timboblog

It's a long long way (to Worthing)

This last week and a bit has been a right old up and down affair (not in the saucy sense though; that'd just be rude), veering from the sublime to the shit with unerring regularity. A nice boring patch of humdrum mundanity wouldn't go amiss every now and again, but what's the likelihood of that happening? Pretty fucking low.

So, to catalogue our escapades (as opposed to our espadrilles, which are very nice and shiny as it happens) let's get the proper shit stuff out of the way first. Hold on to your hats people, cos I've been ill again! Woohoo! Readers of this blog either think that I'm ill all the time, or that I'm a massive hypochondriac. I can assure you that neither of these is the case. It's true, I do like writing about being poorly, because it let's me get it off my chest (as it were). But re the hypochondria, well, I fucking wish I was a hypochondriac, then I wouldn't actually be as ill as I have been over the last year or so. Maybe I've just turned that corner into Bed-Ridden Old Bastard Avenue, or maybe it's something else even more sinister. Whatever, it sucks arse, and I don't much like it. I've spent the last four days on the sofa, throwing up occasionally, and generally feeling like a pile of manky bollocks. This morning I went into work and nearly fell off my chair, so I decided going home would be the safer option. I'm feeling a bit perkier now, but we shall see. To my complete lack of surprise my GP had no good advice to offer. Either I have an infection and have just been really unlucky over the last year with all this food poisoning, etc, OR I have something really wrong with me. He even suggested having an HIV test, which is all very kind of him, but probably not essential seeing as I've been with Mrs Timbo for almost seven years now. So unless someone craftily took advantage of me while I was busy checking the price of couscous in Waitrose the other day (if they did I didn't notice), then I can't rightly explain it. So it's probably not that, but please feel free to share your observations in the comments box. I'm all ears.

Annoyingly, I really intended to get loads of stuff done over the weekend, so being really fucking ill well and truly scuppered my plans. The only productive thing I managed in the 48-hour period from Saturday lunchtime to Monday lunchtime was waking up in a horrible sweat on the sofa at 3am on Sunday morning, with Great Balls of Fire (starring Dennis Quaid with a godawful haircut and a stupid face) on the telly and some knob playing Bob Marley at a stupid volume somewhere up the road, only to find that I'd left the rabbit out and about in the lounge for the last 12 hours and that in that time she'd set up her own makeshift latrine in the corner by the cd rack and proceeded to do large scale shits and pisses all over it, all of which meant that had to spend about twenty minutes trying very unsuccessfully to persuade her to get in her fucking hutch, followed by a good hour or so of cleaning up stinky rabbit wee. At least their poo isn't runny and icky.

So that was all good fun!

But it hasn't all been sickness and bodily excretions. We've also managed to take advantage of the amazing weather by doing a ton of walking and beaching. Mrs T has been to London and picked up some stonking blisters for her troubles, and I went for a walk on the South Downs with my Mum and brother, and as a result of which got right royally burnt to a cinder. Still, it was a lovely walk, and I saw lots of birdies and little furry animals and generally had a very lovely time. And last week me and my good lady ventured all the way down the coast to Worthing (which is a little bit further away from Brighton than I thought it was) and had a very nice walk all the way along the beach from Worthing to Shoreham power station (photos to come), then back to the main part of Shoreham because there was nowhere to cross back to the mainland, then back to where we'd just come from but on the right side of the water this time, and then all the way back to Portslade and then Hove. Unfortunately, due to the afore-mentioned misjudgement, coupled with the fact that we only got to Worthing at 5pm in the first place, this meant that we ended up getting home at about 11pm. Slightly later than we expected. Still, it was a lovely evening and a lovely walk for the most part. We'll just conveniently forget about the last two hours spent walking along a shitty main road in the dark...

What else? Oh yeah, the main computer totally fucked up (again) so I had to spend an entire evening sorting the bastard thing out. Thank the lord for partitioned hard drives!

I must start posting regularly again, because every ten days is pretty poor (although noticeably better than one post every six months), so there are gonna be some photo posts soonish because I've got a bunch of cracking photos that need to see daylight, and I'm going to go into detail about the new gaff, because we love it and want to show it off! Hurrah!

