Saturday, 27th September
I hate patients who get arsey about appointment times. They wouldn't try it on with orthopaedic surgeons, so why do it to us? Having to do a routine Saturday morning list on call is bad enough. Then they don't FUCKING TURN UP. Went to the Nelsons for a barbeque this afternoon, which was fun. Camilla, Xanthe and I took a trip to 'Little Manila,' just a few metres from their front door. Here there are loads of tiny Filipino supermarkets, packed to the gunnels with exciting, exotic food. Much of this is crammed with colourants, resulting in extraordinarily improbable food colours. But you can find the odd gem. Wasabi peanuts... Heaven. And a packet of frozen banana leaves for future use.
My entire day is ruined, by losing to Hull, 1-2. Thank God we decided to give the trip to The Emirates a miss.
Sunday, 28th September
Got up stupidly early for a Sunday to finish the work backlog, before going to see my Dad. I am at the end of my tether with this work, and have the worst tennis elbow, from holding the dictaphone. I am awarding myself a couple of days off, for it to settle down. I spent the afternoon figuring out how to access my OU photography course, and got through a fair bit of the first session. The boys won 7- 4, against the confusingly named - Where My Pitch Is At. Whom I think should be called - Smack My Pitch Up. My bright idea of locking off the camcorder so I didn't have to stay and watch the match, was crap. Unusable footage from a static viewpoint. What was I thinking? The highlight of the evening was seeing some of the boys behave in a quite unreconstructed manner, after Gary's revelation that he plucks his eyebrows, and Veets everything else.
The children eschewed our company tonight, to spend the evening with Ali, Leo and Victoria.
Monday, 29th September
Just two patients today. Bliss! This allowed me to spend much of the day sorting out the Sony eReader, and the ultra-rugged waterproof, drop-proof, and freeze-proof, camera. I was tempted to put it in the freezer to check. Took the kids shopping after school, which is like trying to sit on a pile of marbles. Just when you think you have everything under control, they go clattering all over the floor again.
The usual suspects got together for our Mixology class at Bluebird. We were plied with just as much alcohol as we could manage, and genuinely learnt a lot. Hopefully everone's memory was intact at that point. So it was a fairly noisy six-some that turned up at The Big Easy. The waiter suggested that I should have the all-you-can-eat barbeque. I even accepted a bib. I am not sure how many racks of ribs we got through in total, but it was a lot. Especially if the state of my fingernails is anything to go by.
Tuesday, 30th September
Tackled the To Do Box Box, and, apart from finishing my tax return, I think I cracked it. Nevertheless, I am still stuck with a sneaking suspicion that I haven't achieved a lot. No real life patients today, just paper and electronic ones. Virtual patients. I finished everything in session 1, except the assignment, including spending several hours sorting and classifying photos.
My new nano turned up this morning and very sexy it is too. Fluffy can have my old red one. Recession, what recession? If the US government won't spent it's way out, I'll just have to do it myself.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Friday, September 26, 2008
Last night was a bit of a wash out. Mr Moore and I trekked all the way to Bankside Pier, anticipating champagne, canapes and a photographic opportunity extravaganza. What we got was a pint and a rose, in plastic cups, which we bought from the Globe pub (that's the pub next to Shakespeare's Globe - not a spherical one), and thirty-five minutes freezing our nuts off. Well, Troy's at least. By 9.20, there was still no sign of the boat, which should have been back by 9.00 at the latest, for our proposed 9.15 sailing. At that point we decided to throw in our collective towels. After all, even Liz Brewer gave up, and we all know she would go to the opening of a crisp packet.
Today we had our MacMillan coffee morning. I asked Ritchie from over the road, who looked dubious, until I mentioned cake. He was over like a shot. We raised £75, which was a lot better than last year.
Something made me really happy tonight. In PC World, I found a charger that does rechargeable batteries in 15 minutes. Gadget heaven!
Today we had our MacMillan coffee morning. I asked Ritchie from over the road, who looked dubious, until I mentioned cake. He was over like a shot. We raised £75, which was a lot better than last year.
Something made me really happy tonight. In PC World, I found a charger that does rechargeable batteries in 15 minutes. Gadget heaven!
