It's a conspiracy

Yesterday was the dreaded day for my first round of dental pummelling. You may or may not (probably not) remember my posting on my recent visit for a check up, the first in five years courtesy of Scotland's lack of dentists prepared to work on the NHS.

On that occasion I was cheerfully informed I needed a crown but I would be contacted further if anything more showed up in the X-rays. Something more did show up...apparently two small fillings, today I was to have the first of these.

Now, my phobia of dentists has also not gone unmentioned here. Well, it's not so much the dentist. him or herself presents no problem but the procedures they carry out do....a big problem, the biggest of which is extraction! But, having met 'Mr Very Nice Dentist' at my check up and having been assured he understood my fears and that I was to have a filling, I set off this morning only half scared to death.

Upon my arrival, with the benefit of hindsight, the receptionists greeting of me was marginally strange, she appeared slightly uncomfortable but in my state of nervousness I barely registered her existence let alone her manner, and so in I went when I was called, full of bravery......only to be informed by 'Mr Very Nice Dentist' that the tooth I thought was to be filled actually required extraction!!!! Yes, he could possibly repair it with two or three hours work but it would only last a year or two and alternatively it could be wrenched from my mouth brutally removed painlessly, in a matter of seconds.

At this point my flight or fight response kicked in big time, my body suddenly knew it was harboring way too much adrenaline and in that horrible state of trying to hide near panic, I tried to listen coherently to 'Mr Very Nice Dentists' advice.

There was it seemed nothing really to decide. My five year lack of dental care (Thank you Scotland's NHS, I love you too) had resulted in a pretty crap tooth and out it had to come and so hanging onto the nurses hand for dear life, trying to somehow not behave like a small frightened child, I gritted my teeth (pun intended) and we went for it. Four large injections later (yup, it wouldn't 'numb up' with the usual two, oh joy) and a swift and practiced wrench and the offending tooth was history, amazingly I am still here to tell the tale!!!...... Though I did require to be left prone for ten minutes before I could maintain an upright position without assistance, my legs didn't really know what they were doing for a while, my hands shook uncontrollably and I was damn glad I had my dad with me to drive home!

So why the 'conspiracy' title...because the dentist knew all along, as did his nurse and receptionist that the tooth was to go but he also knew that if he had told me in the original phone call what was to be done, I would have never shown up!

This guy certainly has me sussed and he was of course right. At the very least I would have had a fair few sleepless nights prior to the dreaded appointment and indeed would probably have cancelled...as it is, it's all done and dusted and whilst I might feel like I've been punched in the face right now by someone with significant upper body strength, it's a good job done with a minimum of cowardice and hoo ha!

The guy is a bastard star! :o)

Anyone got a straw?

Deserved success

On the subject, (ok we weren't but I was a few days ago) of my rediscovered pleasure in books, congratulations to Tom Reynolds (AKA his real name), author of the almost legendary blog 'Random Acts of Reality', who made it into The Guardian today.....on the subject of his book 'Blood, Sweat and Tea' which is going into it's second print and has remained in Amazons top thirty for over four weeks now!

Wow!

Read the internet version here.

Oh, and it's kinda wired to finally get to see a picture of someone you have only imagined for so long.

The last bastion falls

A small disaster has befallen the life of gemmak today, or at least the knowledge that it will do before very much longer.

Since my move South, when things have become particularly 'trying' and I have sought a place of solace, I have headed to the great and the good that is Caffe Nero ....and you thought it was just a coffee bar eh?


Nero's was is my little bit of heaven, my place of escape, somehwere I can wile away an hour or two with a good book, a fantastic restretto or cappuccino and most of all a place I can enjoy these things and settle my mind's concerns, all with a cigarette in hand....for Nero's didn't judge, they didn't deem the pariahs like myself as evil, no, they allowed the top floor of their wonderful coffee emporium to be inhabited by smokers! It was heaven indeed. They stood alone, Nero's was hallowed ground. The one place, the only place I knew that allowed me, as the devil incarnate, to truly relax with my favourite things, caffeine, a book and a smoke.

