It's Aliiiiive

Things I have been doing instead of knitting a Christmas Tree:

1) enjoying myself on holiday 

2) Making Doctor Who boots

3) getting (more) ink

This is my deathly hallows tattoo

and this is my Les Miserables tattoo (an obscure reference but if you get it you're my friend for life)

4) Having my first proper scary-as-hell asthma attack in the middle of the night while I was asleep. 

5) Having another one while staying at my brother's house in London 2 weeks later.

6) revisiting one of my favourite texts from  my teenage obsession with classics & Latin - Homer's Iliad.

Normal knitting to resume shortly :)

for now these days is the mad blood stirring

The clouds have finally parted and we have a glimpse of those fabled summer days of our childhood - remember, when it never rained and we spent all six weeks of the holidays in the paddling pool?

A lot of people take to the upswing in temperature with gusto. These are the enthusiasts. They flock towards the sun as soon as it appears from behind a cloud. They'll hold a BBQ in March in 14 degrees just because it isn't raining. It wouldn't surprise me if they doused themselves in lard in order to get that "burned to a crisp" look on their backs and shoulders. In the office on monday they're the ones flaunting their lobserfication with pride - "got this just sitting in the garden on saturday - it was such a nice day!"

Enthusiasts can't just *go* to the beach. I would take a beach towel and a book, things that fit neatly into a bag. Enthusiasts need a roof box. They have to take a gazebo, a cool box, camping chairs, BBQ, plates, cutlery, utensils, plastic cups, umberella, blankets, windbreakers and anything else which may prove useful.

Case in point - we went to the beach this afternoon and it was teaming with people who looked like they were planning to invade a small country rather than spend a pleasurable afternoon by the sea.

In addition to the enthusiasts, there's also the fatalists. There's always at least one in the office. You go bouncing in, enjoying the influx of vitamin D coursing through your veins, high on the anticipation of a sunny weekend... the fatalists enjoy nothing more than pissing on your sun-soaked fireworks. "oh," they whisper, "it won't last! no, the weather will be changing by Thursday. They said on the radio that it was going to pour down tomorrow. The bloke on the local station said there was a serious danger of snow by the end of next week. And that's just what we don't need when Hurricane Whoever is going to sideswipe us..."

These people are incapable of enjoying themselves (or seeing anyone else expressing any kind of hope, especially when it comes to our delightful climate) They'll announce a heatwave in December while we're all praying for a snow day, and gleefully announce sudden and unexpected flash floods in the locality of your holiday destination - "wait, aren't you going there next week?" as if they didn't know.

The barometers are an interesting group and I happen to be married to one of them. They are talking thermometers, unable to cope with anything above or below 22 degrees. They don't like any weather at all whatsoever. They treat the rain and sun with equal contempt. They freeze in winter, boil in summer and never seem to find that happy medium. It is always too hot, too cold, too wet, too windy, too sunny, too *anything*.

The barometers and enthusiasts seem to be on the same team in January and February, when the fun of Christmas is over and the prospect of snow is met more with dread than anticipation. Now, in the wake of several years worth of awful summers, the enthusiasts and barometers are at loggerheads. How on earth can you complain about the sun after a winter that carried on until May?!

I am usually a subtle enthusiast. I welcome the golden orb without the need to pack up the contents of my house to set up a new republic on the nearest sandy surface. I am content to sit in my garden of an evening with friends, drinking wine and listening to music. During the day I'll be outside, but in the shade.

However, it may be that my "category" is about to change, and I may have more in common with my barometer husband from now own. To my absolute horror I seem to have developed Hay Fever. I've been twenty-nine years on this planet and have always been able to enjoy summer with clear lungs and an unblocked nose. The first clue that all was not well came on Monday when my right eye decided to water for nine hours straight. I've been wheezing and coughing at night, my sinuses are on permanent red-alert and I can't be more than 10 feet from a box of tissues. It's like having a cold but with none of the fun. I'm assuming this is another asthma thing. Oh good.

