Breakfast at Tiffany's?

Adorable Audrey Hepburn became entwined with George Peppard, with complications, cats, diamonds, drugs, taxis, nightclubs and the hustle and bustle of New York. A tear jerker for sure, my female friends assure me, but personally I was more interested in the welfare of the "poor slob without a name", credited as Cat.

 Skilfully portrayed by Orangey, this mammalian star collected two Patsy's (Picture Animal Top Star of the Year). The first PATSY for Rhubarb of 1951, where he played the title character, a cat who inherits a fortune.

The second for Breakfast at Tiffany's in 1961. But I digress, drawn away by the allure of felinity once again....

Hepburn is first espied exiting a NYC taxi eating a pastry and drinking a coffee, hence the title.

Of course she only had to trip down Wall Street and turn right into Broadway to feast upon a McMuffin or two.....

Yes bloghoppers, the temptation of the corporate purveyor of McFood the world over has even reached here, this green oasis we call Aotearoa. But there are healthier alternatives which as a diabetic I had to struggle through, but none filled me any sense of satisfaction, but still the insulin regime dictated the consumption of morning carbohydrates. Most people break their fast with cereal, but I was put off by all the main NZ producer's;  Kellogg's, Sanitarium and Hubbards.

JH Kellogg of course was a fanatical puritan who believed that the right diet would reduce sexual desire and promote carnal abstinence. Less porn flakes, more corn flakes. He was a strict Seventh Day Adventist, and by the custom of that denomination following a creed of certain food avoidances, e.g shellfish and pork. However I understand they love Corn Flakes which he invented in 1906 or thereabouts.

Then we have Hubbards who are a major purveyor of morning repast in NZ, but their packaging leaves me dry and unimpressed. Much like the company owner Dick Hubbard. Famous in Auckland for being Mayor for a brief term. Also renowned for,  how best describes it ?, for not being quite as visually pleasant as say a Faberge egg. Hardly a shining example of a health and vitality.

Whilst of course the other large cereal killer Sanitarium implies an institution for long term illness, not what I want to be reminded of. Wholly owned by the Seventh Day Advent Church too, I must have missed the part in the Bible where the Great He produces the miracle of the 5 Weetabix and 2 jars of peanut butter. It just goes to prove that corn repasts are next to Godliness. I once thought I saw God in our local Woolworth's Pick n mix, standing on the scales, dancing. As I peered closer, a local archdeacon passed me and I enquired what was the meaning of this scene?
 "The Lord does indeed move in mysterious weighs"

Thus it was somewhat of a relief to avoid these negatively tainted associated foodstuffs each morning.

Things moved swiftly on from the transplant, and being released from the tedium of compulsory breakfast scoffing, I began to enjoy a new routine, almost Hepburn like: Coffee and a muffin.
 Quick satisfying and tasty.
After a while the muffin/pastry ceased to be a part of the "meal" and intent on slimming down a tad, I was left with just the coffee (Medium Trim Latte 1/2 Sugar please).

Of course the nutritionists and dietitians amongst you (snigger) will cry foul and decry my terrible start to the day. Which is precisely what my post renal dietician said last week as we discussed an optimum way to control my weight gain.
I was expecting a horrified gasp as she detailed my newly discovered treats and fancies. For her to recoil with shock at the level of sugar in my day, to run aghast arms flailing from the room.

But no, calmly she appraised my food choices, and after due consideration smiled and said by all means carry on with what I was currently doing. It was completely understandable that as a liberated ex diabetic I would want to experience new foods and sweets, and a weight gain was most normal.

I could barely believe my aural receptors, an understanding and sympathetic dietician? These are truly indeed strange times we live in. She is now my new best friend, and i intend showing her off at dinner parties and family gatherings.

She did however make one observation and we formed a plan of action from it.
Focusing on the lack of a solid breakfast she advised to eat something at morning meal time, to help my weight loss. Eating in the morning helps to fill you up, and you are less likely to nibble throughout the day, a sin of which I am most assuredly culpable.

So that becomes my first target on this road to weight loss, by actually increasing my food intake, in the hope that the grazing later will stop.

