THE GOOD BUCK

First off, better update you on the Wendy front. She went back to the hospital on Thursday as an outpatient, the whisked her straight in and scanned the crap out of her. They couldn’t find it at first but kept looking until they confirmed it was a shitload of tiny gall stones, about 1mm each. Apparently this is the dangerous time, when they are still small enough to move and crash vital organs. If they are large they can’t go anywhere. If they are large they must have started small? Whatever. The doctor said they were dangerous now, which is what the pain was; small stones moving and blocking the bile ducts. Whatever they are, or do. The point being, they have to remove the gall bladder.

Wendy hates hospitals, but she is really relieved it is something as straight forward and relatively minor as this. Not that the pain is to be dismissed. Believe it or not Wendy is quite a tough little cookie when it comes down to it. I’ve seen her with a broken arm, with metal rods drilled through her bones, dropped on her head, all sorts of really bad, painful things and she’s never made too much of a fuss. She had an attack on holiday and she was actually crying with the pain. That’s pretty damn bad.

By a strange coincidence, our next-door-but-one neighbour had her gall bladder out last week. It’s obviously catching. She reckons they can do keyhole surgery and have you out a few hours later.

We’ve had quite the eventful couple of weeks.

Before I start let me say Wendy is OK.

We didn’t know that at the time, though. It must have been Sunday night, I was playing on the internet, Wendy was watching crap on the telly, when she called me. She was suddenly in a world of pain, right in the centre of her chest around the solar plexus (the bit where your ribs meet at the bottom) . She was doubled up with it. She said she couldn’t breathe and if felt like she had a crushing weight on her chest. I thought it was a heart attack. I shit. I gave her some aspirin and looked up the new NHS advice number, then rang that 111 thing. They got talking to her and immediately sent out an ambulance.

I’ve had a bit of fun in the Lakes the last two weeks. Friday last week, when I was looking forward to an early dart so I could do some hard training on Saturday, I got to my furthest point from base and broke down.

I’d gone under the trailer I was to take and started the ‘tug test’ (where you try to drive forward, twice, to make sure you are properly connected.) There was an electrical type smell and a red light flashed up on the dash saying the clutch was knackered.

Ace.

I’m trying to think what exciting things have happened in my sabbatical.

Well, last week I had a bump at Iceland. That was an utter downer.

Some berk parked his van just where I needed to put my cab for the reverse. I had to swing the trailer around one building and between it and another. Because it was a roof top delivery they also had 2 feet tall barriers to protect the buildings. Rather than ask the van driver to move (which, in retrospect is what I should have done) I screwed the trailer in really tight. Unfortunately I lost side of the barrier on the blind side and caught it with the mudguard of the unit. Balls.

Hot. Damn hot. Hotter than a snake’s ass in a wagon rut.

To be honest I think the BBC’s weather reporting is getting a bit too informal.

It has been beastly. Mainly due to the garage pissing me about so I’ve been riding to work every day in this damnable heat. Not that I wouldn’t have anyway. Committed triathlete and all. *coughs*