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Dressed For Comfort, Not Speed
Wednesday, 24th September
I left the house dressed to thrill, stretch black leather Jitrois skirt, fitted Matthew Williamson black jacket, and matching turquoise Jimmy Choo stilettos and Wayfarers. A lot of effort for a 30 minute meeting, but worth it as it turns out. Rob, Nicola (not just an agent, but the managing director of the company) and I bandied some thoughts about cancer, and medical TV in general.
I mentioned my book, and Nicola's eyes lit up. In no time at all we were talking about potential advances, pr tours and what-not. She wants to see the first 4,000 words as soon as possible. Amazing. By the time I got home, she had copied me into an email to the Editor-in-Chief of a large publishing house, pitching a book she hasn't yet even seen. Doubly amazing. She even slightly changed the title and added a sub-title, so it's now called, Tits Up - at least when you're bald you can't have a bad hair day.
Absolutely fizzing with excitement over this. The easy part is writing the ruddy thing, the hard part is getting it to sell. Nicola also seemed fairly keen on me as a co-presenter with Rob. Watch this space.
Troy was having a drink over the road with Dan, early evening. I joined them briefly, and Troy went home to cook the beef fillets. I finished up my wine and excused myself, explaining to Dan, 'I had better go home to help, the steaks are too high to risk.'
Thursday, 25th September
Today I am dressed for comfort rather than speed. Thursday is always a long day for me, as I am going to be clambering on and off a boat in the Thames later, I decided this was not the day for killer heels. Mr Moore had some unpleasant news today: yesterday his friend Richard took the car out, having been drinking all night, and shortly found himself being airlifted into the Royal London for spinal surgery. I just hope that (a) no-one else was involved, and (b) that this proves to be the wake up call that he so badly needs. After all this is the man who thought it was appropriate to make my mother a balloon man with a gigantic penis. The look on her face was priceless.
I had a phone call from Nicola mid-morning, but missed it because I was with one of the only three patients I have today. Damn, damn, damn. I tried to call her back, but she was in a meeting. She wanted to speak to me about the book. I realised that, because I didn't have my reading glasses on me last night, I sent the 4,000 to a non-existent email address. Rats! And not in a Marrakech way. Sent it again this morning to the correct address, along with some random writing, a media biog, and a photo. I need to send another photo but I want to photoshop it first.
My phone just rang, a private number, and conked out due to lack of signal. Double rats. I caved in and rang Nicola at the office. Her first call had been intended to say that she was a bit disappointed with the sombre tone, which in keeping with what we had discussed yesterday. That was a piece I had written for The Telegraph, sombre indeed, it wasn't even in drama-queen-Daily-Mail speak.
Fortunately the correct piece hit the ground running, and she has already sent it to a pair of agents at William Morris. Nicola has also spoken to her editor friend, who says she will do anything to help. I can't believe this is all happening so fast. She's advised me not to write any more for the time being, and to wait to see what sort of a steer the agents want to give it. It needs more of a grab apparently, so a small rewrite, to start with me looking at the screen, and going 'Fuck! That wasn't there last year.'
Just as she was going to ring off, she had one last, throw-away, line... 'Oh, I nearly forgot to say, I pitched you for a TV series this morning.'
Wow!
I left the house dressed to thrill, stretch black leather Jitrois skirt, fitted Matthew Williamson black jacket, and matching turquoise Jimmy Choo stilettos and Wayfarers. A lot of effort for a 30 minute meeting, but worth it as it turns out. Rob, Nicola (not just an agent, but the managing director of the company) and I bandied some thoughts about cancer, and medical TV in general.
I mentioned my book, and Nicola's eyes lit up. In no time at all we were talking about potential advances, pr tours and what-not. She wants to see the first 4,000 words as soon as possible. Amazing. By the time I got home, she had copied me into an email to the Editor-in-Chief of a large publishing house, pitching a book she hasn't yet even seen. Doubly amazing. She even slightly changed the title and added a sub-title, so it's now called, Tits Up - at least when you're bald you can't have a bad hair day.
Absolutely fizzing with excitement over this. The easy part is writing the ruddy thing, the hard part is getting it to sell. Nicola also seemed fairly keen on me as a co-presenter with Rob. Watch this space.
Troy was having a drink over the road with Dan, early evening. I joined them briefly, and Troy went home to cook the beef fillets. I finished up my wine and excused myself, explaining to Dan, 'I had better go home to help, the steaks are too high to risk.'