Lastly, many thanks for all the comments after the last post.  They are always appreciated (even if I don't always understand what you're on about), are generally informative and insightful (where else can I learn all there is to know about the world's greatest deodorants?) and have a tendency to put a smile on my face, which I am politely informed is for the most part 'a good thing',  although this must surely be a matter of opinion. Still, keep them coming! I love you all.

The dumptruck moanyscrote blues

You know what I find bloody annoying? (Apart from Lily Allen, Ricky Gervais, avocados that for some reason don't want to ripen, and, umm, a significant proportion of humanity, obviously.)

I will tell you.

Being stupidly tired when there is no chance of getting any rest/sleep, and then having insomnia  or not being able to sleep at the times when I do have the opportunity to rest is what I find Bloody Annoying. It fucks me off!

I have massive eyebags (and I mean massive), I feel run down, my skin looks like shite, and I hardly ever want to do anything because I never seem to have the energy. The other day, while out with Mrs Timbo, I was quite literally The Crabbiest Person In The World Ever, and seemed to semi-regress to a childlike state of tantrums and sulks outside (and inside)  Homebase. Maybe that's just the effect Homebase has on me? Whatever, it was rubbish. So! All of this horrible nonsense at the same time as having LOADS TO DO. I need to sort out the new gaff, ebay all our old possessions to buggery, watch Lost (!) and have an actual real-life enjoyable (shock! gasp!) life with my girlfriend! This must all be achieved in the meagre sliver of time I am permitted away from work. Can't I swap the two around, and get a meagre sliver of time at work instead? That would be far more suitable.

I think I just need a holiday. Or a fortnight off. Or a run of early nights. And some exercise.

You see what's happening here? I'm creating lists! And my deodorant is rubbish. Somebody invent some decent deodorant that doesn't make your shirt armpits go crusty and that actually has some effect against sweat!

Good things are happening though. I know I moan, but that's just my nature. I mean, we have an ace new home, it's nearly summer, we're going on holiday next month, I'm taking photos again, and look! I'm blogging again!

I must be fucking ill.

Poohsticks

My legs hurt and I am seriously rusty. Jogging should not be rushed into lightly, especially (as my girlfriend points out) after a week of multifarious food and drink, late nights, friends and family, and getting burnt to a crisp lobstery pinkiness through nobody's stupid fault but my own.

Once the pain subsides I may find a four and a bit kilometre jog a weentsy little bit easier. Oh yeah, and I'll take some water with me.

Today I talked to a man who told me a Winnie the Pooh story. I didn't remember it, but it was the one where it's Eeyore's birthday; Piglet gets him a lovely balloon which he promptly bursts after tripping over and falling on it, and Pooh finds a jar of honey for him. Unfortunately, Pooh gets hungry on the way to give Eeyore his gift and decides to eat all the honey. So Eeyore gets a burst balloon and an empty jar for his birthday, and spends the rest of his birthday putting the remains of the balloon into the pot, then taking them out, then putting them in again, and so on, which makes him incredibly happy.

Being told this story made me incredibly happy too. Little things.

The same chap who told me this story also told me about his worn out old Test Match Special hat that he uses to ward his wife off while the cricket's on, and talked to me at length about French wines.  He has a website too and who knows, I may just end up buying some plonk from him one of these days.

Another bloke even said "good morning" to me while I was on my way to work. He also did a little Chinese buddhist bow thing to a trio of squirrels behind me, but still, it was very nice to be greeted so pleasantly, even if he was a bit mad.

What a great day.

Oh yes, and Pride was brilliant. What I saw of it anyway; I only managed the parade. By the time the party proper was under way I was suffering from third degree burns, sleeping off a bladder full of beer and getting the shakes. I am such an old man.

If you like what you see you can view the full set of photos here.

Sorting out

It's time to get my house in order. Too much energy has been expended on nothing much at all, because I have things I need to deal with that I'm not going to into in any detail on here, but rest assured that they are major things. And I need to get back to being a decent human being again, for my sake, for my girlfriend's sake,and just for the sake of sake in general.