So I must remain resolute and enjoy the simple breakfast demonstrated by Miss Hepburn outside Tiffanys, and resist the urge to walk round the corner and scoff McMuffins and hash browns galore.


Otherwise I shall end up a Mc Filled fatty puss.

Lets Get Physical

"Let's get Physical, Physical" Contralto'd the contorted  and contoured Olivia Netwon John as she gyrated her way into the world of adult disco pop, having strayed dangerously close to John Travolta and experimented with E.L.O on her way to icon status. The video portrayed a nubile leotard attired ONJ as a coach for a team of rather unfit portly gentlemen, who miraculous sweated themselves into male gymbuffs with orange skin and 80's skimpy swimwear, not unlike aquatically inspired oompa loompas practising for a weight lifting pageant.

All this talk of exertion makes me weak at the mere thought of it.....

Which is why my doctors suggested just a tad more exercise would not go amiss. I waited for the punchline, but none was forthcoming and with a mild shock realised his intent was indeed of a non humourous nature.

My previously petite frame has become somewhat inflated, due in some part to the steroids, but also due to the plethora of previously forbidden foods. I have re-introduced sugar into the tea making ceremony, chanced upon the delights of chocolate, Pineapple Lumps, desserts laced with caramels, cream and confectionary.

It was time to fight back against the bulge! Dread filled my very core.

Like a herald from above, whose timing appeared celestially managed, I got a call from a charming lady inviting me to try a 10 day pass at our newly opened fitness and swimming facility, the new Silverdale Northern Arena.

No obligation to join, but an opportunity to try the pool and check out some of the health fitness.
Well what on earth could go wrong, I mused, it was only 10 days!

We arranged therefore to meet a fitness instructor named Jerry and collect out free passes and avail ourselves of the free guiden tour of the establishment.

The day arrived with a sense of excitement, trepidation, and a soupçon of doubt, unsure of what I mentally committing to.....

I needn't have worried.

Greeted by the diminutive muscled pumped Scottish Jerry, a walking advertisement for the powers of Irn-Bru, we were asked to complete application forms and a health questionnaire.

Like obliging lemmings we duly completed the forms and handed them back. Not before I read through every single clause in the three page long terms and conditions, much to Jerry's obvious chagrin.

Aye, you dunna need to read that, its just standard Tand C's, he attempted to convince me.

Never having joined a gym before I was unaware of any Terms and Conditions, standard or otherwise.
I didn't want to be surprised in three months time finding that I had subscribed to a lifetime membership costing thousands of dollars, because I didn't tick the box on the form located in the basement of their Head Office in Wellington, open between 3 and 4 am Sundays only, within 36 hours of signing the agreement. As for the health questionnaire, suffice it to say mine was quite convoluted.

Form duly completed and handed back, wee athletic Jerry proceeded to show us through the complex.

We started the magical tour in the Pool area. Two vast reservoirs shimmered before us, the pungent waft of chlorine drifting skywards, enveloped me. I was instantly transported back the childhood, Saturday morning swim lessons at Staines Municipal Baths, with Dad, Sibling Neil and pungent horrors and stinging eyes. Thanks 1976.

Jerry explained that this pool belonged to a local Swimming Club for their training sessions, whilst in the next pool three lanes were reserved for Swim Aerobics (some ghastly invention involving bending and water)
This left just 2 lanes for freestyle swimming. What no dive-bombing, splashing or doggie paddles? There would be a lot of disappointed Staines folk if they were come here.


We gravitated to the changing and shower area. As I peered nervously at the cubicles and racks more memories of 70's childhood stared rudely back. Resisting the urge to run, I politely feigned interest and smiled at what seemed appropriate points. The heat was quite stifling, due to the steroids, steam, or from a growing sense of what is commonly referred to as  "not being in one's comfort zone"
The only zone I wanted was a calzone, stuffed with ham and mozzarella.

Jerry continued apace leading us to rooms filled with cycles, gymnastic balls, boxing gear, and the piece de resistance what appeared to be a Robocop convention with strange dark machines looming menacingly.

This he explained was the blah blah, blah, where you could sign up for some blah blah.