On a final note, I don't imagine this weekend will go into the books similar to the fabled and mythological Summer of 76, despite Mr Murray's record-breaking performance at Wimbledon today (my most profuse apologies - I'm afraid I was watching Star Wars at the time). However I hope this current generation of children (whether they be enthusiasts, barometers or fatalists) will look back and think of their childhood summers as all being like today because heaven knows there haven't been a lot of these weekends in the past five years.

 

 



We're too young to fall asleep, too cynical to speak

This post is mostly about my shoddy lungs, but first - something pretty.

I finished my distraction project - my crochet bag of beauty. I have to say, I am rather proud of it. The colours all work together nicely.

I cheated a bit at the end - rather than crochet the ties I used icord because it was quicker (my mother was right, I am lazy) but the result is the same.

June has flown by very quickly. I have successfully procured two more balls of yarn for the tree so work on the Big Project has resumed. 

Outside the world of knitting and crochet, I successfully stuffed up my Asthma appointment last week by missing the boat which would have safely got me from the mainland back to the island for my appointment. It has been a hectic few weeks at work and on monday all my sanity (what is left) went out the window. I decided to stay an extra 10minutes and get the quicker, later ferry rather than the slower earlier one. It wasn't until it was far too late that I remembered why I was getting the slower ferry in the first place - the quicker one didn't actually exist (they run hourly during the day, and every 30mins during rush hour). 

I rang the surgery to explain that I would be 15 minutes late.  Given that I once waited 90 minutes for a doctor, I didn't feel 15mins was that unreasonable. The curt response was that the asthma nurse would not wait for me. Thanks a bundle! Incidentally, I was the last appointment of the day so I wouldn't have been holding anyone else up.

The worst bit was having to go back to the office after doing the whole "leaving for the day" dance.

The appointment was rescheduled for today and I had a number of alarms, reminders, post-it notes & people at the ready to ensure that I didn't make the same mistake twice.

Now, this is going to come as something of a shock, but it turns out I have asthma. 

I know! I didn't see it coming either. Four chest infections, two inhalers and a month blowing into a peak flow meter prepared me for the inevitable but it has still come a something of a gut punch. There was a small shred of me that still expected the nurse to say "well you quite clearly don't have asthma" - I'm so used to being told there's nothing wrong with me. 

(Context: For 8 years I was told I was merely clumsy until someone realised I had flat feet, lax cruciate ligaments and a misaligned kneecap. In those 8 years I had a wide variety of parents, teachers, GPs and orthopaedic surgeons telling me that my knees clicked because I was growing. On reflection, it only taking 2 months to get an asthma diagnosis really isn't that bad after all)

The nurse (who I got on *so well* with last time) took one look at my graph & made a noise somewhere between a hiccup and a gasp of glee. She was absolutely delighted with it. Never, she said, never had she seen such a clear and obvious case of asthma so perfectly presented in a peak flow graph. Glad I could oblige.

She was so pleased with it she took a photocopy; the mathematical translation of my lungs is probably on a staffroom wall somewhere for nurses and doctors to enjoy over coffee - "just look at this!"

Hmmph.

Back in the real world, I have *another* inhaler (a brown one) which means only two things to me;

- it's a steroid to prevent scarring on my lungs

- from the (very short) pep talk I got from the pharmacist I have to take it twice a day indefinitely. 

Some people may be wondering why all the fuss? It's only asthma - hundreds of thousands of people have it - schools are littered with wheezing kids and it's one of  those easy conditions that pops up in politics every so often like cancer and obesity as a symptom of our national decline.

The thing is, until 2 months ago I thought my immune system was the cause of my issues - I figured all my major organs worked perfectly & certainly I don't have any obvious allergies or long term health issues. To discover that actually my immune system is ok it's just my lungs that are troublesome has come as something of a shock.

I'm not even 100% sure what asthma is. Mine seems to be temperature related - I'm a human barometer and I don't like cold & damp.

