Sleepy

Had my pre-op appointment with the anaesthetist this morning. He was a very pleasant chap. He has scared the living daylights out of me. I've already started having odd wisdom-tooth-extraction-related dreams. Like the one where I got lost in the clinic and they had to send out a search party for me. With sniffer dogs and a helicopter (yes, really). And I had earplugs in. And if I removed them, my mouth bled. And other strange happenings I'll keep to myself.

I'm sure that all the detailed explanations of what will happen and when are supposed to reassure me. Probably some tiny, logical part of my mind is reassured. But right now the vastly bigger and hugely less logical part of me is terrified.

Is it too late to change my mind and have them out under local, 2 at a time? But that'll hurt too. And I'll be able to hear it. No, all 4 at once is better. Apart from the anaesthetic bit. And the bleeding bit. And the tube in my nose bit. Why do I need I tube in my nose?

I know, I am the most pathetic example of a thirty year old ever to walk the earth.

Anxious fatty cyst woman

Yesterday I went to the Doc. Actually I saw the replacement Dockette, as Doc was on holiday. Is on holiday. Anyway. I went because I have a little lump at the top of my thigh. I already asked a doctor about it in December and he said "oh that's nothing, it'll go away all by itself". I duly forgot about it. Until the other day, when I noticed it was still there. So, being a slightly anxious type, I decided to see if it was still "nothing".

And it is still, "nothing" that is. A fatty cyst (ha ha, that could be me all over!). It will go away by itself. So while I was there I stocked up on the pills to make the thing in my head that's not right work properly. (I am doing very well, only take 1 or 2 a week.) Dockette not knowing my file, she asked a few background questions before handing out the prescription. What sets it off, how do I sleep, etc. Apparently I present textbook anxiety symptoms. Good to see I can get something right, I'm a textbook example!

She asked where I worked. "[Employer]," I replied. "Oh, right," said she. In a "that explains a lot" way. This isn't the first instance of a GP tsking like that when my employers are mentioned...

Ach, I dunno. I love what I do but I don't know why I'm doing it where I do any more. Is it time to move on? At the moment I'm seriously lacking in motivation. I feel like I've been in the same "place" in relation to my work/job content for the last year and a half at least. Sometimes I'd like to freewheel for a couple of days (you all know what I'm talking about), but that's not an option because if I don't do the stuff, no one else will (oh poor me!!). What I mean is, look at Hubby. If he's feeling demotivated, he might ease up the tempo a bit. So his work doesn't get done. At the end of the day, what are the consequences? His work doesn't get done. I feel like easing off and my work doesn't get done. It doesn't get done and maybe a product catalogue isn't printed in time and maybe the company misses out on customers and sales because of it. And maybe my employers will decide they can find someone else to do my job.

I'm feeling a bit all over the place. I don't know where to go from here. I'm fed up (can you tell?), tired, and feeling seriously under-valued (both financially and skills-wise) in my job.

Lazy blog reader

I finally got myself organised and configured Thunderbird to read the RSS feeds from all you lots' blogs. This means one-stop shop blog-reading, which is ideal for time-challenged and generally lazy bods such as myself.

Now I just have to find some software that will read my thoughts and post comments for me automatically... ;)

Perfect.

Will it hurt?

So I finally gathered up all my courage into a tiny bundle and made an appointment with the "jaw and facial surgeon". This is a profession which seems only to exist in France. In the UK I think the moniker would be dental surgeon...

So anyway. He looked at my x-ray and said "oh yes, they need to come out!". (That pic could actually be my x-ray, except all four of them are like that sideways one, and they are a thousand times bigger.) He looked on his schedule and said "March 5 at 2pm?" and then he charged me 40 euros (I think I made a career-choice error) and left me to sort out the paperwork with his secretary.

All of which means I'm having all four of my squinty and wrong-way-round wisdom teeth removed in a marathon (ah-hem) 30-minute operation on March 5 (which also happens to be Super nephew's birthday, he'll be 2). I have a ten-thousand page medical questionnaire to fill out before seeing the anaesthetist. It has questions like "Do you drink alcohol frequently?" (well, define frequently) and "Do you do any sport?" (yerrrsssss. Sort of). I'm a little bit scaredy to tell the truth.

