Mel is a geek

I have just seen for the first time an incredibly neat and tidy little scar across my leg, left by some surgeons who had to totally rip apart said leg to get 6 inches of titanium and 7 screws out. I will never fail to be amazed by how brilliant those guys are. How on earth can they do that?!

 

I dread to think how much money my second trip to hospital must have cost in terms of doctor, nurse, physiotherapist, anaesthetist and surgeon time (I mean how much per hour are those top notch ortho surgeons paid?!), two night's accommodation, meals, medication and other misc. materials. I have no real idea how to estimate that, but it's got to be into the thousands. Far more than I have ever paid in national insurance.

 

And how about my previous 10-day sojourn? Eek! I was told that the piece of titanium they put in my leg was worth £1000 alone, let alone all the other above costs.

 

This is why it really gets my goat to be sitting in the outpatients' waiting room behind somebody who is moaning loudly that the NHS is a "disgrace".

 

"How come you can make an appointment and still have to wait for two hours? It's disgusting!"

 

No, madam. Disgusting is a world you have never experienced, where healthcare is not free. In that world, the rich can afford health insurance, and the poor cannot. The rich can afford cosmetic surgery, and the poor have to choose between having their cancer removed or eating dinner for the next month. People really are making those sorts of choices every day. I am willing to bet that if I had got run over in the USA, there would have been lots of things my health insurance didn't cover. I would be in debt right now. I would certainly not have been able to afford to have that troublesome metalwork removed again, and would probably have chosen just to live with the discomfort for another couple of decades.

 

Does that woman know that in most of Latin America, if you are booked in for an operation, you have to provide your own blood for transfusion? Yes, you have to get all your friends and family to give blood, and hope that there are enough people who love you with the right blood type so that you can go in for surgery.

 

No, I didn't think she did.

 

What about the person at the end of the ward complaining about their bland hospital food? For goodness' sake, I want to yell at them, it's FREE! What do you expect? If you want something gourmet, get your family to bring it in for you, like the rest of the world does.

 

"I've been here for over an hour!"

 

And that is not going to kill you. Because we have the miracle of a National Health Service. Don't you think all that is worth waiting an hour for?

 

The context of this is the nation of Israel shamelessly sticking two fingers up at God. He says,

 

"I have sworn not to be angry with you,

never to rebuke you again.

Though the mountains be shaken

and the hills be removed,

yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken

not my covenant of peace be removed."

 

“Hey man.”

“Evening. Don’t think we’ve met?”

“No, I’ve just flown in from North Californichussetts City.”

“Wow, welcome to the UK.”

“Yeah, thanks, man. Hey, what’s this you’re watching?”

“Oh, yeah, errrr it’s a bit embarrassing actually.”

“What is it, some kind of talent contest?”

“Sort of – it’s the Eurovision Song Contest.”

“Oh right, like Europe Idol?”

“Weeelll… not really.”

“What? Let’s have a look-see.”

“Well, all of the countries in Europe enter a song and an act, and then all the other countries in Europe give them marks out of twelve, and the one with the most points wins.”

“Wins what?”

“Umm… the honour of winning, I suppose. And they get to host it the following year.”

“Gee, so it’s a big deal to you British guys?”

“Well no, we all think it’s dreadful actually.”

“… But you want to host it next year?”

“No, we’re in way too much debt. Ireland pulled out one year because they kept winning and couldn’t afford it.”

“Okay… so all of the countries in Europe get their best singers and their best songwriters along for this great big competition? Sounds swell.”

“Actually, no… everybody seems to enter something awful that nobody would ever listen to in normal circumstances.”

“What’s the point in that?”

“Goodness knows.”

“So who’s this on now?”

“Oh, that’s the Ukraine.”

“Is that in Europe?”

“I’ve no idea. Sometimes countries outside the EU just want to get in on the action.”

“But I thought you said nobody cared-”

“Oh, some of the countries without irony seem to like it.”

“Without what?”

“… Never mind.”

“Hey – what the hell – why’s that guy dressed as a beaver? What’s with the burning tree? Did the piano just give birth to that girl?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s fairly standard.”

“Is this what European music acts are like?!”

“Oh, heavens no. But it’s the sort of stuff that wins Eurovision.”

“Okay, you got me baffled. Who decides who wins this thing? Some guy who’s really fond of breakdancers dressed as rodents and flamethrowers?”

