To any regular readers I have to ‘fess up: I didn’t do the dirty deed.
Nope. Feartied oot, so stayed clear of the dye pot last Sunday. Thing was, when I announced my plan to the family during our FaceTime sessions, there were howls of protest: “Your hair looks OK, Mum. The colour is fine.”
OK and fine. Such horribly below-average words. But they fair fooled me. I knew the angle of my phone wouldn’t reveal my white badger stripes, so I tried to part my locks and heidie-doon to the camera. “We don’t see any white,” they lied blatantly, in chorus.
Now the Nice’n Easy session has been put on the back burner until next week, when I’ll maybe have to cut my long-and-lanky locks first. Scissors AND dye? Oh mummy, daddy…
Besides, I literally have bigger fish to not fry. Having given up my beloved Pall Mall Blue Superkings three months ago, when I was getting breathless and had visions of me scootin’ aboot attached to a tank of oxygen, the pechin’ didn’t ease, so my FaceTime choir bullied me into consulting the doc. Me that only goes near a GP when I’ve a limb about to fall off.
But I plucked up the courage, gave her a call and… panic, before I saw her I had to go to the nurses “for bloods”. Doesn’t it sound gory? Blood-phobic Mo here damn near cowked making the appointment.
Then the peer nurse couldn’t find a bloody vein in the first arm she tried (I suspect they were all frozen with terror) so we had to mine into the other arm. Me, as requested, flat-oot on the bed, eyes covered.
A couple of days later, face-to-face with the doc, me up to 99, dreading the results of “the bloods” and the dreaded blood pressure, I near swooned awa’ when she opened her door and confronted me in mask, forehead-attached screen and apron. Straight out of an ancient episode of Dr Who.
The good news is that maybe I don’t have emphysema. The bad news is that the dreaded bloods revealed I do have a galloping case of “bad” cholesterol. And I’m way overweight. How would I not be? Locked down in my hoosie for two months, so enjoying going through recipe books to cook delish thingies for the family (and me) and happy-snackie evenings in front of the telly trying to fend off tobacco withdrawal.
So when I go online to my Asda recurring order later today (how come Tesco doesn’t do something like that?) the entire list will have to be changed – big time.
My beloved (spread it on thick) Anchor butter, delete for Asda Olive Oil spread (gads). Lush custard slices/Victoria sponge/treacle tart – yes, every Miss Piggy week – replaced by… zilch. Irreplaceable. Except for maybe a couple of cartons of plain yukkie yoghurt. That red-cap skimmed milk instead of the green. Adios Doritos and cheesy dips. Hola carrot battons and horrible houmous. But fit’s a fat quine to do?
However, I suspect I’m not really getting the cholesterol-bustin’ message. Last night, I defrosted prawns with a view to making a stir-fry lasting two days. Added mushrooms, onions, chilli sauce, noodles. Utterly delectable. Not too fattening… then I ate the lot in a oner. Too silly!