A Century, Not Out!

Or some such malarkey, is often shouted about during the game of cricket.

Cricket I hear you say, What Ho. Cricket, where 12 men dressed in white costumes try to hit three little sticks with a small ball.
To defend the stick, another man also dressed in white attempts to hit the ball away with another fatter stick. The ball gets struck and the man then starts running about, waving his fat stick around.. A referee, also wearing white, but distinguished by wearing a trilby (Oh I say) points a bit and mumbles to anyone within hearing range.
The spectators meanwhile clap and gasp at appropriate points in the proceedings, but are clueless about what is happening before their eyes and how the score is calculated.

Interspaced with unintelligible language, such as Howzat!, googley, LBW and furnished with odd game rules to match.

That most quintessentially English of sports has been exported globally during a period of colonialism, so successfully in fact that the old motherland often gets thrashed by the teams from Australia, Pakistan,  Sri Lanka, India, New Zealand, and The Windies (not a remedy for indigestion, but the Caribbean..).

But before I rush off to get attired in my flannels, attach my leg pads, and grab a stout willow, I should stop and count to 100....
Yes, folks this is my hundredth post in Andrew's World.

A feat I never contemplated, it has happened slowly and regularly over time. It has evolved from an comedic online rant regarding my experiences on dialysis in Auckland, to a comedic online rant regarding my experiences post transplant plus a  the weekly indignant moan.

It has accompanied me along the path to transplant, operation, recovery and ongoing care, as well and the odd interjection about our pets and family events.
And now some stats:

As I write, this blog has had 11.654 views, the current daily average number of visitors is 100, the most popular posts were Breakfast at Tiffany's in April 2012, and Ra Ra Rasputin in May:

The most amount of traffic emanates from the US, then the UK, New Zealand, Ukraine, Spain and Canada. Continued greetings to one and all!

Interestingly the most popular method of browsing seems to be using Chrome, then Firefox, Safari and bringing up the rear poor unloved and almost obsolete Internet Explorer....

The blog is read on Windows PC 68%, Mac 16%, and then Ipads 10% with Iphone, Android and Blackberry bring up the rear.

So thanks to all who actively follow my blog, those who come back occasionally, those who stumble across it via Google and stay for a read and those who just search google and copy the photos for a variety of reasons. You are all welcome.

And as I close, another 13 visitors from the USA, Germany, and Malaysia have just dropped in.

Howzat!

Day 49 in the Big Brother House...

Eviction time in the House

Eight housemates remain after the surprise double eviction of Dodgy Kidney and Non Functioning Pancreas from Northampton. Their eviction came as a shock to those pundits who saw these two remaining until later in the show. On Friday they were in, and by Saturday, after the public vote, they were out.

Big Brother held a surprise of his own when he introduced new housemates as replacements, Copious Drugs from Kettering, and from Exeter, Extreme Crabbiness. 

Andrew struggled to adapt to the new arrangements and was soon to be spied in the Diary Room demanding an audience with Big Brother. He was quick to express his horror at the new housemates side effects:

"All this falling over and general tomfoolery  is so unbecoming in the BB house", he was heard to complain. "It really is most annoying and will be quite unpopular with the discerning audience that this televisual feast attracts"

Andrew retired to the lounge where he spied Tom Foolery giggling on the sofa with Vanessa Feltz, who was herself taking comfort in a large Cadburys Fruit & Nut.

"Housemates will assemble out in the garden in 5 minutes time" announced Big Brother.
Soon the team are gathered outside to find out what this week's task is...

"Housemates are to write a series of Big Brother inspired parodies to be revealed tomorrow, after which the public will vote. The housemate with the lowest number of votes will leave the Big Brother house"

Oh no, pondered Andrew, for humour was not his strong point.

After a week of time consuming and pointless ratings-grabbing clips of edited endings, non existent cliff hangers, ridiculous humiliating tasks and "tantalising tidbits", the end of the week drew close and another eviction loomed...

Who would be going this week? Whose usefulness had expired?

The last remaining inmates gathered on the sofa and waited...
Andrew looked around him......Tacrolimus, Mycophenylate, Aspirin, Ranitidine, Prednisone, and Fludrocortisone; all his regular allies were gathered here, looking nervous.

And the housemate to leave this week.....is.........

Fludrocortisone.

The drug looked stunned, but realised that his mistake had been to increase Andrew's blood pressure, which ultimately would be damaging and increase the risk of cardiac events. Therefore the renal producers had decided to evict Fludrocortisone as a precuation.

Stopping only to say adieu to the other inmates, Fludrocotisone left and waving goodbye to the assembled audience, climbed on his bike and rode off into the sunset.

Andrew looked on with disdain, for he did not approved of pedalling drugs.