But the last bastion has fallen, things are looking bleak, for today, as I made my merry way to the counter to order, book clutched in hand, I was greeted by a heinous sign announcing that from 14th September, they too will bow to the pressure of the 'good and the sensible', of those who hop blithely onto one or another of the politically correct bandwagons..... and smoking will no longer be allowed anywhere on their premises.

There have of course been customer surveys (though no one 'surveyed' me despite my almost daily visits) professing to prove that their customers wishes are that the evil weed be banned but hey, did anyone survey any smokers?, because one thing is for sure, in the particular branch I use, the top floor, the smokers domain, is always far busier than the lower floor that is already a smoke free zone!

A bleak day indeed.....hell, I know that next year it will be obligatory anyways but I had faith in these guys.....

Toilet humour!

Thank you to Astrantia for leaving this link in my comments.

For any of you cat people who didn't catch it there it's worth a click. :o)

It's good to talk

So, it's Friday again and it's seemed a long time in coming this week in some respects, though somewhere deep inside of me something has changed over the last few days and this week hasn't been quite as difficult as many that have gone before in recent months. Somehow the 'rawness' of my emotions seems to be salved a little.

Firstly there has been the 'niece distraction', and albeit I joke about the trials and tribulations of being an auntie and I wouldn't want a whole child, she has been fun, her company has distracted me from my current aggravations and it's just kinda nice to be with someone for whom life appears simple and who's immediate happiness depends on sweets, fun and lots of cuddles. I shall miss her when she goes, loath though I am to admit it.

Secondly I think my lighter mood can be put down to communication....it's good to talk,(why am I using a BT tagline? I hate BT!), it's good to really talk, to share one's greatest fears and concerns, to air grievances and try to find a deeper understanding of what makes ourselves and others function and react as we do. It is maybe rare to be able to be completely honest and open with others, to have an affinity that allows us to take the risk, take the final steps to make ourselves completely vulnerable, and it takes immense trust in one's confidante, for when we open ourselves up to others and dare to explore parts of our own psyche we don't usually, or prefer not too, acknowledge in ourselves, we are at our most vulnerable. It is hard, it hurts like hell and we don't always receive the answers that we want, but it is also calming to have our thoughts and feelings listened too, validated and to share our innermost fears....true communication is invaluable, a rare gift.

Yup...I think that's the word, 'calm', I feel a little calmer this week, I no longer feel quite like a headless chicken rushing about trying to take the world and it's wife on all at once, I have slept some, I don't feel quite so overwhelmed and now, add to that, it's Friday!.....and you know how I love Fridays.

Ok, so nothing has really changed, the practicalities and problems I face remain much the same but maybe, just maybe, my perception of them and of some of the situations I find myself in has changed some.

......things are looking up (she say's tentatively), long may it last! :o)


*Thank you for being there.......you know who you are.

Room with a view

Even suburban bedrooms provide a pretty good view from time to time!

Yesterday evening from gemmak's bedroom.......


(Clickable)

Small interruptions!

So, it's the school summer holidays and in [new] gemmak's-ville that means but one thing....the invasion for a week of a small child.

It has become family tradition here that my nieces, on alternate years, take it in turns to spend a week here on holiday with my parents, their grandparents....and this year it is the turn of the eight year old to turn the place and our reasonably quiet haven into a mad house have her little holiday.

Life is just not the same. From the outset each day things begin to be 'testing'. There is absolutely no chance whatsoever that my much required and revered early morning routine will go as planned! It is usual that I rise before the rest of the inmates here, creep downstairs and enjoy at least half an hours solitude with a very necessary cup of strong coffee and a cigarette or two in the garden (weather permitting), whilst my mind and body attempt to prepare themselves for another days assault and I muster myself from the oblivion that is the 'Oh Jesus is it morning again already' state of mind.

Oh no, none of that. This week I am woken from my slumber (assuming I got any in the first place) by the particularly brutal sound of said small child enquiring at high decibel level as to whether I am still asleep...um...well I was! This decibel level is of course designed to make sure that sleep rapidly becomes a thing of distant memory and we have to trail downstairs within a moment or two.... already in deep conversation. Heavens above, it's just not normal!

