Officially Funny. Or am I?

Soooooo… guess who got a nomination for a blog award for being a source of amusement?

The health blogger awards are quite big in my twitterssphere with many of my friends online sharing similar experiences of trying to quite literally hold it together and wobble through life. So, yeah, even being on the list is quite awesome – but winners are picked on endorsements.


Whether you read my blog to laugh at or with me, or if by some streak of luck I’ve managed to help in any way, I’d really appreciate you clicking the link & pressing the big purple “endorse” button to validate my online existence. 

https://awards.wegohealth.com/nominees/12945
Hey, you never know, you might be able to say “yeah, I knew her before she was huge”…. because in the words of The Brain “We’re going to take over the world”.

Clearly feel free to spread the link far & wide 😉

NARF.

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You Can’t Be Serious

Not all the time. Today has kicked my arse.

I pulled out my shoulder trying to propel myself up an accessible ramp (oh yes. I did that), my swallowing / stomach is at a point that even ordering pizza to tempt my taste buds ended up with me with stomach cramps and palpitations  (wtf?!).

So, I decided to cheer up a bit. Hopefully these will make you giggle too 🙂

Yeah EDS… You’re only kicking my arse because no one else can.

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The less spoken about aide of humour. And yes, I’ve totally dislocated a hip during nocturnals… and my jaw 😉

Totally not sexy.

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Not so much a meme, but a useful image for when I feel so bloody old! At least now I know why!

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That’s me that is. Skilled.

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This is basically me after lesson 1 each day. My kids are so lovely that they followed me about today opening doors and carrying tea for me. I looked extra super terrific today.

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I’ve not seen this one before, but I may just stick it above my desk!

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Pretty much how I react each time I see my GP. Apart from today. Today’s locum was astoundingly helpful. And talked to me like a human 🙂

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I’m not religious. I’m agnostic at best, but I like this.

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Not EDS related, but this is also my cat Thomas. And he’s a meme 🙂

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Finally, a serious one just to finish up.

I have no wish to take anything away from cancer awareness, but reading so many blogs about chronic illness makes you wonder where all the other adverts are. Fibro, ME, MS, dysautonomia, RA. There are so many 😦

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Crap. That ended on a bit of a downer. Here, let me sing you the song of my people.

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Vom Air – the reason I will always fly with @easyjet

I will blog about our trip to Ireland, because it was just lovely. But for now, get some sweet tea and a strong stomach…

Today I flew home with my Sherlock, my bestest of best friends, Mrs Gypsytree. Mr Geek was on the other side of the aisle entertaining a very overtired Birthday Beanpole and equally knackered TinyPants  (I’d done parent duty on the way out). Despite entering the aircraft on a combo of wheels, sticks & hydrolic lifts, we were giggling like schoolgirls. We’ve basically never grown up and revert to our musketeer chasing teenage girl type when around each other. This kind of thing is good for the soul.

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Travelling is clearly not my thing. We are just destined to never have an easy journey anywhere and as I sat down with Mrs Gypsytree to start our giggly flight back to England we looked out for the person poor unfortunate soul we would be sharing the 3rd seat with. A single person, probably a business person flying back to the mainland?

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Cue lady with a huge flight bag who promptly falls over both of us & exudes alcohol from every pore. Said bag does not fit into overhead storage, mainly due to hand-eye-alcohol coordination, so I move and sit on Mr Geek’s lap whilst Mrs Gypsytree tries to help with luggage tetris.  Mrs Gypsytree tries ever so hard to make friendly conversation, but quickly realises that this is more difficult than maintaining high brow discussions with the three year old we’d left back in Ireland with Mr Gypsytree. (Whizzy’s opening gambit this morning was to stand on the high chair and shout “NO GROWED UPS! You must not have cake. Cake is not yours!”). I have no issue with drunken people per say. In fact, I have been known to be said drunken fool, quite often assisted into that state by Mrs Gypsytree herself. Just not on public transport. And not on a plane. There may well have been a genuine reason for her being utterly wrecked (aside from being in Ireland) and I hope that it was just a bit too much Dutch courage to combat a fear of flying. There may well have been another reason altogether, so I feel bad for being judgey. With that said, in uncomfortable situations, humour is coping mechanism no 1.