Thursday, 25th September
Today I am dressed for comfort rather than speed. Thursday is always a long day for me, as I am going to be clambering on and off a boat in the Thames later, I decided this was not the day for killer heels. Mr Moore had some unpleasant news today: yesterday his friend Richard took the car out, having been drinking all night, and shortly found himself being airlifted into the Royal London for spinal surgery. I just hope that (a) no-one else was involved, and (b) that this proves to be the wake up call that he so badly needs. After all this is the man who thought it was appropriate to make my mother a balloon man with a gigantic penis. The look on her face was priceless.
I had a phone call from Nicola mid-morning, but missed it because I was with one of the only three patients I have today. Damn, damn, damn. I tried to call her back, but she was in a meeting. She wanted to speak to me about the book. I realised that, because I didn't have my reading glasses on me last night, I sent the 4,000 to a non-existent email address. Rats! And not in a Marrakech way. Sent it again this morning to the correct address, along with some random writing, a media biog, and a photo. I need to send another photo but I want to photoshop it first.
My phone just rang, a private number, and conked out due to lack of signal. Double rats. I caved in and rang Nicola at the office. Her first call had been intended to say that she was a bit disappointed with the sombre tone, which in keeping with what we had discussed yesterday. That was a piece I had written for The Telegraph, sombre indeed, it wasn't even in drama-queen-Daily-Mail speak.
Fortunately the correct piece hit the ground running, and she has already sent it to a pair of agents at William Morris. Nicola has also spoken to her editor friend, who says she will do anything to help. I can't believe this is all happening so fast. She's advised me not to write any more for the time being, and to wait to see what sort of a steer the agents want to give it. It needs more of a grab apparently, so a small rewrite, to start with me looking at the screen, and going 'Fuck! That wasn't there last year.'
Just as she was going to ring off, she had one last, throw-away, line... 'Oh, I nearly forgot to say, I pitched you for a TV series this morning.'
Wow!
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Media Me
Tuesday, 23rd September
An extraordinary thing happened this morning. About six months ago, I met a lovely woman whose husband is a TV producer. She is also friendly with Rob Buckman, one of my childhood heroes. He had written a book called Cancer Is A Word, Not A Sentence, and was looking for a female medic co-presenter. She was going to put me in touch with him. Six months down the line, I am looking through my mobile for another Sarah K's number and see hers, I toyed with the idea of calling her to find out what was happening, but decided that too long had passed.
You can see where this is going. This morning I got up to find an email from her, timed at 23.06 last night. Rob is finally in the country, and she told him about me, he wanted further details. I sent him an email, and within an hour he emailed back, suggesting that we meet at his agent's tomorrow. Brilliant, what with being made the medical spokesman for Breastlight, (more of which later), it's been a hell of a week.
We went to see Daddy again today, and it was a bit of a joke-fest. My Ma had been to the dentist for a routine check up this morning, so Daddy asked her what the dentist had said... 'Open wide.' I drawled.
Xanthe Analyzes The NHS
Sunday, 21st September
Xanthe decided to pick my brains about the state health system tonight. The conversation went something like this...
'You know that hospital we went to see Pappou in, on Friday?'
'Yes.'
'Was that the NHS?'
'Yes.'
'It's disgusting. Is it cheap (and there is a distinction here)?'
'Not cheap, but free at the point of use.'
'Well, I suppose some people have to use it.'
We went to Manny's for Ali's birthday, and Xanthe has a new job as a waitress. Ivo showed her how to fold napkins, and which side to serve people from. Or rather, from which to serve people. Sparta Park won 3-2, against arch-rivals Nickel. Fran and Alex got quite loud, sweaty, and aggressive, in defeat.
Monday, 22nd September
My gorgeous new diary arrived today. Mustard yellow leather, with Mrs Moore engraved in gold on the front. I took my carefully prepared selection of sticky photos, and added to birthdays and anniversaries. Except that I put one of our wedding photos on the 27th June. Doh!
Sunday, September 21, 2008
I Could Tell You, But Then I'd Have To Kill You
Thursday, 18th September
Mr Moore and I went to supper with our mate Gary, the England physio. He told us loads of great stories, which I am sadly unable to divulge, but if he ever needs his autobiography ghosted, I'd love to be first in the queue.
