Block Party and Swim

At my Gutless Rog party dressed as Dr Love, Talking to Dr M.
(We know how to party!)
(Photo by Frances Lee)
(Apologies for mis-nomer)

Sartorial elegance itself

I decided to have a “Gutless Rog” party to celebrate the end of 13 years with UC, and the coming of spring. I used to have lots of parties but not for a long time now.

The day of the party saw me preparing a number party plates; and baking potatoes. This smorgasbord of culinary delight included coleslaw, and Russian carrot salad. The evening arrived, and brought with it lots of old friends from different quarters of my life, and a jolly good night it was too. However parties are not the point of this blog. Lets stick with the nitty-grrrrritty.

The day after the party came and there was quite a lot of salad left over. Reasoning to myself that in the last year or two I had avoided salads and seeds on account of the old gut, and given that I no longer have the offending item, it seemed the sensible and healthy option to pile into the salad. Reasonable surely?

Surely not. Pain. With every wave of peristalsis considerable pain, and no word from Banquo. Not even a mutter. It was really horrible. Clare whipped around the internet reading up on the condition and promptly pronounced me blocked. The worry being that everything could gum and you can end up being nauseas and worse.

I rang the Stoma nurse, and she told me that it would probably unblock in a day or so. Clare prescribed hot water and rest. Which is what I took. On the Wednesday I was teaching and found it quite hard to keep going and I had to keep sitting down.

Anyway, eventually it unblocked thank god. So there was a lesson for me.

Followers of this blog may also be aware of my attempts to get back into swimming and exercise, and the sartorial problems of having a scar that stretches from my ribs to my whatsit, a hole in the side, and a bag.

The answer is a triathlon suit. I got mine from from Swimwear On Line, but I didn’t buy it online as I wanted to look at it and feel how stretchy it was. I phoned them up and spoke to a very helpful man. It would be fine for me to come the factory and look at the garments, and buy one there and then. I mounted my motorbike and set off for Sutton In Ashfield.

As an aside I have to mention that I passed something I had never been aware of before. The Sherwood Observatory.

In the factory I discovered the man, surrounded by piles of swimwear, a line of women operating sewing machines, and the occasional computer. He eyed my up and down and pronounced me 6 foot and about a 33 inch waist. I felt slightly trapped under his microscope for a moment. However I left with a garment stowed in my rucksack.

A few days later I joined a new gym. I felt that the old one was falling apart at the seams, and also that I would rather go somewhere people didn’t know me at all. A man without a past seemed more to my liking.

So it was that I entered the new gym, triathlon suit in my bag, and some excitement in my heart. I was amazed to be given a towel free of charge (this never happened in the old place – 50p they used to charge). The changing room sported an iron, hair dryers and a centrifugal spinner to dry your swimwear! The place had a range of machines that all worked, the pool was small but nice, and there was also a sauna and steam room.

So here are the results of the gym experience:

I was able to use all the machines without anything coming unstuck. The swimwear was perfect – both covering everything up and maintaining a good profile through the water. I’m delighted too, to report that the heat of the steam and the sauna also did nothing to loosen or dislodge any of my “apparatus”.

So, gentle reader, all is good in the world.