kimbofo

Old

It's no secret that many of our friends are younger than us by a good few years. The difference in age is usually of no consequence. But lately I've begun to feel considerably older, as if I've turned some invisible corner that makes me view everyone else -- friends, colleagues, fellow passengers on the tube, policemen et al -- as very young.

On Thursday evening someone said something that made me realise this getting older thing wasn't just happening in my head. It was real -- and physically noticeable.

It happened a bit like this. T and I have two friends -- they are brothers -- who are at least a decade younger than us. Both brothers have attractive girlfriends in their early twenties.

The six of us went to a gastro pub for a few drinks and a nice meal. It was a pleasant evening in good company.

Towards the end of the evening T and I went to the bar to buy a last round of drinks.

The bar man, with a twinkle in his eye, wanted to know if we were the "mum and dad" looking after the two "sons" with their girlfriends?

"God, is it that obvious?" I said jokingly, before erupting into nervous laughter.

"Harsh, very harsh," said T.

Afterwards, I couldn't stop giggling about it, but with hindsight I'm kind of mortified. Either we look old or our friends look very young. Either way, I wish I'd slapped that bar man around the head for being such a cheeky git!

Flat-pack furniture

Earlier in the week I thought it would be a good idea to buy some new furniture for our "new" bedroom.

I opted for flatpack furniture from Argos, on the basis it was about £500 cheaper than John Lewis for a chest of drawers.

I am currently about one-third of the way through building that chest of drawers. It has taken me about two hours to get to this point. I have a back ache and a nasty looking blister on my right index finger.

When I initially ripped open the box, pulled out all the parts -- a confusing array of timber planks in varying widths and lengths, combined with two plastic bags filled with an assortment of screws and "plugs" -- I almost gave up.

A glimpse at the instructions -- an elaborate-looking diagram with no explanatory text -- made me wish I'd paid that extra £500 for something already fully assembled.

Now I realise why flatpack furniture is so cheap!

But what am I telling you all this for? Back to work, me thinks.

A pair of itinerants

After two-and-a-bit weeks living out in Chiswick, our "booking" in the house-share ran out.

We spent Wednesday and Thursday nights staying at a hotel opposite Waterloo station, a pleasant 10 minute walk from the office!

We moved back home last night, only to find the bathroom is nowhere near complete. The bath's in, the cupboards are in place and half the tiling has been done. BUT the shower doesn't work (apparently our pump isn't strong enough to push the water through the valve) and the basin mixer is still to be connected to the pipework, which means we have to brush our teeth in the kitchen sink.

The bedroom isn't much better. The fitted robe is finished, although the doors are still to be put on, and the decoration is done bar a few touch ups here and there. BUT the carpet isn't down and the new king size bed, which arrived yesterday afternoon, can't be put up until the flooring is sorted.

Last night we camped out in sleeping bags on top of the mattress, which was still encased in plastic. Every time one of us rolled over the crinkle-crinkle of the rustling plastic woke the other one up!

Tonight we'll be staying in a hotel.

Noises off!

In my last post I showed you my new best friends and asked you to guess what they were. Well, I am here to tell you that they are none other than... earplugs!

Yes, I've been wearing these babies every night for the past week and a bit. Why? This picture might give you a bit of a clue.

Traffic noise!

This is officially London's busiest road. It is also the loudest. I took this picture at about 8.30am today but it could have been taken at any time of night or day. The traffic is ceaseless, unrelentless and maddening. There is something very wrong when people are prepared to lock themselves into little metal boxes that seemingly go nowhere for great periods of time, all sitting there on the road to nowhere while the people living in the houses nearby go half-demented because of the racket.

This unbearable noise has only become an issue for T and I in recent weeks. This is because we moved out of our flat -- to let the builders get on with the job of renovating our bathroom, bedroom and hallway -- and into a house-share two-and-a-half miles down the road in salubrious Chiswick. We are staying in a huge bedroom that has bay windows overlooking the A4, a 6-lane road, which crosses west London.

I'm not joking when I say the traffic noise is unremitting. Every second of every day this road is filled with vehicles -- buses, trucks, cars, motorbikes, vans -- travelling into and out of London. Where are all these people going? I keep asking T. And, more importantly, do they really need to be going there at 3 in the morning?

Even when they are gridlocked -- which is quite a lot of the time (up until 11pm on Tuesday night!!) -- the noise of motors idling and horns blaring is unbearable.

Wearing earplugs is the only way I can attempt to keep the noise at bay, but even then I can still hear it rumbling away in the background. Going to bed is no longer a relaxing activity, but a battle with a car-centric culture that turns quiet neighbourhoods into a never-ending din. I can no longer lie in bed to read. I can no longer lie in bed to sleep!

When I do finally manage to get some shut-eye it is fairly intermittent. I woke up the other morning to find my hands clenched into balls. The last time that happened was about three years ago when I was working on a very hectic magazine and had to see a sports massage therapist because my entire upper body had "locked" into one giant ball of stress.

I really cannot wait to return to our flat, with our nice new bathroom and redecorated bedroom, but mainly because it is so damn quiet and peaceful. I will never take the serenity for granted ever again!

Here we go again

At the risk of this blog turning into a chronicle of my ill health, I'm here to report that I am sick -- again. After my recent upper respiratory tract infection and conjunctivitis, I experienced a week of good health and then, on Tuesday night, I could feel myself coming down with something.

Initially, I thought it might have been hayfever, but then I developed a barking, chesty cough and I knew I needed to get it sorted.

I took yesterday off work and this morning made an emergency appointment to see my doctor. He has diagnosed a chest infection, but he also believes that I have asthma. He has prescribed some antibiotics and an inhaler. I'm to go back in 8 weeks for a proper asthma test, as he's not sure whether it's simply linked to the infection or whether it's a separate, ongoing problem I need to deal with.

