Okay, this is unexpected, and outside the bounds of what we normally cover on the blog, but it turns out I’m not very well.
I live a pretty healthy life, I’ve never smoked, I eat green things all the time and I don’t drink that much any more (Although long term readers will know that there have been incidents involving booze in the past).
Since I’m doing health stuff I joined a gym near work. As part of the sign up they check your blood pressure before they let you use the gym.
Mine was high. Not just slightly elevated but outside of the range of what would be normal for a human, or even Marlon Brando in is later years.
It was more than double what it should be. The lady at the gym made a face (One I’d see a lot over the next few weeks) and then told me I had to see my GP before I could use the gym.
I arranged an appointment and then sort of rationalised the atomic blood pressure in my head by justifying it an an side effect of the day I’d had.
I’d had to run to the gym appointment and I’d not slept well the night before and I’d stuffed a sugary snack into my face instead of a real lunch.
The medical stuff begins
I went to the doctor expecting him to tell me to drink less coffee and relax a bit. He took my blood pressure and made the face. Then he made me sit outside for half an hour (to make me calm down) and then took my blood pressure again. It was still incredibly high (even higher because I was feeling stressed).
The GP got a second opinion, the consultant made an even worse face and I was sent to A&E.
I should point out didn’t feel unwell in the slightest, unlike the other people in A&E. With nothing else to do I patiently sat around reading a book while I waited for a doctor to see me. They took my blood pressure, made more faces and then disappeared again.
I had my blood taken and had to pee into a little container. It turns out doctors (and nurses) are obsessed with wee. I don’t want to show off but I’m pretty good at weeing in bottles now.
I was examined a bit more, had an ultrasound and was told I was going to be staying in hospital while they observed me. They’d found blood in my wee which wasn’t a good sign.
After a bit of begging I was allowed to go home and pick up some more books and a phone charger and then returned to the ward. I was immediately put on a drip for something and ordered to collect all my wee for 24 hours. I managed to fill up two massive containers with it, which we made me feel really proud in a special sort of way.
Hospital isn’t as much fun as the Carry On Films or Scrubs make it look. For a start there is no WiFi and the telephone signal is terrible so you’re sort of stranded. There isn’t much privacy either, just a curtains.
Everyone else on my ward was ill, like properly ill. I felt like a fraud because I didn’t feel unwell in the slightest. Well I had sore arms and hands from all the blood tests but that was it.
It was like when I used to bunk off school with an unconvincing cough and watch telly all day, but without Thundercats and the maternally supplied pizzas.
The staff at the hospital were excellent, but since doctors don’t work weekends I was just hanging around (collecting wee) while they waited to see if the drugs they had given me were starting to work. They didn’t, so I got more drugs and some injections that had to go into my belly.
Apparently the belly bit was really important but it made me giggle every time.
Get busy living or get busy dying
After a while I sort of settled into hospital life. The day starts early with breakfast and there are a lot of tea breaks but apart from that there isn’t much to do. A load of friends visited me and brought me fruit which was lovely. They didn’t serve any fruit on the ward and almost no vegetables.
I think I would have got scurvy without the care packages. It was also nice to talk to someone I knew and who wouldn’t talk to me in a loud voice just in case I was deaf.
My chums also brought a lot of chocolate which I didn’t eat that much of because I felt I should maintain the pretence of being a bit ill even if I didn’t feel it. Instead I used it to bribe the nurses.
It was remarkably effective, I was upgraded to the executive room for the latter half of my stay which was larger than the flat I live in and had two seating areas.
I could held high-powered meetings there, if I hadn’t been in slippers and a backless robe that revealed my bum.
It was nice, but at this point I’d been in hospital enough thank you very much.I was trying to work out elaborate escape plans to get out and experience fresh air and food that wasn’t beige.
Eventually a very nice doctor told me something was up with my kidneys and that they wanted to take a bit of one of them for further testing.
I was sent home with a bag full of drugs and told to report back in a couple of days. As bonus homework they wanted me to collect my wee for another 24 hours.
This meant I had to smuggle bottles of wee into work and fill them on the sly without people asking questions why I was taking what looked like petrol containers into the bathroom.
I would say it was a mixed success. I didn’t get sacked but people think I’m a bit mad now.
Return to hospital
The second hospital stay was shorter but more dramatic. I turned up. Pissed in more bottles and got more blood taken and then was told to lie in a bed and wait. A new doctor appeared and explained how he was going to stab me in the kidneys to take a bit.
I was carted off into a room, put under a local anaesthetic and stabbed twice. It was over really fast and was relatively painless, everyone was very good at their jobs.
Then I had to lie down completely still for 4 hours. This was very boring and hard to do with TP making stupid jokes that made me laugh. Laughing hurt. I tried to fight needing to go to the loo for as long as I could but, eventually I had two do it into a special bottle between my legs.
This was even more challenging than normal weeing in bottles because I wasn’t allowed to sit up and I could hear two people next door talking about their best lunch.
