Saturday, June 11

the song remains the same

Now I'm not usually one to complain. But the country and westernisms have kept coming.

You'd think that losing the stepfather and the old dear, the cellmate doing a runner, and then having to shoot the dog, was enough to be getting on with. But then 3 days before leaving New South Cal, the dentist decided on a surprise root canal job. Drilled two holes: the usual one going in from the top, and a bigger one going in from the side. He'll fill it when I get back in July, and meantime what remains of the tooth shouldn't snap off as long as I remember not to eat with it.

The next day the doc called to say I've got amoebic dysentery (piece of cake compared to the black spot of course). The treatment's worse than the disease, and often doesn't work anyway, so enlightened opinion suggests leaving the wee critter alone if it's not causing much trouble. After all, the flatulence is only a problem for other people. And I could do with a new pet.

I got to the airport with three hours to spare, so I was looking forward to catching up with some sleep in departures. But a merchant bank owns the airport, and they've taken out all the seats you could lie down on, and the new ones are uncomfortable even to sit on. They want to keep you on your feet and shopping. So I lay down on the floor with a jacket over my face, and did the amateur bliss breath. Almost as good as sleeping. Eff the bankers.

Now, ever since the PPP went into receivership I'm having to pay my own flights and travel in sewage class. The plane to Singapore was packed, and I was standing a lot of the time, for lumbar reasons. Whenever I got out of my seat, the fat woman beside me would unload all her stuff onto my seat. And when I wanted to sit down again, with a sigh she would pick up her stuff again, in passive-aggressive slow-motion.

Then when I sat down again she would try and engage me in fatuous conversation. I understand now why some blissheids get the murderous feelings about flatheids. Eventually I just closed my eyes and did the breathing. I realised she had me marked as the opposite of her strong silent hubby, so she thought she could grab some rare girl talk time with a mug new age guy. Forget it sister, if you hitch your wagon to a man of stone, live with the silence, don't pester me.

The veggie meal deal was appalling. But I knew my luck was bound to change. "The darkest hour is just before dawn" - Mama Cass.

- iPod post


  1. Albert? Have you turned yellow yet? Or orange? I thought that kind of dysentery was a bog trot nightmare. Trust you to get something the matter with your bowels! Why were you flying to Malasia, Malaya ... yon place where the singing pours out? I know you shot the doggie because you'd no one to look after it when you were gone. If you want to go for walks, get a walking stick then folk who don't know you will feel sympathetic. Hope this helps. Hotboy

  2. Hotters. I don't think the stuff that pours out of you in Asia's exactly singing. Did you mean minging? Stinging?

    I remember O Davey's amusement when Albert used to say, if something was unfair or bad quality, "that's stinkin!"

  3. Hotters. You're bound to be apprehensive about mercy killing when your own useful life's over, but are you not more concerned about thrombosis from sitting around? It's never too late to develop a work ethic you know.

  4. I know those kinds of days well. If it isn't one thing it is six others.

    Sorry to hear you have gut problems. Sadly often the cure is worse than the disease in my experience.

    Flying has become such an annoying and frustrating thing to do. The only good side is that you don't have as long to be motion sick as you do on a boat.

    Hope things get better for you.

  5. Marie. Thank goodness empathy's not dead. Yes, when even the doc advises skipping the antibiotics, you know it must be a dead loss.

    As I know you know, the good thing about 6 things going wrong at once - the only way is up (as it has turned out again since this post). It's balancing up yet again.

  6. I say!

    Bog trot is well known in these parts, but I have an iron stomach, myself. It must be all the tonic. Of course, as you well point out, flatulence isn't such a problem for the originator.

    MM III

  7. Mingers. This morning in the cramped breakfast room, I had to stand in a queue, my arse level with a breakfasting Japanese lady's face. As I felt the gas building to a release, I did the gentlemanly thing and stepped aside. Japanese people appreciate decorum.