A chance to exchange notes on the little everyday things that cheer you up when you're down, or make an ordinary day into a better one. Winning move unaltered.
Toiling on a bicycle through gale-force head winds with blustery sideswipes for several miles, for the feeling of achievement when I finally get where I'm going.
Being advised overnight that one has a new, shiny and bright grandson brought into to the world. He will, hopefully, carry on the family name (My previous grandchildren are girls).
[Dujon] Felicitations. Unlikely that my surname will be carried on to future generations, but as it is one of the more common ones, that isn't a problem.
Sitting at my desk at home, eating chocolate, drinking tea, and editing an opinion piece by someone else, after which (post 5pm) I can work on my own blogpost what I have been invited to write for one of the tourist websites of my native Lincolnshire. There's work, and there's work that I like doing.
Respiration. The Bronchitis is ebbing, the pneumonia is *not* taking hold and I can finally breathe without coughing, wheezing and my life flashing before my eyes as I strain to pull volumes of life-sustaining air into my tortured lungs.
Azathoth, I hope I go in an explosion or freak 16 ton weight accident. The Old Man Standard Death sucks balls if this trial run is anything to judge by.
[Stevie] Sympathies and get-well-completely wishes. My entry shall be Freedom from the crap microbe which screwed me over for most of December, involving robbing of life energy and torso-wrenching coughing, compounded by pulling my right IT muscle and contracting conjunctivitis to boot. Not a month I wish to relive.
Finding a home workaround for restless legs I get restless legs. Lying awake in bed at 3.a.m., 4 a.m., 5 a.m. with a pair of legs that think they want to go for a half mile run while the rest of me just wants to go to sleep is like Chinese water torture . My known exercise workarounds are to tire 'em out by going for a long walk, or running up and down a flight of stairs 6-10 times or pedalling furiously on an exercise bike for a couple of miles. But I live in a flat and have no stairs (and no exercise bike), so the two quick and easy workarounds were not available to me at home. Very, very glad to have found a life hack that I can do at home that also works and doesn't take the couple of hours the walk takes.
[Simons] You're going to tell us what it is, aren't you...? Sorry to hear of your case, it must be horrible to face up to confinement. Very glad you have found a solution.
[Simons] Yeah, what is your fix for the problem? (I bought a treadmill on Friday. Half of it was delivered on Saturday, the other half came this morning. I have paid for it by not having to buy petrol to drive to work for the next 6 weeks. I am imagining walking and listening to half-hour episodes of the Goon Show or Poirot or Paul Temple)
Well it's a home hack; I realized my futon base is at a usable height for 'step training'. Really it's far too high for proper step training but as I need the equivalent of running up at least 6 flights of stairs two steps at a time it'll do. Normally a divan-like bed would be too soft, but mine's got two tatami mats in it so it's firm enough to step on repeatedly. For restless legs, the NHS suggestions include taking a hot bath in the evening, or applying a hot or cold compress to your leg muscles - only cold works for me. In fact I also discovered that my legs don't get twitchy as long as they remain cold, so I sleep with not just my feet but my legs outside the covers, and provided it's not too warm a night that also works. Unfortunately my exercise tolerance and cold tolerance are increasing with practice, so my legs and I are locked in an arms race. And when it's too hot, tiring them out (by any expedient method) is my only fix.
Practising pedal notes on the trombone. It's taken me 25 years to get the hang of this, for some reason. A wonderful rich farty sound that shakes the very walls.
The day I realised that my musical skills would never lead me to buying a musical instrument, brass or otherwise. It was the brass involved that disillusioned me.
(Duj) Musical instruments, especially new ones, are a ludicrous price and there's a lot of pretentiousness involved. The keys of a bassoon, so I was told by a bassoon player, are made put of silver. Why silver? Brass would do, or chrome-plated mild steel or even cast iron or even nylon, which is strong stuff. It's all bollocks, I tell you. Everything is. I could go on.