Once arrived at the kitchen she also requires a cup of coffee, though of course she doesn't really like coffee and certainly doesn't drink it but apparently there is something very 'grown up' about sitting in the garden in ones pajamas at 6.30 am, pretending to enjoy coffee!

From this moment on in the day this child talks nineteen to the dozen...non stop, no let up, question after question, statement after statement, request after request...on and on and on it goes....by breakfast time my first headache is already well entrenched! ;o)

The next test of our stoicism is to see if we can maneuver her through breakfast and her ablutions in something less than a three hour period and in time to take her for a day out somewhere, apparently if one is eight years old the distractions from these necessary tasks are many and various and all way too tempting to even consider displaying a modicum of resistance.

The remainder of the day usually passes in reasonable normality, my parents whisk small child off for a days entertainment and I go about my usual business, or lack of it as the case is recently.

The evening once again becomes 'interesting'. I am required to listen to chapter and verse of her days outings at least seven times, play with any newly acquired toys, read leaflets and books aplenty and come up with believable answers for her myriad questions.

The later evening (for this is a holiday, no early bedtimes this week, godamn) presents yet more new challenges. This eight year old apparently requires nail extensions to be applied and manicured (is this a usual holiday treat? it sure as hell wasn't when I was eight), software of various descriptions to be installed onto either my laptop or my fathers pc (at such a tender age she has an uncanny knack with a mouse and the navigating of XP) to provide entertainment yet later in the evening or in preparation for the following morning, a wardrobe for the following morning also has to be selected with care and CD's have to be listened to avidly....if one can listen to such 'noise' ok...I'm old with any degree of avid interest!

By this point I am beginning to feel my patience becoming just a tiny bit frayed, suggestions of fifteen minutes 'reading time' usually fall on deaf ears and whilst I try to bury myself in my book she fiddles with the pages I'm attempting to hide for fear of her reading any 'inappropriate' vocabulary. So I give up and instead revert to answering questions. How exactly does a child of eight manage to string together sentences that most of us at well above the age of eight would struggle to compose? My experience of children is obviously severely limited and I have nothing with which to make a comparison but hells bells, are all kids nowadays so unnervingly articulate?

There is one saving grace in all of this....somehow, somewhere she has learnt to give the most amazingly professional full body massage which she is only to happy to practice at the latter part of the day....it's just a damn shame I have to get back onto my feet subsequently for the bathing and bedtime story reading malarky......oh, and she does of course charge 50p per massage!

Hey..... how do people do this 24/7? Much as I love her to bits, give me a cat any day!

'Earth School'

In my mail box this morning and with thanks to it's sender.

To bear this ethos in mind is something I think wouldn't go amiss in my life right now and is probably always be helpful to remember.

From The Daily Om:

Life is the province of learning, and the wisdom we acquire throughout our lives is the reward of existence. As we traverse the winding roads that lead from birth to death, experience is our patient teacher. We exist, bound to human bodies as we are, to evolve, enrolled by the universe in earth school, an informal and individualized academy of living, being, and changing. Life's lessons can take many forms and present us with many challenges. There are scores of mundane lessons that help us learn to navigate with grace, poise, and tolerance in this world. And there are those once-in-a-lifetime lessons that touch us so deeply that they change the course of our lives. The latter can be heartrending, and we may wander through life as unwilling students for a time. But the quality of our lives is based almost entirely on what we derive from our experiences.

Earth school provides us with an education of the heart and the soul, as well as the intellect. The scope of our instruction is dependent on our ability and readiness to accept the lesson laid out before us in the circumstances we face. When we find ourselves blindsided by life, we are free to choose to close our minds or to view the inbuilt lesson in a narrow-minded way. The notion that existence is a never-ending lesson can be dismaying at times. The courses we undertake in earth school can be painful as well as pleasurable, and as taxing as they are eventually rewarding. However, in every situation, relationship, or encounter, a range of lessons can be unearthed. When we choose to consciously take advantage of each of the lessons we are confronted with, we gradually discover that our previous ideas about love, compassion, resilience, grief, fear, trust, and generosity could have been half-formed.

