Tag Archives: multiple sclerosis

Apr 17 2016
11 Comments
Work and Studying

I (Heart) My Boss

grand prixRemember everything mean I’ve ever said about my boss?

I take it all back.

Last year I tagged along to the Austrian Grand Prix with him – which had more to do with me having lived in Austria for two years, speaking the lingo (lol) and sharing the drive (yes, we drove, from Cardiff to Graz).

I’m not a petrol-head by any stretch of the imagination and spent most of the race in Austria tugging on the boss’s arm, asking, ‘where’s the loos?’, ‘why’s that car crashed?’, ‘when does it get to the exciting bit?’ and ‘can we go home now?’.

This year is different. He was toying with various Grand Prix locations, weighing up the prices. He worked out it was only a couple of hundred quid more to have me go along with him, than for him to go as a single traveller. Knowing that I was adept at travelling and scanning a guide book in the blink of an eye, he has asked me to accompany him to his Grand Prix of choice this year.

Singapore.

Sing-a-blooming-pore. Ah. No way. Absolutely no way. 31 degrees in September? I really don’t think so.

I said to him, ‘that’s soooo sweet of you, you know, to organise this ‘works do’. I mean, most boss’s are happy with a Christmas party at the local Carvery. Erm, have you thought about Belgium? Very clement, I hear.’

‘D’uh, we drove through Belgium on the way back from Austria last year. I’m striking out, being more adventurous. Just like you advised me to do?’.

‘Er, boss, when I said ‘adventurous’, I meant, perhaps going to Sainsbury’s for your ready-meals rather than Tesco’s?’

‘Yeah, well, I like Singapore Fried noodles, so it was pretty much a safe bet’.

‘Ah’.

‘Listen. You in? Or you out? I’m paying?’

‘Well, when you put it that way, erm, yup, it sounds, erm, pretty amazing’ (googles Dengue Fever quickly).

So the upshot is, I’m going to Singapore in September. I’ve rationalised it in my mind by thinking, ‘it’s experience, I could maybe write the next great novel out here, I might have the experience of my life’. If the heat doesn’t get me first.

I had a chat with the boss about what I should wear – always a touchy subject, being a fat-ish person.

‘Doesn’t matter – they’re all here to see the race, wear what you like’.

‘Like, I know, but a hint about the kind of hotel we would be staying in would be helpful?’

I should have known.

‘Raffles. Singapore’.

All my worst nightmare have come true. That epic, five-star hotel in Singapore? The hotel that invented Singapore Slings? The hotel that gives you a butler, just because they can? Gah. Really? I am neither rich nor thin. Will they accept me as a fat interloper?

Deep breaths.

Tagged , , , , ,
Apr 11 2016
16 Comments
Work and Studying

End Of An Era

booksAs I put the cap back on my special black inkie, zipped up my pencil case and gathered my scribblings together, I pondered.

I’m very good at pondering, but this was a very special occasion; I have reached the end of my Master’s course. Me!

The two years have flown by and my dissertation looms.

I started out wondering (pondering?) if I could write anything apart from a blog. I’m still not sure, but I’m going to give it my best shot.

I would love to say that I enjoyed every minute – but where would be the fun in that? I took this course to push me to my absolute limit. And it worked.

My MS brain was failing me big time and I wanted to do something that would/could wake  it up. I like books. I like reading. MS started to chip away at that, so what better way to wreak revenge on this pesky illness than to do something completely contrary? MS reared it’s ugly head again last year (gah) and I had a third course of Campath in September to help combat it.

Then my relative became ill and real life took a dramatic turn, no need for improvisation. But, honestly, what kept me going was writing. I know it sounds strange, but telling it as it is was was a lifeline – in a strange way, it allowed me to distance myself from the emotional turmoil. I would fashion sentences in my head, such as, ‘she walked with trepidation towards the ward, room, blissfully unaware of what she would could face’. I was self-editing.

But back to the Master’s. The whole course has been an exhilarating journey through literature, a non-stop assault on the senses. I’ve been reading my whole life and now, suddenly, I find that those decades, those towers of books I have read, are coming in to good use.

I’m not a starving artist in a garret, much as I’d like to be. Instead, I’m a chocolate-addicted scribbler in a very small cottage. I don’t wear fingerless gloves and I’m not freezing, MS heat-intolerance has put paid to that. The Teenager doesn’t like baked beans much, sadly. Nor baked potatoes from the microwave.

Yet, galvanised by the last two years of lectures, tears, upsets and criticism (always constructive), I am tentatively calling myself ‘A Writer’.

Don’t laugh, lol.

Tagged , , ,
Apr 08 2016
14 Comments
Blogging

Flat In Flats?

flatAs regular readers will know, I’ve been nominated for an MS Society Award for my blog.

I’m over the moon and chuffed beyond belief, as is The Teenager, who will be my plus-one.

The dress code is ‘smart’.

Hmm. I feel ‘smart’ if my knitted hat for work has been washed the day before (it gets chilly stumbling around building sites, checking on concrete foundations).

A night out in smart clothes involves jeans, boots and a top. A coffee with friends involves jeans, boots and a top. You could say it’s a kind of tragic demi-student uniform.

But, I tried. I thought, ‘ok, this is my opportunity to show I can wear a dress’. I gave it a go. I stood in endless shop dressing rooms, tugging at hems, checking my reflection from twenty-seven different angles. I ordered three different sizes of the same dress off the internet, then sent them all back the next day.