Thinking about dealing with things makes me happy, so fuck knows how happy actually sorting it all out is going to make me.

Anyway, that will all happen as it happens.

The birthday semi-weekend was great. It pretty much revolved around a shitload of party nibbles (vol au vents, bhajis, crisps, sausage rolls, etc.) and balloons (you've got to have balloons), with some pressies, music and a birthday surprise thrown in for good measure. I think I may have lucked out in managing to find one of Charlotte's Top 5 Favourite Bands of The Moment™ playing a small venue in Brighton at incredibly short notice. I may never be able to luck out again. How depressing yet pleasing at the same time this fact is.

It was a great gig apart from having The Loudest Joan As Policewoman Fan In The World Ever stood immediately behind me for the whole show, drowning out the vast majority of all other sound in the venue with her tumultuous bellowing, during and between all the songs. And don't you just hate people who cheer a song a whole ten seconds before it's finished? I fucking really do. Me and Charlotte were thinking the same thing and were praying for the band to play some songs she didn't know the words to, and thankfully they obliged. Those three or four songs were pure bliss, I tell you.

In rabbit news, little Koko is still titchy, but isn't trying to bite my legs off anymore which is extremely heartening. Instead, she now tries to lick me to death, which in my eyes would definitely be one of my preferred methods of dying. She appears to be in the midst of her 'I want to be a mummy' phase, so is all energetic, loving, and NEEDS to groom something like her life depends on it. In the absence of baby rabbits me and Charlotte are fulfilling this role, and acting as surrogate lickable things for her. It's really rather adorable, as is she.

Now, time for some leftover birthday cake methinks.

Oh, and when it comes out you must watch Sicko. It's fucking amazing. (And yes, I'm a bad man.)

Loose ends

I don't like being quick or curt, because by nature I'm a bit of a waffler, but I'm going to have to curb my waffling tendencies today and get straight to the point, because I have loads to catch up on. I'd also like to take this opportunity to say that as I expected, managing and editing and generally pulling everything together on this Big Blogger thing is taking up a large chunk (or all) of my designated blogging time, so this blog is definitely going to be pretty neglected over the next couple of months. I don't intend to not do anything, as that would be pretty weak of me, but there is certainly going to be an air of shutters banging the windows  in deserted houses, wind whistling through treeless branches, and tumbleweeds blowing down the street, to this blog. It can't be helped I'm afraid, unless I suddenly grow an extra brain, an extra set of arms, and buy a second computer - none of which are going to happen, so everyone is going to have to cope.

I'd also like to say that I really do LOVE bloggers. Not all of them, because some are mental, scary and total weirdos, but most of them (at least, the ones I have the pleasure of dealing with) seem to be admirable and lovely people, generous to a tee, and friendly in the utmost. After all, without blogging I would never have got to know and/or receive gifts from a resident of Scotland (I've never been there, so this is very true), a variety of lovely lesbians, some Brazilian geezer, what seems like half the population of Belgium, and I definitely wouldn't have been the surprised recipient of a packageful of dried fish from the icy tundra that is Iceland. I haven't touched it yet, because to be totally honest with you I'm a bit scared. Do I heat it up? Do I grill it? Am I supposed to eat it raw? I haven't got a clue. It reminds of the first time I had snails put in front of me; I was at a complete loss as to what should be done with it. So much so, that I didn't really do anything. I kind of sucked it for a bit, chewed a little, and then dribbled it back out onto the plate. I mean, that might have been how you're supposed to eat it. I just don't know. If nobody tells you otherwise you end up coming up with your own preferred style of eating, and that was mine. Dribbling.

