Resting

Well weekend is here and all I can think of is doing nothing. I am absolutely shattered; course directing ALS will do that to you. Can't grumble though, everyone passed. I have been an ALS instructor for as long as I can remember and I actually still love it. My favourite bit is teaching with lots of different people and my faculty are just great.
This course was quite special for me as the medical director was someone I have sat next to for a great many years in the faculty room. It was a nice piece of home and again I didn't miss the north too much as  it was nice to have a bit of my old employment within my new. Not that I am saying he is old, (smiles). Jersey faculty are exceptionally brilliant and it was great to have some of my long suffering ALS pals teaching with them. The faculty dinner was my usual of telling jokes with actions and ridiculous stories.

One of the guys that came to help teach, I have known quite a long time and my lasting memory of him is at a wine tasting event in Budapest. We managed to charm bottles rather than the odd glass from those wanting us to taste their wares. It was hilarious fun, discounting missing the vehicular and walking through Budapest with an increasing heart rate; only to be diagnosed the following week as having ventricular tachycardia. For those not in the know with such medical matters, that equates to a life threatening rhythm that can finish you off! I am all fixed now fortunately.
I may of never got to writing this blog had I indeed passed out at the top of St Stephen's basilica in Budapest following being told "come on use the steps its healthier" by my then boss. She  is one for expanding your lungs. She was forgiven as she saved me one day by a good old precordial whack in our little resus portacabin. Oh the memories!

I wanted to take him somewhere lovely to appreciate how fab Jersey is, so the Oyster Box it was. Wow what a place that is with beautiful views and exquisite food. Anywhere that serves a cucumber martini has to be fabulous.

We started out all sophisticated with champagne and ending in brandies you need to sell a kidney for but as the evening progressed my pal and I got giddy. I forgot to mention my beau was also in attendance. As he meets all of my pals he gets more of an insight into me. I know I should be all demure but in the company of friends I just get more giddy and have ridiculous conversations. This was no exception.

I wanted to know more about a gay networking site. I won't mention the name but in essence it flashes up how close a possible date is. So we decided to download it during dinner. We were laughing and looking at pictures and shrieking oooh look he is only 0.7 miles away but he looks amusing. We weren't up to anything but I was too interested in the fascination of it. It was like chat roulette ( see previous post) but better. I became acutely aware I had gone into a bubble chatting to my pal and on turning round to include beau in the conversation, he remarked oh you can't get it on a blackberry. He had been trying to have a look at the application, (laughs). That's the thing he just fits and can adapt to all his surroundings. That's why he is so great. He isn't in the medical profession as most of my friends are. He can however engage in a good conversation, that doesn't require any effort.

Its been 2 months of dating and as he fits so well with my pals we are having a party. Today was about meeting with my pal's husband who is a professional Japanese cuisine chef that caters for private events. I have no idea why I was so nervous of them meeting my beau, but I was and went into school girl mode. I couldn't stop giggling and going bright red. When asked had I thought through what I wanted for the party, how the house would be laid out, how many guests and what food did I want I just answered with a giggling "don't know". I think I was so nervous because its a sort of an official together thing with sophisticated private catering. At least my virtual noose has slipped and I now seem a bit more comfortable in the "together" bit   I just need to get over going bright red and being all coy.

I have invited about 30 guests and I know it will be fun. I have no doubt there will pictures on my blog following it. The authentic professional chef is even making vegetarian sushi for me, which means I won't have to sit in the corner with a cheese sandwich. I think he is doing that because I had a dream I was grating cheese all over the place in his professional kitchen and he threw me out. I am sure he wouldn't want me under his feet in my kitchen as he prepares the sashimi whilst I fling Red Leicester everywhere. He is sweet natured but even the mild mannered would have issue with me asking where the branston was, whilst they were preparing the sea bass. So vegetarian sushi it is then. 

