Lucky Number

Eh oh eh oh....no not Teletubbies, rather Lene Lovich whisked me through late 1978 as she climbed numerically higher up the charts. Rather than her initial one, it eventually transpired that her aforesaid fortuitous feng shui digit was three.
This turns out to be a huge coincidence as three times the speed of a vinyl album equates to 10, and ten just happens to be the subject matter of this post.

I had of late cause to reflect the direction my life had taken since my transplant. It soon sank home that the direction was outwards. Having undergone both dialysis and that transplant I had put on what we euphemistically call "just a few pounds". After enjoying the sticky embrace of sugar for four years, I ought to lose some weight, or risk the perilous return of diabetes.
A complete snub, in fact, to the brave and generous organ donor family.


So a simple routine developed, that of walking 5 kilometres per day on a garage based treadmill. Our garage, mind you, not the local BP.
To stem the inevitable tedium of staring at a range of domestic tools, storage boxes and the contents of the laundry basket, I downloaded my favourite 70-80s pop videos to watch on a hastily erected TV. Abba, Blondie, Cher, Depeche Mode, Enya (less disco moves for her output), Fleetwood Mac, and so on....
Three months in and like a forgetful bank cashier, I've lost 22 pounds.
That's 10 kilos in modern money, or ten bags of sugar :)

A good start you might think, as that equals my weight before going on dialysis, way back in 2008. We shall see how low I can go, and what turns out to be my lucky number.

That Syncing Feeling..

According to Ford, the voice activated audio system installed in my car allows you to" Stay in touch every second you’re driving, with state-of-the-art Ford SYNC voice control and connectivity technology "

Apparently it lets you make and take mobile phone calls, hands-free, using the simplest voice commands. It can even read out text messages you’ve been sent. :)
This sounds awesome, and would indeed be a sight to behold.

Except that instead of an efficient friendly and helpful voice behind SYNC, mine has been installed with the rude tone of a slightly geriatric Ukrainian pensioner, whose hearing trumpet has been left back in her war ravaged hovel.

I have given her the name Olga. as it sounds nothing like SYNC.

"Call Glenn"
I pause while Olga checks her contact list.....
"Calling Tim"

Which is bizarre as I don't have a Tim in my contacts.

"Call Vets"
"Deleting contact: Vet"
Olga will need a vet when I've finished with her.....

"Play artist New Order"
Olga consults her enormous music reference manual....
"Playing Artist The Artist, formerly known as The Artist Prince"

I attempt to intervene with a touch of the steering wheel Sync button, to override her. Of course this just irritates my Soviet stowaway.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand that word" she petulantly retorts. 

Then promptly goes silent as she knits a sock for the cold Ukrainian winter.

I thought it might be my accent, eccentrically English though it may be, but still fairly well spoken and very BBC. 

Why, even Apple's Siri understands my commands.

Thankfully there is one "advanced" feature that, so far, (fingers and wires crossed) I have yet to have need of. 

It is delightfully called the Ford Emergency Assist.

In the event of an accident and the car is compromised, Sync will call the emergency services automatically using the linked bluetooth phone, and give GPS details of the location and request immediate help.

Though heaven knows how long it takes for a plumber from Kiev to reach New Zealand...

Are you still here?

Visual imperfections come as standard when you open the box marked Diabetes. Like Pandora's but containing not quite as much chocolate, replaced instead by Boots sugar free pastilles. The old eyes can be roundly defeated by the cavalier attitude of the pugnacious condition. 

So it was then then that the "blood" in my eye posed no real concern: it had happened before, and it would leave of it's own volition in due course.

Except it didn't. I noticed after a few days that there was none of the usual signs of departure. No dimming of intensity, no suitcase in the hall, No keys on the sideboard. The bloody thing (literally) had moved in.

It was like the early nineties all over again. Youthful  discoveries and clandestine hookups were rife in my 1990's London. One moment you were getting ready to go out and boogie with friends, the next you were catching the tube or bus home from some far flung outpost of the capital.

That was how it was then, and we all accepted the protocols. 

Now something had broken the traditional rules of engagement.

I could envisage it making breakfast and reading my newspaper. Soon it would be rearranging the furniture and distributing cheap ornaments around the place. No doubt from EYEKEA?? 

After a week of uninvited inconvenience I threatened to break off what had seemingly turned into a relationship. Visions of us growing old together hove into view. A life of garden centres, comfortable slippers, and pensioner coach trips beckoned.

A tense stand off ensued as I waived my insurance policy threateningly in it's face. It merely wafted on by, with a slightly irritated demeanour. 

However, a quick call to Southern Cross later, and I was soon under the knife of a doctor with more letters after his name than Sir Alex Douglas Haig, KT GCB OM GCVO KCIE ADC.....

Then after much eye squelching, it was all over, and our dalliance restored to normality

Swiftly floating away,  no doubt in time to catch the first available N'eye'ght Bus....

And so you're back, from outer space....

 
Why yes, the muse has returned! 

Having popped out for a cigarette break, the creative juices have been replenished.   Some break.

Actually the muse has had plenty of time to walk to Havana, grow it's own tobacco plant, carefully dry the leaf, then employ local Cubans, newly reconciled with Uncle Sam to hand deliver to the US embassy, to be flown via FedEx back to Auckland in time to hail a cab to Whangaparaoa to deliver inspiration!

Of course both I and the muse refrain from the evil weed! (Take note children....smoking = not good) 

Such a lot has prevailed during the last few months "off air", so to speak..

Positives
               :) Became a New Zealand citizen after 11 years!
               :) Bought a holiday home in Lake Rotoiti.
               :) Changed job after 7 years.

Not so Positives, (we like to call them opportunities)

               :) New car rear ended by brakeless nitwit.
               :) Not keen on new job (oh I admit it ...ex new job!) 
               :) No more negatives....ever.

Venturing into the more banal ....left eye developed a haemorrhage, which cost a private insurance co $12,000 to repair, but undoubtedly of more importance, I got to travel on a public train, unable to drive as I was.

Yes they do exist actually here in Auckland. 

The encounter was brief, hushed and illicit. 
A whispered exchange in the dead of night.
"Single to Britomart please"
"$2.50"
Money was hastily exchanged to be followed by a quick fumble in the dark.... Tickets please!

Whoosh, I was transported deliriously to the peak of Auckland and back.
It was all over far too soon, we parted ways, I cast a quick furtive look back. The train seemed to smoke a final goodbye and then was off, again retreating from whence it came.

Since that affair the eye is approaching normality, as indeed am I, back in the blogosphere.

Until our next encounter...