So thankyou to you all. Thanks to everyone who reads, comments, lurks, and generally makes this whole blogging thing even more liberating than it already is. When I first started this particular blog after a hiatus of about a year from the old blog, I purposefully declared that I didn't give a toss whether anyone read it or not. This is still pretty true, because even if nobody read this guff that comes out of my brain, I would still write it down. I find the process extremely cathartic and a great way of getting things out into the world that I probably wouldn't have the balls or the wherewithal to say in everyday conversation. But despite that, I do love the 'community' feel that having a loyal band of readers brings. I am also amazed by the quality of writing that endures throughout the blogs that I have the pleasure of reading. You lot are bloody interesting and very good at writing in a bloody interesting way, and my online life would almost certainly be an awful lot duller without you.

Gordon recently wrote a post where he asked all his readers to leave a comment, even if just to say "hello", so he could get some idea of how many people actually read his site. I'd love to try the same thing, but I'm scared of damaging my weak and pitiful ego to such a degree that it may never recover, so instead I'll say DON'T COMMENT. If I get no comments that means that I have ten million readers who all love me dearly. Ahh, it's gonna be a good night's sleep tonight...

It's also Blog of the Month time, and without any further fannying about I am proud to announce that the winner is The Overnight Editor! His blog is very special, his writing unlike any other, and his creativity and surrealness apparently know no bounds. I nominated him for Post of the Week a couple of times last month for writing some of the most entertaining stuff I've read in ages, so I have absolutely no problem in awarding him this measly little honour.

Well done OE! Your award (in jpeg form) will be winging it's way to your inbox very shortly.

Second to lastly, I must make it abundantly clear that A) Mrs Timbo and myself have not gotten married (one day, one day...), and B) I have not married the rabbit. Not only is this very very illegal, I think, but it's also something only a total loony could think of. Yes, I'm talking to you Goth. I do love the rabbit, but not in that bestial and downright perverted way.

And lastly, a back update. All is better than it was. The left shoulder froze up this week after I slept on it funny, but some stretches have eased the pain, plus I have an hour long deep tissue massage lined up for the Friday after next, which should be fucking brilliant. I am also doing everything I can to maintain a tip-top posture at all times. I do slouch occasionally, and I will be the first to admit that, but I know when I've been bad and so am at least fully aware of what I'm doing to my body; something which was certainly not the case before I started this course of physio.

And that's that.

In the next post I will describe The Wedding. And there are no rabbits involved at any stage.

Everyone's ill

Well, me and the rabbit, to be precise.

I've got the cushy end of the bargain, in that all that's dodgy about me is my back (I'm sure someone somewhere - possibly very close to home - thinks that that's not the only thing that's dodgy about me, and that statement is 'asking for it' I believe). I've been to the physio, who duly prodded and thumbed and generally hurt me quite alot, which is what I get for being bad to my back for so long.  The pain stays but gets lesser the longer the prodding goes on, so it's kind of a shame that the sessions are only 20 minutes. That's the NHS for you. Still, she strapped me up in tape (not in a kinky way obviously) to give my shoulder a bit of a rest, and allow some other muscles to take the strain, as apparently every little thing that I do is causing the affected muscles to tense up and get all knotted, which means that it's almost a one-step-forward, two-steps-back situation, and that's rubbish. So today I look like a weedy version of Robocop, with my shoulders all pulled back and my upper body wrapped in strapping. It's weird but good!

The rabbit, on the other hand, has had a bit of a rough week. The poor fella had to spend a couple of days at the vets (being waited on hand and foot with supplies of fresh dandelions, I might add) due to a severe case of lagomorphic bloating, or in laymans terms a bad case of wind. This may not sound terribly worrying, but whereas you and I have the option of letting it all out with one mighty beltch, rabbits don't, because they can't burp or fart. Their little delicate digestive systems operate in such a way that basically everything that goes in has to go out, and when things don't go out it's bad. This can be caused by furballs, eating something that doesn't agree with them, or becoming stressed out all of a sudden, which is what happened in this instance. The poor little fella jumped out of my arms and walloped his head on the patio wall the other afternoon, and we were really worried about him because he looked like he'd broken his jaw. His mouth was all out of alignment, but it must have just been the shock of it that was causing the facial deformity because thirty seconds later his mouth went back to normal. So we thought he was all fine and dandy, but later that evening he just wasn't acting his usual self. He was pretty dozy and way more relaxed than normal, and after deciding to keep him in the bedroom overnight in case his condition worsened we were treated to a symphony of bunny stomach gurgles. So here's the news: they can't fart, but they can gurgle like a motherfucker.