I return to the UK next week to re- validate my newborn instructor status, so hopefully I will catch up with some of you. So ta-ta for now. 

Ahhhhhh Grasshopper

Well the weekend started  with yet again being  a bit arduous. It seems limitless at the moment, but my evening was spent in the Jersey Opera house watching Nerina Pallot. Below is both inside and outside of the Opera house. Its  a rather grand building and the acoustics are amazing.

Generally the support act can be a bit pants. For example, imagine my surprise when Bobby Davro was Barry Manilow's support act. A big act like that with ruddy Bobby Davro. However Nerina had the most gorgeous unassuming girl with the greatest talent called Frankie Davies. She is most definitely one to watch and her voice was quite lovely.

  

Of course I can't go anywhere without incident, whilst enjoying the dulcet tones of Nerina I was conscious of whispering behind me and people shifting their seats. I became acutely nervous when someone was heard to say someone should tell her. TELL HER WHAT?? 

I was accompanied by the chap I am dating, they whispered something to him. God and I thought I had de-moosed myself, fortunately they weren't whispering God are you doing charity work bringing the moose out? I had a ruddy great big grasshopper on my head and that's what had frightened my fellow theatre goers off. One guy had moved 3 rows behind I kid you not! I am not sure of the capacity of the opera house but I can tell you there was more than flamin me there. Why did it have to sit on my head? Maybe it heard I had developed a Snow White complex and it wanted to come live with the rest of David Attenborough's groupies. (You need to be a serial blog reader to get this reference). After my significant other (god did I say that, noose,noose) rescued me from the creature  Mr  3 rows back cowardy pants returned to his seat and order was restored.

I could of had so much to write if I had accepted the invite I had for Saturday, but I was otherwise engaged. I am repeatedly nipping myself for turning down the Jersey mens water polo team competing in the islands dragon boat race. I know girls stone me, how could I turn such a thing down. Sadly the chap that is the water polo sportsman who  invited me; his team came second. Apparently they were robbed I can believe that because this chap is just lovely and genuine. In fact the department he works for were from the offset very supportive to me both professionally and personally. Equally important is none of them have had a sense of humour bypass. They are fun and fab at what they do.

I wanted one of this gang to come play out with me to support his colleague but he remarked he couldn't for fear of getting swamped by people wanting Rod's autograph. Cheeky sod This was born out of the fact I needed a haircut and had started to look like Rod Stewart . This coming from a guy who swears he heard a pterodactyl in his flat, not a cat or a dog or even a trapped bird in the attic but a dinosaur with a 40 foot wing span that lived 6000 years ago. I think being seen with Rod Stewart is the least of his problems (winks as I know he is reading this). Fortunately the third musketeer that makes up the group who is a fab chickadee can keep dino man in check. 

When work is tough I often find myself sat in their corner, sometimes its just for comfort. In the same way I used to go sit in the medical engineers workshop in my previous post. Everyone needs a sanctuary.  

Sunday was a staying in affair as I decided it was appropriate to give Jersey a rest from my antics. 

Well its already Tuesday and so far its not too bad. Looking forward to tomorrow, when some old colleagues, not ancient ones but those from my previous job, fly out to teach for me. I know it will be a hoot!

Right I am rambling so I will leave you with the dulcet tones of Nerina Pallot. I always feel quite happy when I watch this, enjoy!

If you could be anything....what would it be?



My eyes are up here!

When I was very small I wanted to be Wonder Woman. As a child I didn't realise that Wonder Woman was hot. I just thought she had a nice sparkly top and I was mesmerised by her lasso of truth. Looking at her now she was indeed very hot, and if I am honest if I could be her now and get away with it I  surely would. I don't think I am in Linda Carter's league (the woman that played her), after all she was once Miss World USA. The only thing I have ever won in my life was a tin of corned beef at the church tombola. However not to be disheartened as a child I thought I could take on her persona. So I made a hairband out of paper and drew a star on it and stuck it to my head with sellotape. The lasso of truth was fashioned from a dirty bit of rope I found up the black path. Endlessly I would spin in my front garden trying to lasso unsuspecting passing people. Well that was until my parents felt I needed to be kept inside for fear the neighbours may think they had a "simple child". I loved my moments as Wonder Woman. or as the other children called me "meatball with the dirty rope". (With a surname as Campbell there is no escaping the term meatball. Even my A level sociology teacher called me Miss Meatball 1970 (birth year) for 2 years).

