The Voyage of Captain Cook

If you were looking forward to a rip roaring tale of sea shanties, discovery and a vast behind, then look elsewhere, for this week I have became the captain of cook, in the domestic sense..

Baking to me was something other people undertook, tasting as you go along. Biccies, choccy sponge, all mixed in Mum's earthenware bowl with a huge wooden spoon and palette..
Obviously I couldn't eat the finished products (unless it was a slightly less than vile diabetic recipe), so my brother got all the treats, whilst I would be extremely lucky to be able to lick the spoon.
But not any more, Haha! I happily bake way, licking and tasting as I go, not to mention siphoning off the chocolates and other fillings. So much for post diabetic restraint.
Yesterday I  made scones, bereft of fruit but with the addition of some extra baking powder to give them "lift". First appearances were positive, if a little deceptive.

Cook wise, I have been battling with a salmon. Not in the lush fertile waters of the Hauraki Gulf on the end of a line, but rather from the lush fertile fish counter at the supermarket.
Ideally to be roasted and flaked into fish cakes with fresh parsley from the garden, all drizzled in lemon juice and served with fresh beans.....

"Remember to take the bones out!" came the stentorian instructions from beyond the kitchen...,

Hmmm, that would be a challenge, never having done anything if the sort before.
After about 15 minutes I had managed to extricate 4 bones, from a lengthy piece of fish with a tiny pair of tweezers.. Each was a slippery battle of man against fish. I could almost see the spirit of the departed salmon laughing at me.

So I gave up and rationalised that if the fish were cooked then it would be easier to debone. Which it wasn't.
It was just as fatty and intricate, but just hotter. I endeavoured to complete the task, and laboured on. Finally a defeated salmon was combined with mashed potato and herbs.
The lemon spat everywhere, instead of drizzling, and the whole kitchen ended up covered in flour, but at least the result was a success, palate wise.

And the scones? Horrid, with so much baking powder that they tasted very salty.

Just like Captain Cook's barnacled bottom.

Left to my own Devizes

Oops not the pretty Wiltshire market town, but a typo....
Devices, left to me own devices.

Just like the 1990 single by the Pet Shop Boys, which soared high like an eagle in to the UK chart in those ancient days of yore.

And that has really been it for the last few weeks. apart from occasional outrageous letters from the hospital and the ever humorous and bizarre trips to the chemist to replenish my constantly decreasing supply of pharmaceuticals. 

Not used to this state of affairs, for  I was never being boring.

No trips to hospital, no renal appointments, no clinic check ins.....
I guess this is called normality.

Nice and normal.

Just like Devizes.

Due to leaves on the line....

A favourite amongst cancellation excuses, along with 'the wrong kind of snow', excessive heat, and now the emergence of 'operational requirements'. Perhaps it is just me, but I always thought that operators, whether they be airlines, train operating companies or bus providers had an operational requirement to operate services as required by a fanciful document known as a timetable? Oh dear, clearly out of step with the modern transport revolution.

And so the transport excuse malady has spread, infecting amongst others the renal nutritionists in the North Shore hospital. They have been smited by that pervading HR curse of 'staff shortages'.

I know this thanks to an undated letter from my local health board, announcing that my upcoming appointments with the renal dietitian had been postponed until 2014. That does seem excessively long for our small renal clique. perhaps my lovely dietician had moved on to pastures new. a shame really, as she was extremely cooperative and reassuringly left my diet alone. Her mantra was 'a little of what you fancy does you good'. 

I only neglected to hear the word little.

So my diet appointments had been moved to 2014, which was odd as we had cancelled our remaining sessions, due to Andrew's requirements, and plenty of salad leaves on the line.

Dietary-wise I  shall keep swanning along...

You're so Vein.....

Gee, Hiya Carly Simon, glamour puss and all American gal of the 70's, how-ya doin'...

A classic from 1972, no less, with her melodic dismissal of a former lover....who probably thinks this song is about him, don't you. Only it is, isn't it, you correctly think this song is about our broken relationship, dont you. Otherwise she wouldn't be addressing him, would she, I bet she thinks this song is not about him, don't you.

But Carly would be wrong to think this post is about her, dont y...STOP!!.

The veins in question are mine, not hers,. And what marvelous veins they are too,  perhaps a little aged in places, and a tad clogged on the left side. My non functioning X-Ray vision has not deciphered this, but rather the MRI scan performed a few weeks ago.

As a result the combined might of the NZ health service swung into action, with the skilled technicians managing and calibrating the machine, my renal consultant recognising the problem and arranging a scan, the nurses and ancillary staff working to provide accurate readings, the doctors for interpreting the scans, and then the communications team for getting the results back swiftly to my consultant. Oh and the interior designers.
Teamwork indeed.

Thanks also to the local hospital management, for "managing" to reschedule the necessary surgery, due to staffing issues.
And then again to a non specified future date.

Finally like groove stuck vinyl placing me on a waiting list of "priority procedures" that could well be over a year.

Obviously this is not life threatening, but it does impact on sleep and walking thanks to the lack of circulation in my left leg, caused by a partially obscured vein. I now join that ever growing queue of persons waiting for a necessary operation, but not serious enough to warrant immediate treatment.

 Like meerkats we crowd and wait in  vain, getting on with our lives, with the occasional peek to see if the procedure is any closer:

Please don't misunderstand, I realise the health service is under pressure and am quite happy to join the queue. Up to now I have always enjoyed speedy attention, due to the nature of renal failure and diabetes, have never having to wait long.  I guess it was just wishful thinking to  hope this would be treated un the same vein. Didn't I.

Bunnies Galore...

Tis Easter and my thoughts turn to bunnies......Jive Bunny to be specific.

Summer 89's monster hit, the Bunny gave us superb mastery of vinyl scratching...

C..C..C'mon everybody
1-2
1-2
1-1-1-1-2-3-o'clock..

and so it continued.....to annoy the nation intensely, although it stayed at number 1 for weeks, so somebody must have bought it. Probably wedding DJ,s and children's  entertainers, whilst pop fans swung into a mood of despair.

The annual eggfest is upon us once more, chocolate in various shapes and forms is pouring in from Germany, Switzerland and China (So nice of the Chinese to forsake communism in order to celebrate the financial significance of the season. After all it's not like the hardworking capitalist to let this opportunity passover...)

This of course would be my second Easter post transplant of proper chocolate eggs. Instead of the vile sugar free laxative diabetic eggs I used to receive  by way of placation. To this day i recall the powerful aroma of ny brother's Cadbury gift, as he unwrapped the purple foil. Mine by comparison was distinctly unimpressive odourwise, It tasted just as bland, and too much would lead to excessive flatulence.

So it was with a boyish sense of fun that I scattered mini eggs around the house on Saturday night, placing them in strategic places to be found. By the dog leads, in the tea caddy, under the TV remotes, on the coffee table, on the car dashboard (this has yet to be found). Hopefully the fun would start on Easter morning.....

All went well, except these eggs were of the cheap Chinese variety and tasted like the bland diabetic ones of old. And what did I get in return? A huge velvety confection with powerful aromatic wafts? Not quite.

Ahem....

It still made me smile though.. 

This has been around since I was a small child and this was too strictly verboten.

So yes, I did enjoy a forbidden treat from my past, just not packaged with all the annoying chicks, eggs and bunnies, which did wonders for my mood. Thanks Mr Bunny.

Click HERE for Jive Bunny....lol