Is anyone out there?

Is there someone out there? 

If'n you iz, say hi!

Recovery

 Recovering from a heart attack, at least from the kind of heart attack that I had, isn't as long or as difficult as you might think.  Obviously, you need to take it easy and avoid stressful situations, but you also need to heed the little signals your body gives you. 

Anyway, I'm doing all that and I'm trying to stick to the guidelines provided in the little information booklet they give you when you are discharged from hospital. 

My Dicky Ticker

So...

I've told you about the house move. This was supposed to be a follow on post describing our efforts to get the outside looking the way we wanted it to however, as in with all best laid plans, there was a hiccup.

It began on Saturday night when I was walking Nancy and houseguest Lola.Less than a hundred or yards from home I had a very small heart attack. Of course. at the time I didn't realise exactly what it was. It felt as if I'd had a good lung full of very cold air and lasted  only a few minutes.

The following morning (Sunday 27th Feb. 2022) I was woken by the dogs as they'd decided it was time for breakfast. I swung my legs out of bed and almost immediately felt as if I'd just had someone stamp on my chest. Breathing was very difficult and my shoulders and elbows ached like hell.  

Dizziness followed shortly after and I began to pop sweat. As I stood up my legs began to shake and I became very unsteady.

It didn't take a genius to realise what was happening.

A heart attack!

My wife called the ambulance and, after I'd given them my symptoms, they despatched paramedics to my home. Within the hour I was on my way to Cramlington Hospital. I was devastated that they didn't arrive with sirens blaring!

Once in hospital, I was whizzed straight though A&E to the Ambulatory Care Ward. Another ECG was carried out (I'd had one a t home and one in the ambulance) and I was given blood thinners prior to and examination and blood tests. My heart sounded normal, even though my chest still felt as if a rugby scrum was jostling back and forth for the ball, but both blood tests confirmed that I'd had a heart attack.

Scary, eh?

Actually no! I was more annoyed because it hurt rather than scared.

It's strange because nurses repeated said "don't be scared. You're in the right place to be looked after." During the course of the morning I did realise the seriousness of it all but I still wasn't worried.
Sporadic ECG's (I was covered in about 15 little receptor pads) were carried out by the nurses as they tried, unsuccessfully, to catch my heart being 'naughty' (as one nurse described it).

After a little over 8 hours and after a multitude of tests, medications and the most disgusting spray under the tongue (It was horrible but relieved my chest pressure), I was moved onto a cardio ward where I sit typing this. Overnight I hardly slept due to the discomfort in my chest and arms. It was pointless anyway as my blood pressure and temperature was taken at regular intervals.

The good thing is that the medication finally took hold at about 5.30am (Monday 28th Feb) and I could feel the pain subsiding. By 8am I was right as rain,

Breakfast was served (Weetabix and toast) and I ordered my usual coff of cuppee. Much to my delight I got my cup of coffee without even the slightest sign that the nurse had heard anything different. I've done it at least four times over the day and only got one funny look from a very severe looking ward sister. I still got the coffee but she now keeps her distance and looks at me with a very strange expression on her face.

Anyway, you my dear reader, will be very pleased to learn that I am being very well looked after and I'm currently awaiting a transfer to another, more specialised hospital in a few days. 

I'll keep you posted.

Solicitors, Sellers and Buyers

Let us begin in October 2019 with a moving of house.

It was all going splendidly, after a fashion, until the someone decided everyone else involved should be psychic and be able to act upon what she was thinking.

Let me make the selling/purchasing chain clear...

    there's our buyer
    there's us
    there's our seller and
    there's our seller's seller

Everything between us and our buyer was hunky dory. we were just waiting for our seller and her seller to reach an agreement, which to all intents and purposes, they had.
The problem lay in that their 'agreement' was verbal and neither had informed their respective solicitors.
As you may well know, if you are a UK resident, there is no moving forward until the solicitors of all parties involved are on the same page. Then, and only then, can an agreement be made on a moving/transfer of money date.

So there we all were ... waiting!

The we received a message from our seller demanding the moving date be something like the 4th of October (2019) and she acted like we already knew this. She, and this is where the psychic element comes in, had booked time off work so it HAD to happen then. We obviously informed our solicitors, who in turn tried to verify this with our sellers solicitor. They knew nothing about it and wouldn't proceed without confirmation from her AND her sellers solicitor. Of course verification couldn't be made as our sellers seller decided to go on holiday! The date was missed and our seller was extremely miffed!

And she said it was all our fault!

