosis (iron overload in the body) ... an inherited condition that if untreated at the early stages inevitably leads to Diabetes, Heart attack and or disease, Lung disease, Kidney disease or failure, Stroke and Liver failure. Not the news I wanted to hear. So now I have to see a specialist, will need an MRI scan to see what damage has occurred and will probably have to have blood taken from me on a very regular basis in order to try and remove the stored iron in my organs. Of course I looked it all up on the NHS website and I may now have a shortened lifespan as a result. It explains my brother's diabetes and my parents' and grandparents' early death from Heart disease and Stroke.

Of course, I've been doing all the wrong things for the past 9 months... due to feeling tired all the time, I increased my iron intake via supplements... wrong move! I've been eating all the wrong foods; salmon, liver, steak etc - all high in iron. I should drink more Tea (Tanning helps reduce iron intake); avoid red meat, shellfish and any sugary foods. I look pale, sometimes grey and am losing weight. I managed to get through to the busy outpatients' reception desk this morning... (too many fractures and no staff available), to try and bring the appointments forward, but no luck yet.

So now I have to think of my children and their children... the faulty gene is passed down... some are carriers, and some, like me will have this condition. Apparently, it is more common than doctors first thought and as many as one in one hundred people have this condition and remain undiagnosed. My iron overload has gone straight to my Liver and has formed clusters, one of which is just behind my Gall Bladder and is causing me pain. Ironically, (pardon the pun), I now hardly ever drink red wine, which along with tea, contains tannins that reduce iron intake. Not that I'm about to start - my Liver is too important for me to get it wrong again! I just wish that this condition had been picked up when I'd visited various GPs over the past three years.

Today I hope to get the car out of the garage and venture into the nearest town for a paper. That's if I can negotiate past the piled up snow by my gate and path... left there by my neighbour who has constantly been clearing his side of the driveway! If I had any energy I would clear my side.

Proper Snow

Oxford radio have just announced that all hospitals are only operating an 'emergency only' policy... outpatients must remain 'out'. No chance of a scan today then?

I awoke to the dark, dull and silent atmosphere... no cars along the lane; no rain on the now blacked-out skylights and two cats sat either side of me, staring at me as if telepathically they were asking me to wake up and feed them. The ache just under my right ribcage worse this morning, but hey ho, I'm getting used to it now.

My car is safely tucked away in the garage, while my neighbour's car and large white van are covered in about eight inches of snow along with everything else for miles around. I watched parochial news featuring older people saying that this is nothing compared to the forties! Of course it isn't... we've all been told many times that things were better, worse, bigger, smaller or harder back then. But then, I really don't mind the snow! I have enough food to keep me going for several weeks and plenty of wood in the woodstore and candles in the cupboard. It's just that if the pain in my upper abdomen gets worse and I generally go downhill, it will have to be a helicopter job with a hoist!

As for the symptoms, perhaps anyone out there in the blogosphere can help out three so far, confused doctors?? I have an intolerance to wheat/gluten... maybe, and I've been told in the past that I have stress-related IBS. Recent illness began in early November with sudden attacks of feeling as if I was on fire, with outbreaks of sweat on body and head... no, not menopausal flushes! I've briefly had them in the past and it is a different kind of heatwave! I'm constantly tired, pale, worn out and I'm having mouth ulcers and the corners of my mouth become sore. So, I have increased my vitamin B, C and D and am eating all the right foods, including my five or seven a day!

My diagnosis? I think I have either a severe intolerance or allergy to wheat/gluten. I think my gall bladder is enlarged (and was confirmed by examination at Doc's). All blood and urine tests have ruled out any really bad nasties (or so the Doctors say). So I have now stopped eating and drinking anything that may have trace elements of wheat or gluten. This is so hard, as I've just discovered that the Cappucino coffee sachets that I have continued to drink, have wheat in them... no wonder I don't seem to be getting any better! However, I could have gall stones... anyone know what the symptoms are?

Thank you for listening to my boring symptoms. I hope everyone out there is healthy and happy - or will be for 2010. Best wishes for the year ahead.

Time flies... sometimes

This was Pebble at approximately ten weeks... now he is over two years old and tall, long and weighs about 5 and a half kg. He gets along okay with Banjo who is well over 11 years old and they tolerate each other; sometimes they chase each other and Banjo will try and wash Pebble... for all of 30 seconds, when he dashes off or tries to rough and tumble with her. This results in some hissing from Banjo. They don't sleep together, but will lie alongside each other in front of the log fire and only when I am with them.