As I started to grow older I then became obsessed with Quincy and Columbo. I thought oh I know I can do something like that when I grow up. It was pointed out to me that Quincy cut people up and policeman generally aren't like Columbo. Possibly a good idea I changed my mind. Although I always wanted to be a nurse, secretly I also wanted to be some form of detective. So I took my A levels to embark on being a barrister. I never got there, here I am a nurse and glad of it. All those detective programmes stand nurses in good stead. "So you haven't taken any drugs have you" " Really someone spiked your chips with temazepan" "Get away, you fell on the ketchup bottle".

Today has been a rougher day than yesterday and I find myself asking "Could I do this forever?" and "Are there any requirements for ageing, chubby wonder women?" I do love what I do and if I was ever passionate about anything resuscitation is it. However do I want to be running to cardiac arrests when I am 65 years old. So if I could be anything, what would it be?

For most girls they find themselves tending to children and grandchildren; being involved in their lives. I don't mean exclusively as my friends who are mummys are off to torment Palma tomorrow and I can't imagine they will be all "mummy like".  I decided not to embark on being a mummy, who knows in times to come maybe I did miss out, but I am content with my decision.

My other love besides Columbo is books, for which I have many. Lots of friends have Kindles and I can see the appeal of just taking that on your jollies rather than lugging 5 books. After all, these days you have to sell a kidney to meet the excess baggage fees.

Me, I am not that taken by them. I like the smell of books, the feel of them as you turn each page. The recent addition to my collection is quite old and smells of moth balls and the pages are increasingly worn but it doesn't matter for the title is worth the fusty odour " The book of Laughter". With little gems in it like "How to remove a jersey without disturbing the waistcoat" just tickle me no end. Right where am I going with this? Oh yes what I want to be. Well I would love to own a bookshop and have the aroma of coffee and cupcakes displayed, all encased in a very vintage looking shop. If I am honest I don't rightly care if no one bought anything as long as they loved thumbing through the pages like me. Anyway to buy some cup cakes these days you have to remortgage your house. I could live off the proceeds of them. I am taken by the idea of wearing flowery frocks, wearing butterflies in my hair and adorning red lipstick whilst looking for some odd book.

The health care environment is worthwhile but I think a bookshop would reflect the real me. I doubt it will ever happen and have no doubt the pages I thumb as I age will belong to the latest green paper but a dream is something that comforts me.

Now where is that dirty old rope I have some spinning to do?

I had to edit the post and add that I played the above tune so many times it made me want to spin round in my lounge. I bet wonder woman never fell out her flip flops and banged her head on the dining table! 

Yes we have no Bananas

Well as usual I have had an extraordinary weekend. A girlie in my directorate said yesterday "Irene how do you get yourself into such things" For those that know me they know I "get into many things". I can't help it I just adore difference, my friends will say that translates to I adore odd bods. Maybe I do but isn't that just fun.

I am still dating and its going swimmingly. He met some more of my pals on Friday night. The verdict "he is really lovely" One shouldn't seek approval from one's peer group but every little bit helps. I dated a guy once who was an economics student. He was uber clever and with hindsight we had nothing in common. It didn't help that my friends nicknamed him beer bottle; possibly because he was always pissed. I thought students had to be pissed. I dated him for a few months. I had many a deep meaningful conversation with him, with hindsight I think it was all a load of bollocks. I was 19 what was I to know. Maybe I should of listened to my friends echo "beer bottle".