Ultimately, when we acknowledge that growth is an integral part of life and that attending earth school is the responsibility of every individual, the concept of "life as lesson" no longer chafes. We can openly and joyfully look for the blessing buried in the difficulties we face without feeling that we are trapped in a roller-coaster ride of forced learning. Though we cannot always know when we are experiencing a life lesson, the wisdom we accrue will bless us with the keenest hindsight.

Television? No ta.

I have a rediscovered pleasure in my life.

I was born and bought up in a household who's very existence, by virtue of the fact that my father worked his entire professional life in television, relied upon the great God that stands in the corner of most of our living rooms and provides us with 'entertainment' at the press of a button.

This though, rather than making us slaves to it did the reverse. My parents where all too aware of the clap trap on offer much of the time and so as children our 'viewing allowance' was very limited and the television itself was relegated to a separate room in an attempt to prevent us from becoming 'square eyed'. We were encouraged instead to play, read, talk etc. etc.....and it worked for a time, until of course in my case, I left home and gradually became victim of the great God, soaking up hour after hour of one banality or another.

Latterly I lived in households where the television was 'on' as a matter of course for most of the day doing that infernal 'moving wallpaper' thing, and I like anyone am just as capable of becoming glued to it as the next person. Hell, there was a time I never missed an episode of Coronation Street or Casualty and even now it would take the strength of ten men to forcibly remove me from infront of the machine, should I happen by it at 7.30pm on a Monday/Wednesday/Friday!

Having returned temporarily to my parents house where the TV is still sited 'out of the line of sight' things have changed ...only twice have I actually sat and watched anything (Ok so it was Corrie but I'm only human), instead I have a rediscovered passion for books.

As a child and teenager I always had a book on the go, books were my friends, but as I got more able to access the ease of TV and unable to concentrate against it's background noise I stopped reading almost entirely.

My ability to read fast has diminished for lack of practice but recently, once again, I always have a book close at hand and I have actually read from cover to cover three novels in the last few weeks, rather than get a few pages in a give up.... The Da Vinci code, a Bill Bryson and now a particularly amusing 'beach book'. Ok, so the classics it ain't but you know what.... I don't miss TV one little tiny iota, I am a born again reader and added to that I actually converse with people instead of grunting at them in annoyance for interrupting my trance like state in front of the infernal black box.

Television? No ta!

I am not alone!

So it's not just me, this post so amused me, it is just too horribly true!

Thank you Bert for cheering me up (again) just when I needed it. :o)

Only the good die young

Way back in the 70's when I started my second job I met and made friends with a couple who went on to remain friends until this day although over the last few hectic years we had seen little of each other, relying instead, whilst I was in Scotland, on phone calls to keep up.

'A' and 'M' were the 'perfect couple',I don't use that phrase here in a derogatory manner, I mean they really were lovely people, kind, honest, hard working, attractive, nice home, good jobs and two much wanted sons, financially comfortable and apparently happy as two pigs in muck. Sadly something went wrong and a few years ago they split, albeit amicably.

Today I learned that 'M' died on Sunday, he had fought a long hard battle with cancer. No one deserves to die at only 47 but 'M' was one of the good guys and if anyone deserved to live he did......

You are in my thoughts.

Help! I'm stuck!

It seems it's not only me who is learning a few hard lessons lately!


For Tilly the lesson seems to be that if you climb up a tree then best you remember you also have to get down....and if you can't, then maybe 7am isn't the most appreciated time of day to expect your mother and grandmother to scramble among the shrubbery and mount a rescue attempt!


An hour of shaking branches and 'gentle persuasion' and finally she took her courage in her paws and made a leap for freedom......my mother and I made a well deserved leap for the coffee pot!


Needless to say there have been repeat performances from 'madam'!

