chez Teuchter

… but it made me laugh.

How do you turn a duck-billed platypus into a soul singer?

Stick it in the microwave until it’s Bill Withers.

With thanks to whoever it was on R4’s The News Quiz that came up with that.

As part of the ongoing efforts to organise this house we went to look at bathroom cabinetry yesterday and found something which will ideally meet our needs.

Not only was it what we wanted, there was £100 off in the sale, bringing them down to less than half-price. Yipee.

I was happily half way through ordering two of these when the assistant told me there would be a delivery charge, which would apply whether the items were delivered to home, place of work or to the store for collection.  And - despite there being a charge, they were unable to specify a morning or afternoon delivery so I could potentially be waiting around all day.

This sort of add-on and pathetic customer service really piss me off.  Why not just be completely honest and include the delivery charges in the price of the goods in the first place and at least be able to give a delivery window?  I pointed out to the acned youth that my favourite shop, JL, not only have a price promise but also offer free delivery within a specified time slot.  Alas, they don’t stock the item I want.

This is the second time in a month that I’ve walked out of a shop without placing an order because of this very thing, telling them to feed back to their management the reason a sale has been lost.  On the first occasion, they wanted to charge me the same price for delivering a console table, which required zero assembly, as they did for delivery and assembly of a double wardrobe.

On returning home yesterday, I spent a couple of hours trawling around the internet in a search for something similar and drew a blank, apart from something four times the price in Heals,  it looks like I’m going to have to go back to the place we visited yesterday.  Harrumph.

Principles can be  damned expensive but I hate eating humble pie, even if it is a bargain - so I’ll go to a different branch today and pretend I’m not really Mrs Snotty-Pants.

Diatomaceous

Came across this word again today and was reminded of how much I like it.

Ten points to anyone who knows where I found it 

Mothers usually have a stock phrase to fit most situations and most of these axioms will have been inherited from her own mother.  Such sayings vary widely in how much sense they actually make.  I never quite understood  If you don’t be quiet, I’ll give you something to cry about  so didn’t incorporate that particular one into my own maternal repertoire.

 In an era when children spent most of their waking hours  playing outside because there were no technological distractions, apart from a couple of hours of terrestrial tv per day, a frequently heard phrase in my neck of the woods was  Dinna pick it, it’ll never get better , in response to enthusiastic investigations of skint knees and scabby elbows.

My sister and I were totally fascinated by three brothers who lived up the road, each of whom had a very impressive collection of warts on their knees.  That was definitely a case of  picking it  not only preventing things from getting better but making things considerably worse.

One saying which was frequently trotted out by my mother in response to an over-excited child wishing for Christmas or a birthday to hurry up and come was  Don’t wish your life away.

This has been echoing in my my ears recently as I contemplate the impending departure of my husband to China for the greater part of this year.  He goes on Thursday and already I’m wishing it to be the end of June when he’ll be back in time for us to go on holiday.  In my mind’s eye, the clock slows down for us to enjoy a couple of weeks together and then speeds up again,  with pages flying off the calendar until we get to October, when I’m hoping to go out there  and see him.

This was supposed to be the year of fun but it looks more like being the year of gritting ones teeth and getting through it.

… from  my last post in which  I had a whinge about several matters including the fact that feminine deodorants are still on the shelves.

I spotted this in mrhunnybun’s blog today

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kMIUOiMeDH4&eurl

Amusing - but I still don’t think there’s any need for such products.

 What are they on about?

Advertisers, I mean.

 All of a sudden, we seem to have a spate of new diseases and ailments.  The latest one is something called bladder sensitivity.  I assume they mean stress incontinence; something most of us have had issues with after having had a few babies.  Declining oestrogen levels don’t help either.

The solution to stress incontinence is exercise;  get down the gym and tone up those muscles - especially those of the pelvic floor.  I know - because it worked for me.

The answer is not to continue spending money on pads to mop up the dribbles.  Of course, it is not in this company’s interest for women to improve their problem to the point where their product is no longer needed.

There are some unfortunate women who have dreadful incontinence problems.  Again, the answer is not to keep mopping up leaks but to get thyself to a gynaecologist or urologist and deal with the cause.

A quick google for bladder sensitivity found a pile of links to cystitis and similar conditions.  Cystitis is something which usually  needs medical intervention.  It’s certainly not going to be helped by sitting on a damp pad.

There also seems to be a bit of a fixation with bloating and sluggishness, their own twee euphemisms for constipation.  They’ve even designed their very own new  bacteria such as Bifidus Digestivum and Bifidus ActiRegularis.  One can just picture the meetings it took the marketeers to dream those up.

So we should all be speeding up our digestive transit!  The amount of sugar contained in some of those yoghurty, probioty things would give anyone a dose of the runs.

Interestingly, none of the company’s websites actually tell you the list of ingredients.  They push a lot of science at us but don’t back it up with any scientifically valid information.