Still, a diet of yoghurt and er, yoghurt for a few days after the op won't do my hips any harm!

I want to be alone

I am sick fed up to the back teeth with everyone and everything. I'm going to take Doggy and hide in a hole under a tree and I'm not coming out again until everyone has GONE AWAY.

Blog friends are excluded, of course, but everyone else must leave the planet immediately because you are all pissing me off and making me upset. Go on, get out of it.

See you all later when the horrible people have gone xx

Arthritic athlete

We played calcetto at lunchtime today. This is a truly fantastic way to spend 45 minutes getting a bit hot and sweaty, let me tell you. Calcetto is like 5-a-side football, played outdoors on an enclosed pitch that's roughly the size of a tennis court. There are no touchlines so the ball is always in play, and there are five metre high fences all round the pitch, so you never have to trek halfway across the playing fields to go and fetch the ball when someone misses a pass. Most excellent fun. And we won. ;)

So why an arthritic athlete? Well I did spend the afternoon hobbling about the office wincing when I moved my right leg. I think my body is rebelling against my fatness because whenever I've done any running lately my right hip appears to seize up. It is a subtle message from my skeleton to say "lose some weight you big heifer!". As soon as work calms down a bit I'm off to the gym, I promise!

Ah yes, work. It's like a battlefield in my Inbox. There are many casualties. It's not pretty. I work for a sports company and I don't have time to do sport. It's a disgrace. I added up all the things I have to do, and the time I spend doing them. The total comes to 156 hours a month. I'm supposed to work 140 hours a month. Hey ho.

Horrible laptop screen and other tribulations

The yucky laptop screen has come back again. Grr.

Hubby still doesn't have a new job :(

I have far too much work. I would like for it all to go away :((

We have a new fridge. It's called BOSCH and it's space age. It glows in the dark. No, it doesn't really. Our old fridge unfortunately stopped making the freezer bit cold. Only half a fridge is not much use. It had to go.

The (naughty) car is feeling much better. It needs a wash though.

Maybe soon I will come back and share more randomness with you. Miss you all bloggy people. But too busy, too tired, too much work. Also too much faffing around on facebook. Tsk.

Night-night xx

Car clinic

Looks like we're starting the year with a big spend. Much as I would have liked for that to be on lovely shirts in the Pink sale, fate it would seem has decided otherwise. We'll be getting a new one of these. It's a timing belt. Renault, in their infinite wisdom, say that when one replaces the crankshaft pulley one must also replace the timing belt. Ah well.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow

Happy New Year everyone! May 2008 bring only good things to you and those you love.


It's snowing! What is it about snow that makes one shiver with excitement (providing one is not embarking on a road journey of any length)? It's the memory of days off school and sledging and snowball fights. Ah, the magic of snow. It can make even scabby old Midlothian look nice ;)

Prouder auntie

You are all of course familiar with Super nephew in all his loveliness:


Well, now this particular proud auntie has a Super niece too!


Isn't she the best? Of course, I am most grateful to Bro and Sis-in-law for producing a girl (lol lol), as this solved my possible dilemma on how to distinguish between two nephews. I couldn't have used super nephew 1 and 2 as this implies ranking. It was causing much consternation, but then Super niece arrived and problem solved. First girl to be born into my Mum's side of the family since me, in fact, so she is even extra special.

Why we pay for European breakdown cover

Or how not to end your trip home for Christmas:


We set off back to France this morning but didn't get very far. We made a quick pit stop at services on the M74 in south west Scotland, and Hubby had barely finished reversing out of the parking space as we set off again than the dashboard lights lit up in their very own Christmas display, the power steering failed and the engine started to make a very unpleasant noise. Hubby promptly re-parked. We sat for a moment then he tried the engine again. Warning lights and nasty noise. Off again. Hubby got out (in the rather horrid wintery shower) and looked under the bonnet. Looking under the bonnet only serves to confirm to me that I know nothing about cars or diagnosing what might be wrong with them. I mean, I can identify different bits of what's under there, but my automotive knowledge stops there. We tried the engine again. Same result.

