Shut up ya girl

I know, I know..... look, it'll be worth while, trust me I know doctors, dentists and architects.

Day one in the house (using authentic northern accent).

Ok, I probably need to start at the beginning, remember my knackered hip? the one they were going to fix then decided they hadn't raped my insurance company enough so cancelled it and ran some unnecessarily expensive tests involving a myriad of specialists all eager for a slice of the Xmas bonus cake? Well, I now have a new date for the Op. It's February 18th. Hurrah? Hmmm.

Except I hate February. It's just not my month..... people die, wives run off and I become significantly older. February has no place on this earth, it's simply there to prolong winter and keep evenings dark, and don't let the 28 day thing fool ya, each day has 26 hours in it to make up for the short fall......... Hateful.

So after all the tests it seems my blood pressure is far too high for an operation (195/110 yesterday), so it needs to come down. As there were 5 weeks to the Operation the Doc seemed quite confident it could be done with nothing more than a hand full of potent chemicals.

I guess all was going sort of OK. but then work decided everything was going far too smoothly and lobbed a spanner in the works, the spanner was in the shape of several idiots each attempting to stamp their authority on things they know nothing about...... Under normal circumstances, this could be considered, well, normal circumstances for this company. Unfortunately for me it has the effect of keeping my BP higher than a perfect darts score.

So, as each visit to the Doc revealed my BP was getting higher and not lower it was decided I should not return to work before the Op.......

That means I've had to tell work I cant be involved in their Fantasy Remedy League any longer. Which of course gives them the "Golden Scapegoat" card they'll need when reality kicks in and their mothers call them in for Tea. "It was that fat lad wot done it, not us" wil lbe rining out from boardrooms as I write.

So there you have it. I have to cry off work like a girl so I can eventually walk around like everyone else on the street without looking like I've shat myself.

127/72 pulse 67 at 11am. Something seems to be working!