As we take off there is an odd odour and the lady appears to be curled up in a ball not looking well. We looked at each other with the realisation dawning on us that she was gently vomiting into the clear bag designed for customs right beside us.  Oh dear God, I bet that’s more than 10 ml. The seat belt sign was still on and so she had to remain, bag of vomit resting on her lap. We talk about our weekend plans firmly ignoring the alcoholic chunder cloud appearing next to us. There is a white elephant and we are doing our absolute British best to keep calm and carry on whilst discreetly providing her with all of our little on board ‘bags’ and napkins.

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Mrs Gypsytree decided to fight fire with fire and as the flight attendants came along, ordered a stiff drink. And we giggled that this was good material for my blog  (and indeed it is!). The addition of teeny tiny bottles of alcohol was clearly too much for our friend and she climbed over us again and headed for the toilets after briefly breathing over the flight attendants.

Shortly after, a wonderful member of staff called Tim asked if we were travelling with her, to which we just made pained faces and said no. “She seems a bit worse for wear?” He asked, making the understatement of the year, but being magically tactful to both her and us at the same time… we agreed and said we thought she might have had a teeny bit too much to drink & that she may need to be looked after as she was being sick. He pointed to some free seats near us and said we could move if we wanted. We decided to stick it out as we didn’t want to be rude to her.

Sandwiches and coffee were presented to her and to her credit, she did attempt to eat, but the rolling of the plane was just too much and we were treated to further discreet hurling. This proved too much for me (mainly the needing to let her pass every 10 minutes with additional bashing of my leg braces) so Mr Geek lifted me to a spare seat and Mrs Gypsytree moved with me. The young lady who had been enjoying a peaceful flight until then was ever so gracious about letting us move over with her. (If you are reading this and you are the lady in the niqab, your daughter is a credit to you).

Part of us felt terrible for leaving her in such a state, but a fair bit of me also now felt quite nauseous (I don’t need help with nausea thank you). With this said, as we moved we got the attention of the lovely Tim who to his absolute credit, continued to provide her with little bags & alerted people to her imminent arrival.

Sometimes, people need a thank you so we tweeted Easyjet thr instant wheels touched the ground. And they ‘liked’ it within seconds. A thank you is nice,  but a thank you via your bosses is something to go into your appraisal 🙂

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I hope he gets the thank you tweet, because he went above & beyond this evening.

With Mrs Gypsytree safely delivered to her mum’s house at just after midnight, we headed home. Despite being 1.30am and dreadfully past my bedtime, I’m still writing because Watson has returned to Baker Street without Sherlock. Whilst I can see how happy and settled they are in Omagh (blog pending – it’s a wonderful place), I miss Mrs Gypsytree more than I’d ever bargained for.

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I hate that most of my favourite people live so bloody far north, or a full plane journey away.  I hope that lady found her long distance friends ok.

Vom Air – the reason I will always fly with @easyjet

I will blog about out trip to Ireland, because it was just lovely. But for now, get some sweet tea and a strong stomach…

Today I flew home with my Sherlock, my bestest of best friends, Mrs Gypsytree. Mr Geek was on the other side of the aisle entertaining a very overtired Birthday Beanpole and equally knackered TinyPants  (I’d done parent duty on the way out). Despite entering the aircraft on a combo of wheels, sticks & hydrolic lifts, we were giggling like schoolgirls. We’ve basically never grown up and revert to our musketeer chasing teenage girl type when around each other. This kind of thing is good for the soul.

image

Travelling is clearly not my thing. We are just destined to never have an easy journey anywhere and as I sat down with Mrs Gypsytree to start our giggly flight back to England we looked out for the person poor unfortunate soul we would be sharing the 3rd seat with. A single person, probably a business person flying back to the mainland?

image

Cue lady with a huge flight bag who promptly falls over both of us & exudes alcohol from every pore. Said bag does not fit into overhead storage, mainly die to hand-eye-alcohol coordination, so I move and sit on Mr Geek’s lap whilst Mrs Gypsytree tries to help with luggage tetris.  Gypsytree tries ever so hard to make friendly conversation, but quickly realises that this is more difficult than maintaining high brow discussions with the three year old we’d left back in Ireland with Mr Gypsytree. (Whizzy’s opening gambit this morning was to stand on the high chair and shout “NO GROWED UPS! You must not have cake. Cake is not yours!”). I have no issue with drunken people per say. In fact, I have been known to be said drunken fool, quite often assisted into that state by Mrs Gypsytree herself. Just not on public transport. And not on a plane. There may well have been a genuine reason for her being utterly wrecked (aside from being in Ireland) and I hope that it was just a bit too much Dutch courage to combat a fear of flying. There may well have been another reason altogether, so I feel bad for being judgey. With that said, in uncomfortable situations, humour is coping mechanism no 1.

