Rubbish

Oh, I'm so tired today - I got zilcho sleep last night. Thanks in no small part to doing absolutely naff all for two weeks, I think my brain has gone into overdrive - and a speeding brain is no good when you want some zzzzzs. I ended up listening to England v New Zealand on Radio 4 LW (no digital radio for me, you see) til 3.00 am.

I was so awake and bored I even texted in to the TMS people - and it got read out LIVE on radio (something like: "Listening in bed recovering from a knee op - great to hear Vaughan back from a knee injury blah blah di blah. Ben from Swindon"). Seems my radio career isn't over yet, huh?

But back to the RUBBISH STUFF we should put in Room 101 - Yr Chairman has crafted some gems which I wanted to share with you, as well as a few more I've dreamt up. We REALLY HATE these things...

The song Take My Breath Away from Top Gun
Crop tops for toddlers
Vacuum packed screws
Impossible-to-open hard plastic packaging for miscellaneous electrical items from Comet
Tiny 'funky' plastic dustbins
Sharon Osborne
Tracking orders on the internet that tell you what time your order was received at some distribution centre in Harlow but not when you'll actually get it
Australian cricketers' nicknames
Footballers who kiss their rings when they score
Thierry Henry looking all serious and arrogant when he scores
Tiny open decks on ferries
Old people in the Post Office early in the morning
Footballers who suck their thumbs when they score
Vanilla Ice
Rubbish disposable razors with two blunt blades that only your Dad seems able to use without turning his face into a blotchy mess
Carpets in toilets
Free DVDs of Allo Allo in the Star
Old men's combs
Giblets
Not being able to get to sleep
People who tell you how well they slept when you tell them you had a really bad night's kip
Massive four-page "books of the year" articles in broadsheet newspapers, where hundreds of poncey people you've never heard of tell you that they read some book about some ancient politician (who you've also never heard of) which was "just brilliant"
Cheese Flavoured Moments
Fosters
Tequila
Shopping on Saturdays
The queues in Boots
Microsoft Word
Tight people, esp. people who leave a group meal early and don't leave enough money
Shaving
Ironing
Pubs with too many TVs in them

So, what do you think? Anything to add?

Hospitals # 2

Some more musin's on 'ospitals. Any guesses what that thing above is? Well, after my op, through a fog of anaesthetic, painkillers, sugary tea and digestives, I asked if I could go to the toilet. The nurse promptly handed me one of these things, whipped the curtains around my bed, and told me to "buzz when I'm done".

Now, I'm afraid to say I get stagefright at the best of times, but it's a weakness I've been working on, much like a cricketer who has been ruthlessly exposed outside off-stump, and has gone back to work on his foot movement with an elite batting coach. However, no amount of work or practise in the nets could have prepared me for this. I blurted out my first concern before the nurse had a chance to leave: "How am I meant to work this?" She gave me a shrug and a half-smile as if to say, "You'll work it out, you BIG GIRL."

I can hear you laughing, but it really wasn't easy. I had no feeling in my left leg, which in any case had a dirty great tube filled with blood coming out of it. I had a drip in my left arm, and was hooked up to a computer monitoring blood pressure, oxygen in the blood, and how badly I needed a wee (possibly). The ward was full of people oblivious to my torment, chatting, coughing, groaning and generally putting me right off the task in, ahem, hand. And one nurse after another kept poking their head through the curtains, "Are you done yet?" No, I'm FLIPPIN WELL NOT DONE YET. CAN'T YOU SEE THIS IS AGONY?

It was near impossible, and took me all of two hours to get the merest dribble out into the cardboard tube-thingy, which I promptly forgot about and tipped on to my leg. I varied my methods of attack - under the covers, over the covers, left side, right side, good leg on the floor... I even tried to get my bad leg down, and immediately remembered that it was completely numb from the upper thigh down, and had thus turned into a two-tonne elephantine limb which was impossible to shift.

Every time I approached the promised land, a nurse, visitor - even Yr Chairman - would appear and leave me exasperated. I was concentrating so hard sweat was pouring down my face. The nurses were laughing at me. Something had to be done. I decided on a change of attack - ignore it.

So I picked up The Guardian sport section, read some nonsense about 'Cricket Australia' (a side issue: anyone else resent the reversal of normal English when it comes to naming sporting bodies, Cricket Australia, Team GB etc - what's wrong with 'Australian Cricket'?) objecting to Cricinfo calling Justin Langer a 'brown-nosed gnome' (Craig would've been proud of that one), and lo! It all came gushing forth. A veritable torrent. The relief was unconfined.

I buzzed for the nurse and beamed at her as I handed over my pot of warm piss. Happy days! I even asked for another tube, and was slightly concerned later that night when I had a full conversation with a nurse whilst I was weeing into my pot under the covers. An odd sensation, I can tell you. By morning time I had three warm pots to hand over, and all was well with the world once more.

The moral of the story? There's nothing like Australians taking themselves too seriously to help you (take the) piss.