I’ve had to admit, I’m just not one of those amazing women who suits a dress. Apart from the fact that most dresses look lousy with flat shoes, I’m just not … me. No amount of Spanx will convince me otherwise; I look like a sack of turnips.

However, when I slip on my lovely black trousers and black shoes, I feel transformed. Teamed with a beautiful top I bought for my visit to Downing Street (get me), I feel good. Normal, but much better. Confident.

I was discussing this problem with The Teenager yesterday. We went out for lunch, as a well-earned break from his studies. He asked me when I had last worn a dress. ‘Um, my wedding day?’ I replied.

‘Ah’, he said. ‘That was, like, back in the 90’s. Everyone wore dresses, probably, and blokes didn’t have man-buns.’ Impressive reasoning, I thought.

He patted my hand and said, ‘they’re not there to see what you’re wearing, they’re there to see your sad face when you don’t win. So make sure you’ve fixed your lippy.’ He sat back, impressed with his sage advice.

He’s got a point. ‘Comfy’ is creeping in to my lexicon. There’s other ways to push my boundaries and I don’t think dresses are one of them. So I will be monochrome on the day and will check that my lippy is present and correct.

My phone pinged. ‘Um, why are you texting me?’ I asked The Teenager. ‘You’re sitting right across the table?’ ‘Like, d’uh, I know, just wanted to tell you, no matter what happens, you’ll be fine. You’ve got me with you. And can I have your bread?’

The text read, ‘Love you. All good.’

Tagged , , , , ,
Apr 06 2016
14 Comments
Uncategorized

Arguing With Parked Cars …

disabledDisabled parking.

The only time we’re visible in society?

How many times have you exited your car in a disabled space only to be confronted by an angry person demanding to know the exact nature of your disability?

This happened to me the other day.

I took my mum out – walking stick, disabled parking badge, etc – and parked in a disabled space. Two. TWO people in cars (not disabled, waiting for ‘disabled’ people) got out their cars and harangued us.

‘Erm, yes, my mum can’t walk far (gestured to stick). How far? Really? Are you serious?’

They were.

‘Well, as I said, my mum can’t walk that far, and for your information, I have MS.’

‘Oh, yes? You expect me to believe that?

But who am I to judge?

Fast forward to our next stop, near the chemist. Three disabled spaces, handily near the local supermarket. So, obviously taken up with customers of the local supermarket. Without disabled badges.

But it’s ok. I spoke to them – they were only parking for five minutes – enough time to get into the supermarket, grab a pizza, bottle of wine and latest copy of Hello!.

Only five minutes. We wish. If only they could be disabled for just five minutes.

And there’s the nub. These people see disabled spaces, make a rational decision and decide that their need is greater than ours. Is that the only time they think this way? Or is it endemic in society?

Disabled spaces are fair game and our government has led the way – we are all wastrels, scoundrels, beggars. With this blatant misuse of disabled spaces, the general public send a stark message:

We don’t care. Prove yourself.

Tagged , , ,
Apr 01 2016
2 Comments
Work and Studying

How Not To Write …

artistI was flicking through, ‘How To Write A Best-seller in 72 Hours’ the other day, when I had a thought.

It’s really hard to write.

I started blogging almost four years ago due to sheer frustration, and with no one else to talk to about MS in such depth, having bored my dearest friends to death already.

I’d always wanted to write ever since one of my essays got an A+ when I was 12, and harboured visions of myself signing books, scattering bon-mots in interviews and generally being regarded as a leading light in a brand-new literary genre.

Now I’m coming to the end of my Master’s in Creative Writing and I’m not feeling very creative. At all.

I need to produce the beginnings of a novel – 6,000 words to be precise – plus a proposal and a critical reflection. Huh?

I have a few days off work to tackle the three assignments so this morning I got down to work: cat fed, three cups of coffee, quick look  through Twitter, and I was ready. New document in Word. Title. Page One. Mess about with fonts for half an hour.

Time for another cup of coffee and loading the washing machine.

Back to the computer: ‘She entered the room slowly, gently feeling her way softly across the vast, huge, vaulted-ceilinged room. ‘Where are you? she asked with a solemnity belying her tender years.’

Cringe. More Mills & Boon than Martin Amis.

I backspaced. ‘She stands in the large room.’ Then, nothing. Delete everything. I cast my mind back to all the advice I’ve read:

  • Write about what you know.
  • Read a lot.

Ok. I know about:

  • MS
  • Teenagers
  • Cats
  • Chocolate

A novel about a woman with a teenager who works in a chocolate factory and along with her trusty cat, solves crimes with astonishing detection?

Just as I was about to begin again, The Teenager thumped downstairs, gym-kitted and clutching his protein shake.

‘Goooood morning Mother. Off to work out. Need money. Ta.’

‘Hang on … I’m just finding the right word.’

‘Muuuuuum, gotta go – friends waiting. Money? Hello?’

‘Gah. I’ve lost the word.’

‘Mum! What’re you doing wearing my old Penguin t-shirt? What?! It’s from when I was fat – you promised me they had all gone to the charity shop. Muuuuum!’

‘It’s comfy.’

‘You can only keep it if you promise never, ever to wear it when my friends are here. Promise? Too tragic.’

With a fiver in his hand for a protein bar, he was gone. And so had my train of thought.

Back to square one.

‘It was a very dark and stormy night with pin-needle rain, forking down upon the unfortunate souls who forged their way through the blackness towards possible fortitude and redemption.’

Nailed it.

Tagged , , , , ,
← Older posts
Newer posts →