I don't know how Charlie is getting on in my daughter's household... I have been busy seeing GPs about some possible Gall Stone trouble! Not funny and very painful. Now I have to go for a scan. I'm so glad I have completed my Will!

When I looked back at the pictures of my two cats I realised just how quickly the last two years have gone by. It's now four years and three months since he died... sometimes it seems like yesterday - sometimes it seems a lifetime away. Time either stands still when you want it to move, or it flies when you forget to count the days.

Charlie

Well, this is the latest picture of my daughter's new addition to the family... Charlie! About one year old, overfed, never been allowed to play and still trying to 'fit in' with a household of two adults, two boys and an existing male cat who every now and then, attacks him... it's a cat territorial thing!

He is, however, so very affectionate and loves to climb on my lap, and snuggle in to the crook of my arm, turn over and lie with his legs in the air, purring while I stroke him.

However, Charlie has a little habit that's causing my daughter to be annoyed... namely he pees in the hall instead of going outside. Now my daughter wanted to rub his nose in the pee, thinking this would deter him. I explained that you only usually do that to puppies, certainly not cats! It's a sign that he is completely 'lost' in a house with an existing male cat and is trying hard to establish himself... with pee.

It's a shame my feet are in the background! Along with a 'Burford Garden Centre' shopping bag!

Just like old times

Before my lovely man became ill, part of my consultancy job with a Constabulary was to travel to different locations, interview, observe, gather information, evaluate then write a report and present the findings for different projects... a job I loved doing, because I met lots of interesting people and learnt a lot. So, now I find myself travelling to various villages where they've set up their own community shop; I interview, observe, gather information, evaluate, collate and report, ready to set up our own village shop... I love it! At last, I'm doing something useful and meeting lots of people in the process!

As a footnote to the sad ending of little Bubu (two posts earlier), my daughter has taken in another unwanted young cat called 'Charlie'. His owner didn't want him any more and deposited him at the Veterinary clinic where daughter Number four works. Charlie is short and round and very affectionate and unlike Bubu, is far from emaciated, but, he now has a new home and a family that loves him.

Reflections

I really love Autumn and Spring... mostly Spring, because it heralds the start of something new, fresh, and light and green. Autumn will always remind me of the death of my lovely man... the golden light on the green lawn and the dahlias bobbing in the gentle breeze. It was his favourite time of the year, and the house he'd built years before had been called 'September Cottage'. How I long now for a new house of my own... a new beginning... apart and separate from all the trauma and grief of the past four years!

To that end, I have now decorated all the interior of the house... the house that conforms to all the disability regulations... I just have to repaint the outside... the postman told me the other day that 'the front door needs a coat of paint'... thank you Postie, but don't you have other pressing job-related issues to worry about?

I am on a Steering Group to try and establish a new village community shop and Post Office as the old one is closing down... the owner wants to retire somewhere 'oop north'. I am trying to help, but one half of me is already moving mind, body and soul, as well as house and home to another location... one that is away from neighbours who terrorise cats, away from umpteen covenants on the house that restrict me from just about everything, away from teenage boys who destroy my security lamps, pear tree and stream with their thoughtless antics.

I can't seem to get a job, no matter how hard I try and despite leaving out my date of birth. I have given up trying to find a 'nice, good' man still with his own teeth and hair... who needs em? I have now learnt to live without male company, male protection or attention and have resigned myself to the status quo.

Once Christmas is over with and the outside of the house is painted, I shall seek a valuation and start looking in earnest for another property that I can call my own... one without memories and one where I can feel safe, alone and can look after my cats, paint, decorate and garden landscape to my heart's content. I just need a bit of extra money....!

Upon reflection, what does any of it matter? I exist fairly well. It could be a whole lot worse!

KBO

I'm now wearing my third temporary tooth veneer... long story...; have just had stitches out on a back molar that is being prepared for something 'big'; about to go back to the hairdresser - highlights were non-existent but cost me a lot; a skirt I'd ordered doesn't seem to appear from M&S...

While annoying, none of this is life-threatening, just a sad indictment of today's consumer society and lack of something... be it organisation skills, shop training, lack of listening skills?? Whatever the cause, I now come to expect these things whenever I venture out to buy something.

So, what joy to have my son-in-law come over immediately to fix my new surround-sound system that was buggered up somehow during last week's half term break!

Having watched the drama 'Into the Storm' recreating Churchill's time in office during WWII, I have decided to adopt one of his mantras: Keep Buggering On... KBO! So apt in this current climate. And 'Bugger' is a word I've always loved using... so quintessentially British!

KBO - everyone!

