Ailsa Abraham's Blog: Ailsa Abraham, page 55

Amateur!

A very nice friend on FB remarked this morning that I don’t bang on about my health problems. That was kind if not strictly true but it gave me a wonderful idea for a riposte to the kind of bollock-brain who wants to make me feel small.

Listen, mate, you are a bit late. The gods beat you to it. I was born with several things wonky. I have, at a current run-down

Bipolar Disorder (manic depression) including severe lack of self esteem

deafness (getting worse)

instability (I wobble a lot)

spinal scoliosis (including one leg longer than the other)

dizziness (drop everything I pick up)

a couple of broken bones which will get better but sting a bit

cuts and grazes (any number of)

no appendix, uterus, spleen or various other organs  and a jar of kidney stones which I keep by the bed.

 

And you think that YOU can make me feel bad with a few silly “talk down to you” words? You are a bloody amateur, Sir. Go away and take a course on insulting.

 

I am very pleased that I deal happily with all the gods because this morning having chatted to some native spirits and a couple of Hindu deities, I turned to the Blue and White lady on the hill and said her special prayer. She reminded me to “bless them that curse you and hate not”. She’s right – they bring their own curses on their heads and oh boy – were I to wish harm on that person, a nasty case of piles (painful but can’t talk about) would be the least I’d wish… but I don’t – I feel sorry for someone who prides himself on being able to handle other people ………….with spiked gloves on!  But don’t discount the piles… I am, after all a witch in pain and smarting with hurt pride.

WTF FACEBOOK?????

WTF FACEBOOK?????.

 

No artistic nudes of men but murder of animals. Are they mad?????

The trick

Amused

I don’t often quote from religious texts of any variety but this one sprang into my head this morning and I thought I’d share.

When the Universe decided to destroy the earth, saving only two of every kind of animal, one male and one female, Noah and his family were chosen as Project Leaders – with me so far? The bit that usually gets left out is that The Spirit has an enormous sense of humour and decided that not only would each species be one male, one female, but also, one kind and sweet-natured and the other a total git.  This sounds as if it might have been a Committee decision so perhaps all the heads of all the religions were in on it… Noah was told to make sure that as well as limiting his ark to cubits, spans and stuff, he would have to be sure of the temperament of each animal.

When he got out of hospital following the nervous breakdown he had to bring his family in on the plot or there would be no time to implement it. Shem, Ham and Japheth (his sons, not items on the burger bar menu) set to with a will but Mrs. Noah got out her nail varnish and decided to put a red mark on each of the “unpredictable” beasts.

The end result being, after generations of interbreeding, was that humans have to approach all unfamiliar animals as if they might be dangerous…yes, even other humans. Who knows why? Bad potty training or an over-protective mother? Just believe me – a unicorn can smash you on the forehead with a hind foot as easily as a Shetland pony and the worst in the world are …other human beings because they have perfected the camouflage of appearing to be pleasant while harbouring “head-kicks” for any situation.

Tip – always approach from the front, have pocket fulls of pony nuts and don’t answer questions unless you know the person well.

May bite!

 

Pick a card!

This is an unashamed shout-out to everyone who sent me Get Well cards from all over the world, not to mention those who phoned, Chris Foote (Spike) and Bob and Sue Barnard,  who were my Comms Centre managers with Badger and all my neighbours who enquired after me.

I am so very grateful to:

Catriona King, India Drummond, Miranda Kate, Lisa Shambrook and family, Becky Fife, Miriam Drori, Chris Nedahl, Steph and Laurence Patterson, Lune d’Argent, Jane Bwye, Vanessa Couchman and Carol Hedges.  I have already published a picture of my lovely flower arrangement, the remnants of which were sent to an otter charity and Nancy Jardine bought an Otter Calender for her family in my name.

What can I say? Teddies, otters, wonderful thoughts and wishes. I burst into tears but nice ones seeing them all laid out in front of me. Of course, everyone also posted cheerful messages on Twitter and FB … I can’t thank you enough.  Tied to a hospital bed in a lot of pain (I won’t go into details) I felt your support and warmth lifting me up. Some of them made my broken ribs hurt when I chuckled. One made me pee myself.

You cannot know just how much they helped. Any time I felt in agony or stupid for crashing my bike or sorry for myself, I would look at my cards and say ” Yes, you ARE an eejit but people still love you enough to go and buy a card, go to the Post Office, find out my address and trot off with it.” That is putting in the effort.

THANK YOU ALL – you have hastened my healing no end. I love you all, my on-line family xxx  And because it was a special occasion I put on my new £5 Flash Gordon trainers … silver toes! Lily loves them!