I got the book of words out and found the page about warning lights. Under the battery warning light it said: when this light comes on, stop immediately and contact your Renault dealer. Oh bum. Oh bum oh bum oh bum. Hubby decided some oil might do the trick, even though the engine management system said it had plenty. He ventured off to the petrol station and instructed me to call Dad as my bottom lip started to tremble.

Hubby returned with oil and the news that the chap at the garage had called out a breakdown truck. I had stopped crying and found the number to call the insurance company. Felt better after we had spoken to them as the agent did a good job of being reassuring in a "we're here to sort it all out" sort of way. That'll be why we let them rob us blind for cover, so that when we need them, they can say "don't worry".

Meantime, Mum and Dad had leapt on their white chargers (read red Mégane and green Clio) and were en route to ground zero. When the recovery truck arrived the bloke took one look under the bonnet and said "ah yes I see the problem, it looks like the crankshaft". Does that sound bad to you too? He said it wasn't a very major thing to fix, providing it hadn't damaged anything else (I like the disclaimer). We transferred everything to Mum and Dad's cars and, declining Dad's kind offer of continuing home in his car and leaving ours in Scotland, we went back to Midlothian. I have decided that I'd rather stay here until we hear from the garage on Monday how long it will take (and how much it will cost) before going back to France.

Needless to say, the insurance company is delighted that we decided to go back to Mum and Dad's rather than requiring a hire car to continue our journey. Of course it is, costs less! So we are having an unexpectedly extended stay in Scotland until the voiture is fit to travel. You'd think I'd be pleased at getting extra time at home but in truth I would rather be in my trusty motor speeding southwards. Some folk are never satisfied.

Secrets of the handbag

Lovely Princesse tagged me to reveal the contents of my handbag. What an absolutely ace idea for a meme. I love handbags. I love shoes too. Don't know whether I love handbags or shoes more. The problem is my expensive tastes. I suppose it means that we don't yet have to buy a bigger house to accommodate my shoes and bags - I can't afford to indulge so often!

Having said that, I have still managed to accrue a reasonable handbag collection. There is the classy, minuscule "posh occasion" bag (big enough for camera, car keys and a credit card), there is the "cram in loads of stuff I don't need" bag (I have two of these, the exact same model from Mandarina Duck - one is blue and the other is pink, how fab is that??), there is the holiday mini backpack... Now, I only just changed handbags (I have a rotation system so none of them feel left out and unloved), to my grown up red leather Lancaster one:

It's actually a bit darker red than the photo, but anyway. I got it a couple of years ago and paid ... more than €100 I think. It has a lovely silky lining with LANCASTER sewn into it and I love the dangly heart thing.

Because I changed bags on Friday, I dumped a whole load of crap I didn't need (mostly receipts), and haven't yet accumulated any new crap. So the "bare minimum" stuff inside:

Hubby calls my bag a portable black hole. I beg to differ. Everything that's in there is essential at all times. And I can locate any item in less than ... well, I can find things.


So let's start with the gadgets. I'm quite a gadget girl really. Here we have my Palm (magic electronic memory - beeps at you when you have to do something), my camera (obviously not used to take these pics), my pink iPod mini (which is unfortunately dying, its battery won't hold a charge anymore - overused I think - so I might have to replace it soon), my USB memory stick, and my rather battered but much-loved Nokia phone (my ringtone is The A-team it's so naff!). I need all these electronic gadgets all the time. They are like life support devices. Especially my phone. How did we cope before mobile phones?!

