Author Archives: DaNNette

A Day in the Life…

A very good evening, BBs (Beloved Believers) and FFs (Faithful Followers)! As you know, I have been playing the role of Florence Nightingale in recent weeks, looking after DOT, but now to be known as DODO (Dai Of Derby Only) since he is no longer in either Turkey or Tanzania and is only in Derby.

Caring Role

This caring role has involved much work, including, unfortunately, a great deal of COOKING! Now, as you know, whilst many may regard me as a Domestic Goddess, COOKING is not really one of my strengths unless it involves a kettle (for a Pot Noodle) or a microwave (for anything that is NOT a Pot Noodle). To this end, DODO and I decided to buy a second microwave, following TOFU’s (Trefor of ‘Ull) suggestion – he told us that he can cook peas and (frozen) mash in his two microwaves at the same time as he is warming his M&S ‘home cooked’ steak and onion pie in the oven. I was instantly convinced, Dearest Devotees and Ardent Admirers, and immediately rushed out to my nearest electrical store.

Microwaves

We are now the proud owners of not one, not two, but… THREE microwaves! We would not have acquired microwave no.3 if there had been nothing wrong with microwave no. 1 (i.e. it heats the food and pings when it’s supposed to) but it has gone rusty inside. (No, I’m not sure how a microwave gets rusty either, but we decided it probably wasn’t too hygienic.) There has only been one drawback so far with the acquisition of this third miracle item – I haven’t found where to put it because of all the unnecessary garbage I have collected over the years and which has been piling up next to microwave no. 1.

Clutter

This garbage includes a) a tin of tuna (to tempt the appetite of the now-departed Charlie), b) a roll of garden twine – what is that for? – and c) several cookery books – what are they for? Add to that Molly’s flea tablets, a bottle of out-of-date cat milk and a couple of envelopes containing flower seeds from the garden of an ex-boyfriend and you will realise that there is no space for much else. As a result, microwave no. 1 is still ‘in situ’ and has been joined by no. 2 while no. 3 remains in its box. Anyone in need of a tin of tuna, some garden twine and a couple of cookery books, one of which has a recipe for Welsh cakes and laver bread? Or even an ex-boyfriend? (Of course, I mean ‘in need of’ an ex-boyfriend, rather than a recipe for one, but hold that thought…)

Turkey or Torquay

I have to say that life with an invalid has afforded some lighter moments as well, such as when we went to the bank the other day. DODO had a query about transferring money from Turkey, so I wheeled him up to the Enquiries counter where a very nice lady listened very carefully to him explaining about having an account in Turkey and asking if there would be any problem transferring funds from there to his account in Derby because the funds were in Turkish Lira. The very nice lady looked quite concerned and called over another very nice lady to ask for her help and advice. ‘Oh dear,’ I thought, ‘this is going to be more complicated than we first imagined.’ DODO started explaining again about having an account in Turkey and the first very nice lady’s face suddenly brightened and she said in a relieved tone, ‘Oh, I thought you said TORQUAY!’ She had obviously been puzzling over why someone would have an account in Turkish Lira in Torquay – I giggled for the rest of the day over that!

An Extra Inch?

Following that spot of hilarity, we trotted off (well, wheeled off) to a well-known computer/electronics store to look for a new computer monitor so that DODO could add another screen to his collection (he now has four). As he studied the monitors on display, deciding between a 22” and a 23”, he explained the various pros and cons to me, not realising that there was a female customer standing right behind him as he said, ‘You don’t need to pay another £30 for an extra inch.’ I smiled sweetly at the female customer then wheeled him off as quickly as I could!
So there you have it, camp followers – life with an invalid can offer an infinite variety of experiences, rather than a life of doom and gloom! Remember: however long the tunnel may be, there is a light at the end of it; no matter how deep the mine, there could be gold at the bottom; life’s what you make it – a Pot Noodle is more instantly gratifying than a four-course meal that you have to wait hours for AND have to do the washing up afterwards.
Sleep well, AAs, BBs, DDs and FFs – I’m off to boil the kettle!

Book Review Jeffery Deaver Speaking In Tongues

Warning – spoiler alert!

Last night I was sitting with DOT in the local, watching the middle-aged couple next to me swapping their tablet between them so that they could both have a go at ‘Bejewelled’, and thinking, ‘Get a tablet each, you cheapskates!’ I was watching them because I was bored with the book I was reading, which has so many coincidences and ‘devices’ to move the plot along that I felt like screaming and throwing the book at the ‘Bejewelled’ players and shouting, ‘Match three in this story, you fools!’

Attacked By Machete And Rottweilers

How can someone be viciously attacked with a machete by a psychopathic therapist before being thrown into a fenced enclosure with five – yes, FIVE – ravenous Rottweilers and yet still manage to get into the abandoned asylum where his kidnapped girlfriend (who’s been selling herself to older men) has managed to escape from a padded cell by squeezing through a grille next to the toilet (whilst being attacked by ravenous rats)? She sews up his wounds with a ‘cheap sewing kit’ she found in the psychopath’s bathroom (why would a psychopath want a sewing kit, cheap or otherwise? And what colour thread did she use?).
In the meantime, her divorced parents are having problems of their own (even though, from almost the first chapter, you know that they are going to end up back together), whereby the father, a super-intelligent lawyer-turned-farmer (yeah, right), gets framed for murder, all the time trying to help a police friend who’s been enticed by the psychopath to start drinking again (alcoholics are now obligatory in most books these days, I find) while the lawyer’s ex-wife (a former flaky New Age interior designer, but who’s now forsaken the Tarot cards for a boring fiancé, and whose eyes are described as ‘the colour of a sunset sky’ – bright pink?) is caught in a compromising position with the psychopathic therapist by her fiancé, who has been enticed there by a phone call from the mad shrink. I have about four chapters to go and I’m not sure I can handle them. You will have realised that I am reading a real classic – it may not rank alongside ‘War and Peace’ or ‘Anna Karenina’, but it may beat ’50 Shades of Grey’ as a load of badly-written and badly-plotted tosh.