When someone is talking at you about lung scarring, long term lung damage, steroids, indefinite medication programme... and you only went to the doctor with (what I thought was) a cold it can all be a bit overwhelming.

The very worst bit, the bit that made me want to go home and eat a whole tub of ice cream, was when the pharmacist told me about possible side effects. Apparently I must rinse my mouth after taking my steroids or I can get "oral thrush". I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. 

So that's it. This is a bit of a stressy post. I'm sure I'll get used to the idea & settle into a routine. And, as everyone is in such a rush to tell me, it could be worse.

Quavers & Crochet

Last weekend I got bored. Boredom is dangerous.
Don't get me wrong, I'm enjoying the tree and it is going *really* well.

Here's the thing: My attention span is appalling. Lord knows how I got through two dissertations.

Sure, I could continue with the tree. It's a great pattern with little increases and decreases to make the branches and you can see how it is all going to come together. The yarn is an absolute joy to use. However, I have nearly gone through three balls already. The last thing I want to do is run out of yarn (yes, I did purchase the amount the pattern advised me to but I genuinely don't think it was adequate - on retrospect a spare ball for "just in case" would have been wise).

So, last weekend, I was itching for a change. I cast my eye through my vast library of books that have accumulated through various christmases and birthdays. Last year my knitting buddy, Katy, got me a book on crochet.

Crochet is very much her forte. She is currently in the middle of putting together a gorgeous blanket. I do think crochet is a bit like magic - using only one needle to construct a work of art. Two needles is definitely my comfort zone.

I have only done one proper crochet project so far which was the Pint of Stout from my "Knitorama" book. It was quite an easy pattern - simply DC round and round, change from black to white near the top and bob's your uncle.

See? We started talking about boredom and already I have wondered off into the world of crochet stout! Let's try and focus on the matter at hand.

I was bored. I was looking for a project.

I have decided that I quite like crochet. I haven't really had the chance to do anything big with it (I did start a scarf - everyone starts a scarf at some point. I've finished 3 so I'm not doing too badly!)

The above work of art will eventually be a bag. The beauty of the pattern is that you can use a variety of old spare yarns. Eagle-eyed readers will spot the same yarn used in a hat which once drew compliments from Rhod Gilbert. I've used three yarns here and the colours are complimenting eachother quite nicely. You work in rounds of treble and double crochet - I have five more rounds to go before I start decreasing. Maybe I can use the finished product to keep my Big Project in?

Other News

The Asthma thing is going quite well - so far I haven't forgotten to do the peak flow test twice a day. The Ashtma Nurse (with whom I got on so well) has decided that she can't make our appointment on Tuesday (this was something of a surprise seeing as it was she who actually chose the appointment). I have to rearrange the appointment on Monday. Yay.

Keeping track of my "peak flow" has been something of a revelation. The readings are usually significantly lower in the mornings compared to the evenings. The humidity seems to be as aggravating as damp. The last two days have been completely mad - I blew 460 in both the morning and the evening so my diary now looks like this;

 

Essentially it looks like I've flatlined.
 

I'm also better at taking my inhaler with me (mostly because Simon keeps asking me if I have it before I leave the house - thank goodness for that!)

This weekend I haven't had the time to be bored. The weather has been far too glorious. Some friends came over from the mainland and so much BBQing and consumption of Pimms was undertaken. Good times.

 

I'll huff & I'll puff (because I got the conch)

"Then the sea breathed again in a long slow sigh, the water boiled white and pink over the rock; and when it went, sucking back again, the body of Piggy was gone"

 

~William Golding, Lord of the Flies

 

I went to the nurse yesterday to discuss my asthma. I could now tell you all about the exciting machine I've been given and the handy little diary that I have to use over the next two weeks. Instead, I'm going to have a good rant about the first five minutes of my appointment which have absolutely nothing to do with my health.

 

To recap, after four chest infections in four months, Dr J referred me to the Asthma nurse so that I can be "properly diagnosed" with Asthma. The nurse is located in the same surgery as Dr J.  