At this point I must confess that I couldn't really decipher his speech, both through his Highland lilt and the subject matter.

I intermittently smiled and nodded, keeping up the appearance of earnest agreement, as I strained to comprehend the paisley scented gibberish.  Remembering Harry Enfield's Aliens transported to late 80's Britain, I contemplated the "Really? How interesting..." response:

but as that might encourage him, I decided to endure and at practice my running at the first opportunity.

Blah, blah, lessons, blah di blah, blah, trainer,  blah blah blah, optimum level of fitness.

We shuffled on edging ever closer to the entrance, where the cafe was situated. Disappointment reigned supreme as the menu enthusiastically and virtuously shouted HEALTH and GOODNESS.

Averting my eyes to the horror that was Tofu and Mung bean lasagne, and repelled by carrot and grass juice, we sensed the proximity of the door. Tantalizingly  near, and yet Hamish McHealthy stood blocking our way by the exit turnstiles.

Blah blah blah di blah membership, blah trial 10 days blah See ya.

And that was it, finally like a broken record he had come to the end of his spiel. I cordially said thank you and exerted some energy as I scampered for the car.

On the way home not a word about the experience passed our lips, mainly due to my being out of breath from the scampering.

And so I sit here now, nibbling on a rice cracker and contemplating having a bike ride instead followed  with a pleasant walk on the beach.

I agree that I need to make some changes, but not in such a structured, organized and well intentioned "you will have fun!" method. After all I am the master of fun, and have been the apprentice of joviality since a very early age, indeed since I was a wee bairn.

I was jolly and chubby then and no one seemed to mind? Why I believe I invented Zumba and Dancercise.............

So the rush to become corporately physical, led by legions of professional fun sportsters will just have to pass me by. I shall just have to tweak my lifestyle a tad, and remain hopelessly devoted to food, just not with all that Grease.

Time Team

Welcome to Time Team where this week we have been asked by Millicent Prenderghastly to forage in her undergrowth to determine the unexplained to-ings and fro-ings on her lawn, which 2 thousand years ago was part of the Roman settlement of Monotonus Tedium.

As usual we have just three days to get to the bottom of this mystery....

In Trench 1 we have Mick Hairbearbunch, from the University of Birmingham, looking particularly shabby and suitably archeologically ancient.  What have we uncovered so far?

Well Tony, as we delve deeper into Trench 1, we are finding evidence of  previous habitation, notably bone fragments and spoons from the north west of Gaul. We can judge by the remains that the occupiers of this very site, migrated here sometime during the Iron Age, due to the layers of iron pigmentation in the ground. We would expect that these are remains of native Gauls, and not Roman subjects by looking at the teeth patterns and bone density.

Anything else?

I shouldn't wear bright stripey jumpers on TV.

How are we going in Trench 2 Phil WispyHair?

Most interesting Tony, by using the remains found in a midden pit,at the edge of Trench 2, we can establish the diet of these folk.which mainly consisted of fish, chocolate, lashings of cream, and the odd gin and tonic.
Sounds like my sort of people eh Tony?

We can of course determine something about their lifestyle if we piece together the archeological evidence and analyse the bone fragments, What do you reckon Mick?

The evidence here and in the Roman records construct  a picture of the life of the Gauls before the Romans came.  What have you discovered in the archives Robin?

The Gaulish tribe of Ginandtonix, led by their great warrior chief Diabetix, settled here in what was then clifftop grassland, They feasted on seafood, and made their own clothing from natural fibres gathered in the area.
The Roman historian Gregorius Gershwinius wrote that for this tribe of Gaul, the living was easy, the fish were jumping and the cotton was high.
After a brief skirmish the great chief Diabetix defeated the Roman general Pancreas at the Islets of Langahans. A peaceful Gaulish settlement was established where over time he was joined by another tribe, the Kidneyfailius, led by their chief Dialysix. Diabetix and Dialysix were eventually defeated  at the battle of Transplantium. This old map shows the approximate location of the village before the battle;

Tacrolimus writes that life for the Gauls changed considerably after Tranplantium when they adopted new customs in the form of new materials and foodstuffs. Their druids learned the latest Roman advances in medecine too.

