Poops And Oops....

One Trump Or Two.

Well, how about that!  Boris Johnson, that bizarre, bumbling buffoon, former mayor of London, was born in New York city. Time to send him back so he can be closer to his older brother. Yes, that other bizarre, bumbling buffoon....

Spotted.

While I'm still waiting for surgery on my right elbow, which should hopefully be sorted out on May 26, yes, May 26 of this year, I'm going to attempt to do a series of short posts.  And yep, the comments are still switched off in the interim.  I will, however, continue to share your posts via all those gosh darn fun social "notworking" sites...


I was in town earlier and I "spotted" one of my neighbours. Amazing what you can do with a marker pen. 

Spot The Dog.

Yep, still waiting to get my elbow fixed.  Still need surgery.  I've got a vague letter from a nearby hospital that might well be in regards to having surgery or perhaps have some doctor stick a needle in my elbow, yet again.  Only to have the doctor look puzzled and tell me I should get some surgery on my elbow.  I think they should rename the hospital.  "Groundhog Day Hospital", perhaps.

The letter from the hospital is for me to show up on May 26 of this year.  Yes, I will phone them and ask what the hell my appointment is actually for.

In the meantime, I still have the comments section switched off.  If you check your Google + and Twitter accounts, you may note I've been sharing your posts.

For reasons beyond my comprehension, you might be one of those bloggers who's obsessed with the alphabet. This means you might well be posting up some A to Z stuff.

As a bit of a distraction for you, please have a look at the above photo, taken near "The Roaches" in the Staffordshire Moorlands, near Leek.  Spot the dog?  That's not a reference to Spot the dog and the series of books.  Do you notice Penny the Jack Russell dog and modest internet superstar having a right good sniff?

Hospital Humour Meets The Comedy Clinic.

You may have noticed I'm still not exactly active in the blogging world.  Yep, I'm lurking in the background sharing your posts via the various social "notworking" sites.  That's about the extent of it because I'm stuck in irony overdrive. Stuck,for now, with the aggravating "tit" on my right elbow aka "tennis elbow" aka bursitis.

I went to the hospital to get it sorted out way back on February 28.  I should of sensed that things weren't going to go well when the doctor asked me if I had a Northern Irish accent.  That's a new one on me.  Sort of refreshing, I guess, when I think about the number of times people have asked me what part of the States I'm from.  I have, well sort of still have, a Canadian accent.  Some might think my accent is "mid-Atlantic".  Which confuses me because I most certainly don't sound Jamaican.  "No way, mon!"

Oh, I've nothing against Northern Irish accents if you like to listen to people who sound pissed off all the time.  Maybe the doctor thought I was pissed off.  He would be correct, especially after what transpired next.

Right then, so this doctor, who probably sees loads of swollen elbows in a day, stuck in needle in the offending right elbow.  He looked puzzled.  "Never seen this happen before." he stated, "I should be getting out fluid but I'm getting out blood."

For the next few minutes he proceeded to squeeze my elbow.  He finally gave up, stuck a plaster on my elbow and suggested I have surgery.  I agreed to that.  He told me I would get a surgery date.

I left the hospital with a sense of irony.  My elbow was now feeling worse than before I went to the hospital.  Yes, irony right up there with the time my car got wiped out by an ambulance.  Note, "irony overdrive", in the first paragraph of this rather disjointed post.

On March 9, I received a letter that I thought would be in regards to my appointment for my surgery. Instead it was for me to make an appointment with a doctor at my health centre for a routine check in regards to my visit to the hospital.  Huh!?

On March 27, I got to see a doctor about the letter I'd received  He was as puzzled as I was about not actually getting a date for my surgery.  He said he'd  contact the hospital to actually get me a real time for my surgery. What a complete screw up.  Thus, I wait and wait and wait...

Here's me

Doing a selfie

What agony

See my elbow

Oh no and woe

Took five days to type this

Not exactly bliss

Elbow, el-boob, on this dude

How very, very crude. 

Ten Years After.

Today, February 21, marks the ten year anniversary of what has become a rather sleepy blog.  Yes, ten years to the day, I set out to demonstrate that my mental health issues are only a small part of who I am.

The past year has challenged every fibre of my resolute determination.  I will not, I cannot ever go back to that dark, foreboding place that put me on the brink of death.  I have so much to live for.

Those that bullied me brought me to a profound crossroad in my life.  A broken, shadow of a man who found the way out as I lay dying on a hospital bed.  I clung onto the loving power instilled in me by the hug from my then nine year old son, Tristan.  My son saved my life for he gave me a reason to live.

I choose to live with rather than suffer from my mental illness.  My illness, not a curse.  An ironic blessing that's humbled and inspired me.

While I still struggle with getting any semblance of blogging momentum back, I have, once again, switched off comments.  I know you will understand.  I'm grateful to you.

"Ten Years After" and this song is still so very poignant. 

Penny the Jack Russell dog 

The heart of this blog

Together, we have a visualisation

A blessed realisation

Of the flag of peace unfurled

In an all different, all equal world.  

Bungling, Bureaucratic Buffoonery.

I'm sitting here in my living room trying to cope with one ridiculous situation followed by another ridiculous situation.

For the past year, my vital link to the world beyond my computer screen has been sabotaged by a variety of issues that have challenged my right to a peaceful, positive environment.  I miss blogging and the interaction shared within the diverse blogging community.

I have loads of issues, mental and physical.  These issues have been dramatically compounded by the relentless incompetence of the bungling, bureaucratic buffoonery that has gone into sadistic overdrive, especially over the past twelve months.

Yes, in between hospital appointments, doctors appointments and bouts of severe depression, the UK government is now hassling me, yet again, about my claim for benefits.  Benefits, I might add, I wish I didn't need.  I didn't choose to become ill and now, just like all the other times I've been pursued, they are making me feel like a criminal.

Excuse me for swearing, but I've fucking had enough!  I feel terrible for not interacting with you.  I just wish I could focus on the blog and get the positive momentum back.

Please note that the comments section is switched off.  Thank you.

My friend, keep embracing the ideals of the all different, all equal blogging community.  A community that shares.  A community where we learn from each other as we strive to make this fragile, beleaguered planet, a better place for all of us.