And even more interesting that none of the advertising seems to be aimed at men.

Constipated?  How about just eating a bit more fruit, veg and whole grains, drinking a bit more water - and getting some exercise?

What annoys me most about this sort of advertising is the cynical pseudo-medicalisation - yet more ways to make normal women feel they’re inadequate.

And don’t get me started on those feminine deodorants!  I thought they’d disappeared years ago but enough of us feel sufficiently worried for the shelves still to be full of them.

Woke up this morning thinking I really should drag my lardy arse to the gym - and then remembered that my ipod was kaput.

So I’ve spent the last couple of hours restoring a shuffle and then, on the back of that success, restoring the nano which has been malingering in the study for the last few months, stubbornly refusing to co-operate.

I now have two working gadgets - and no excuse not to go to the gym.

Mind you, now that I seem to be on a roll, it might be worth having a go at fixing G’s ipod … except I’d have to venture into his pit of a bedroom to find it …

Nah.  I’m off to the gym.

Some of you lot may have noticed that I haven’t been posting much recently.

Alas, I was stuck in the Slough of Despond for a while.   I now seem to have my nose over the edge and, if shoulders and other joints allow, will very soon drag myself back over the edge.

 So - what caused this descent into the mire of self-pity?

My previous specialist retired last October and I saw the new chap early in January, who took a history, assured me I certainly didn’t have Rheumatoid Arthritis and took me off the methotrexate, because it’s a rather toxic drug.  I was told to manage any problems by increasing the steroid tablets and come back and see him in April.

Of course, I was quite pleased to be told it wasn’t RA and toddled off to research the new diagnosis of Palindromic Rheumatism. This can be a tricky customer to deal with, due to the unpredictability of its behaviour, but doesn’t result in erosive damage to joints.

There ensued nearly a month of problems with joint swelling and pain, with inflammation richocheting from one place to another like a demented ping-pong ball.  Every day brought some new joy.

Several day’s work had to be cancelled at short notice, losing me pay and causing administrative headaches and difficulties for my employer and clients, resulting in a cut of my working days from 2.5 per week to one.

Additionally, the steroids, which I’ve been on since last summer are now, even at fairly high dose, losing their potency and not controlling the inflammation.

The slightest bit of physical activity - even a couple of hours of needlepoint, for goodness sake  - results in pain, swelling and loss of function in whatever part of my body was used.  My normal exercise routine has become impossible and this distresses me because I enjoy it and it’s keeping my back healthy and osteoporosis at bay.

To add to my grumbles, a combination of steroids and sheer greed have resulted in me acquiring an extra stone in weight - and none of my clothes fit.

I managed to bring forward the review appointment with the rheumatologist and saw him last Friday.

I’ve been keeping a log of all problems, meds, physical activity etc and presented this for his perusal.  He agreed it didn’t make for good reading. 

The results of a blood test taken earlier in the year were also now available - anti-CCP auto-antibodies. A reading of anything between 0 and 10 is insignificant.  I scored 77 .  Added to an earlier result of 123 for rheumatoid factor, it’s now conclusive that I do indeed have Rheumatoid Arthritis - or RFA, as it’s known here. Those of you who are acquainted with my use of anglo-saxon vocabulary will know what the F represents.

So, here I am - back on the methotrexate and trying to wean myself off the steroids.  Again.

I’m still trying to get my head round this business of living with a chronic health problem.  There is a very small chance that the RFA will be backed into remission but, realistically, this is unlikely so I need to learn to live with it.

Still.  Shit happens.  And my particular sort of shit is an awful lot less bad than some of the stuff other people have to cope with.

I am reminded of Jane Tomlinson’s bravery and tenacity.  If she could cope with a problem of that magnitude then I’m not going to be beaten into submission by this piddly wee thing.

After today’s exercise in catharsis, I intend to concentrate on all the good stuff in my life - and I’m lucky that there’s lots, and refuse to dwell on the shitty bits.

And now - there’s housework to be done and fun to be sought.

When we were in the middle of all our renovations and building work at The Towers last year, Mr T decided that 2008 would be the Year of Fun.

January had my birthday and our scarily big wedding anniversary.
February had a visit to Edinburgh.
March and April  still need to have some fun assigned.
May has a visit to the theatre to see Billy Elliott AND I’ve just booked us tickets to see The Modfather, Paul Weller, in concert.
June - I’ll probably be having fun in my garden.
July -  fun in the sun, on holiday.
August - more fun in the garden.
September/October - a friend is coming to stay. We’ll have fun writing the next few chapters of The Adventures of Crispin Cowley, amongst other things.
November and December - who knows. That looks like a reasonable start.

Anything pinched off someone else’s plate has no calories.

Going for a walk in your trainers burns more calories than if you just wear ordinary shoes.

Anything containing vegetables is good for you, including carrot cake.

There must be more … ?