 

It's all very simple, you check in, sit down and wait for your name to appear on the 1984 screens of doom directing you to a room. The last time I was in that waiting room I was there for 90minutes because Dr J was running late.

 

The first two steps were relatively simple; I checked in and sat down. To give you an idea of the waiting room, imagine a white, featureless space surrounded by doors. There are three rows of chairs, with a few pointless walls set out here and there, topped with glass bricks to give an element of purpose in design. It's sterile, offensive in its inoffensiveness and despite being only a year old has no air conditioning.

 

As with most surgery waiting rooms the place is full of old people, stressed parents with bored children and the occasional middle-aged man looking decidedly worried. Sometimes it can be quite loud, sometimes it can be deathly silent. Because it is half-term everyone has their kids with them and the place was jumping.

 

I settled myself down in a seat next to a wall in full view of the screen. Out came the phone with the intention of trying (again) to solve Level Whatever on Candy Crush to pass the inevitable wait. Every so often the screen makes a loud "BERP" noise followed by the deliberately calm and mechanic tones of a female computer asking for the next patient. Then some poor soul shuffles off to their designated room. A perfect factory.

 

I was suddenly wrenched from my revery by the *quietest voice in the world* whispering my name. I'm not exaggerating too much, either. I barely heard it. No one else around me reacted (obviously - it wasn't their name being called!) By the time I had leapt from my seat the source of the whisper had long since disappeared.

 

The receptionist was kind enough to wave me towards a door. I knocked and went in. 

 

My opening gambit went thus; "I'm so sorry, I didn't hear you call my name". It was the perfect sentence - it started with an  apology, acknowledged that she called my name, and explained why I didn't immediately respond. An acceptable response would have been something like "that's all right" and then we would have discussed why I was there. Needless to say, all did not progress as planned.

 

The first question in response to my apology did not fill me with confidence; "what was your name?"

Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but the nurse should have already been in possession of this information. She had used my name moments earlier in order to establish if I was in the waiting area, albeit rather quietly - almost as if she hoped I wasn't there. This question was so unexpected that I wondered if I had misheard the receptionist and had wondered into the wrong room. Somewhat confused, I confirmed my name. 

 

"Well, I called it several times".

The good news: I was in the correct room. The bad news: the nurse wasn't going to ask me why I'd come to see her today or how she could help me. Instead she was going to drag out the  "I called your name and you didn't get up quick enough" situation. This would probably continue until we agree that it was all my fault.

 

Now, something similar happened in the office the other week. Stormin' Norman, (the office 'Daily-Fail'-reading rent-a-gob) was supposed to call a lady back because the lady had asked a question that Norman couldn't immediately answer. For whatever reason, Norman didn't have the correct phone number. When the lady rang back several days later, understandably cross that she hadn't been contacted as promised, the conversation should have gone as follows;

"You didn't ring me back"

"I'm terribly sorry, I wasn't able to call you back because I didn't have your correct telephone number. I must have taken it down wrong"

"Oh, I see." ...and then the conversation should have moved on to answering the original question.

Instead, Norman decided to fight her corner. She insisted that the number she had written down was the number the lady had provided and that it must be the lady's fault that Norman wasn't able to return her call. She pulled out the telephone records to read out the number she had been given and even wanted to go and listen to the recording of the original telephone call to prove she was right and the lady was wrong.

I do not understand people like this who choose their battles so badly. This total inability to focus on the bigger picture and instead aggressively argue to the death every minor detail.

 

Returning to my angry nurse, I found myself getting quite annoyed. Perhaps I should have followed my own advice and tried to steer our conversation back to my lungs but something in the tone and the look just put my back up. The nurse had thrown down her gauntlet, slapped my apology out of the way and was waiting for my next move.

 

I said that I was expecting my name to appear on the big screens like it does *every other time I've ever been there*. "Oh no!" she says, with a patronising shake of the head, "those are only for the doctors - us nurses prefer to come out in person to call through our patients". How was I supposed to know that? Ignorance is no excuse in the eyes of the law. 