“Ah, well. There used to be one judge per country, but then to make it fairer they introduced a public phone vote, so anyone can ring up. Then this year they’ve also got someone from the music business from each country adding their vote too.”

“So it’s all to play for, then?”

“Well no, the countries all still vote politically, no matter what they do.”

“How do you mean?”

“Scandinavia votes for Scandinavia, the Balkans vote for the other Balkan nations, and Russia’s neighbours vote for Russia so that they won’t get bombed.”

“Ha! But surely withholding a vote on some singing competition wouldn’t be construed as a political statement?”

“Yes, you’d think that, wouldn’t you?”

“Buddy, are you telling me that you live on a continent that expresses and resolves its political tensions by having a song contest?!”

“If that’s not what it’s for, then I’m stumped for any other explanation. I mean, who would organise something this excruciating for the purposes of entertainment?”

“…. My gosh, that man cannot play the accordion. I see what you mean; there’s gotta be some higher purpose. Let’s turn over.”

“No way, I’m watching it!”

“But you said it was dreadful?”

“Welcome to Britain.”

Maaaaaaayyy

Didn't get up at five and listen to the tower sing or see any Morris dancers. But I have been punting for the first time in about two years, to revel in the May sunshine.

Ups and downs - this month so far has seen poor Spike get nicked, and lots of faff about last year's course. The tenth saw me weeding the garden at nine in the morning, having listened to a long lost laugh all evening... hanging out with Steve's bro that weekend was surreal, but good.

I don't think my body is yet quite used to working five days a week (yes I know, get the violins out), but I'm eyeing up the next bank holiday already.

Well, today is Joel Hugo Wilson's first birthday (a whole year? There was a time before Joel?) and I've just been enjoying sitting in his minature ball pool. It's rather relaxing. Today I made him laugh a lot by chasing him around the room, and then made him cry as he bashed his head on the cupboard while running away. Oh dear.

My sister is WAY too well acquainted with In the Night Garden, and can actually sing the whole of Makkapakka's song, the thought-provoking lyrics of which I shall write out some other time...

 

Now that the amino acids one isn't on anymore, my favourite Made Up Science Hair Advert of the moment is for a hair dye which claims to provide "up to 100% grey coverage"! Amazing. Did you know, the easter egg I am munching through is made of up to 100% spinach; and I am up to 100% brilliant at the flying trapeze. Up to 100% includes the number 0. I'd be mighty impressed if any hair dye managed to provide over 100% grey coverage. What would that do? Give all the red squirrels in the vicinity a makeover too?

 

The other advert worthy of note and projectiles is, I'm sure you'll agree, the beautifully delicate advertisement for a "stool softener", which has some middle-aged ladies who lunch sitting round casually discussing their bowel movements over a soy latte. The woman proposing the cure is totally unabashed to produce it from her handbag and chuckle fondly about her previous stool experiences. Their conversation is actually so cringe-worthy that I cannot bear to type it out. *Shudder*

 

Okay. This advert was written by men, right? Men who quaintly believe that women discuss everything with each other. Men who believe that when women go to the toilet together, they actually go into the same cubicle. Dudes - no businesswomen are every going to discuss their poo over a lunch meeting. Not to say that I have never had such discussions with other ladies (and gentlemen) over lunch, but hey, when you're on a mission trip together, your bodily functions are the equivalent of a soap opera. That's different. I really think the only way to advertise these things is to stop trying to subtly introduce the subject in a cringetastic manner, but to just shout, CONSTIPATION? and then the product name. Let's call a spade a spade. So to speak.

 

Sorry if I've put you off your dinner. See, that's exactly what stool woman would have done to those poor ladies in the cafe.

 

And breathe, and put down the remote.

Has been nice to be down Bristle for a few days... went to the zoo (you're never too old) and realised that not only had I missed Bristolian accents, but also Welsh ones. I hadn't really noticed that I just hadn't heard any Welsh people walking around for months and months, until I heard a whole load of them at the zoo. I know I'm stereotyping, but in complete truth I heard two different mothers within 10 meters shout to two different small boys: "Rhys! Come yur!"

I also heard someone by the lion enclosure ask their son, "do ee like ee?" :) Ahhhh Bristle, I loves ee I do. Makes I laaff.

PS More shouting at adverts to come when I'm less tired, as I remembered at least three others that make me want to throw things.