Anyway, I took him to the vet, because after what happened to Hazel and Poppy a little while back we didn't want to lose another bunny. The nice veterinarian checked him out, gave him some painkillers, and diagnosed him as suffering from bloating. They had to give him a miniature bunny-sized stomach pump apparently, to release the wind, and they got some undigested food and fur out of him too. Now he's all back to normal, thank God, and so far he's the only bunny we've had that has survived an overnight stay at the vets, so by the look of it he's got luck on his side. He's also quite tough and muscley, which must help. I've had to give him thrice daily doses of medicine to keep his tummy rolling over as normal, and despite a bit of thrashing about and him desperately trying to evade my grasp, he's been surprisingly amiable. As long as I stop him being able to rear his head up he seems to stay in a position where I can get the syringe into his mouth no problem. Once it's in he has no issues with taking his medicine down, which is brilliant. He's a very well behaved bunny!

So yes, sorry for waffling about my rabbit, but I love him very much.

Love me, love my rabbit.

Ps. There's a new post up at Big Blogger. It's not much, but it's something. Get over there now please...

Licky thump

My head is so out of it this evening, I may as well have it dunked in a medium bucket of suet as be writing this. Must go to bed at a more amiable hour and then sleep soundly for once. For health reasons my mum has got me on the aloe vera drinking juice stuff (she sent me four hefty bottles of it, the fine woman that she is), so add that to the usual daily vitamin concoction and unusually some time spent outside of the flat walking about and the like, and you have health city Timbo! Like I said, just need a kip now.

I had a physiotherapy session the other day regarding my gammy shoulder. I'd put it off for about five years due to a plethora of shit GP's, bad advice, too much moving around, and all the other day-to-day crap that gets in the way of things that actually need to be sorted out quite urgently, but now I'm being proactive about fixing my ailing body and it's already having a beneficial effect. The nice lass who made me wince in pain at every other prod and push diagnosed me as having "a very tight back", something I could have easily told her in all honesty. It appears it's all down to being right-handed, having bad posture and using the wrong muscles;  my thoracic curve and cervical curve (see picture on the right - click for a close-up) are getting a bit too curvy, and this is a bad thing, so I have to try and reverse this asap by getting into the correct shape, spine-wise. That I couldn't have told her. So, as well as some general muscle kneading and assorted pulling and pushing I have been given the task of getting my posture in order. Either that or my shoulder stays the way it is at the moment, the other one gets crap too, I start suffering from arthritis and then finally I get a nice attractive hump in my back. I do not fucking want any of those things, so overnight I have morphed into Posture Man!

I have all these exercises to do which immediately made my back feel different. I'm supposed to pull my arms back, stretch my neck muscles, re-shape my upper spine and neck, and get my back muscles into the correct position, ie. the position they are currently not in. At first my back hurt when I adopted the so-called neutral pose, but now it's starting to hurt when I'm not in the neutral pose. I think this is a good thing, as it's stopping me slouching, or at the very least making me acutely aware of when I am doing so. It's also stopped my shoulder hurting as much, which I assume must be because I'm using the muscles in a different way. Fuck knows to be honest, but it seems to be doing something and that's better than nothing.

Other good news (touch wood) is that we have the healthiest rabbit in the world. I took Honey to the vets last Friday and the vet gave him possibly the most glowing reference I've ever heard a vet give a rabbit. He has (and I quote) "a gorgeous coat", "a beautiful demeanour", "perfect teeth", and the toenails on his hind legs were so spot on length-wise she didn't even have to trim them at all. AND he was very well-behaved indeed. Yes, he thumped a couple of times on the bus there, but so did I cos I fucking hate the bus.

Lastly, and in a topically Eurovisional vein, here's a video. Come on Ireland!

Ps. According to this test I'm The Hulk. Would you Adam-and-Eve it?