Not speaking

How childish is that? It’s what smalls do when they are out of intelligent answers – ‘I hate you, I’m not speaking to you”.  I dislike doing it and try not to, except with fruit loops who are not open to negotiation.

I try to remember that everyone is fighting their own battles, about which I know nothing. I am too. Most of you know a lot about mine because I am a blabbermouth.

So when someone I hardly knew had a right ole pop at me I was shocked and hurt. I didn’t stop and ask what he might be going through to ellicit that attack but I blocked him. Maybe a failure on my part.

So I’d like to take this opportunity to apologise to Deb Browne who was a close friend and accused me of exaggerating all my health problems….I wish. I took it at face value and blocked her back.

I didn’t ask to have deformed feet, nor for them to take six months to heal instead of six weeks. I didn’t ask for a car to run into the side of me and give me another stroke. I swear I didn’t pray for the last car crash on my motorbike – spectacular as it was!  These things just happen.

So – I’m sorry to Deb, I’m sorry to anyone else I have irritate for whatever reason. Deb because you were a good friend, others, I hardly knew you and my life is not poorer for your absence but I’m sorry you had to react like that.

I’m open to reason. If anyone wants to discuss, explain or (Heaven forfend) swap apologies … I’m here. I didn’t join social media to ignore people. I came to make friends and mainly I have done so – to the point where I am surrounded by Get Well cards from people I have never met from all over the world.

I’m blessed – if you don’t feel blessed, come and have a little chat and we’ll see if we can sort it out xxxx

Please – just friendly xxx

New Game

Following some unpleasantness, I’m limiting my time on FB. I need to get on with Book 3 (and others) and I’m supposed to be resting and healing – oh don’t even ask, too many injuries to mention.

SO – from now on I will be posting only on https://www.facebook.com/groups/Ailsa.and.friends/

and https://www.facebook.com/ailsaabraham70?ref=hl

my Author page.

 

This is because only members can post on there and might prevent people “taking a pop at me” for no reason.

 

My editor, Stephanie is happy that I am going to continue writing because it did cross my mind to throw the whole thing in the air and flounce off … well no……. THAT would be childish. If you want to contact me, there are my email addresses and my FB in box – but please keep it nice cos I am in a bit of a mess both physically and emotionally OK?

Big ladies crying is not a nice sight so… save the world, make the fat lady laugh xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jail bird

I just made a light-hearted remark about being arrested and then it struck me – most people have never been arrested. So here we go …

You have to remember that with both my parents being Metropolitan Police officers, I was brought up surrounded by bobbies. My best treat ever was a ride in a Panda car, especially if they let me put the “blues and twos” on or say hello to the nice lady on the desk at the station. So I grew up thinking all police were virtually family, especially once my father died and we came under the Police Widows’ and Orphans’ Benevolent Fund who did smashing work for us. 

My brush with the law came in France and with the Customs (Douanes). We had arrived on our boat and filled in the papers as best we could with our very limited French. Six months later, two customs officers turned up, jolly lads and announced that we had twelve hours to leave France. I thought they were joking and asked where they’d like me to go. Their answer was -home to the UK. Well that was a bit of a bugger as I had sold my house in the UK to buy the boat and so the boat was my home.

When I explained, like a good French housewife that I had to make my husband’s lunch (he worked and would be home for it) they kindly asked me to present myself at the Customs Office at 2. So I dutifully toddled off with my briefcase and my little dog on a lead and rang the bell.

Having explained that I couldn’t leave the dog on her own or there would be no soft furnishings left, they gave me a seat, made me a coffee and looked at my papers.

Ah! This wasn’t MY fault, this was those stupid bastids at Concarneau tsk tsk. I listened to them give earache over the phone to said illegitimi and made some more coffee. They then asked if I could speak French. Seeing as we had been conversing in it all the time I got a fit of the giggles and said “No, not at all.”  They then begged me to admit I understood French or they would have to call out one of the “big boys” from St. Nazaire.

By this time Bodkin had found a comfy spot under the Chief’s desk and I seemed to have acquired a mug of my own so I offered to do the typing as they were hopeless.

We wrote a blistering letter to the Chief of Customs at Concarneau, another to the Harbour Master where we were and then had a few biscuits and chatted about my job. It was all rather pleasant.

My then husband, of course, had gone back to work after lunch knowing his wife had been arrested and poled up out of breath and worried sick at 4.30 to find me telling jokes and showing them how to work the margins on their typewriter.