Three weeks

To drive thirty miles to look after little BuBu is no hardship; nor is it any trouble to wash her, help her out into the garden where she obligingly 'goes'. Nor is it any hassle to stroke her under her emaciated chin, eliciting little purrs of delight while she lies on the sofa, struggling with the debilitating effects of malnutrition, neglect and abandonment. Each day she gains just a little more flesh on her fragile small bones and her spine no longer sticks out like a ridge of distant mountains.

Three weeks of warmth, food, and much love couldn't stop her body's slow disintegration into diabetes, complete blindness and deafness and a confused state of mind. On Tuesday morning, my daughter brought BuBu into bed with her where she lay across my daughter's neck and could feel her pulse and hence began to purr. BuBu could no longer keep down any food and could'nt seem to go to the loo any more. The Vet gave her verdict and hence her end. Little BuBu went into an enforced sleep... she was only about 18 months' old. In three short weeks, she had captured all our hearts.

I would really like to meet her former owner who left her flat and her kitten behind!

Classic

I love classic cars and so, enjoyed a trip around the rally at Blenheim Park a little while ago. I browsed, ummed and aarghed and took lots of pics. I even found a Vauxhall Cresta... just like my Dad's!

The owners all sat with picnic hampers, flasks, small dogs, wives and most had an abundance of hair around their faces, (not the wives).

A bygone age with gorgeous cars and motor bikes. When it came to the bikers parading inside the arena, only a few turned up... most had gone for a 'walkabout' within the Palace grounds, much to the annoyance of the commentator.

I sat on a bench and ate my picnic, enjoying watching the world go by; kids having tantrums, dads getting frustrated with the kids; wives bored. Classic!

Real issues

Despite recent disputes and arguments between two of my daughters, which has really saddened me; a little malnourished mite, abandoned by her owner has come into our lives. Her new name is Bubu; found staggering and hardly able to keep upright, outside my daughter's house, just a fragile bag of bones, almost completely blind and deaf, with back legs collapsing beneath her as she made one more attempt to get some food from anywhere she could.

One week later she is now rehoused with another daughter, is still partially blind and still deaf, is eating little and often the special food and vitamins my daughter and her husband are giving her. She can now walk a little better and yesterday, for the first time, her tail went in the air and she managed to purr in gratitude. She lives on the sofa and can find her way to the kitchen, bumping into a few items on the way.

I hope my daughters can see the bigger picture here... despite their arguments, there are creatures who are in dire circumstances that put other things into their rightful perspective.

Interviews and value systems

In just ten days' time, it will be exactly four years since my lovely man departed this earthly existence for whatever place is next... (or not)! I keep wondering whether there are other non-worldly places our souls go to, or, when we die do we just cease to exist permanently?

I have read several articles over the years concerning young children's memories of past lives. Perhaps Buddhism is nearer to the truth of our existence than other religions? Maybe not.

Back to my own existence... today I went for an interview for the job of being a pottery painter... nothing creative about it, just daubing paint onto cut-out stencils in a very precise and prescribed way, sitting at a workstation for six hours each day, five days a week for near enough the minimum wage. Upon completion, I shook hands with the owner as he said a letter will go out to all candidates next week, short-listing to a few who will then be invited back to spend a day working at a workstation stencilling all day... whoopee... just for the experience and without pay. The successful candidate will then come back for a three month trial period. My gut instinct screams out that NO... I don't think this is for me!

I went home, aggressively dead-headed the roses and then spent the afternoon searching for teaching theories in preparation for another interview this Friday. I have to give a twenty minute, innovative micro-teach to a small group, pretending they are prospective teachers on a basic course. Then follows a question and answer session and interview. About an hour in total. The job?... a sessional tutor in teacher training.

Part of me says I should do this and get myself out of the house; bills need paying; and a mortgage will need paying off soon. I am also made aware (by one or two well-meaning folk) that I am not of retiring age; that I should be meeting people; and that I need a purpose. Yeah, yeah, yeah. However, in the past I embarked on unsuitable jobs that made me physically ill. I always vowed never to take a job again that went against my needs, wants and value system, nor just for the sake of it. I would rather go without food, give up the Gym and sell my car than be so unhappy in a job. I have done many jobs in the past (some not very nice) that paid for food, education and important things for my children. I no longer have dependants, which governs everything we do. There is only me and two cats... they can catch their own food if necessary. Now I answer only to myself.