So what can we tell from the iron deposits in the soil here Mick?

It confirms the use of iron by this particular group, particularly after Transplantium. The use of iron suddenly stopped possibly because of one or two side effects. We know from modern day medical usage that the prolongued use of iron supplements can lead to darkened stools, so perhaps their druids were aware of this as well? What we do know is that after a brief period of iron use, it suddenly came to a halt, probably on advice by the village's resident druid. A modern comparison would be a patient recovering after a major operation, and being diagnosed with anaemia, with a course of iron tablets prescribed to remedy this. There is still plenty of work to do here, perhaps we will need to open another trench Tony?

Alas we havent got time for that this week as it's time to leave the site now. But before we go let's have a look at the reconstruction drawn by our Time Team artist of how the druids and warriors used iron in this Gaulish Village.

Well team, another mystery solved! Our thanks to Millicent for allowing us to probe so deeply.

Thanks for watching, and join us next week as we continue the search for the lost treasures of Andrew's mind.

The Show Must Go On....

After the sad events of the last 2 weeks, it  is time to come out of mourning and present a new face to the world. In the words of the late great HRH Frederick  de Mercoire:

Inside my heart is breaking 
My make-up may be flaking 
But my smile still stays on...


And so the wheel of life continues rotating, waiting for the hammer to fall.


One thing I noticed during the past fortnight was a greater propensity to cry. One was only to pass the garden where Gorby was interred, or stop by a favourite resting place and the floodgates would open unexpectedly and the works began of a lachrymal nature.  The outburst of wailing would then be followed by a period of calm, serenity and fond remembrance of the last few months. It was like having a day at the races, running the full gamut of emotions, from winning to losing. 

One moment I would be as joyful as a  lottery winner from 

Prague, singing rhapsodies (OK, Prague is not actually in Bohemia, but would anyone have understood  Karlovy Vary, Ústí nad Labem or Liberec rhapsody?). 

Then I would be transported to a dark world of sadness inhabited by the evil Ming the Merciless, with no sign of light, not even a Flash....aaahhhhaaa.

Of course this emotional seesaw has been covered before in previous entries (Andrew's World passim: ), but dealing with the real sadness of death brought out a raw response resulting in unexpected blubbering; at work, in the garden, in the car, even once in the supermarket.


I have never particularly cried much, even during the mass psychosis that enveloped the UK after the death of Diana in 1997, I remained immune to the outpouring of grief for a celebrity and ex-Royal.

The whole country became a living entity, bonded together in an ever growing hysteria for a woman most had never met. Waxing in remorseful gibberish, on the radio, gaga was all you heard.


Even after the death of mother last year, I grieved deeply inwardly but was unable to cry and felt somehow ashamed that I couldn't? But over the loss of a small kitten, I wept profusely and ran the full panoply of emotion. This over emphatic feelings of emotion can in some part be attributed to the drug Prednisone.


Now Prednisone has featured rather a lot in my world since July, after the transplant. As a  glucocorticoid prodrug it features as part of my anti rejection regimen. I have been rushing headlong into a parallel universe where strange emotions, facial swelling, increased body weight, raised body temperature, depression, mania and psychosis cosy up and entrap me in their clutches. Some of the reaction are so peculiar, that I begin to ponder whether Im going slightly mad, and as a result I want to break free from these side effects.

Even Biggles, the dopiest papillon known to papillon kind, is currently on the same drug, on account of his irritable skin, much to the bemusement of my renal clinic.

At my last visit to see the team, they commented on my visage, noting that it was somewhat "puffy". Aghast I consulted the mirror, horrified at the fat bottomed ghoul staring back.

After a period of reflection and consultation the renal team have decided to reduce the dose of Prednisone in an attempt to counter some of the side effects, in particular the weight gain and the emotional swings..........

and roundabouts, not to mention the excessive overheating.
So instead of 15mg (three tablets), just 10mg has been incorporated into my morning tablet popping fest to see if that has any effect, without compromising the rejection abilities.
My emotions are still swinging, perhaps not quite as fiery before, but I would leave that assessment to my family, who might well reserve judgement, and as for the excessive body heat, I can still feel the mercury rising......