 

I don't really care that the doctors and nurses have different procedures for calling through patients. I'm not actually that sorry that I almost missed my name being called. I am unphased by the inconvenience of having to repeat yourself in a crowded room where there are people talking and children yelling and patients expecting their names to appear on screens. We have danced through the customary "I apologise and you say that's ok and we move on" scenario - why are we still discussing this?!

 

She did finally agree that it was quite loud due to the number of people (and children) in the waiting area. Additionally, the arty-farty walls don't help sound to travel. We'll call that a nil score draw.

 

One final word on this and then I'm done. On those (now infamous) screens in the waiting area they have various "important messages" from the NHS displayed to give Joe Bloggs some valuable information. One message has already caused me issues. It essentially says "don't come to the doctors with a cold as they can't help you". Imagine my surprise when Dr J had a go at me for " not coming sooner" with my flurry of chest infections. As I have a Masters in History and not a Medical Degree I'm not qualified to tell the difference between a bad cough and bronchitis.

 

The other sign they have on repeat is one advising that the average appointment lasts seven minutes, so make sure you use your time wisely. Five of those precious seven were spent discussing my total inability to respond to my name. Heaven help anyone with hearing problems!

 

 

Post Script and Appendices

The long and the short of my exciting aventures with the nurse is that I've been issued the following;

 

 

I have to clock my peak flow in the morning and evening for two weeks. I will also record if and when I use my inhaler during the day. Then I get to go back for Round Two with the nurse.

 

In the interests of fairness, she thawed out once we actually got down to discussing my symptoms and even gave me the little gadget for free rather than writing out a prescription. When I go back I will be sitting outside her door, staring at it with cat-like-readiness.

 

The Porch

We have commisioned someone to come and do the porch! They are coming tomorrow to take final measurements.

 

Finally - the Tree

Coming along nicely, as you can see.

 

 

Pink & Green

Look what came in the post today!

The photo doesn't really do the colour justice. It is a lovely vibrant green with black undertones which is just perfect for the tree. I can now properly commence the Big Project ©.
Many thanks to Minerva Crafts for such excellent and quick service.

The Race for Life on Sunday went really well. I completed the 5k (3 miles) in 33minutes and 50 seconds - a thoroughly respectable time! The weather, grey and miserable was not ideal and certainly not as lovely as Saturday had been. All the same, looking on the bright side, it didn't rain until after the race was done.

My total raised so far is £178 which is more than I hoped for - I'm so pleased! My owl came with me and I wore the ribbon as well. The crowd was great, really supportive. As I rounded the last corner I could see my gang of friends at the finish line and I just couldn't help but smile and put in a bit of extra oomph for a sprint finish. Brilliant experience - if you've never done it I highly recommend it - it's good for the soul.

Afterwards was a little less saintly - we hit the pub! I think we deserved it, to be honest. A burger and some real ale was just what was called for!

In less happy news, my poor long-suffering team went to Wembley and came home empty-handed for a seventh time. ONE DAY it will be our turn. But it just wasn't to be. I'm not a bitter fan - you can't be if you support a team like Brentford. You take the rough days with the smooth days. We had an absolutely stunning season this year - scoring first against Chelsea at Griffin Park was definitely the highlight. Finishing 4th overall is a good achievement, although very disappointing not to have beaten Yeovil. Maybe next year? 

Finally, the saga of the porch is still ongoing. I think we have pretty much made our decision, although I can't help but wonder if the decision was actually made for us. One of our finalists advised that the quote did not include the removal of the brick wall (were they just going to work round it?! Or perhaps dismantle it and reconstruct it 2 feet out of the way...) and furthermore the width of the unit was non-negotiable, even if it was 10cm too wide! (You can't fit a 1200mm frame in a 1100mm gap without a TARDIS). Needless to say, that company will be getting a "better luck next time" from our judging panel.

Sorting the Stash and Exterminating the Opposition

First things are first - I finished the Dalek!

