Disappointed

I just got very excited when I thought I was a googlewhack, only to find out that the query can be no more than two words and that hyphenated words don't count.

Still there is something quite impressive when your blog is the only result when somebody searches for dungeon-crab anatomy.

I Bet You Look Good Cleaning Windows...

I recently heard on Radio 1 the Arctic Monkey’s doing a cover of Girls Aloud’s “Love Machine”. Perhaps this is why I woke up this morning with “Love Machine” in my head, but as sung by George Formby:

Give me a kiss or three (cheeky wink to audience) / And I’m fine…

Similarly, “I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor” would also lend itself well to the ukulele.

Charlotte Church is the new Gracie Fields: Discuss

Warning: contains self pity

I have missed three days off work in the past fortnight due to migraines. That's migraines, not headaches. The words are not synonymous. It's like comparing a below the knee amputation with a broken toenail. Just not in the same category.

Symptoms vary from person to person but mine will include most of the following:

A headache so bad that I can't lift my head from the pillow because of the pain.
Disturbed vision, so that I can't focus properly.
Nausea/vomiting.
Loss of feeling in my hands.
Disturbed speech, in that I forget some words, and get word order wrong.
Sensitivity to light, sound and strong smells.

I've known for many years that one of my triggers is citrus fruits, to the point where just the thought of drinking orange juice makes me wince because of the association with pain. I have now discovered this week that I am so sensitive to citrus fruits now that I can't even tolerate a thin spread of houmous, because of the lemon juice content.

As my dentist will testify, suffering from migraines to the extent of one a week during my teens has left me the tooth enamel of a bulimic. I had to take yesterday off work, not because I still felt ill from the migraine, but because I still couldn't focus properly and therefore couldn't look at a VDU. I spent yesterday at home doing housework, as being unable to watch telly or read left me with few other options to fill the day. Even today, two days on from the actual attack, I'm still a little woozy and disorientated.

Each attack I've had in recent times has made me nervous, after somebody I know dismissed their symptoms as one of their usual migraines for days before being diagnosed with a brain haemorrhage. As I'm incapable of even putting a sentence together during an attack, rational thought doesn't even come into it.

So to prevent myself from getting migraines I have to avoid the following: citrus juice, cheese, red wine, caffeine, dehydration, too little sleep, too much sleep, stress, lack of stress ( you're more likely to get a migraine at the weekend or on holiday as you relax) or catching a virus (the Cosmic Joker decress that if I'm already off work and in bed anyway, I might as well have a migraine as well). Being a woman and having periods isn't much help either, adding another reason why me and my homones are not best of friends.

After going to see my doctor last night and stating "I told you those things don't work for me", I have now been given what I am assured to be much stronger drugs. I still have little faith in them, but have promised to at least try them before my doctor will give me the prescription I really want, which is for 1mg tablets of Sanomigran to stop me getting the bastard things in the first place...

OK, I'm done now.

No pity required. Just needed to get it off my chest.

Good morning!

We're coming to you from Bland Provincial Dance Station FM, where the listener’s irrelevant!

This is Jay’s Breastfast Show with the We Once Worked in Student Radio Posse. I call myself Jay cos it’s “street”, but my mum calls me Julian. The Posse are with me all morning, as they cost less than paying for canned laughter.

Coming up on this morning’s show, we’ve a competition for those who don’t have a full time job to call in try to win buy one get one free vouchers on Bacardi Breezers at Slag! nightclub by correctly identifying which two celebrities are making this noise together. Before that you get the chance to listen to me and the Posse dissect and discuss today’s news headlines, by incisively commenting on how “bonkers” everything is.

But first, we have a wicked tune from a Belgian dance maestro who’s cleverly remixed a track that sold only three copies in the eighties by putting a dance beat to it. We only played it half an hour ago, but we know you won’t notice.

Check it out!

Just to help you understand...

If I don't always come across as a happy little ray of sunshine, it is because I spend most of my day on the phone trying to deal with people like this English gentleman. You know the sort. The ones that send letters to Ceefax (page 145 if you've never sampled the pleasures).

As I have never hung up on one of them yet in over three years, I will shortly be composing a letter to the Pope to ask what's causing the delay on my sodding sainthood.

They send me letters too you know. Oh yes. And emails.

When I rule the world, they'll be going the same way as the people who eat with their mouths open. There'll be no mercy.

Why?

I'm never sure if I like carrot cake or not, mainly because it tastes of teabags.

As I've never actually eaten a teabag though, why do I know that?

Strop

I am fucking pissed off.

I had a dentist's appointment at 5.25 today. As I can't get registered with a NHS dentist where I live, I still go to my childhood practice which is about ten miles away. The problem is that I don't drive* so I have to rely on public transport to get me there. A bus leaves for the village where the practice is not far from where I work, so I left work early to catch the 5.02 bus, which should have got me there at 5.17. Except it didn't. It finally arrived at the bus stop, where I had arrived 10 minutes early, at 5.17. I got on the bus, paid an extortionate fare for a return ticket and decided to call the practice to let them know that I was running a little late. Apparently, I was the last appointment off the day, so I would have to reschedule as they couldn't possibly see me today. At which point I burst into tears, in public, on a bus of increasingly scared passengers. I had now spent nearly half an hour in the bitter cold waiting for a bus which was taking me somewhere I didn't need or want to be, and where I knew I would have at least another half an hour wait to be able to get a bus home from.

So I did what any self-respecting 27 year old independant female would do and phoned my dad. Fortunately, my dad works near the dentists so agreed to come and pick me up and take me home again.

This was on top of last night's disaster when I decided to make myself some ovaltine before going to bed. As I was stirring the ovaltine, the mug it was in decided that now was a good time to fall apart and cover me and my kitchen in a malted chocolate drink. So instead of going to bed, I spent an hour cleaning out all of the drawers it had seaped into, washing up their contents, and mopping the floor. I am not ashamed to say that, hormonal as I am at the moment, I burst into tears then as well.

Am now home, still freezing cold and am drinking lager for dinner. Because I bloody well feel like it.

*I know that many of you will think that criminal but I'm in too much of a foul mood to justify myself.