(Images clickable)

The four day week

So it's Monday again and I was learning to truly hate Mondays.

Mondays are never good, I don't suppose there are many that relish them, the start of the working week, the end of that all to short period of time we refer to as the weekend, the seemingly unending five days of day to day stuff stretching ahead of us, none of it yet expired and the next weekend way to far off in the distance to begin to really anticipate.

But for me this Monday has been somewhat better than many of late, for once I haven't dragged myself around in a state of abject misery all day, ok, so to call me 'Ms Happy' would be maybe stretching a point but somehow today hasn't been quite as bad as the average Monday.

The reason? Nothing earth shattering, just an unusual ability to kick my own a** hard early on in the day, in a figurative sense of course, and more importantly, a few well chosen positive words from a friend (thank you, you know who you are) who reminded me, that in fact there are only four days until the next weekend because Fridays don't count!

Why don't Fridays count you might well ask? Well it's simple, they don't count because Fridays are always good, they have that inherent 'Friday feeling', Monday miseries are nowhere to be seen, a dim and distant memory, so when one is counting 'gemmak days' of the week, Fridays have no need to be included!....see, simple, the week is only four days long not five! ;o)

Bikers - Top ten!

Maybe you have to have been there but probably not! :o)

Top Ten Reasons Why Harley Riders Don't Wave Back:
10. Afraid it will invalidate warranty.
9. Leather and studs make it too heavy to raise arm.
8. Refuse to wave to anyone whose bike is already paid for.
7. Afraid to let go of handlebars because they might vibrate off.
6. Rushing wind would blow scabs off the new tattoos.
5. Angry because just took out second mortgage to pay luxury tax on new Harley.
4. Just discovered the fine print in owner's manual and realized H-D is partially owned by Honda.
3. Can't tell if other riders are waving or just reaching to cover their ears like everyone else.
2. Remembers the last time a Harley rider waved back, he impaled his hand on spiked helmet.
1. They're too tired from spending hours polishing all that chrome to lift their arms.

Top Ten Reasons Why Gold Wing Riders Don't Wave Back:
10. Wasn't sure whether other rider was waving or making an obscene gesture.
9. Afraid might get frostbite if hand is removed from heated grip.
8. Has arthritis and the past 400 miles have made it difficult to raise arm.
7. Reflection from etched windshield momentarily blinded him.
6. The espresso machine just finished.
5. Was actually asleep when other rider waved.
4. Was in a three-way conference call with stockbroker and accessories dealer.
3. Was distracted by odd shaped blip on radar screen.
2. Was simultaneously adjusting the air suspension, seat height, programmable CD player, seat temperature and satellite navigation system.
1. Couldn't find the "auto wave back" button on dashboard.

Top 10 Reasons Sportbikers Don't Wave back:
10. They have not been riding long enough to know they're supposed to.
9. They're going too fast to have time enough to register the movement and respond.
8. You weren't wearing bright enough gear.
7. If they stick their arm out going that fast they'll rip it out of the socket.
6. They're too occupied with trying to get rid of their chicken strips.
5. They look way too cool with both hands on the bars or they don't want to unbalance themselves while standing on the tank.
4. Their skin tight-kevlar-ballistic-nylon-kangaroo-leather suits prevent any position other than fetal.
3. Raising an arm allows bugs into the armholes of their tank tops.
2. It's too hard to do one-handed stoppies.
1. They were too busy slipping their flip-flop back on.

Top Ten Reasons Why BMW Riders Don't Wave Back:
10. New Aerostich suit too stiff to raise arm.
9. Removing a hand from the bars is considered "bad form."
8. Your bike isn't weird enough looking to justify acknowledgement.
7. Too sore from an 800-mile day on a stock "comfort" seat.
6. Too busy programming the GPS, monitoring radar, listening to ipod, XM, or talking on the cell phone.
5. He's an Iron Butt rider and you're not!.
4. Wires from Gerbings is too short.
3. You're not riding the "right kind" of BMW.
2. You haven't been properly introduced.
1. Afraid it will be misinterpreted as a friendly gesture