Eventually, after pressure from both our solicitor and hers, a date was set ... the 8th of November! So we booked a moving company (and a secure storage unit for all our possessions at out destination) and a hotel (supposedly only for week or two) and travelled north on the 7th of November. Everything had been agreed by all parties involved and we were finally going to our new home.

On the day, everything was ready for loading, bags were all packed and we were eager to be off. Eventually the truck with our belongings left and headed to the motorway. We then said our farewells family and neighbours before following.

As we crossed the Welsh border into England Julie's phone rang.
It was our seller who immediately began rant about how WE scuppered her plans to move when she wanted to and threatened to pull out of the deal because she had loads of other people who wanted her house. I won't go into detail but Julie, not one to be trifled with, gave her a tongue lashing and put her firmly in her place.

The rest of the journey was spent without a hitch and luckily we had little further interactions with our slightly strange seller.

On the 6th of December, 2019, after 3 weeks in a hotel, a week staying with friends and an awful lot of hard work - painting and decoration, new flooring and carpets and 11 new interior doors - we finally moved in to out new home, unpacking and began to make it ours.

Still Alive

You may be pleased to know that I am, much to the annoyance of someone somewhere, still breathing. 

{pause for cheering}

Now, in advanced age, I find myself with too much time on my hands so I have decided to return to the blogosphere with the intention of once again, exciting, titillating (although not to the full extent of the words definition) and hopefully amusing my reader, should he or she also still be drawing breath. 

I know that I have been absent for far too long and my little Poirotvian* brain cells may not fire quite so smartly as I believe they once did, but I will endeavour to draw humor from the depths, drama from the nethers regions and historical calamities from the soles of my oldest wellington boots for your entertainment. 

But first I need a rest. This thinking malarkey can be rather draining. 

So, until next time (which won't be long), adieu dear reader. Adieu!

*Poirotvian = grey

Language kills

I have, in the past been, accused of floccinaucinhilipilfication. I am no doubt guilty as charged, however I see no value in knowing this.
I have however never been accused of being erinaceous, unless of course it was in a nuliustertian sense,  in which case I've forgotten about it.
Neither have I succumbed to tyrotoxism as today's qualtagh had supposed. His nifty footwork would suggest tarantism runs in his family and that he was not the xylopolist I had taken him to be. His rather jumentous odour was in no way a pleasant experience on my post jentacular stroll.

The Times they are a-changing!

A few of my carvings

A friends dogs

  

No explanation necessary for these two 

Coal mine face worker

 Coal mine shearer operator

Happy Days

The business is going well!

And we're having fun!

OK ... so it's not all fun. There's poop to contend with on a daily basis but when you are fortunate enough to have beauties like this chap ...

Murphy

 ... you really can't complain.

My only complaint about his job ....

... is that we only seem to get sensible dogs!

There hasn't been one single opportunity to video anything worth sending to one of home video clip shows!

Oh, I'd share the money with the owners ... I really would!

Blossom, our cat, has her nose seriously out of joint these days. When we have dogs staying, she retires to the safety of the upper level and spends her time sleeping or glowering through the stair rail at the interlopers. On occasions she will venture downstairs and confront a dog, but none have been brave enough to try that experience a second time.

Blossoms rare appearances certainly keep us on our toes!

Heavy rain over the past few weeks have turned out garden into a quagmire and it necessitates a mop being permanently stationed by the patio doors for rapid mud removal.

The carpet cleaner also has also taken up residence in the kitchen to remove all those unwanted carpet stains.

This will however soon be a thing of the past as work to lay natural stone paving over what used to be our lawn is due to commence next week ... if the weather allows.

That's it for now.

Sorry there were no laugh out loud moments ... I blame the dogs for being too sensible!

Cold, Bony Bedtimes!

I'm back!

A short while ago ... October 2015 to be exact ... I quit my job as a carer and I started a small business. I now take in doggy boarders and give them a nice comfy sofa to relax on whilst their owners are at work, on holidays or otherwise unwilling to leave their pups alone for any long periods of time.

Strut-A-Pup is now a thriving little business with a growing list of customers (and doggy guests).
 
This week I'm looking after Murphy

This is he ...

He's a very handsome chap and he gets away with murder due to his gentle and sweet nature!

We have never allowed any of our dogs, apart from our very nervous Clover, upstairs to sleep in the bedroom. However, Murphy suffers from separation anxiety, so we took his little doggy bed upstairs and allowed him to bed down at the side of our bed.

On the first night everyone headed to bed at 11 pm after the evening pee and poo walk and we all settled down for the night.

All was well ...

... until 11,15 pm!

Murphy jumped up onto the bed and stood over us in the dark.

A quick cry of "Bed" sent him back to his own bed.

