Yesterday was a mixed day. There were ups - an excellent lunch with some writer mates - and there were downs.

As I may have mentioned in yesterday’s post, the weather was too crappy to go out on my bike so I decided to fly my kite. Having managed to negotiate seventy eight quid off my car insurance premium first thing I was feeling a little smug and decided, after my lunch, that the time had come to work off some of that treacle pudding.

I decided I would fly my power kite, a Flexifoil stacker, which would give me a good upper body work out. After about an hour of fruitlessly trying to launch the sodding thing - it’s not like a delta. You can’t just sit it on the ground unravel the strings and give them a yank when you want to launch. It seems you need a friend to hold it up in the air until it fills and let go. I it will jink wildly to the right, then, a proclivity you can only neutralise with a full length of taught string. I tried putting it up at 10 feet and reeling it out but it wasn’t having any of it. Never mind it came from a car boot so I’m probably assembling it wrong.

Anyway, whatever the cause, me or the kite, it was most annoying…. So I gave up and got the delta wing out, fabulously exact but not such a good work out and it falls to bits EVERY time it crashes and always in a manner that involves scattering invisible black carbon fibre tubes over a radius of about 20 yards - yes, people, I spend more time surfing the internet for replacement parts than I do flying the bloody thing because I lose some important bit of it every time I take it out.

So I flew that for half an hour or so and then I crashed it, as you do. I went and set it up to lift it off again and noticed black clouds were gathering on the horizon and it looked like it was going to rain again, so I thought I would fly it for 15 more minutes or so and then stop. Up it went and somehow, I’m not sure how, I managed to smack my fingertips with rope handle as it went up and drop it. Obviously, on one string, the kite went into a flat spin and plummeted to the ground.

Imagine my surprise and joy (not) to discover the bloody thing had managed to lose it’s main supporting strut on the way down. How the fuck? This is where I get my comeuppance for flying my kite in a water meadow of course, meadow - as in knee-high grass - being the operative word. If you’ve ever walked around in knee high wet grass you will appreciate how damp I became from the knees down (think 18 inch snow).

Realising that I was unlikely to find the kite and get it up and running again before it started to rain I packed away my kite but left it sticking up in its case on the spot where it had landed so I could conduct a search for the stupid effing strut. Taking guestimate wind speed and direction into account, I decided I’d traverse backwards and forwards, moving outwards from the spot where it crashed in an attempt to find the missing strut.

This is where I have to ask why the carbon fibre bits on kites are always black and not florescent yellow and why there are not reflective strips… in light levels like yesterday’s it might also have been useful if it glowed in the dark, I would certainly have found it faster.

Needless to say, as I began, the heavens opened. We’re not talking rain here, we’re talking completely pissing down in sheets. This was the point where I learned, from bitter, real life experience, that I have neglected to put more waterproofing stuff on my Barbour for too long. Yes, it wasn’t so much that it leaked in places, more of a case of there being places where it didn’t leak… but not many. Soon I was completely soaked. Somebody’s thrown a bucket of water over me soaked.

Arse.

Never mind, since I’m fucking sopping anyway it makes no difference how long I stay out there looking for the sodding strut. I determine that I will find the little bleeder if it’s the last thing I do. Ten minutes later the amount of water falling out of the sky appears, miraculously in the light of the amount that was falling out of it, anyway, to have doubled. Things over 20 yards or so distant disappear in a haze of falling rain.

Bollocks to this, I decide. I’m going to give up. I start blundering through the grass to the nearest path and immediately happen up on the strut by accident. A little compassion from on high, I think and a small moral victory. Thank you.

My phone rings. It’s as soaking wet as the rest of me. It’s Mr BC to say he’s about 5 minutes away from home. I am too, I tell him. I squelch back, nice not to have to worry about walking through the puddles, even though it’s a public footpath and they mainly comprise rusty dog water. We arrive at the same time. Kindly soul that he is, while I remove every stitch of clothing - all sodden - throw the bits that can stand it into the washing machine and hang the kites, barbour and shoes up to dry he runs me a steaming hot bath.

As I sink thankfully into the boiling waters a deep sense of contentment steeps into my bones, along with the heat. I gained something from not giving up and once again, I realise how lucky I am that my best friend just happens to be my husband.

Boo! More rain but this time it comes with wind. Yep, God has definitely been at the heavenly Portuguese bean stew. I wish he’d stop. I mean, it’s August for heaven’s sake! It’s not the equinox*.

Here in East Anglia we have gales while the rest of the British Isles has bright sun… like last year then, when Britain had the hottest July and August on record except here in East Anglia where we had the hottest July on record followed by the wettest August… er… before this one that is.

Never mind, while the wind has put paid to my cycle ride today, I can always go for a longer ride next time. I did think of going out anyway and doing my normal route at just under walking pace but the embarrassment of all those little old ladies walking their dogs strolling past me, whilst - purple in the face and pedalling furiously - I creep my bicycle forwards into the wind was too much.