So when Friday comes along, I shall again, listen to my gut instinct once I've delivered my micro teach and been questioned etc. Sometimes I wonder if I am now too affected by life's cruel events and therefore not willing to conform. I have developed a rebellious streak and don't like being told what to do. And this is why I would love my own business. As an aside; after reading a book about Cosmic Ordering, I wrote down my wish list and wished with all my heart... for days! It worked for Noel Edmunds, but doesn't seem to work for me! Ah well, back to Honey and Mumford's Learning Style Inventory!!!

Confused again

As I took off my jacket and handed it to the small, delicate, very blonde and very young assistant, she said, "That's it sweetie..." as she helped me on with my black voluminous gown in preparation for a cut and blow-dry! And with her delicate, butterfly touch on my elbow, she guided me to the chair. I suppose that to her, I was ancient and needed treating delicately. She handed me a couple of 'OK' and 'Hello' magazines, and as soon as she'd gone off to aide another ancient over-40 woman, I got up and exchanged them for 'Country Living' and 'Prima'... proof that I was indeed ancient!

Then conversely, yesterday while walking around the Cotswold Wildlife Park with my two young grandsons, and asking for two ice-cream cones, I was addressed as 'Mum' by the young man serving. I am now suffering from a sort of identity crisis... what am I? Ancient grandmother or mother of two young boys? What's age got to do with anything? And, why are some people ill at ease with the different ages? Or, do they just not know that everyone, regardless of age, etc., etc., should be treated with equal respect? I don't much like being called 'Sweetie, darlin', love, m'duck or anything else by people I don't know. However, some might say that I have indeed reached the 'Grumpy Old Woman' stage! All this is proof I need a life!

Can't see the wood for the trees...

I am tasked with the job of finding a suitable venue for my daughter's wedding next year! I am amazed at the inflexibility of some venues in that they will not, under any circumstances, provide a buffet-style wedding breakfast!! For Goodness sake... who is paying for this!!

I am google-eyed and websited out! Why can't they realise that the Bride's wishes are basically what provides their income? Today we visited three venues... the first - we were met by a lovely and very young lady who anticipated our every question and was absolutely great! Problem... no accommodation! Second vist to a small country hotel... the girl was just out of puberty and gave us a spiel but with no effort at encompassing the Bride's wishes... the third was a larger hotel and of a well-known brand who didn't mind doing whatever the bride wished. However, the rooms may not be entirely to my daughter's liking... and was the venue for a friends wedding. Difficult... and it brought back many memories for me because my lovely man and I stayed at the same hotel for her friends wedding back in 2004.

Venues vary in what they offer and some incur hidden charges for just the basics... like a cup of tea!

I am also feeling vulnerable because yet again, I will probably attend, as the bride's mother... alone and without a partner while my previous [Ex] will love that fact! My daughter said jokingly... maybe you will have a 27 year old muscled, tanned partner by then... we laughed, but I knew the reality was that I would still be alone.

Perhaps I could hire someone??

Meanwhile I continue on my websearch of suitable venues in Oxfordshire and maybe into Gloucestershire for somewhere where my lovely eldest daughter and her partner can be married in the manner to which they would like.

Kept in the dark and fed on s***

Yep... for an excellent mushroom, keep it in the dark and feed it on excrement! That's how I feel my High Street dentist has treated me over the botched job of fitting a temporary veneer.

Why do I have to wait three weeks to have a new veneer fitted? Why do I have to go to Thame to let the technicians match up the shade to my existing teeth? Why did the temporary veneer turn black, thereby allowing me to frighten the horses and small children? Why did the subsequent visit to see another dentist (mine was away), result in her telling me that she thought the veneer was to blame, or I'd perhaps been using a certain brand of mouthwash, known for darkening teeth? Then, seeing my returning dentist, it seems my gum bled during the fitting of the temporary veneer, (due, by his own admission, to his clumsy extraction of the remains of the old one), and this caused the blackening under the veneer. So, off with the old, and on with a new one after being scraped and drilled and washed and dried. I'm now at home, with sore gum but a whiter tooth. My dentist doesn't do colour matches, nor tooth whitening, nor anything else out of the ordinary... he prefers to send his patients miles away for others to do the work. Could this be because he's not so hot in areas other than check-ups and extractions? His veneer work isn't so hot! When this treatment has finally finished I shall be seeking another Dentist.

At least he owned up to doing a bad job, unlike his young, straight out of the training school box, colleague who waffled her way through, did some poking around my blackened tooth saying she'd improved it, but when I asked for a mirror it was obvious she'd made the thing worse!

I feel better now, thank you blog friends for letting me vent steam. This is a mushroom unwilling to be kept in the dark and fed on shit!