Rugby world cup is here and I love a bit of rugby. Granted it started out from drooling rather than skill. When I started as a junior staff nurse in ED in Preston, I seemed to just date rugby players. My first had a Dennis the Menace tattoo on his arse. I thought this reflected individuality. It didn't it just signified public school boy nonsense. That lasted a whole month. The termination of that was due to a contraceptive issue! One dark night, he had been responsible and brought his own condom. However he forgot to inform me it was a glow in the dark one. I felt like I was oh la-la-ing  Luke Skywalker every time he changed position he wafted past me like a light sabre. Not one to miss an opportunity for amusement I started doing the light sabre noise. He wasn't amused, so within the week we parted company.

Yet again I digress, I was leading to the fact that I was in the pub with a pal watching England at 930. They played rubbish but at least we won which is a start. My pal for rugby company  bogs off to New Zealand to watch the rest of the games tomorrow. How posh is that? I will have to find a new sporty playmate. The gentleman I met Sunday night I think would be game!

So Sunday! Dinner overlooking Bonne Nuit harbour, where my very first date was with my beau. Fortunately it was him that I was with. After dinner a scoot round a few of the bays was really lovely. Bouley Bay and Rozel were the order of the evening. I have been here over a year and I had never been. Problem with visiting such places I always find myself wanting to move nearer the sea. If it was possible I would have a house on stilts in the middle of the sea. The beauty for me isn't in the view so much but its the noise. I love the sound of crashing waves, its relaxing. The sea at night is even more beautiful. The final leg of the adventure terminated in a quaint pub where I met the most jolliest of fellows. I knew he would be value for money when he danced around the bar shouting "yes I have no bananas". He was exceptionally posh and and a tad inebriated. With him following me to the juke box shouting "you ain't seen anything yet honey bunch"; I knew the night could only get better. For those that remember the Fast Show, they may recall Rowley Birkin QC. This chap was like that but upright. For those that have no clue what I am on about I have included a video.

He was quite fun and half the time I had no clue what he was talking about, except he kept calling me darling. His finest moment was when his chosen song played on the jukebox. He twirled, dipped and danced with me to Fly Me to the Moon. I love that song as it is the epitome of old time glamour and despite being quite drunk he was light on his feet and quite the mover. I quite liked being danced in the pub to such an old time classic. I did make a sharp exit though after he dragged me back up by the hand shouting "darling I haven't finished with you yet" Frank Sinatra' "That's Life" had started to play. I don't think I could of coped with a constant twirling. So we bid our good nights and I departed for home. Weekends here seem to be filled with fun, so what more can any one ask. I am reminding myself of this fact as today has been quite a  hard traumatic day. One where I find myself missing my old place of work. So I am gritting my teeth and wishing for Friday. Who knows readers I might have more stories to tell. As I told my pal yesterday "I just get in to things". I am glad I do, its what keeps me sane when things are crashing round me. So perhaps I will return to Rozel and ask my latest dance partner if he wants to be my new rugby friend. Maybe whilst the All Blacks do their Haka, we can do "Yes we have no Bananas". 

Oh I forgot to mention. I met my beau's sister on Sunday. It was quite charming, meeting. I wore a pretty frock, had straightened hair and make up on. Its official the moose has left the hoose.

There is a moose loose about this hoose!

Well here I am back in Jersey after a few days back in England. I only cried a little bit returning home. Its the first time I didn't feel I wanted to move back. It was a flying visit so if I didn't get to catch up with you, maybe I will see you in a couple of weeks when I return to teach at Preston.
I am back quite a bit over the next few weeks, here is hoping I don't get home sick again and am cured. It rained all the time. I find that comforting, something about a wet north makes me nostalgic. Silly really.

Staying at the Marriott proved interesting. I think they may of thought I was a high class hooker. Having coffee with 3 different men on a rota system. As one left another entered (no guffawing if you please). All three have a piece of my heart, friendship, old love and new etchings. It was quite the day!

