Ahoy Cap'n (Statistically Speaking)!

2012-06-16, 10:28 p.m.
Just two exams left, Jooj, just two. Statistics on Monday and Maths on Tuesday and that�s it. Now, go do some revision��.

(with apologies for the poor quality of the pictures � Alas, my camera appears not to have a �Laughter Shake Filter�.)


A better day today, my little cyber-friends. Actually yesterday was kind of Ok too. I think maybe I just really REALLY needed some sleep and maybe I�d kind of been overdoing it a bit, mostly because I keep forgetting that I am sick.

The latest from Cancer Central is that I have got an itchy boob. As far as I can work out, this either means that gangrene has set in or I am starting to get some feeling back in the armpit where they sliced through the nerves. Im kind of hoping for the latter and, as my boob hasn�t gone black or anything, Im thinking perhaps Dr Stepfie is spot on with her diagnosis. I also noticed today that I am habitually wearing much more deodorant on that side as, in my foggy early morning state, I forget that I have no feeling under my arm. This means I cant feel the cold spray of Sure and I always think its not working properly and do the same �Look confusedly at the can, shake it, spray again (but this time pressing the button harder)� thing every morning before I realise and move on to the other armpit.

If you feel the need to snuggle up to me, do it on the left side, as its bound to be the most fragrant and arid side fersure.


The lightening in my mood hasn�t ALL been about torturing my kids with Statistics revision and Not Being Stinky, though. It just seems like the last 48 hours or so have contained more Events of Chirpiness than I can remember happening for a while and they�ve all individually and collectively perked me right up.

First off, out of the blue, I got an email from my dear old friend Cap�n, who has been my friend since before I even started writing here. We�d kind of lost touch a little bit (my fault) but he�d searched via this diary and L�s website and found me and OH its so nice to be back in touch!

I know he�s been reading here so he�s likely to see this, so I�ll tell the story of how he came to be my friend as I remember it, and its bound to be the right version.

(Incidentally, Cap�n, you�re called Cap�n here cos I don�t use people�s real names. I try to think up names that I�ll actually remember next time I come to use them and the best I could come up with is �in charge of a boat�. I know. Don�t judge me. Anyway, I think it makes you sound dashing!)

So anyway, before the internet had properly been invented and was still a thing of wonder and �spending too much time with the black dog� meant looking things up on Lycos rather than having a piss-poor time emotionally (although, that was sometimes true too!) and companies didn�t have a �no social networking� policy, I found out that I could sneer at photos of people I never liked in the first place by looking them up on Friends Reunited.

One time I got a notification that someone had joined who appeared to have been in my year at college so as I was fairly *ahem* popular with the boys in those days (and don�t have a particularly brilliant memory for names) I clicked on the profile to see if it was somebody I had drunkenly shagged knew. I didn�t recognise him from his (very witty) profile but the instruction was to click for photo. When I clicked, there was a lovely photo of a slightly worried looking boy. Unfortunately, the photo was taken when he was about six. It made me laugh and I sent a note, saying that I didn�t remember him from college but thanking him for the laugh and he sent me a note back, saying he didn�t remember me either.

Obviously, this is some kind of fault on his part, as I am totally not as instantly forgettable as that and, in those days, even though I wasn�t necessarily what you might call a conventional beauty, I was often semi-naked/drunk/dancing on a table/ mincing down the halls in 5� heels (and skirts of similar length).

Well, Quelle Horreur! (Yep. French A Level. That�s me.) Not only did he STILL not remember me, but he asked a couple of his friends and they didn�t remember me either!! In fact, he even hinted at one point that my tutor group MAY NOT HAVE EXISTED!

True, I had inexplicably been placed in a Physics tutor group, despite my Art/Eng Lit/French timetable and, like a Penny amongst the Sheldons, had found myself something of an oddity with my big hair and roll-on lipgloss, when faced with an ocean of maroon corduroy and Rush t-shirts. This DID lead to me spending far more time than might have been deemed necessary in the Smoking Shed, disconsolately dragging on a State Express and harbouring �friendships� with boys who drive Cortinas and had moustaches and sported lurex threads in their going-out shirts, but still, Im pretty sure I did EXIST.


Cap�n and I emailed back and forth, at first trying to find common ground but then giving up and just shootin the shit instead, which was fun and seemed a little bit daring in the days when �man I met on the internet� meant �murderer�. I remember talking to him about this thing Id found out about, where you could do a diary and put it on the internet and people could read it and everything and asking him whether he thought it would be interesting. In fact, I remember trying out a couple of �entries� on him weeks before I started writing �for real�. Hee hee, that seems like 100 years ago now, but it was only 2005 or so. I�d met L by then, of course, but Cap�n was easily explained as �a bloke I was at college with�, and there was never anything untoward anyways. We were models of propriety. Just friends.

And we�ve stayed friends � he�s been to my house, Ive met his kids, he bought me a giant �diamond� for my 40th birthday and every time I look at it I have a little smile because it was just about the sparkliest glitteriest bestest present I got�..even though its completely useless. Oh no, hang on, not completely useless � it makes rainbow patterns on the landing when the sun shines through the upstairs window (its on the window sill). Actually, that�s pretty useful � you can never have enough rainbows when youre walking up the stairs.

Anyway, once Id sent the obligatory �OMIGOSH you found me!� email, I got one back from Cap�n and it was lovely and friendly and supportive and just really made my fucking day actually.

Im so pleased to be in touch with Cap�n again that I don�t even care that he�ll probably read this.


In other astonishingly good news, following the visit from Mr Truck Man and the removal from my driveway of my much loved but sadly knackered Mazda, the garage phoned yesterday to say they had fixed the knackeredness and it was now running, so did I want them to MOT it for me? The MOT ran out in December and I�d been told (back last summer) that it �probably� wouldn�t pass another MOT anyway due to the slightly dodgy work Id had done on the catalytic converter. I was pretty sure there were other things wrong with it too but as an MOT costs about �50 and a �fault diagnostic� test thingy from M@zda costs about �90, the MOT seemed a cheaper way to find out what else might be wrong with the car before I try to sell it.

Well, bugger me backwards with a rusty fish fork, it passed the MOT!!!! That means that I can sell it for roughly double what I would have had to sell it for with no MOT! Squeeeeeeeeeeee! I am even still pleased about this when I take into account that I am going to give all the money I get (when I sell it) to my dad, to offset against what he shelled out for my Vauxhall! Yay! YAY! Im well chuffed.

Im going to go pick it up from the garage on Monday and will deffo NOT drive it back home along the motorway, as I fear that driving a sports car, fast, on a long straight bit of road will convince me that I don�t actually want to sell it and that I want to keep it forever and shine it with special polish-of-love and be forever cool and trendy and resolutely NOT the sort of person who drives a Vauxhall people carrier.

You wanna buy a car? You can see it HERE


I might tell you some more about my boobs next time.
Who�d have thought that writing about my boobs could have NO pervy connotations AT ALL?
Don�t tell anyone I was at college with � you�ll ruin my reputation.

Later
S

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