He whined!

We ignored him.

He whined again.

"Murphy" I said, in an effort to calm him.

And there he was ... standing on the bed directly over my head.

With without so much as a bye-your-leave, he dropped, wriggled himself comfortable and started almost immediately to snore.

The 'Golden Rule' had been broken and we were too tired to do anything about it!

Within minutes though, the stretching started and the duvet began to disappear as my wife an I were slowly but surely pushed further from the centre of the bed!

Oh, we fought bravely ... struggled for every scrap of duvet ... but we didn't have the heart to make him go back to his own bed. It was, after all, the coldest night of the year so far!

And I found out just how cold it was when I awoke at 3 am frozen to the bone.

After struggling to regain some duvet  I swore he would never sleep on the bed again!

And I told him the very next night ... 

"Bed Murphy! In you bed ... no, Murphy! YOUR bed ,,, Murph ... Mur..."

Before he could settle, We rolled ourselves in as much duvet as was available and readied ourselves for bony, dog filled night!

Well, look at him!

You couldn't say no either! 

Caught in Act

Dirty Pictures

More Chuckles

Gassed!

The mouse!

Mouse alert: http://youtu.be/OeTv47z0Z0k

The cat brought in a snack. Gabriele rescued it and it went into hiding.
This is her trying to unhide it!

Dunno why this link reverts to text all the time. Try copy and paste.

Towels

We have this thing going on.
When I say 'we', I mean we Brits, and when I say 'thing', I mean a ritual.

It's a holiday ritual.

It began with the advent of the cheap package holiday in the 1960's.

And over the years has caused any amount of trouble. It could well have caused a third world war with Germany had sensible people, such as I, not refused to play ball.

It goes like this ...

The Brits, in their sunny, summer corner of Spain, in an effort to safeguard their position by the hotel pool or breach, would slip from their rooms at ridiculous o'clock in the morning and lay their towel on the best positioned lounger available.

Disappointed Germans soon learned that to get the best spot they had to get up even earlier with their own towels and beat the Brits at their own game.

Often Germans would encounter Brits and Brits encountered Germans during this clandestine operation.

It very often came to blows!

Well, I've just been to Spain with my wife. In our hotel, the staff would pile and chain the loungers during the hours of darkness.
They were unchained at 6.30am every morning ... and within minutes three towel carriers would swarm around the pool, laying towels and claiming loungers.

It was always a sad sight ... like watching a list and lonely puppy ... to see the stragglers as they wandered around trying to find the last available spots.

Sadder still was the fact that the only people playing the towel game were the Brits!

I have to say that early mornings whilst on holiday are far, far better when you ... and by that, I mean me ... are filling your plate with a delicious fried breakfast!

I'm happy to let the towel loonies do their thing, as long as there are enough sausages and lashings of bacon, eggs and fried bread!

Besides, if I see a lounger I like, I have no qualms about putting someone else's towel in a dustbin and replacing it with my own!

Towels

We have this thing going on.
When I say 'we', I mean we Brits, and when I say 'thing', I mean a ritual.

It's a holiday ritual.

It began with the advent of the cheap package holiday in the 1960's.

And over the years has caused any amount of trouble. It could well have caused a third world war with Germany had sensible people, such as I, not refused to play ball.

It goes like this ...

The Brits, in their sunny, summer corner of Spain, in an effort to safeguard their position by the hotel pool or breach, would slip from their rooms at ridiculous o'clock in the morning and lay their towel on the best positioned lounger available.

Disappointed Germans soon learned that to get the best spot they had to get up even earlier with their own towels and beat the Brits at their own game.

Often Germans would encounter Brits and Brits encountered Germans during this clandestine operation.

It very often came to blows!

Well, I've just been to Spain with my wife. In our hotel, the staff would pile and chain the loungers during the hours of darkness.
They were unchained at 6.30am every morning ... and within minutes three towel carriers would swarm around the pool, laying towels and claiming loungers.

It was always a sad sight ... like watching a list and lonely puppy ... to see the stragglers as they wandered around trying to find the last available spots.

Sadder still was the fact that the only people playing the towel game were the Brits!

I have to say that early mornings whilst on holiday are far, far better when you ... and by that, I mean me ... are filling your plate with a delicious fried breakfast!

I'm happy to let the towel loonies do their thing, as long as there are enough sausages and lashings of bacon, eggs and fried bread!

Besides, if I see a lounger I like, I have no qualms about putting someone else's towel in a dustbin and replacing it with my own!

The Bodypup!

The Muppet Show

Cute Dawg nd Friends

Drivin' Dawg