Anyway I am back now and returned to some sort  of normality. Have I told you jersey is an exceptionally small place. You can't do nothing without being spotted. Once spotted the whole world know about it. There is a saying that one should always have clean pants on and not your greying Bridget Jones ones, for chance you are knocked over. I know this as when the Irish transvestite knocked me over in Dublin, first thing I thought was "bugger am I matching". I was on my holidays so fortunately I had my best holiday underwear on.



£1.10 to the hospital please

 There is a point to this. When you date someone new everyone you meet who knows them; well you have to project a aren't I fab and gorgeous image, but this is Jersey, you are likely to be spotted not looking so gorgeous. This morning a woman clouted me by accident on the bus with her handbag. It was apparently new beau's sister! She was uber glamorous and more concerning I looked like a moose. No makeup, wet hair and rocking to my ipod. Whats worse she has never met me and texted beau asking if it was me. This concerns me; has he told his family and friends I am dating this girl; terrific personality but she looks like a moose. If he didn't how on earth did she recognize me. She said I was cute. Maybe that was in a special way, I was rocking to my ipod after all. Now everyday I will have to wear full ruddy makeup with freshly straightened GHD hair. Its sooo not fair. Now I know what celebrities feel like. I mean who wants to feature in heat magazines crap spot. This morning I had my moment of shame. Not anymore because every day I am going to  be fabulous darling.

Everyone loves a banker!

Happy bank holiday readers! I know some of you don't get such a luxury due to living in countries that don't subscribe to the bank holiday, so my sympathies are with you.
My weekend was going to be about catching up on home jobs and relaxing, errr, hmmnn well I have done about 25% of that. I need to learn the word no, I have things to do, but its too much fun to be out having a ball. This weekend was no exception.

Most people know that I write this blog, that a saying has developed. "Blog it!" Singing like a virgin on a stage last night called for people to shout "blog it". There is also the other side of the coin, where friends say don't you dare blog it. Of course I don't and always adhere to some level of appropriate conduct. This blog is about my journey, here in Jersey. Yes, some of you are sharing the ride, but I keep you anonymous.

For those that follow this blog, you will be aware of the early drinking phenomenon I am practicing. There is something great about being in the pub on a Friday after an arduous weeks work. I set out with good intentions and told myself that I was going to have a couple and if I was going to stay out I had to eat. Do scampi fries constitute eating?
Ooooh scampi fries now if there was ever a socially unacceptable snack, the scampi fry would be it. I love them, but they have a rather ghastly odour. Its not like you can eat them in secret, I would know I tried once. My ex hated the smell of them, and wasn't so keen on me puckering up his way if I had indulged. Difficulty was, I really love them. So one particular day wearing gloves I indulged. Operation toothy peg brushing and spraying perfume, I thought I had managed a cover up. He just shouted scampi fries as he came into the kitchen. I knew I should of buried the empty bag at the bottom of the garden. Anyway I have gone off at a tangent. So where was I, oh yes Friday. Well my good intentions were rubbish, leaving the pub to go to the co-op to purchase milk, I found my self going on a detour with my friend which seemed to last to the early hours. Thank heavens I had those scampi fries.

Saturday was relaxing and the activities that day could constitute doing a job round the house. However it was essential that another friend and I went to the farm shop for cooked breakfast before we set off on a ground force day. My garden decked area is now like some sensory experience. Scented flowers and shrubs, bright colours and of course my butterfly tat. Even my vegetables look better, they were slightly neglected, as I had got preoccupied over the last month with someone else. There is more to do, and although my friend felt bad for as she described "taken over", she truly hadn't. I loved her vision about what could be accomplished. Had it not been for her I possibly wouldn't of started it.