We got back to Battersea and sat, shivering, under the sadly inadequate heating lights in the smoking garden. The couple on the other half of our table announced their imminent departure. They had to throw a cover over the parrot. I had visions of a small green bipedal creature, waddling about with its vision obscured by a tea towel. Apparently, if you don't, they wander around all night like a Duracell bunny on coke, swearing, and getting the munchies. 'Better go home,' I said, 'before it gets parrotlytic.' On a roll, I followed this up with - 'At least if you get a hangover, you can't take aspirin - because the parrots-etamol.' I have never seen anyone vacate a table quite so fast.
Friday, 19th September
We all went to see Dick tonight. He looked surprisingly well, given the recent surgery. Then back to Battersea, for tapas, and a visit from American Auntie Michelle. The children are always delighted to see her, and we had lots of catching up to do since the wedding.
Saturday, 20th September
I took Xanthe to Stagewise this morning, and returned to the excitement of a fire on Bullen Street. I was told to pull over by the police, and parked up to find the police winding cordon tape around it. I returned to it a couple of hours later, and the copper on the cordon told me to turn the car round, and drive the wrong way down a one way street. I questioned the sanity of this. 'Look Love,' he said, 'I've just told you to do something blatantly illegal, so go ahead.' He was clearly enjoying himself. I felt quite the VIP as he held up the tape for me to drive under.
Mr Moore and I went to supper with our mate Gary, the England physio. He told us loads of great stories, which I am sadly unable to divulge, but if he ever needs his autobiography ghosted, I'd love to be first in the queue.
We got back to Battersea and sat, shivering, under the sadly inadequate heating lights in the smoking garden. The couple on the other half of our table announced their imminent departure. They had to throw a cover over the parrot. I had visions of a small green bipedal creature, waddling about with its vision obscured by a tea towel. Apparently, if you don't, they wander around all night like a Duracell bunny on coke, swearing, and getting the munchies. 'Better go home,' I said, 'before it gets parrotlytic.' On a roll, I followed this up with - 'At least if you get a hangover, you can't take aspirin - because the parrots-etamol.' I have never seen anyone vacate a table quite so fast.
Friday, 19th September
We all went to see Dick tonight. He looked surprisingly well, given the recent surgery. Then back to Battersea, for tapas, and a visit from American Auntie Michelle. The children are always delighted to see her, and we had lots of catching up to do since the wedding.
Saturday, 20th September
I took Xanthe to Stagewise this morning, and returned to the excitement of a fire on Bullen Street. I was told to pull over by the police, and parked up to find the police winding cordon tape around it. I returned to it a couple of hours later, and the copper on the cordon told me to turn the car round, and drive the wrong way down a one way street. I questioned the sanity of this. 'Look Love,' he said, 'I've just told you to do something blatantly illegal, so go ahead.' He was clearly enjoying himself. I felt quite the VIP as he held up the tape for me to drive under.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Planes, Trains, Hydrofoils, Trains, Planes, Trains and Planes
Monday, September 15th
Daddy went into hospital today, to get prepped for his op tomorrow. Spent the morning recording some audio and eTV for Univadis, ten went home to crack though the start of the unbelievable backlog of reporting, from not having any internet access until yesterday. Fortunately there were no patients at either of the hospitals this afternoon, so I caned through nearly 50.
Tuesday, September 16th
Too distracted until Daddy gets out of theatre to be able to concentrate on any work, so I set myself the task of nailing our trip to Sicily, Italy and France. With intense research on t'iternet, and the back up of not one, but two guide books it is now sorted.
Saturday, 18th October - home to Gatwick, fly to Palermo, overnight at the Palm Beach hotel. I know it sounds awful, but we're not getting there 'til late.
Sunday, 19th October - train to Milazzo, hydrofoil to Salina, two nightsat the Hotel Signum.
Tuesday, 21st October, sparrow's fart hydrofoil to Reggio Calabria, train to Naples, then overnight at the Villa Claudio Ranieri. Did you see what I did there? I added the Claudio.
Wednesday, 22nd October, fly to Milan, overnight at the potty Hotel Spagni. I wonder if they serve Spanetti Milanese. I am full of crap jokes today.
Thursday, 23rd October, train to Nice, then hire car to Les Chaumettes for two nights.