Last Four Chapters

It is now the next day and I have finished the book and found that the final four chapters are no less ridiculous than the previous 27 – the kidnapped daughter escaped from the psychopath and headed straight for… the basement!

Coffin

Of course, that is the obvious place to get away from someone – THE BASEMENT! Has she never watched any horror films where the last place you go is THE BASEMENT? And where does she hide? Where else but in a ‘metal box’ (i.e. a coffin) in which the psychopath has been storing the embalmed body of his son who was so badly torn apart in prison that even the prison priest couldn’t recognise him – and yet, there he is, lying in the metal box, instantly recognised by the girl who saw his face once in a photo in a newspaper. Of course, the madman finds her.

Meanwhile, the girl’s father (who, we learn a little later, is not really her father because his ex-wife had an affair with her twin sister’s husband while the twin sister was having treatment for a long-term heart condition and it is he who was the biological father, but he committed suicide because of the guilt) is now being hunted by the police who believe he has killed his daughter’s best friend, and he and his ex-wife are heading to the disused asylum to confront the madman. When they are stopped by a local patrol car, they manage to trick the silly policeman, and the ex-wife is left standing guard over him with a gun while the hero carries on to the asylum where he is ambushed by the psycho but, being a silver-tongued, smooth-talking lawyer, he convinces the psycho to let the daughter go and kill him instead, persuading him to take him out into the extensive grounds because he’d rather ‘die in the open’ and the psycho – who’s just an old softie at heart, really – agrees.

The daughter sneaks up on the pair as they are having a discussion about the existence of God (yes, really!), and shoots the psycho four times, starting at the leg and working up to the head. (My first thought was that a mitigating plea of self-defence might be a tad difficult to uphold.)
The book ends with the daughter and non-father cycling off to visit some Mayan ruins in Belize while the ex-wife is going to see the fiancé who caught her almost in flagrante delicto with the psycho earlier in the book.

Suspend Disbelief?

I know that one has to suspend disbelief at times, but disbelief in this case needed to be hanged, drawn, quartered and buried in a metal box in a basement in a disused asylum!
Jeffrey Deaver, stand up and be counted with your ridiculous ‘Speaking in Tongues’!
I think I need to go back to the pub now!

Wheelchairs Are Wonderful!

Hello, hello, hello, FFs and BBs! I know it has been a little while since I last offered you some advice to help you cope with suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or taking arms against a sea of troubles (hmm, I’m sure someone else has snaffled these words from me…), but I am back and have a GREAT DEAL of EXTREMELY VALUABLE advice on DRIVING A WHEELCHAIR! (Ha, Mr William Shakespeare – steal that for your plays, if you will!)

As many of you will know – in fact, ALL of you should know if you read my last post about Turkey; and if you didn’t read it, WHY NOT?? – DOT (Dai of Turkey, although this is no longer a strictly accurate description) has been a little under the weather and I had to go out and bring him back from the aforementioned foreign country. The use of wheelchairs has figured large in my life in the last few weeks and I now feel I can speak authoritatively on their deployment.

1. It is great fun having a wheelchair lift into the cabin of an aircraft – you can wave to the pilot and co-pilot as they complete their checks because you are lifted up right next to the cockpit, AND you are ‘loaded’ first onto the aeroplane, so this is well worth considering next time you’re thinking of flying Ryanair.

2. Take as little luggage as possible on any flights because you will find that you are dragging two suitcases along whilst your ailing companion is being whizzed along by a lithe young male on a sort of Segway with wheelchair attachment in front. When you eventually arrive at the ‘wheelchair lounge’, you are the one who will look in need of support because you are sweating profusely and breathing heavily as you have had to follow the mobile wheelchair at a steady trot, suitcases trailing behind.

3. Hiring a wheelchair is relatively easy (if not cheap), but pay close attention to the ‘opening and closing the wheelchair’ lesson – some people of close acquaintance didn’t listen carefully enough and had to return to the hire shop within half an hour of hiring to ask how to open the bl—y thing.

4. Those special dropped kerbs are not ‘dropped’ enough and you will have to perfect the technique of approaching said kerb at a slight angle and at a speed a little above walking speed if you wish to get onto the pavement without either tipping your ailing companion out of the chair or getting run over because you haven’t got off the road fast enough.

5. Pub doors should be automatic ones – at the moment, we are trying to work out the best way of getting into/out of a pub without either ailing companion getting out of the wheelchair to open the door (which rather defeats the object of a wheelchair!) or ailing companion’s companion having to abandon the ailing companion to hold the door open while trying to manoeuvre the wheelchair by dragging it from the front – by the time those in the pub have stopped laughing at your contortions and dash to your aid, it’s too late: you’re already at the bar!

6. A final point – hospital wheelchairs are best dragged backwards rather than trying to push them from behind. This allows the ailing companion to wave regally as he passes people and the ailing companion’s companion to smile benignly and smugly at other ‘drivers’ who are making a valiant attempt to steer their own ailing companions in a straight line, much like a supermarket trolley. It never works!
Happy driving!