On the Road

Followers of my other blog Pie ‘n’ Mushies will recall that I caught what looked like a giant spare tyre being unloaded in the dock.

This morning the same (I assume) object was creating merry chaos in the Michaelson Road/Bridge Road area of Barrow Island as it made its way on a low loader from the dockside to the assembly shop, shrouded in a giant binliner.

It’s not the biggest thing ever to have been transported of course – a couple of years ago the conning tower of HMS Astute made a trip from the assembly shop to the DDH – but they still make a mess when negotiating the Coffee House and/or Walney Bridge roundabouts.

Now, in the grand old days of the shipyard this wouldn’t have been necessary. See where all those cars are parked in front of the blue windows? That used to be railway lines, used for shifting all sorts of stuff about the shipyard/docks/ironworks when I was little.

In the Balance

My kitchen scales are knackered, so I need a replacement.

What I want is a good old fashioned set of scales and weights, driven by the immutable laws of physics and not requiring any additional input of energy

All I can find in the shops are cheap and nasty spring-driven things, whose springs can be guaranteed to fail within a year or so if my exerience is anything to go by. Alternatively there are loads of electronic balances, which are basically the same thing except that they have a low-cost LCD digital display to give the thing a bit of twenty-first century cachet and a reason for being given a higher profit margin.

With a proper pan balance, of course, you can do things you can’t do with a spring balance. The best bit is being able to weigh out the ingredients for your Victoria sponge by placing your eggs in one pan and balancing everything else against them. That way you get your proportions just right!

Anybody know where I can get one?

Making the effort

I could have slobbed around beeling sorry for myself tonight.

But I didn’t, I dragged myself off, rather reluctantly, to the bridge club. And my partner and I did rather well. I suspect that feeling drained and listless left me to tired to worry about it, so I relaxed and played well. And as a result I feel much more cheerful.

It’s always worth making the effort, then, even when you don’t feel like it.

The Morning After

I slept badly again last night. I’m still having trouble breathing and I still have an infection on my chest so I’m coughing a lot, but it’s a lot looser this morning so maybe the Amoxycillin is working and I’m on the mend. Until the next time – it seems like every couple of months now.

Also, I’m feeling miserable still. Not as miserable as I did first thing. At about 10 last night my broadbean suddenly went dead and I had nightmare visions of being completely cut off from the world just when I needed the world most. I woke up full of dread. But as you see, all was well when I powered up this morning.

I still dream of a good sociable night in the pub with a bunch of friends. It seems a long time now.

Public Service Announcement

Astute readers will notice that I am not out rambling today. This is because I felt really feverish when I went to bed last night, and I slept fitfully and woke late. So there won’t be a rambling report. Nor will there be a film diary because my DVD supplire has become very inefficient lately. I’ll have to resort to old favourites for comfort.

Also it feels like “put the boot into Rosie for being stupid and not running with the herd” time.

I need some TLC.

They’re gonna let me live (continued)

The shortage of breath last weekend, and the cold during the week that went to my chest, reached its inevitable conclusion today, and I ended up on the nebuliser at the FGH.

Not a particularly severe episode this time, and after a single nebuliser shot and an x-ray I was sent home again with a load of anibiotics but no steroids.

The time is coming, I think, to consider getting a home nebuliser thingy. These incidents are getting more and more frequent and traipsing out to FGH every time seems a bit silly.

Invasion of The Thing

Ever had that awful realisation that the fridge desperately needs cleaning and you can’t face doing it?

Hmmm….

They’re gonna let me live…

This morning I had my final follow-up appointment in the ENT clinic at Furness General.

Despite now suffering from a streaming cold, I had my nose poked and prodded and was found to be clean. So it looks like my dealings with these people is complete. For now, anyway.

It will be respiratory problems that finish me off, I think. I don’t know whether I should run today or not but I’m thinking perhaps best not to.

And another thing…

I was supposed to go for another run today but I’m going down with something – nasty cough, dry throat, shortage of breath – that seesm to be a contraindication to running. And my tummy has been playing up a bit lately too. I feel a bit rotten, to tell the truth.

Coffee time

This morning I ground the last spoonful of Bruzzi beans and cooked them up in the Moka – simply the best way to make coffee, by the way. Ask any Italian mamma! So it’s time to catch the train to Lancaster again, and enjoy the delights of my favourite coffee and tea shop.

I had a chat with the proprietor because it’s that kind of place, and rather than my usual half kilo of Bruzzi beans I when for 250 g of Bruzzi and 250 g of the New Guinea ‘Y’ that was commended to me. We shall see. Also, because I’ve been right out of tea, I got myself some of the excellent Nilgiri BOP (Broken Orange Pekoe).

And as it’s Lancaster it’s the chance to pick up stuff from the Single Step Wholefood Cooperative

Also, it was a nice sunny day and no more excuse is needed to visit Cuthbert the Clown.

Cuthbert runs a nice little children’s toy emporium, but it’s not that I’m going for. Cuthbert also happens to sell the best ice cream in the known universe, made locally from the cream of Lune Valley cows.

Usually when I visit Lancaster I have a beer and a bite to eat at Ye Olde John of Gaunt, but I didn’t have time today. Maybe it’s just as well, as I was alarmed to see this in the window,,,

I’m not reassured – would you be? If there’s nothing to worry about in this most excellent of city-centre pubs anywhere, why put up a notice like that? And the right and proper person to be in charge of an English pub is a guv’nor, not a “designated premises supervisor”, whatever that might mean. I fear the worst; the bean-counters have struck at another priceless institution.