I sent TP off to find some biscuits and set to work. I managed it, like a pro, by closing my eyes and pretending I was a spy. A wee spy who needed to pee quietly into a bottle thing to stop a missile going off. I had to do it quietly because otherwise the stereotypical baddies (with AK47s obvs) would hear me.
After the four hours I was allowed to tilt the top of my bed up a little which felt like a huge treat, a few hours after that I was sent home.
Standing was not easy. The doctor said I would feel like I’d been kicked in the back and that’s what it did feel like. But more like being kicked by a horse. I was sent home with orders of bed rest and no jumping around or dancing for a week.
This was fine but I had a wedding on the weekend. The wedding was lovely but while running to get the train I strained something and started bleeding again which meant on the hottest day of the year I had to keep my jacket on to stop it looking like I’d been shot.
I’m mostly healed from my kidney stabbing now, but not really sure what this all means. I won’t find out the results of the tests for a few weeks so I’m going to stay on a mixture of drugs for a while, possibly the rest of my life.
Even given that, I’m still not going to get Biscuit win. The wedding is only a couple of months away. I’m sure I can make that.
I was a little bit hungover on Friday after going out with Rebecca. Not ruined or anything just not at 100%.
I wanted to battle through work and then spend some quality time with my sofa.
I’d forgotten that I had a lunch date. It was with a girl from the Internet, well from America but we’d met through the Internet. Well not met. This was to be our first meeting.
The lunch date had been arranged for a while and so we hadn’t spoken for a few days, well ten. I’d messaged her a few days ago just to sort of confirm that the date was still on. She hadn’t replied.
I sent her another message with my phone number asking her to give me a call to say if it was still happening.
This might seem a bit needy but the restaurant was on the other side of London, it was going to be a bit of a quest to get there.
There was no reply.
I hate being stood up so I decided to go to the restaurant to see if she was there. If I hadn’t gone I would have spent the rest of the day wondering what could have been.
It was quite far away and I had transport issues. I couldn’t find the right bus, and then the tube stopped in the tunnel for ages. I was a little bit late.
I couldn’t see her, or at least anyone who looked like the couple of pictures on the dating website.
I asked a member of staff if they had her booking because I didn’t know her surname this was a bit more tricky. They were jolly helpful though and didn’t seem to bat an eyelid when I said I was meeting a friend but I didn’t have her phone number or surname.
I waited at the bar, scanning the restaurant and anyone who arrived while checking my phone to see if she had messaged me.
Eventually I gave in and headed back to work. Lunch was an unpleasant sandwich on a bus. When I got back to the office I got a minor telling off for having a too long lunch break.
It wasn’t a very successful date.
It’s very easy to mess up with text messages. I once accidentally sent one to a girl who I’d started dating saying ‘Yes, she is now my girlfriend, HUZZAH.’
It was intended for my best chum, luckily she wasn’t offended and thought it was rather sweet.
Yesterday Biscuit sent me a text that I hope wasn’t intended for me. We were talking about Christmas presents and then suddenly he sent me a text saying:
‘You’re making it hard not to slip back into filth! I am pleased you like my cock too. I imagine you have had some particularly impressive ones in your time….oh fuck I’m making it worse!’
I was a little shocked. I haven’t seen his wink-wonk and I’d rather keep it that way. He has since apologised and also said I’m allowed to write about it on the blog.
The text did however suggest that he had been sending pictures of his bits to a girl who he hasn’t even met yet.
When did this become standard pratice? I’ve never done that. Is this where I’m going wrong?
Either way the girl I took to see Gauguin hasn’t got back to me, as much as it pains me to type this it’s time to move on.
If Internet dating can teach you anything it’s that you can’t get too hung up over people who you’ve only had a single date with, even if they are great.
As unique as you like to think they are, there are loads more of them online. You just have to find them and perhaps the next one will fall madly in love with you.
It is traditional at work to go out for drinks on a Friday. I don’t begrudge this because my work chums are excellent fun so it’s something I look forward too.
There are a couple of pubs we normally go to because they are close to work, but on rare special occasions we go to other places.
This was once such incident. It was a proper old man pub full of slightly grumpy men with shaved heads drinking pints. They all glared at us as we tottered (there are lots of girls at the paper) upstairs because we had booked out the room.
There was a roaring fire upstairs but more importantly a special offer on.
If you bought a load of shots you would get a free inflatable gorilla. I was mesmerized by this and so started buying round upon round of horrible tasting shots to ‘free the gorillas’.
It was far too early in the evening for shots but I felt I needed the gorillas. I needed to set them release from the bar. There were soon a lot of gorillas and a lot of people doing that slightly shocked face people do after downing a shot that tastes peculiar.
Mia got hold of one of the gorillas and stamped on it until it died. When someone asked why she said.
“Because I hate men.”
Lets all try not to read into that too much.