I also toyed with the idea of doing about 20 laps round “the Pits” our local set of gravel pits, which are surrounded by nice cinder tracks in a woodland and therefore wind-free - at ground level anyway - setting.

Trouble is, you can’t really let rip, narrow paths, too may people with dogs too and I don’t like cycling when you’re just clock watching. Even if I went to the special speed ramp at the end and spent an hour or so practising my bunny hops I don’t think I’d have much fun… I don’t think I have the stamina to do bunny hops for an hour, either. So I’ve resigned myself to do a longer ride next time.

In the meantime, although I’m not going to be exercising quite as hard, I do, at least, have a very large kite… and I’m due to meet some mates for lunch in town, so a quick trip to park first to be a loon I think! Well… it’s reasonable exercise… isn’t it?

[Brief interlude while cat appears with bird. BC persuades cat to drop bird because it's alive but once dropped it's not moving. BC fears cat has broken its back so looks other way and tells cat to go ahead and eat bird, then, since it's clearly paralysed. Scuffling ensues and bird, very much alive and un-paralysed disappears behind back of sink. BC locks cat out of kitchen and retrieves bird. Awkwardly, with bird in cupped hands, BC lets cat back into kitchen where he goes straight under the sink to make an extensive search for his wandering snack. BC takes said "snack" outside and lets it go. With remarkable good sense it flies into next door's garden.]

Hello again. Where was I? Oh yes. The rain…

What’s so interesting about all this crap weather is that in my mind I keep formulating parts a letter of complaint! I mean who to? Perhaps I should drop by the Cathedral with a stiff letter of complaint for the Bishop to pass on to the Almighty.

“Dear lord, this global warming thing is the pits! The weather’s fucking terrible and it’s so windy I am unable to go out on my bike! Can’t you do something about it?

Lots of love BC.

PS something approaching daylight - rather than the sub-acquaeous, Stygian gloom we are getting at the moment and have had for weeks and weeks and weeks and weeks, would also be handy.”

I can just imagine His reply.

“Dear BC,

I’m sorry to hear of your predicament which is so much worse than so many other people’s in the world today (not). I suggest you buy a kite and a light box.

Lots of love God.

PS You shouldn’t swear.”

Hey ho…

* Yeh, yeh… I know what it is. Polar ice caps melting push icebergs further south which push the gulf stream further over which means the pissy weather front which normally sits over the Atlantic all summer, kept there by the warm air rising from the gulf stream ends up over Britain and Western France, instead.

[Cat has gone out. BC now duty called to distract cat and check status of bird population. "The time has come to say goodbye..."]

Today I am mostly foiled by shite! Yes, it’s one of those days when if it can be phaffy, pointless and get in the way of progress it’s there.

First up, my post. It contains my credit card bill. My credit card company has changed hands again so this bill has been “simplified” by the new owners, to make it “easier to understand”. In other words, it’s printed on a bigger piece of paper and it tells me less so that there’s more room for the company to advertise its other products. Where my old one would contain records of all my transactions or - if there had been none - it would say “transactions this month, nil” this one contains no detailed information.

Normally that wouldn’t be a problem were it not for the fact that my bill is for “£-4.95 cr”.

Well what the fuck is that? Minus four pounds ninety five credit is a sodding anomaly.

Which do they mean?

Is my account minus £4.95 or £4.95 in credit? I need to know because if it’s minus I have to pay them something before July 25 or they’ll clobber me with a charge for interest or - if I’m mere pence over - a minimum admin rate of more than the interest would have been.

So I dial the 0845 number knowing I will spend the next 10 minutes choosing options and listening to hold music.

Obviously I’m massively chuffed when the first message is a robotic Scottish lady’s voice telling me they have a really high call volume today. Great, clearly I’m not the only one who can’t read their new dumb-arse bill. Never mind, my call will be answered in 9 minutes, that’s better than some call centres I’ve had to deal with on a good day. I wait while the Vivaldi plays and a similarly (also Scottish) female monotone interrupts the good bits to tell me I can save money by giving them more business.

Eventually after 10 minutes the phone is answered by an even more monotone, droning Scottish voice than the previous two recordings - think the slug in Monsters inc saying “you haven’t done your paperwork” only with less charisma, or (if you do obscure TV) the monotone delivery of the Geography teacher out of the Wonder Years.

She clearly thinks I am barking not to realise that CR is credit even when I explain that I do but that I also understand that a minus in front of it would normally be associated with a deficit.

Oh well, a couple of quid to the four winds to be condescended to by a woman who sounded so bored and was so unresponsive as to appear dead. So much so that I wondered if she actually was dead and being controlled by a computer with its hand stuck up her arse. No… I’m sure your average “vitally challenged” individual would have to be way more animated than she was.  This was just the aftermath of a lobotomy.

