Eghh's in waiting.

Do you think Diabetes is too happy a word? It doesn’t really convey the severity of the disease. Cancer sounds like a sideways creeping cluster fuck whereas Diabetes  sounds like a secluded Greek island. ‘Where are you going this summer?’ ‘Diabetes, Kath wants to learn how to windsurf’. It should be called ‘eghh!’ because that’s what you say when you see your first necrotic toe. Boom! I spent two hours on a train to try that bit out. It’s a keeper*. I didn’t mind the travel-time as I love what I do but don’t put me on a train for a stupid reason.   

There’s something quite frustrating about having to prove that you speak English when the only language you speak is English. That frustration grows as the people testing your English, use it as their second, or in some cases, third language. I have nothing against folks who are smarter than me but as they are so intelligent surely all that needs to happen is a phone call! ‘Do you speak English well enough to be a nurse?’  ‘Of course I know the following sentences off by heart: Don’t worry I’ve seen it all before; I’ll be there in a minute; please don’t bite my face.’ Great you know the basics, you’re in.’ Alas no. I had to hop on a London bound train surrounded by overweight and illiterate teenage Eghh’s in waiting, with the hope that I’ll get the all clear to nurse their parents to a self inflicted and premature death. But still the positives are of the 7 billion people on the planet many are heading in this direction and one day, in the not too distant future, ignorance will create bliss. And while we’re on the topic of population control, which we all secretly want, poor communication skills in hospitals, is probably the answer.  Night x

* Whilst it is a keeper in certain rooms it can also be used to start a staring competition, which I’m fine with as my auntie was born without eyelids so I’m match fit.

Tunbridge Wells it is then.

We moved into a twee town called Tunbridge Wells, which sits an hour south of London - the not so sleepy hollow where I wanted to live.  I like the idea of getting home, looking in the mirror and saying, ‘I’ve got a dusty nostril’. Who wouldn’t want to live in a town where you can pop ‘dusty nostril’ into conversation and it not be weird? Answer: My lady wife. Yep she was quick with an emphatic ‘no’ on that one. I tried discussing the matter but she has the vagina and that was that.  I did get close to convincing her but then the London riots hit our screen all during our son’s first proper cold. Tunbridge Wells it is then. The irony being now that I’m here it’s obvious that if ever a town needed a riot it’s Tunbridge Wells. It’s like living in a tea cosy. For the first time in my life I miss hookers and junkies. They provide towns with a dash of misery and violence that allows you to appreciate your intact skin. Unfortunately I’m pretty sure they’ve all been strangled here because they’re the first people to go when everything is a bit too nice. All it takes is someone only winning bronze in the local Bloom competition, they react by not cooking their 35 year old son dinner and boom! He’s out slashing skanks. So here I am, building a life that will support lady wife and boy son and the start hasn’t been bad but, I do miss my creatures of darkness. 

Photo by Lady Wife. 

Mars

Nothing to report on the ‘not watching the news’ front, except that I happened to get a glimpse of an article about an abnormal structure found on Mars. I didn’t mean to, I just peered at a computer screen that was on a mainstream news site and ‘boom!’ my year off news is the year Alien life hires a publicist. I’ve always suspected that Mars was once walked upon by creatures as foolish as ourselves and they did a good job of killing it. If I’m wrong then I’m hoping it’s a planet inhabited with intelligent Lizards who have infiltrated our kind here on earth; taken positions in government and have a vested interest in using mobile phone technology to give us brain cancer. The theory goes that tumours are a delicacy for these Lizards so they gave us the gadgets to farm what they most desire. Our best minds are their Foie Gras in waiting. I only hope this one’s true because watching the people who have spent their entire lives with their heads in the sand; watching them find ways to actually hide their heads in the sand would probably be worth having your scull munched out by a scaly stranger.

I’m assuming the abnormal structure on Mars has been denied because if people believed life on Mars was real, I’d be seeing more people relaxing at home during the week. The Tic Tac factories of the world would have a hard time convincing staff to believe in the benefits of mint. In fact having the breath and odour of a human would probably become the latest fashion statement. All these years denying what we are would become an embarrassing chapter in history as we all join team Human. Memberships only available to the imperfect faulty folks who aren’t afraid to smell, fail and shake their wobbly bits whilst dancing to the moon. At least that’s how it goes in my head.

I just finished reading the Adventures of Tom Sawyer and now I’m onto Huck Finn. Twain is the best kind of writer because he gives you back your youth without bossing you about. You want to lose weight and feel younger Tom and Huck are the ones to follow. You won’t find them on Twitter or Facebook as they only get in the way of fishing and being a pirate.  In an un-planned bout of good timing I’ve been reading these adventures and seeking a move to the UK at the same time. I have a young family and the idea of moving country has stirred a lot of bullshit bravado in me. I puff up when secretly I’m shaking. But Mark Twain has let me glimpse my fearless youth and problems have morphed into adventures. And if the Lizards are real and my noggin doesn’t taste up to scratch then I’ll read him again to find my fighting spirit.

So in a-round-about way that’s been the energy of my week: Excitement of extraterrestrial life being mainstream news; dismay that it all fell on sand sodden ears; followed by confidence found in the devilish nature of two 19^th century adventurists. I’ve enjoyed it although it has ended on a sad note as on another young Australian soldier was killed fighting on foreign soil for reasons so twisted and vile they make a clear head cloudy. I didn’t see it on the news but instead heard it from a neighbour and it’s got my feathers ruffled. It could be time to write a letter.