These are the "practical" bits and bobs. Kleenex. I always have at least two packets of Kleenex. You can never have too many of them paper tissues. Lip balm (no explanation required). STYLE chewing gum "tabs" which have 3 kcal per tab, actually. That has sort of put me off them. Pens, always useful. Clarins Baume beauté éclair for emergency moisturising. And an empty packet of 1mg paracetamol tablets. I know, empty isn't much sodding use when you've got a stinking headache. I don't even know why I didn't dispose of the packet when I took the last tablet. I'm strange.

Specs for to see with. I wear them for the computer at work, occasionally at home too. And to watch the rugby on telly. And sometimes to drive with. I also have sunglasses for driving.

More practical stuff. My passport to be able to get back into Britain in an emergency (!) - well, you never know. Also serves as ID, which one must always carry in France. The grey wallet thing underneath everything else has my car insurance and owner's certificate, and my driving licence. One should have these documents on hand when driving at all times in France. My work badge, and my house keys. The car keys are somewhere else. Probably.


And finally the cash and cards! This is my lovely wallet that I bought in John Lewis last year. It's lovely soft black leather on the outside, and the lining is pink and violet and it's fab. I think I have at last found the wallet I need: zillions of pockets for credit cards, loyalty cards, health insurance cards and every other card I have, a decent pocket for coins, and plenty of space to shove credit card receipts. So as you can see, I have filled all the card slots rather well. The meagre supply of coins is quite usual, I never have any cash (and it is usually a mix of euros and pennies, too). That 20 euro note won't last long. And there are also about a thousand credit card receipts, which accumulate in my wallet until it is fat and full, and then I throw them out.

So there are the secrets of my handbag! Thank you so much Princesse for tagging me with this, and to Zhu for starting it. I've really enjoyed having a nosey look in your bags, hope you enjoyed mine!

Now I am going to go on technorati and catch up a bit. I am so very behind and very rubbish. Still, nevermind eh? Also hope very much to blog a bit more in the next few days, I might even manage it as our schedules are looking much less hectic. Bisous to you all!

Homeward bound ... I was

This year being a special birthday year for me (I am now truly in my late twenties), I had decreed that I would spend the day with Mummy and Daddy. In fact, the last time I had spent the anniversary of my birth with my parents I wasn't even at university! So it was time.

And so we piled into the super Lismobile and took to the road. I think we set a new record this time, completing Folkestone to Midlothian in 8 hours including stops. When we got home a little birdie mistook Mum and Dad's house for a suitable roosting site. Aaah. We had to evict it though.


Dad says it was a green finch. He knows these things.

Alas I have nothing entertaining to relate regarding our journey, save for the thorough and far-reaching anti-terrorist controls at the French "border" checkpoint before embarking on Eurotunnel. The procedure is as follows:

1. Have four or five vehicles stop all at once.
2. Take one of those explosive trace swab things.
3. Go from one car to the next, and wipe the swab all around the steering wheel and the driver's electric window controls. Do not change swabs between cars and do not wipe any other parts of the cars.
4. Go back to little hut thing and analyse the swab.

While I am sure that the people who work for the French interior office surely are more clued up on counter-terrorism methods than myself, I have identified a couple of weaknesses in their technique. What do they do if the swab registers positive? Get everyone in all four cars to get out and unpack? And, more to the point, if you want to smuggle explosives into the Channel Tunnel, just ensure you don't touch the steering wheel or the electric window buttons. Best to get one of the passengers to pack the semtex.

Return of the Lis

Hello folks, it's me! I'm back to the blog after much absence. I think, rather than doing one rather long and probably tedious post, I'll try to break down my latest adventures into bitesize chunks for you to savour (or skip over). And I'll try to do all that this weekend. And I'll try to catch up with everyone else's blogs too.

Underage voters?!

It seems the Scottish Nationalists have invented another "populist" idea to lower the voting age to 16. I would wager it's just another fight to pick with Westminster (because any legislation altering the voting age must be decided in the UK parliament). When this crackpot idea falls flat, the Nationalists can whine about Westminster foiling their clever policies.