As we take off there is an odd odour and the lady appears to be curled up in a ball not looking well. We looked at each other with the realisation dawning on us that she was gently vomiting into the clear bag designed for customs right beside us.  Oh dear God, I bet that’s more than 10 ml. The seat belt sign was still on and so she had to remain, bag of vomit resting on her lap. We talk about our weekend plans firmly ignoring the alcoholic chunder cloud appearing next to us. There is a white elephant and we are doing our absolute British best to keep calm and carry on whilst discreetly providing her with all of our little on board ‘bags’ and napkins.

image

Mrs Gypsytree decided to fight fire with fire and as the flight attendants came along, ordered a stiff drink. And we giggled that this was good material for my blog  (and indeed it is!). The addition of teeny tiny bottles of alcohol was clearly too much for our friend and she climbed over us again and headed for the toilets after briefly breathing over the flight attendants.

Shortly after, a wonderful member of staff called Tim asked if we were travelling with her, to which we just made pained faces and said no. “She seems a bit worse for wear?” He asked, making the understatement of the year, but being magically tactful to both her and us at the same time… we agreed and said we thought she might have had a teeny bit too much to drink & that she may need to be looked after as she was being sick. He pointed to some free seats near us and said we could move if we wanted. We decided to stick it out as we didn’t want to be rude to her.

Sandwiches and coffee were presented to her and to her credit, she did attempt to eat, but the rolling of the plane was just too much and we were treated to further discreet hurling. This proved too much for me (mainly the needing to let her pass every 10 minutes with additional bashing of my leg braces) so Mr Geek lifted me to a spare seat and Mrs Gypsytree moved with me. The young lady who had been enjoying a peaceful flight until then was ever so gracious about letting us move over with her. (If you are reading this and you are the lady in the niqab, your daughter is a credit to you).

Part of us felt terrible for leaving her in such a state, but a fair bit of me also now felt quite nauseous (I don’t need help with nausea thank you). With this said, as we moved we got the attention of the lovely Tim who to his absolute credit, continued to provide her with little bags & alerted people to her imminent arrival.

Sometimes, people need a thank you so we tweeted Easyjet thr instant wheels touched the ground. And they ‘liked’ it within seconds. A thank you is nice,  but a thank you via your bosses is something to go into your appraisal 🙂

image

I hope he gets the thank you tweet, because he went above & beyond this evening.

With Mrs Gypsytree safely delivered to her mum’s house at just after midnight, we headed home. Despite being 1.30am and dreadfully past my bedtime, I’m still writing because Watson has returned to Baker Street without Sherlock. Whilst I can see how happy and settled they are in Omagh (blog pending – it’s a wonderful place), I miss Mrs Gypsytree more than I’d ever bargained for.

image

I hate that most of my favourite people live so bloody far north, or a full plane journey away.  I hope that lady found her long distance friends ok.

Lucyisms

Yesterday, we met RunningWoman for coffee & caaaake with our various offspring. We were catching up on roboleg & the wheelchair use, and bits falling off me at random when her 14 yr old daughter had a sudden thought:

“Ooh mum! Will you watch the Walking Dead with me today?”

Then it dawned on her how that thought had formed and she stopped. And we all fell apart laughing.

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I love the unformed frontal cortex of teenagers…. and our ability to laugh at he whole situation.

Socktober

Dear Jumper,

I have a confession. I’ve been cheating on you. It happened so suddenly and I was drawn in my the funky name and the time limit. 10 days to finish a pair of socks! And they’re GREEN. It’s not you, it’s me. I’m fickle. Actually, it is you – your block colour is boring me to tears and I needed a break. And these knit up quite quickly.

It’s true, I’m a yarn hussy. I’m not even ashamed.

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Look jumper, how could you possibly compete with your singular circular needle? The socks have four needles, you just have promises of a funky yoke. Always not yet dear, I’m not long enough….. The socks don’t make me wait.