I Knew You Were Waiting

Serenaded George Michael to Aretha Franklin in their 1987 chart-topper. Aretha who had been waiting for another hit following her excursion with the Eurthymics, where she insisted on solo femininity and opening doors for themselves (thank you I'll get it myself")
An odd pairing indeed given the age difference at the time.
Perhaps George was waiting for the considerably older Ms Franklin to arrive at the studio........

Meanwhile in my world I knew who would be waiting at the Phlebotomy clinic.

As I swept into the car-park at 7.10 am, my heart sank as it was full of cars already.
I observed one of the occupants struggling with his seat belt and stick in his Cotrolla. As the lab is a first come first serve facility, I quickly sprang from the car.
Forgetting my haematology card I had to return to the Peugeot for a quick scrabble amongst the detritus within my car.
With form firmly in my hand I exited once more and made a dash for the door. However this delay had merely furnished the Corolla's occupant to hobble somewhat suspiciously rapidly into reception. Thwarted again!

As I waited to be seen, I assumed that most British of traits, the "casually glancing around followed by a sudden fascination with my finger nails" look. Maintaining a nonchalant stance, I inwardly fretted as the espied the time. Hurry up I silently intoned.
Finally the man shuffled off to sit down and wait for a blood  test, his gait noticeably different from that observed as he hurried to the door in front of me...

I was quickly checked in and asked to take a seat, to which I glanced around to ponder the chair options. Oh dear, just like the Underground. Do I sit next to the old lady with the crutches, or the two elderly gents with red faces. I opted for the crutches, as I presumed they weren't infectious.

There were 5 people ahead of me, of which 4 were of an elderly disposition, quietly sitting gnashing their teeth, sucking their cheeks and patting their gnarly hands in an attempt to emulate the London Philharmonic Orchestra for body parts.

The time ticked by, and I began to fume quietly. Why oh why do the senior citizens of Whangaparaoa all turn up at the same time at the blood collection centre? I mean they have all day to fit this in? Are their schedules so full of important indoor bowls competitions, visits to the large text library, and pressing hair rinsing appointments, that they cant come later in the day?

The lab opens specially early at 7am in order to make it accesible to workers, allowing them to fit in a blood test just before starting work. So it is quite irksome to find the early morning shift already resembling a resthome. All I needed now was a sympathetic caregiver to softly place her hand on my arm and offer me a cup of tea.

I shouldn't moan really, because I will do exactly the same thing in many years hence, and I shall certainly expect a little more R.E.S.P.E.C.T.

Yo ho ho and a bottle of Pugwash.

Kipper me capstans and blistering barnacles, heave ho the anchor and lets cast off for another  voyage into Andrew's World....

The jovial Captain Pugwash, a gloriuosly inept sea captain of an indeterminate age and era sailed the seven seas in zany maritime adventures in the BBC TV series of the seventies. Awash with genteel niceties, the crew of his Black Pig were always saving the day for the Cap'n against his arch nemesis the pirate Cut Throat Jake.

Urban myths abounded concerning some erroneously named crew: Master Bates, Roger the Cabin Boy and Seaman Staines. These myths which after much titillation and gossip, were dispelled when the producers went to court and proved that they were indeed fabrications of a journalistic mind. A pity really, ho ho.

The main tipple of the nautical community is of course rum, and it was an encounter with the fabled beverage earlier this week that resulted in a trip back into the past....

We had been invited to Uncle Rod's beachfront mansion for a spot of dinner and a beverage or two.
Of course with his being a salty sea dog and yacht owner we felt it appropriate to toast the meal with a few swigs of Waiheke Island Wild Days rum.

Before you could say "dolloping dolphins" the swigs became the whole bottle, and we became a tad inebriated, sloshing around like keel bilge water.

Driving home was out of the question, and so we set off like lolloping landlubbers for the walk back to our house.

Dithering Dogfish! Rain began to spatter down, so we held aloft umbrellas, looking like a two masted schooner forging through the storm.

As the precipitation precipitated harder our jeans became wet and heavy, and legs felt like jetsam being carried along the wet pathway.

Staggering Stalactites! My legs suddenly locked and fire breathed through the muscles, tendons, sinews and joints. Every step was doubly difficult, as the pain seared through and the jeans did their best to cause me to founder.

It was the return of my previous nemesis, the diabetic neuropathy. Due to nerve damage caused by long term diabetes, walking at speed for a distance can be quite painful. This is one side effect of my previous condition that was going to be with me for ever.

Whilst the eyes can repair some of the damage, and further damage to the nerves is halted by the transplanted pancreas, the existing damage stays.

Regular exercise can help, but the pain is still there. Ho hum.

After much fire I staggered home, and promptly fell asleep, dreaming nautically of the Black Pig, Pugwash and sailing off to Waiheke to capture some more rum for the next episode.