Next problem, I have a new phone. I have bluetooth headsets for it, one which is just too much of an Essex earring ever to wear in public and one which is a small ear piece with the main bluetooth brick at the end of a string which can be clipped onto my collar/seat belt or secreted in a top pocket rather than having to be worn on the side of my face so I look like some cyborg twat.

For some reason you have to have a security number to pair your phone and your headset up for the first time. Oh dear, both headsets are more than a year old… you can see this coming can’t you? Yep. Could I find the number? Could I bollocks? Never mind, eventually I found one and 0000 gave me access to the hideous Essex earring. The tasteful one is now almost 7 years old and came from Mr BC so only he knows the whereabouts of the box and in it, the security number. Never mind at least I can use my phone in the car today if I have to, even if it does mean looking like a tosser.

Third thing. Recently I have had a bit of trouble with my short-term memory. I’m not sure whether it’s down to a bonk on the head I received in January (see here for details) or hormones - it’s like it was when I was pregnant only I’m not pregnant… it could be some kind of infection, you know, crap in the blood making concentration a bit tricky - it did clear up for a month or two after the BV incident.

Whatever it is, it’s divorcing me alarmingly from reality. It’s as if I’m wearing a candyfloss crash helmet. Yes, nothing is quite… real. Thinking, concentrating, is physically… well… not painful exactly but it makes my head feel numb, weak even, itchy - but itchy on the inside…

During the day, I feel the way you do when you get up in the middle of the night to go to the bog, you know when your body makes its way to the loo on autopilot because really, your brain’s still asleep. It’s like that, only in the middle of the day after 5 cups of coffee… it’s as if I never truly wake up.

I know I’m not explaining it very well and more to the point, I have always been fairly scatty and vague. However, I’ve been able to cope with my vagueness until now. Now, vagueness management stuff that’s worked for me for almost 40 years is failing. My brain is blunt. I am losing my edge.

Obviously, because I have more imagination than sense, I’m scared I have a brain tumor, early dementia (please, god, no) - I’m nearly 40 after all - internal bleeding/bruising from pulling that pull-up bar down (and going with it) in January or something wrong with an important internal organ… kidneys, pancreas, something like that. Alternatively and most likely, it’s hormones and the only way to sort it out will be to go on the pill - just what I want when I’m trying for a baby - until everything settles down again.

Is it scary? Yep. So after worrying about it for six months on or off but being too frightened to go to the doctor in case it was something really grim and of course, forgetting to mention it when I went about anything else, I decided, this morning, that I would book an appointment and sort it out once and for all. The conversation went something like this - obviously the bits in italics are the things I thought rather than said.

“Hello, I would like to book a doctor’s appointment…” …because I appear to be losing my marbles.

“I’m terribly sorry we can’t book any appointments today, our computer system has gone down. Can you call back tomorrow?”

“No! You don’t understand! I can’t call back tomorrow, I’m having problems with my short term memory! I won’t fricking REMEMBER to call you toSODDINGmorrow because I’m losing my fucking mind!” Said my brain.

Luckily it came out of my mouth as.

“Yeh, sure, no worries. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Yes, another one.  Here is what he says.

uy7h7777777777777777hhhhhhhyujjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj

I’m not sure what it says because he he can only type Norwegian.  He is, if he is anything, a Norwegian Forest Cat but we think his cabriole legs might point to a dash of Persian, too.

Actually he’s telling me that it’s time to leave my office and go back to the  house.  He’s right, supper calls!

Hard to say this without sounding trite, or terse or just generally wrong but thank you all for your messages yesterday.  Your kind thoughts were much appreciated.

Pipple Toot.

Take two simple, seemingly innocuous words, run them together to make a web address and you get something a little more scary. Ah!  The nuances of language! Enjoy…

1. Who Represents - where you can find the name of the agent that represents any celebrity.

Their Web site is www.whorepresents.com

2. Experts Exchange - a knowledge base where programmers can exchange advice and views at

www.expertsexchange.com

3. Looking for a pen? Look no further than Pen Island at

www.penisland.net

4. Need a therapist? Try Therapist Finder at

www.therapistfinder.com

5. There’s the Italian Power Generator company

www.powergenitalia.com

6. And don’t forget the Mole Station Native Nursery in New South Wales,

www.molestationnursery.com

7. If you’re looking for IP computer software, there’s always

www.ipanywhere.com

8. The Methodist Church (in Cumming, GA) Web site is

www.cummingfirst.com

9. And the designers at Speed of Art await you at their wacky Web, site

www.speedofart.com - is that a bubble in your trousers or are you pleased to see me!

10. Thank you Brian, www.wankerscorner.com - only hilarious if you’re British but there we go. I love the bit which says.

“Stop by our online gift store a pick up your official WANKERWEAR today!”

I certainly will, I’ve always wanted to be a tosser!