Sunday, 25 November 2012
Take Over Bid?
It looks to me as though there has been a take over bid in my absence on other matters.
Well this is where the fight back begins. Just who is SNAP and where the hell do they get off taking over my affairs without so much as a by your leave? That is of course par for the game these days it might seem to some but don't let the buggers get away with it. Otherwise the next thing you know you won't have a fig leaf to cover your dignity.
Well I cannot say it has been a very enlightening period of my life. But then all you fellow suffers and trauma types battling with the BIG C, have good cause for complaint. Or have you? Yes I agree there does seem to be much of IT about it might appear. In fact I think there must be a great many good laughs floating about on the breeze if you only have time to pick them out and put the correct aspect on them. And that of course is the trouble. Getting the correct aspect.
Just what is the Correct Aspect? Is it the Jokey Sod , who you can never pin down and doesn't take anything seriously? Always good for a laugh, but sometimes hard when it is at you expense. Perhaps the : Smart-Arse is more to your taste. Always quick with a put down but not really interested in carrying you or the project forward, merely there to score the points.
Hard work never killed anybody they say, but it can't half ruin the nail varnish, I notice.
Take my little adventures last Thursday. Fed up to the back teeth with tearing lumps off my dear wife. This sort of thing does happen at times when you have been married over fifty years and suddenly run out of imagination, ideas and talent. And more specifically patience. Your BIG IDEA has disappeared down the plug hole without even a decent gurgle to announce its departure.
So there I was: sprawled out just inside Boots the Chemist shop, having lost a feeble struggle with my rollater, [the newly imported name from the US of A for an exercise walker], blood. My blood spilling from yet another break in my, thankfully, very tough skull. next thing I can actually rationalise is the fact that due to a short bout of concussion. I end up in a Central London Accident and Emergency Department of an unknown hospital, when the accident took place a mere five minutes from my home.
Yes! Yes, I do realise the ambulance driver had rules and regulations to go by which took me on a mystery tour over half of North London, in the all consuming quest to discover just what there was wrong with me. For that part I can only acknowledge their efficiency, diligence and adherence to the rule book. Now once again I have egg on my face as my younger son has just rung to say they had taken me to Whipps Cross Hospital. Just goes to show how wrong you can be? Evening all!