 

Here he is in all his glory, just in time for the big game at Wembley tomorrow. My Dad is really pleased with him and it was a pleasant surprise for him when we went out today. That's it - this is my final Dalek. If I ever suggest that I may be thinking of doing another please feel free to remind me how much I hate those bobbles!

 

I have now started to prepare for the big project for the Brighstone Christmas Tree festival. Yes, I know we're not even in June yet, but as I'm doing the 12 Days of Christmas, there are 365 items to make plus a tree. It isn't impossible but you can see why I want to get started. I need a fair amount of yarn for this project so today I have been sorting out my stash.

 

I blush at the amount of yarn I have tucked away "just in case". It's like my Dad's shed; he has lots of pieces of wood, old rope, bean poles, lolly pop sticks and heaven knows what else tucked away in his shed for "just in case". I have a little storage space under a seat in the corner by the fireplace, and another little space between the sofa and the DVD shelf. Not to mention several knitting bags carefully placed here, there and everywhere. This afternoon I dragged it all out.

 

 

 

It's a combination of leftover yarn, yarn that I've seen in a shop and thought "oooh, that might be useful" or "I could make something with that" and also yarn I inherited from my Grandma.

 

For the project I need various different shades so I've drawn up a spreadsheet of what I need and how much of it. Then I dived head-first into my stash to see what was what. I'm quite lucky really - I had plenty of black, lots of brown and beige left over from doing the mice, orange and flesh colour from doing the cake and blue from the TARDIS. I have quite a bit of red but not enough to cover the 3 100g balls that I require which is a shame (eagle-eyed readers will note the colour of my most recently completed project - oops). Essentially I have to buy some red, some white and then the more specialised yarns; Sirdar Funky Fox, gold crochet yarn and the flecked grey/flecked rust - the sort of colours and types that you don't tend to have hanging around "just in case".

 

The other thing I did was sort out my needles.

 

 



As I went through all my bags of yarn it became apparent that my needles were not all in the same place and definitely weren't in pairs. There were needles in half-finished projects, needles in random balls of yarn, needles lying abandoned in the bottom of carrier bags. As I was sorting out the stash it seemed a good opportunity to organise the needles.

 

The sizes range from 15mm down to 2.5mm. There are also various DPNs, some crochet hooks, a cable needle and a strange u-shaped thing that came with my Grandma's stuff and I have absolutely no idea what it does. I also don't doubt that it is probably very useful. Answers on a postcard.

 

The heap on the bottom right is my "anonymous" pile. These needles don't have a size on them. I do have a gauge somewhere for measuring needle size. It's in a "safe place" at the moment - as soon as I find it I will be putting it to good use!

 

 

 

Now that I had some order restored to my collection I decided to bind them with old hair bands so all the 3mms, 4mms and 5mms were together and so (theoretically) easier to find when I need them.

 

So now that I'm all prepared I can actually make a start.

 

Day of Rest

Walk the Wight is one of the big charity events held on the island. Every year thousands of people take part to raise money for the Earl Mountbatten Hospice. There are four walks to choose from;
- the full 26 mile walk from Bembridge to Alum Bay
- 13 miles from Bembridge to Carisbrooke
- 13 miles from Carisbrooke to Alum Bay
- the 8 mile flat walk from Sandown to Newport

In 2010 I walked the full 26 miles. It took me just under 10 hours and the blisters on my feet were there for a couple of months but it was totally worth it. The last hill is an absolute killer (Tennyson Down, but it should be called Tennyson Up) but nothing beats the feeling of coming down into the Needles park with the prospect of a hot bath and a take away.

Since then I've down the walk from Bembridge to Alum Bay and last year I did the flat walk with my mum.

Bearing in mind that I'm doing Race for Life next weekend I decided to do the flat walk again with one of my friends (that's my excuse & I'm sticking to it). My friend has various long term health issues and for her today was a real achievement, a fantastic milestone in her journey. It was great to be part of that.

As we crossed the start line we spotted some knitted owls for sale to raise money for the Hospice. We thought it would be fun to take them with us and photograph "their" progress along the walk.