The only good thing to come out of all this shenanigans is that I seem to have finally cured my long-term caffeine addiction: I have gone right off coffee this past month or so. I might have a morning coffee on a weekend but then go for an entire week before having another. This, I think, is positive.

Falling apart

I went to the pharmacy after work tonight and bought the following items - this might give you some idea of my current state of health:

• Ibuprofen - for back pain
• Cough medicine - for chesty cough
• Antibiotic eye drops - for conjunctivitis
• Vitamin C and zinc tablets - for an ever-suffering immune system.

Unfortunately I couldn't find anything to sort the throat infection which now seems to have worked its way into my inner ear, so that I'm now going deaf (as well as blind). 

God knows what I am going to be like when I'm a (really) old woman!

------------------ Sent with Instant Email from T-Mobile

Sick note #2

Bugger. I have come down with my first ratty cold of the year, and my second in a month.

Once-upon-a-time I never got colds. Then I got pneumonia in November 2006 and ever since I seem to get the sniffles on a regular basis.

I eat well -- with an emphasis on fruit juice, vegetables, fish and free-range/organic  chicken -- so it's not like I don't know how to look after myself. But I am stressed (I have been acting news editor at work, as well as editor, since mid-November), so I'm sure that takes its toll.

I moaned about this to a nutritional therapist late last year, and he advised me to take twice-the-recommended dose of echinacea and garlic tablets to boost my immune system, and to do this one month on, one month off for at least 6 months. He also told me to cut out white bread and white sugar -- not difficult given I very rarely eat either.

I decided to forgo the garlic tablets, because I use a lot of garlic in my cooking.

But I did buy some Echinaboost only to find the recommended dose was 2-3 tablets three times a day -- that's 6-9 tablets a day. And if I'm to double the dosage, that's up to 18 tablets a day!! There's only 80 in the pack, which means they're not going to last long -- and at £6 a box, that's an expensive habit to take up.

Still, I'm beginning to think I've got nothing to lose (except -- and please excuse the crudity -- some snot), so I might have to follow his recommendation properly instead of just chewing the odd tablet when I remember to take them.

Anyone got any recommendations for keeping colds at bay?

Down time

I don't have to take a Myers Briggs personality test to know that I am one of those people that recharges my batteries by spending time alone, either in quiet contemplation or by doing something restful such as reading, watching TV or, dare I say it, blogging.

I'm not a natural extrovert and it often requires a great effort for me to actively interact with people, whether it's managing staff at work, meeting new people or simply talking to friends on the phone. This is not to say I don't like communicating with others, just that I sometimes crave my own company -- and woe betide anyone who crowds me or tries to chat when I'm in that "silent mode".

This past week has been an especially exhausting one. I had to switch myself "on" at about 10am last Sunday and I never managed to switch "off" until this morning.

I couldn't wait for Saturday to roll around, if only so I could sleep in, do some reading and lounge about the house without having to worry about print schedules or staff shortages or whether I had remembered to return calls or reply to emails. T is away for the weekend, so I have the place to myself. I slept late, finished one novel and started another, did a stack of laundry, drank endless cups of coffee and then headed for my six-weekly visit to the hairdresser, where I leafed through a pile of glossy celebrity magazines while someone tended my tresses.

Please don't talk to me, I thought. Please don't try to engage. Thankfully my hairdresser explained she was rather exhausted -- her previous client, who wanted a new hairstyle but couldn't make up her mind what she liked, had drained her -- and so I was left, thankfully, in peace. It was blissful. In fact, it was so relaxing I almost fell asleep while she was washing my hair!

I have no plans for tomorrow. Maybe another long lie in and a bike ride if the weather isn't too miserable. But whatever I do it'll be quiet -- I'm still in that recharge-my-batteries mode.

Back to work

The body clock is absolutely screwed.

Eleven days of going to bed late and rising late means I couldn't get to sleep last night and when I finally nodded off, somewhere around 5am (!!), I only got 90 minutes kip before I had to get up again.

I had planned to ride my bike into work -- had set out all my clothes beforehand, so I didn't have to fumble around in a groggy state looking for my kit -- but I was so damn tired I didn't think it would be wise to battle London traffic, which requires 100 per cent concentration and nerves of steel at all times, while I was still half asleep! Of course the cold, the dark and the misty rain had nothing to do with my decision!

There's always something faintly eerie about returning to work after the festive season, almost like the first day of school after a long break. When I left the flat it was 7.30am -- 36 minutes before sunrise -- and I expected the walk to the tube station to be congested with everyone else headed into town. But there was barely a soul around and I crossed the A4 under the glow of orange streetlights without having to push my way past the usual throng of students making their way to the local college.

The tube itself was very quiet, only two other people on the platform, and my carriage only half full.

I guess that means most people have extended their festive holiday break right up until the end of this week. Which means Monday is going to be hell. Which means I am definitely going to ride my bike no matter how dark, cold or wet it is -- and regardless of whether my body clock has decided to readjust itself!

Sick note

I've come down with a ratty cold. Typical. I never seem to get sick on company time!

In the frenetic pre-Christmas rush, I was convinced I was going to get ill.

Two of my staff had shocking colds but only took one day off apiece. To their credit, they snuffled their way through a manic schedule and, fortunately for the rest of us, didn't share their germs around.

I got through Christmas but started feeling "off" on Thursday evening. It took two days for the illness to make itself properly known.

As far as colds go, it's a minor one -- I'm a little snuffly and tired -- so I've nothing to really complain about. And after last year's bout of pneumonia it's a walk in the park!

Here's wishing everyone a happy and healthy 2008!