I walked through the misty streets of London. Hustlers and tourists bounced off each other as I headed for the train home. The train to safety. My mind was reeling. Not from the cheap wine, not from the cheap whiskey although it had taken the edge off the world.
I’d kissed her, Mia, the dame who lured me back to London, on the lips. It was a goodbye, at the end of an interesting night. Nothing too brisk but more than was required. I was a little shocked, enough to make me blink.
As I got on the tube I thought back a few hours to try to work out how this happened.
We were in a bar, there was a contest going on. Six of us from work were there. Six brave souls on a chilly Monday night with nothing planned apart from self-destruction.
Mia was there, we were both drunk from winning the contest and the free-flowing liquor. To win the contest we had pretended to be married, it made sense at the time.
She was leaning on me as we drank more. There was subtle touching going on, nothing overt just more than was required. Occasionally she would lean into me a little with her hips. The air tingled with something, something unwise but tempting all the same. I thought back a few hours to try to work out how this happened.
We had just arrived in the bar. I knew a couple of people on the table, but most were strangers. Mia wasn’t going to be joining us, but people were sending her messages to get her to come down. She turned up after just enough resistance to make it seem like we had earned it.
We drank slugs of fortified wine and chatted. I’d been out with work people before, but not with her yet. It was our first chat outside of the office.
We talked of little things, and then as the booze kicked in more serious, interesting things. I’m not sure how the subject came up but I said I wasn’t in a relationship.
She was confused, someone at work, a guy who works for me had told her I was. We laughed. I said I was free and single. We both drank and laughed. A laugh with hidden meanings, filled with ‘oh really?’ and ‘Gee that’s interesting’. I thought back a few days to try to work out how this happened.
It was my first night out with work. I sat down with one the guys who works for me. Drinking had begun well before the final whistle of the day and so in the pub we had reached the point of dangerous honesty.
“Who do you fancy in the office then? Who is your top three?” He asked.
“Mia,” I said, “The probably The Doll and The Glasses.”
“Oh really, that’s interesting, not The Hair?”
“No, I don’t do blondes.”
“Well watch out for Mia, she is a bit mad.”
“You’ll find out, just watch out.”
I thought on this, Mia wasn’t there so I couldn’t find out more. I thought back to try to work out how this happened.
There was an awards party months earlier. I picked up an award and a girl on a nearby table caught my eye. She was pretty, pretty enough to make me walk over and strike up a conversation. The place was so loud I didn’t quite catch her name. There was something about her that was very intriguing.
That’s how it happened.
Regular readers may have noticed that Biscuit has developed some what of a habit.
He is a very kissy man. This is important to the story.
We had our house-warming at the weekend. It was a very intoxicating affair. We made space cakes. I’m not really cool enough to do that sort of thing regularly.
I think I’m still not into double figures for the amount of times I have eaten naughty space cakes.
I always have a great time but given that I’m now in my third decade I can’t really pretend to be hardcore.
I’d baked quite a lot of ‘special herbs’ into a series of slightly flat cupcakes for our guests to enjoy. We had no idea of what a suitable amount would be but probably a couple of cakes.
I didn’t stick to the recommended level. The spaz.
The whole day was spent frantically cleaning the house and sorting things out for the party, and then we waited for the guests to arrive. I ate a cake. Then I decided to eat another cake, and another one, and another.
A few hours later was, well I wasn’t in full command of my mental abilities, but I was having a lovely time. In total I ate seven cakes.
An old female friend turned up and we chatted away in the kitchen. I’ve been out with her before and had a great time in a boozy way but I don’t really fancy her.
She had spent most of the night bumping into me and doing various other ‘subtle’ moves to indicate her interest – she had eaten a couple of cakes and drunk a few gin and tonics.
I wasn’t really that interested, she is lovely and all that but she is in the friend space of my mind.
Anyway, the bumping and practically sitting on my lap had got pretty bad. I was bouncing around the room trying to avoid it mostly. You know in a polite English way.
Biscuit appeared in the kitchen and then she started touching his hand and making eye movements that seemed to tell me to leave, so I left to leave them alone, because I could guess what was going to happen next. It’s what Biscuit does.
A minute or two later she reappeared, and sat on my lap and we ended up kissing.
I can remember my thoughts at the time (I made a note of them on my iPhone in the loo) so here they are unabridged. I would like to preface them with the fact that I was very mashed, I have never been more mashed.
‘Only kissing her because I didn’t want Biscuit to kiss her because he always snogs all my friends. Snogging her was a bad idea.’
We ended up doing some more snogging in the back room, the whole time with ‘this is a really bad idea’ rushing through my head in the way that only stoned people can really understand.
At about 10pm I crashed out in bed utterly ruined but having a whale of a time rubbing my face on my bedspreads. She left a bit later, but I don’t remember her going because I was spending some time gaining a new understanding of Pink Floyd.
The next day I apologised to her and awkward conversation with a chum about my behavior, but it seems to be okay. I hope we can still be friends.
My conclusion? Winners don’t do drugs