 

 

Such a simple little idea but they really were too lovely to leave behind. We also managed to get to Newport before the rain started. A good warm up for next week when I'll be running rather than strolling through the countryside. I think I'll take my little owl with me round the course next week for some company.

 

This evening, after all that walking, I've mostly been making excellent progress on my Dad's Dalek. Now that Brentford FC are headed to Wembley (also next sunday) doing a Dalek in team colours seems especially appropriate. My Dad is making the trip so who knows - maybe next sunday evening Brentford will be in the Championship. Here's hoping.

 

The body is finished and I've done the plunger and I'm half way through the blast gun. Then he just needs stuffing and he'll be raring to go.

 

I had forgotten how much I hated doing those bobbles - 14 to a round, 4 rounds. They take an awful lot of patience. More irritating yet was the k1 p1 in alternate colours to get the stripe effect on the shoulders.

 

This pattern is quite fun in that it requires a variety of different skills. There's a temporary cast on, knitting in the round, i-cord and, of course, those infamous bobbles.

 

 



 He's going to look great when he's finished. I made a blue one for me a couple of years ago (Blue Dalek) and I've had him sitting on my desk at work, warding off evil spirits.

So all in all, a busy but successful sunday. I can't believe it is only a week to the Race For Life. I'm rather excited.

Death of a Double Glazing Salesman

A Bit of History
When we first moved into this house it was, to put it mildly, a little rough round the edges. The room intended to be the kitchen had a large sink fitted circa 1952 and a unit made out of a door. The bathroom had a delightfully unfashionable blue enamel suite and (the ultimate sin) carpet and wallpaper. The ground floor had orange carpet with wooden panelling hiding any amount of sins. There was an abundance of of vinyl wallpaper coating every vertical surface. It was a museum piece but it was ours.

I come from a DIY friendly family. My dad is one of those brilliant people who has a shed full of tools that have only one job and they do that job very well. He is also a mine of information - a walking instruction manual. He is also of that generation where the ethos is very much "if a job is worth doing, it's worth doing right first time". My mother, for her part, is full of get-up-and-go. She has a particular passion for stripping wallpaper and painting ceilings.

While our new home was going to be a challenge, it was mostly cosmetic. The central heating, roofing and windows were sound. The first task was the kitchen. It was something of a blank canvas so one weekend and £500 in B&Q and we went from empty shell to 21st century modern space. Dad and Simon worked like Trojans (there was particular glee taking a mallet to the door-unit). This was *fun*.

Giving the ground floor a make-over was also rather fun. Taking the vinyl off the walls was especially pleasant. I have no doubt at all that people will be having a good laugh at my tastes in 40 years time, but I'm fairly certain my colour scheme would never be so hideous as orange with artex fans.

So far so good.

DIY stopped being fun when we had to start involving other people. Up til now we'd been cashing in on my dad's skills but when it came to doing the bathroom it became fairly obvious that we'd need a registered plumber - especially to install the shower pump.

This was 2011. The recession was in full swing. There was no money for butter. Surely us wanting to spend a couple of grand would be a tempting offer to any starving plumber? We were under the illusion that all we needed to do was get some quotes, choose our favourite and book them in. I know, I know, what planet was I living on?!

We contacted about 8 different companies. All promised to come at various different times. None of them showed up at the designated times. Some didn't even turn up at all. One was over 3 hours late when I saw him pull up, knock at the house across the road, get no answer, go back to his van  and drive away. Of those who did turn up we got 2 quotes.

We eventually finished the bathroom that summer. We haven't decorated anything else in this house since. We were so relieved that it was over starting another room just seemed far too dangerous.

Three Weeks Ago
During a trip to see my parents, my Dad suggested I might want to do something about the porch. Our porch was probably erected in the murky mists of time when things like "planning" and "safety" were at the very bottom of everyone's list. It is a basic wooden structure with the original house front door recycled as the porch door. The whole things is perched against a little brick wall and the bay window. It isn't weather tight and its about as secure as a child's piggy bank. Additionally the door is rotten and due to it swelling in the rain we have to kick it to open it. That, naturally, does it the world of good.

