Almost getting a life!

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I went to a gig last week – an ACTUAL concert!  Now, my taste in music is very eclectic & this was a concert showcasing one of my slightly more extreme preferences; acoustic guitar instrumental music.

I missed the last time Andy McKee came to play anywhere even vaguely close to where I live & I was strangely bereft & gutted to have gone without.  Honestly, it was like a little grey cloud hanging over me!  I was determined not to make that mistake EVER AGAIN.  So when I heard he’d be touring again I was DETERMINED to be there!  The icing on the cake was that he’d be performing with 2 other guitarists, one of whom’s CD I already owned.  I was THERE man…

Needless to say, the Guitar Masters visit to Sage Gateshead was utterly, utterly fantastic!  I was thrilled, not only to be out of the house on an evening, but to be surrounded by music I’d be listening to for years.  It was both exciting & comfortingly familiar!  Bravo to all; Andy McKee, Jon Gomm & Preston Reed.

The whole experience got me thinking; what OTHER concerts would I give my eye teeth to attend?..

1. AC/DC in 1980/81

2. Queen circa 1974/75

3. Free/Bad Company about 1972/73

4. Joe Jackson (Is She Really Going Out With Him era)

5. Squeeze 1981

6. The Police Live from Hatfield Polytechnic (Rock Goes to College edition)

Of course there’d be a few classic Hendrix, Who, Led Zep, Clapton & Elvis gigs in there too but those listed are particularly ‘me’.

How about you?


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Firstly an update on my appointment with the Orthopaedic Surgeon regarding The Bastard Knee – the Knee will be remaining Bastardly for the foreseeable future.  Yes indeed, as a change from the ‘you’re too fat’ line I got the new, improved ‘you’re the WRONG SORT OF FAT’ which, despite its exciting newness, all boils down to the same thing; computer says no.

My 30-odd years of rampant Lymphoedema have left my legs so deformed, fibrotic & huge (despite years of treatment, bandaging & sexy compression garments) that a surgeon is simply incapable of manipulating the joint into a suitable position to fit something shiny & new.  Allegedly.  If you know different, please shout up!  So, with the promise of some steroids being injected into the joint which might/might not work at all & an ongoing supply of opiates, that’s that.  Bariatric Surgery was fleetingly mentioned, but he didn’t seem to understand that my top half could slim to Victoria Beckham levels of skeletal (if I was a) a skeleton & b) my bones went on a diet too) but my legs would remain a hideous, bulbous pair of appendages & my circus freakery would increase by about 1000%.

I am, in fact, losing size thanks to Diabetes medications.  I say ‘thanks’ to but, frankly, becoming saggy & wrinkly to the point where I CAN FOLD MY BOOBS IN HALF is bloody horrendous.  I’ve got precious little going for me at the best of times & this past 6 months of what I’ll politely refer to as Metformin* Arse (*a moment on the lips, an evening on the toilet) has left me shedding size very rapidly down the loo.

I don’t want to lose weight.  I have never wanted to be thin.  I’ve been tubby all my life despite a childhood of limited food & that undiagnosed Tree Trunk Legged Lymphoedema.  I am identified by my size.  Without it I wouldn’t be me.  I also can’t afford to lose weight.  I have a wardrobe of clothes that fit me.  How many times would I have to replace all that clothing if I were to diminish?  I eat healthily, I work out with my exercise bands, I’m keeping mobile for as long as the MS lets me.  Life’s too short to spend the last 20/30 years of mine denying myself when I’m only going to end up a Full Gimp anyway!  Those ‘extra’ years you spend a lifetime sacrificing for come right at the end of your life & who wants that extra 2 years gained by walking up the stairs to be spent in agony with arthritis but too demented to care?  Screw you Diabetes: I’m having a Star Bar!

In other news, I have a cough.  An unceasing, hacking cough.  A ‘try to cough your lung out whilst simultaneously having a surreptitious pee’ kind of cough.  Joy of bloody joys.  Nine days into it & I’m royally fed up & wishing I had the kind of income that could have invested in Tena incontinence pads years ago.

And with that thought plus the boob folding one, I bid you adieu.