Breathe easy

I’m determined not to make this all about my health. So, quick update. I’ve had another ECG and seen the arrhythmia nurse, who’s taken advice from the consultant. Apparently I’m not going to die. My heart is on the first rung of the long ladder of heart disease – me at the bottom, heart attack at the top. And nobody is, in any way, worried about it, unless it develops to atrial fibrillation, the next step of the ladder. I have been put on the lowest dose of beta-blocker, which, my doctor told me just now, is for the wheezy kids on the touchlines of life. She intimated that it’s as much for anxiety as it is for actually getting a grip of my heart. What was she telling me?

That’s all good news then.

What else? Well we could talk about the less than gentle unravelling of His Donaldness. The latest spat with Denmark about whether or not Greenland is for sale, and then cancelling his planned trip to Copenhagen because Mette Frederikson (the female, Danish pm and not one to suffer fools gladly, apparently) told him the proposition was ‘absurd’, just about tells us where we are. You don’t need me to elaborate on how ridiculous that is. Deep in #Twitter I discover that, other than Trump doesn’t like strong women, it seems that President Obama is in Copenhagen at the same time as Trumpkins. And we know how much he really can’t cope with Obama.

Whatever. It’s hardly good politics and does make you wonder where he keeps the nuclear codes. Then there’s Operation Yellowhammer which I will summarise for you. Post no-deal Brexit we all need to start growing our own vegetables and in our sheds, getting out our chemistry sets and distilling insulin. Hold onto my foot whilst I fetch my

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we’ve been triking it – hurrah!

shotgun. Come on people. We’ve gone from Cool Britannia to a disUnited Kingdom. It doesn’t make any sense to me at all. At least Farage has got his new passport … which, and this is a surprise, is not blue. What was all the fuss about?

So, I won’t go on about politics. Or my health. I’ll just let you know over the past couple of days that’s, pretty much, all we’ve been fussed about. I took C into the BRI today (on the trike – yippee) as her retina has decided to curl a bit. Much to her dismay, the doctor bloke decided that he would laser it on the stop. Come in, Mrs Bond, we’ve been expecting you …  Anyhow, that seems to have done the trick.

And we’ve spent a good while packing the van. We will be away in her for almost five weeks, which is a good slab of time. We are so looking forward to it. Last time we were away in her was over Easter, which was cut short because of poor old dad being admitted to hospital. And my heart was fluttering away for the first time, and I wasn’t in any way convinced that it wasn’t going to give up the ghost and take the rest of me with it. I did wonder whether it would be me or dad that went first.

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Cassie, warming up her bed in the van

Hopefully, this time we will have an uninterrupted session. We’ve got Cassie with us until we drop her with Jen and James in Skye, and we are going up via Mum’s tomorrow – and Phil and Denise on Friday. And then it’s all points of the compass, north. Can’t wait.