It's a simple job. We just need to get a double glazer in.
I swear these people are out to turn me to drink. Company A agreed an appointment for a Thursday. They rang me Thursday morning to say, unfortunately, everyone is in a meeting and can't make it, can they reschedule? Sure. Fine. We rearrange for Monday. Monday comes round and I get another call...
The guy on the phone was rather surprised when I said that I didn't want to reschedule again and that their quote was no longer required. He then started to argue with me, saying that I cancelled the original appointment. Small tip to businesses - arguing with prospective clients and calling them liars won't get you too far.

Company B did turn up. He turned up on time which was a bonus. Company C eventually turned up (25mins late, not so much as an apology). Company D were also late, but they did leave a garbled message on my answerphone to advise they were running late - so we forgive them.

All of them got the same speech - we need to replace the porch. We thought perhaps sliding doors? That is the popular design down our road. AND DON'T FORGET THE LETTERBOX! Postman Pat should be able to deliver my bills and ebay purchases.

None of them remembered the letterbox. Not one. Perhaps they thought the letters would come down the chimney, Harry Potter style.

Company C's design reduced the door width to 520mm from 780mm. Company B wanted an extra £75 for the letterbox. Company D sent me a quote with lots of lovely pictures that bore no actual resemblance to what they would be fitting to the front of my house. All in all a rather demoralising experience.

One of them came up with a design where the door opened outwards, completely ignoring the rather solid brick wall I have in my front yard. The moment where I properly lost the plot came when one of them sent me a design where the door opened onto the bay window.

The quotes come without measurements, or say things like "removal of timber frame" with no mention of the offending brick wall. Back and forth, back and forth - "can you confirm this" "can you clarify that". I think I should be paid a planners fee!

If this porch ever happens I imagine the euphoria will be akin to when we finished the bathroom. It's like smashing your face against a wall - it feels amazing when you stop.

Run for your life

In two weeks time I will be doing the Race for Life at Medina. I've never run anything before (school sports don't count, especially as I was always last). I started jogging in 2010 just to see if I could. Simon, my husband, is very into his sport and I wanted to be able to join in. Then something life-changing happened. My grandma, my lovely, beautiful, unique grandma was diagnosed with cancer.

It was the start of a fairly devstating time for the whole family. She was diagnosed in March with bowel cancer and decided not to have chemo. She spent a summer doing as much as she could. She came to the island, she saw friends and family. But by autumn she was getting worse. She passed away on 1st December 2010.

A few months later my uncle was also diagnosed with bowel cancer. He did have some chemo but the cancer spread. On 1st December 2012, exactly two years to the day after my grandmother, my uncle died.

During this period I didn't keep up with the running. I'd walked the Race For Life in 2010 while my grandma was still alive and wanted to run it one day, but the fitness didn't support my aspirations.

In February 2012 something else happened that changed all our perspectives. My cousin suffered from a bilateral pulmonary embolism. He was 30 years old. He was young, healthy and fit. He died.

It was one of those moments where you take a long, hard look at life, what you're doing and what you hope to achieve. I decided to join a gym and that, by hook or by crook, I will run the Race for Life (run, not walk) and hopefully raise some pennies for Cancer Research while I'm at it.

Life got in the way, of course. Last summer I managed to tear my ankle ligaments and spent 11 weeks on crutches including one week in plaster. I didn't let it get in my way. Since last October I have been training hard, going out in snow and rain to build up my fitness levels and now I'm finally ready to get out there and do the 5k.

To some people, 5k doesn't seem that far but it is a real mile stone for me. I don't intend to stop there. I've gone from couch potato to someone who resents missing out on a lunchtime run because I have a meeting. Who knows, next year I may be doing the 10k!

I knitted the above ribbon to wear on my shirt when I go out there in two weeks time. I hope to do myself and my relatives proud.