Sorry teenies, but most 16 and 17 year-olds are just not clued up enough to vote. Of course, most people over the age of 18 aren't clued up enough to vote either, but the law says they are allowed to so we just have to put up with it. When I become Supreme World Leader, anyone who bases their political and world views on what The Sun or The Daily Mail says will be stripped of their civic rights.

Heheheh.

Faced with an empty text box

My blogging has been lacking lately. No posts, no visits to my blogroll. No nothing. One explanation is that I have been avoiding my laptop. The horrid fluorescent felt tip pen came back and I didn't want to use my laptop in case it made it worse. Anyway, it seems to have gone away all by itself for the moment.

Another explanation is feeling slightly guilty (as deftly-explained by Princesse Ecossaise) about not maintaining my blog and visiting everyone else. Which is silly really, but that's what I'm all about, isn't it? Silly, I mean.

Yet another explanation is lack of anything blog-worthy to tell. Lately I've been low and worn out and just not right. I can't sleep because my brain likes to be awake at 4am and think about things in a very excited and busy way. My body thinks this is a crock o' shite but it can't get my brain to SHUT UP and GO TO SLEEP. It's been so bad some nights I've switched the light back on and reached for a book to pass the time until sheer fatigue inevitably takes over. Doc has given me some proper drugs because the drowsy-making anti-histamine tablets weren't making a jot of difference. I hope my brain will quickly come round to the idea that thinking is for daylight hours, and the only decent thing to be doing at 4am is sleeping.

Hubby is jolly fed up with his stupid job. When he tells me about the stupid working methods they have and management's flat refusal to invest in any tools that might make his team's job easier and help them produce better, more reliable results, I am struck by how patient he is. I just could not work in the environment he works in. I'd have shouted very rudely at people and probably assaulted my boss long since. Poor Hubby.

The company in the UK that wants a telephone interview hasn't been back in touch this week to re-schedule (the first attempt went nowhere due to difficulties with their conference call system), but hey. Hubby is very diligently practising his English. We used to speak mostly French to each other but now it's mostly English. I have taught him useful idiomatic English such as "innit" or finishing every other sentence with "but" (this is to prepare him for visits to Lanarkshire to see Bro & Family). But he is under strict instructions not to show off this mastery of modern English during any interviews!

Doggy is as delightful as ever. Here is proof:

Pic taken with my new toy, which is now back from after-sales hell and works again. Obviously. That hairy blue thing behind her used to be a slipper, but she savaged it. She's that sort of a doggy. Can you tell from the photo?

If you were paying attention you'll have figured out that Bro & Family have finally moved West. They sold their flat very quickly (within two days of it going on the market!), but finding a new house didn't happen quite so quickly. And when they did find one and their offer was accepted, it wasn't looking likely they would get entry the same weekend they had agreed to vacate their flat. It was all a bit of a soap opera, but they are at last installed and have a postcode that starts with "G". The day they moved in, some curious kids from round about stopped by to see who the new neighbours were. Sis-in-law says she didn't understand one word they said. It's Sis-in-law's birthday today. Everyone say Happy Birthday.

Anyway, that's enough from me. I'm going to change my "currently reading" book and make a cup of tea and visit some blogs. Cheery-bye.

Tea restrictions crisis averted

It's going to be OK, I can sleep soundly at night (well, I can't, but at least the risk of an impending tea shortage won't be the cause of my nocturnal awakenings). I found some Famous Edinburgh tea in the cupboard. Hurray.

This means I can indulge my tea habit with gay abandon because I definitely have sufficient supplies to last until our next trip north. As you can imagine, this is good news indeed, for a Lis without tea is like a car without petrol. It just doesn't function.

I must also learn a lesson from this brush with disaster - bigger tea stocks required. Obviously my TRP (like materials requirement planning, only for Tea) system needs to be looked at, as my consumption forecasts are all wrong. Surely better to have slightly too much tea than not enough. And anyway, if you find that tea stock lifetime is a bit too high, you can easily increase turnover by upping tea drinkage, thus enabling clearance of any ageing tea stock that might be getting dangerously near its BB. Actually that never happens. Surely? How could that happen? How could anyone keep tea for so long it gets to its best before?

