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