It's a cat's life

JP says I mustn't sack the cleaner, even though she arrived an hour and a half late (doctor's appointment). So instead of her marching orders I gave her a cup of tea. She is trying to distance herself from Sweet Smiley Boyfriend. The Home Office have helped with this by moving him to Heathrow.

Chemotherapy is meant to be cumulative (each bout leaves you feeling that little bit worse), but if anything I've felt better this cycle than the first one, the only side-effects being fleeting fatigue and an eye infection. Third dose is next Wednesday so we'll see if this trend continues.

After four months of enforced leisure, I'm starting to get just a teeny bit restless. I even contacted work to see if I could do some bits and bobs from home. Can't go into the office - too many bugs - but could do stuff remotely if systems allow. Not sure how much there is to do though because the Government is closing us down.

Oscar, on the other hand, has no qualms coping with a life of langour. He has been in this position most of the day.

From the sublime to the ridiculous

Nottingham City Council has created wildflower areas in Woodthorpe Park, and they are beautiful. The park has played a pivotal part in my recuperation; a place to walk, rest and observe. I assess my fitness by whether I can get up the hill without stopping.

Speaking as a resident, I'm impressed with the City Council. They're good at doorstep recycling, and even collect bulky items. They keep parks and gardens nice and they lay on festivals and free stuff over the summer. They have shipped a load of sand into the Square and created a beach area. Great for kids.

Some employees speak less highly of the Council. I was talking to someone who recently moved into their new HQ building. He says it's swish but has ridiculous rules:
- The carpet is colour-coded and staff can't walk on certain colours
- Employees are not allowed to keep food in the fridge
- Eating at desks is banned; you have to go to a special room, even to eat a mid-morning banana or a bag of peanuts.
- If you hang a jacket on the back of your chair a floor-walker will confiscate it.
- You can't leave a bag under your desk, you have to book a locker for the day.
- People whose special needs require a lowered or raised desk can't sit with their teams but get ghettoised together in a different area.
He said adhering to all these rules wastes alot of time.

This all seems a bit barmy to me. If rules are seen as arbitrary or pointless they alienate the workforce. Speaking as someone who's fallen foul of clear-desk policies in the past I think such measures discriminate against creative people who tend to be more messy.

Phone freakery

The landline rang at ten past midnight, jolting us out of the first stages of sleep.

I picked it up. Said "hello." Nobody there. I depressed the receiver in order to dial 1471, but the line stayed open.

Then a female voice with a faintly discernable American accent hissed: "You're gonna die," and put the phone down.

1471 revealed no caller's number.

Freaked me out a little, I can tell you, despite JP's assurances that this would be either completely random or a wrong number, and nothing whatsoever to do with me.

Why do people do these things?

She was right about one thing though, whoever she was. I am going to die. So is she. We all are. It's the only sure thing.

For the moment, however, I prefer to concentrate on living.

The boat that rocked

We took Sally Slipknot for a little sail at lunchtime out to Shardlow. Here she is looking serene in the sunshine.

It wasn't always so. We bought her a year ago from a geezer with a lot of home-made tattoos. He advised us how to avoid mooring fees by moving on every two weeks.

Perhaps the name should have been an indication. Slipknot - called after the thrash metal band of the same name. When we phoned up to register ownership there was a long pause on the other end of the line then the man from British Waterways said: "Slipknot. We know that boat well."

Turns out she'd had several ASBOs.

We also noticed that whenever we went anywhere in her we got hailed loudly by certain other river-users. Usually the ones you hear long before their boats come into view.

"I've had some times on Slipknot!" one said wistfully. Seems she was a party boat!

Her life may be dull by comparison now but at least she has loving parents and a nice secure marina to call home.

101 uses for a wig

Forgot to take a wig-stand to Somerset so had to improvise.

Talking of wigs, when we took a stroll round Watchet Harbour I noticed I wasn't the only one wearing one. There were drag-artists out collecting for Carnival. This got me thinking about the many and varied potential functions for a wig. Here's a few to be going along with:

- Alysa (formerly Alister) wears them to enhance her new gender identity
- Brian two-doors-down used to collect maniquin heads from skips, put them in his upstairs window and dress them up in wigs and hats. When he took the display down passers-by complained they missed the show.
- Some people wear curly ones while getting very drunk and pretending to be scousers
- Sonja (not her real name) has several wigs from when she worked for a private detective agency.
- Becky's step-mum's dog performed unspeakable acts with hers
- The court of Louis XIV wouldn't be seen out without them
- When Joy worked as a nanny for Orthodox Jewish families in London, the women would don wigs to cover their already luxuriant hair before leaving the house. Think it's a religious thing.
- Andre Agassi wore one to play tennis.
- We saw a lot of silly red and white ones during the World Cup.
- Judges wear full-bottomed wigs on ceremonial occasions.

Any more for any more?

Meanwhile I cycled seven miles today - not bad for a chemo-head!

Stampede!

When I went for my morning constitutional across the fields, the cows coolly let me pass, but when I came to return the mood had changed. First one began to follow, starting off slow then breaking into a gallop. Others joined the pursuit, and before I knew it the whole herd was hurtling towards me.

I cleared the gate with seconds to spare. Shows I can still run.

Here they are, shortly after the charge, looking like butter wouldn't melt.

Just what the doctor ordered

It's so healing here, just breathing the air does a power of good, like taking in sweet nectar.

Walk three fields and you can see the sea in one direction and Glastonbury Tor in another - just discernable in the haze on picture two. The cows let me pass this time.

And even the cider is pure!