Whatever. Looks like this post has turned a bit odd. Work is invading, with its stock lifetimes and components forecasts. Poo!

What's your point ,caller?

So what *is* my point? What is the point of this blog? Do I have anything useful to say? And why is the wifi so bleedin' slow today?

First I have long overdue blushing thanks for Mya's nomination of this blog for a glittering prize. One day hopefully quite soon I'll display it with pride. But for now I'll just say "thank you, Mya, I'm touched".

I have lots of blogs to catch up on. I lazily technorati'd this morning to check out the latest news from my "favourite" blogs. Was upset to see that the dazzling Miss D has been struggling with her demons, and indignant to read Sugar's story of her freaky date and how all men just want to bed you. And there's lots else going on in the blogosphere and look how behind I've got!

I still don't seem to be able to hold on to an idea long enough to be able to write one down. I so want to blog about just what we've been up to (braderie last weekend, it was really warm and we made about 200 euros - yay!), what we're going to be doing (visit home soon-ish), and just generally give forth on anything and everything (as I'm prone to do)... But my mind is in a big rush and won't let me take the time to make up a proper post on anything. So you're just getting a sort of stream-of-consciousness pile of nonsense. Sorry!

So we did the braderie. It was hot (in October?!). We sold champagne corks (no kidding).

Hubby had an interview in Brussels on Wednesday but we don't really know what for. That doesn't make any sense. The employer is an IT services company and the job would be as a "consultant". But no further information. The compensation package sounded very generous so it probably means they expect you to work 10 hours a day. Every day. Hmm.

On Friday, Hubby got a call from a company in the UK that had already contacted him a couple of weeks ago. They want to arrange a telephone interview. Exciting!

I made Greek stuffed tomatoes out of my Rick Stein book. Surprisingly managed not to butcher any other fingers (last week I did some amateur amputation surgery with a Sabatier paring knife on my little finger - damn sharp them knives). They were a bit fiddly to make but really pretty tasty.

I also think I've accidentally stumbled on some kind of time warp/hole/thing. In the office, we don't have Earth minutes, we have Work minutes. They must only contain about 22 Earth seconds, and probably a Work hour lasts about 13 Earth minutes. This is the only possible explanation for how quickly the days whizz by. Except there is also a sort of reverse time warp that happens when someone says "I'll send you the files in about ten minutes", and two hours later, you still haven't received them...

I opened my last pack of tea bags this morning. I only have about 42 tea bags left. We're going to Scotland in 3½ weeks. Two cups of tea a day into 42 tea bags doesn't add up to enough tea until we go. Even mathematically-challenged Lis can work that out (and I didn't even need a pen and paper to do the sums)!

I wanted to debate (well, have a one-sided rant) about the hypocrisy of being a member of Les Verts (political party not unlike The Green Party, surprisingly enough), but nevertheless driving one's child to school every morning although you only live about a fifteen minute walk away (with no busy roads to cross en route). I don't get how you can join a party that claims to fight for the environment, but pollute so wantonly and pointlessly. But there is nothing to debate. The person in question is a hypocrite. End of.

I also want to know why the eco-mental green-friendly liquid hand soap is only sold by the dispenser-load. I mean, they don't sell refills. You have to buy a whole new dispenser each time. It doesn't make any sense.

And lastly, I'd like you all to have a look at the Earth Clock. And think on. Thanks to maxxo for leading me to that. Maxxo is a clockwork bunny who likes brewing nice cups of tea. I think she sounds interesting.

Inside my head must be a very strange place

Lots and lots going on inside my head and in life in general. Nothing particularly exciting, of course, but I just can't seem to get my thoughts straight. So no exciting and insightful posts for the moment (not that regular readers will find that any different from usual service!). Hope to make things ordered inside my head so I can post post and post some more, and soon.

Dilemma!

7 October, 8pm (GMT+1), Top Gear is back.

7 October, 9pm (GMT+2), rugby world cup quarter final, Scotland v Argentina.

What am I going to do?!?