Saturday, 25th October, fly back to Gatwick, get shot of the kids, then go with eight friends, (still to be finalised), for what should be an amazing 46th birthday meal, at The Greenhouse, in Mayfair.
Why? I hear you ask. I decided it was about time the kids got some experience of proper travel.
At 2.30 the surgeon rings to say that the operation went technically OK, but the tumour was very large and to brace ourselves for future trouble. Daddy is now residing on ITU.
With the operation safely over, I can concentrate on work, and crack through over 45 scans.
The main excitement of the afternoon, was te arrival of the B&W Zeppelin MP3 speakers. Only slightly smaller, and possibly heavier than their German namesake, they make our old Bose speakers look like the runt of the family.
Wednesday, 17th September
I rang HDU this morning, and got the usual type of nurse who couldn't understand a word of English, but I could hear Pa talking in the background, which has to be a good thing. So I decided to devote the day to work, and got through over 99 scans.
Xanthe came home from school announcing that she was on the school council. This sounds ominously American, child-centric and democratic. Apparently she was 'picked at random.' I asked her why her teacher wouldn't choose the most intelligent, charismatic and articulate child in the class, and she said, 'Reuben is obnoxious.' I think she missed the point.
Despite parading a selection of rugby injuries for me to inspect, Perry has gone to do football training with Troy and the Sparta Park boys tonight. So I am sitting in the pub alone, catching up on the blog.
Got to go home now to warm up the oven for my chicken, leek and bacon pie.
Yum. No, you're not invited. Maybe next time.
Daddy went into hospital today, to get prepped for his op tomorrow. Spent the morning recording some audio and eTV for Univadis, ten went home to crack though the start of the unbelievable backlog of reporting, from not having any internet access until yesterday. Fortunately there were no patients at either of the hospitals this afternoon, so I caned through nearly 50.
Tuesday, September 16th
Too distracted until Daddy gets out of theatre to be able to concentrate on any work, so I set myself the task of nailing our trip to Sicily, Italy and France. With intense research on t'iternet, and the back up of not one, but two guide books it is now sorted.
Saturday, 18th October - home to Gatwick, fly to Palermo, overnight at the Palm Beach hotel. I know it sounds awful, but we're not getting there 'til late.
Sunday, 19th October - train to Milazzo, hydrofoil to Salina, two nightsat the Hotel Signum.
Tuesday, 21st October, sparrow's fart hydrofoil to Reggio Calabria, train to Naples, then overnight at the Villa Claudio Ranieri. Did you see what I did there? I added the Claudio.
Wednesday, 22nd October, fly to Milan, overnight at the potty Hotel Spagni. I wonder if they serve Spanetti Milanese. I am full of crap jokes today.
Thursday, 23rd October, train to Nice, then hire car to Les Chaumettes for two nights.
Saturday, 25th October, fly back to Gatwick, get shot of the kids, then go with eight friends, (still to be finalised), for what should be an amazing 46th birthday meal, at The Greenhouse, in Mayfair.
Why? I hear you ask. I decided it was about time the kids got some experience of proper travel.
At 2.30 the surgeon rings to say that the operation went technically OK, but the tumour was very large and to brace ourselves for future trouble. Daddy is now residing on ITU.
With the operation safely over, I can concentrate on work, and crack through over 45 scans.
The main excitement of the afternoon, was te arrival of the B&W Zeppelin MP3 speakers. Only slightly smaller, and possibly heavier than their German namesake, they make our old Bose speakers look like the runt of the family.
Wednesday, 17th September
I rang HDU this morning, and got the usual type of nurse who couldn't understand a word of English, but I could hear Pa talking in the background, which has to be a good thing. So I decided to devote the day to work, and got through over 99 scans.
Xanthe came home from school announcing that she was on the school council. This sounds ominously American, child-centric and democratic. Apparently she was 'picked at random.' I asked her why her teacher wouldn't choose the most intelligent, charismatic and articulate child in the class, and she said, 'Reuben is obnoxious.' I think she missed the point.
Despite parading a selection of rugby injuries for me to inspect, Perry has gone to do football training with Troy and the Sparta Park boys tonight. So I am sitting in the pub alone, catching up on the blog.
Got to go home now to warm up the oven for my chicken, leek and bacon pie.
Yum. No, you're not invited. Maybe next time.
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