Those two became firm friends and would always stop by the boat for a cup of coffee and a chat when doing their rounds. All in all – being arrested was one of the more pleasant experiences of my life. I’m not tempted to try it again but …

New life starts …

I hinted at this some posts ago but maybe there DOES come a time when we have to start acting our age, even if we don’t feel it. In my case it has taken a pretty severe road accident to bring that home to me and I thank all the deities that I survived it to come to this decision.

When I start doing a role-call of body parts, there are quite a few missing and some of the remaining ones are wonky in the extreme. So far in my life I have carried on as if I were unbreakable (despite lots of evidence to the contrary). I’m not accident prone, I’m a disaster magnet. I suppose riding horses, windsurfing, racing dinghies and other interests have contributed. Being born with bits of me already wonky didn’t help.

The doctors have decided that, given my mental health state and yet another bang on the bonce (despite wearing a helmet) which caused severe concussion, I must lose my driving license for at least six months or until I have passed a medical. Given that I was in a medically induced coma for (I’m told) two weeks, that seems fair.

I have a cross stitch framed on the wall saying “Every day is a new beginning” and I believe that. So I will be doing less dangerous but more interesting things with my time. Quite sure that I can find engrossing pastimes. I shall not, for the sake of the neighbours, be learning the bagpipes but will be slightly kinder to my body. It is already complaining that it is a great grandmother and should not be expected to do some of the antics already.

I may even find more time to write if my brain, hands and memory can form a co-operative and work together. I have no intention of reaching the crematorium in wonderful nick – it’s too late for that, my body looks like a railway map of Europe but perhaps I’ll slide in more gently rather than gun my motorbike up to the grave screaming “wooohooo what a ride!”

Nurse Lily taking care of Mum

Badger is 75 and not up to nursing me. If I fall over he can’t pick me up. Time to slow down physically … but the mind will still be going frantic!!!

 

 

New easy-open Ziplock witch!

Sharp work

May have told you before but our Fire Brigade also serve the function of the Ambulance crew.  This means that you get millions of the buggers when you phone up.

 

Unfortunately they are all issued with Stanley knives which they cannot wait to use. So far my motorbike accident has cost me (apart from physical ones) one pair of jeans, a decent pair of boots, a denim jacket and my pretty backpack.  I can imagine them all whipping out their sharpies to get rid of my blood, oil and wee-wee soaked articles.

 

I have no idea which bit of metal went in through my chest and pierced my spleen but I bet that wasn’t cut out! I’m not complaining –  they are lovely boys and all came to see me in hospital. They were delighted. I had been their finest hour in ages – so OK I’m not some hottie totty but someone who does handstands over their handlebars … and I was there, mate, I tell you, we had to cut away all her clothes!………. they will dine out on it for weeks!

Lily the Hum, PhD

Hello Tweepies, Faboos and other box friends.

I am now Mum’s PhD (personal hindrance dog) as she cannot type and I am working quay board with paws and chin for Space Bar. Mum is dick. Tating to me. Oops – dictating is one word and I cannot do eel iminate.

Grate news – we is off to home kennel tomorrow. Two more “Hello, Sun times” and we be back. This is cos Dad have no toys to play with. Ooops – Mum and me haves toys, Dad has tools, jobs and important hobbies. Well the Whyfly here does not work on his pooter. So he is sulking.

Funny cos he told Mum not to be childish, which means – you are big puppy. Mum went sadface and said “But I IS childish, that is my nature” so it serve him right. Mum was very kind and said she could get mush more exercise at home and I (me, Lily) could have FOUR walks a day – two slow with Mum and two shuffle with Dad.

Other big funny is – man wot whistles is not a man but a parrot. Mum and I went for walk while Dad took down the yawning from van. Whistle cheep. Look over and there is grey parrot. Mum said “Oh look, African Grey” and I thought, well I can see it not Norwegian Blue!!!

He is the one who whistle. So Mum went over all respectful cos I taut her animal etty-ket and she knows not to go close or touch. They whistled, played dance – bounce, lift one paw, bounce, lift other, paw … put head to one side to look up snout, then other side. But parrot played “I can look up own bum” and Mum no good at that game at best of times so she said “OK you win.”

Then they whistled a bit and he climbed up pole. Mum said “Can you see my house from up there?” and the parrot said, clear as day “Eejit” wot made us laugh lots.

Then Mum said she was sorry about parrot’s mister but parrot did great big hur hur hur laugh like Dad do when he make a big fart. He obviously think it funny.

Later Mum saw Mr. Parrot on his Suzuki and waved biker style to him and he waved back so all is good.

Today I learned that my Mum is not always right but always funny, parrots are very intelligent and have great sense of humour.

I would like parrot for Christmas please. I teach it to bark bad wurds and whistle forever. That serve Dad right too.