Yesterday was supposed to be a relaxed day. Sundays are my favourite days. Pottering, chilling out, reading papers, Sunday lunch and catching up on x factor.  I met my friend for coffee. I was very specific I am only having one latte, he too was very specific I am only staying out for 30 mins.
Then it happened, whilst drinking our coffees we heard a "pop" from the next table. You can't mistake that "pop" sound. I adore that noise and looking at my friends face so does he. It had to be done! So we decided to drink something that made a pop sound.
What he doesn't know about wine isn't worth mentioning, so it was only the right thing to do and embark on a lesson. We needed another  bottle of wine to do that! However we boxed smart and ordered tapas whilst we, or I should say me, listened intently about wine information. Dusk was drawing in and it would of possibly been wise to totter off home. Unfortunately I received a text of another little soiree occurring somewhere else. So off we trotted.

Which brings me to like a virgin! I hate karaoke, simply hate it. The awful noise of those that think they are great and all those ruddy Whitney Houston songs! There I was with my friend wiggling  my arse singing like a virgin in flip flops. It seemed to shout odd bod day out. I was in tears laughing. It was a fun night with laughing that nearly kills you. ending on a grand finale with five girls singing "I am what I am, I am my own special creation" in front of a packed pub just seemed an apt way to end the weekend. I am concerned there is possibly video footage knocking around. 50 p for the one that brings it to me.

Right well I have just put my gloves on, not to eat scampi fries but to cut up beetroot for the dinner I am preparing, so I had better scoot. I still haven't done my house jobs yet and there is a possibility someone is going to want to go for coffee this afternoon. You know how easily distracted I get readers, maybe he can come round and watch me hoover.

There is no place like home.

Well, its bank holiday weekend and I thought of returning to the UK, but here I am at home instead. The reason I stayed here in Jersey is because for the first time ever; I stopped calling the North home. This is a huge turning point for me. For endless months I cried and felt home sick, even worse than when I was sent off to France for school. Endless blue steaks I think is what grounded me to be a vegetarian. I didn't appreciate at the time that France was going to be a positive experience for adulthood, in very much the same way I thought Jersey was going to  finish me.

From the day I moved here, I would constantly think

"there is no place like home". Home for me wasn't Kansas but this little city called Preston.

A place  where my friends were, who I would go to Pond with and have tapas and red wine.

A place where I would sit in a garden and watch my friends beautiful daughter giggle as I called her Honey Bee.

A place where I worked somewhere that I loved, where I could walk end to end of a hospital corridor and say several good mornings and know their names.

I don't  think I ever felt a pain like it. I can only equate it to a bereavement. However here I am now sitting in my lovely cottage in my home, called Jersey. I  read a quote today which made me think to write about this particular topic.

"Home is not where you live but where they understand you. "

Christian Morgenstern

I think that's the key, its about being understood and having people around you that love you unconditionally. For my friends that read this that are in the UK, Ireland and Australia we have a history, its established and true friendship. Generally you have been with me with a long time. Here in Jersey I found friends that rapidly became true. There are many here who have become friends but there are six significant ones who rescued me from sinking. Each of them are friends for their own merit.

The friend that made me remember who I was, who taught me how to shake my arse again, who injected a energy into my life which made me forget how I was hurting.

The friend who adorably bought me a bag of happiness, so I could look at it daily in my office whilst I pined for my previous work place, who brought me tomatoes from her father's garden because I had no money to eat properly.

The friend that listened to me without judgement as I cried and poured my heart out and laid myself bare. Who said I never needed to say sorry to her for how I was feeling.

The friend who sat with me in the park whilst I cried and couldn't speak, who took me under his wing and guided me through my stressful professional maze.

The friend who welcomed me into her family life and had the kindness to go on a mad gardening frenzy today with me, so when I look out my window I see beauty and when I return home from work I smell the scent of jasmine.

The friend that is my little piece of the north who can talk endlessly with me about things people possibly don't find funny. Who told me I had spirit.

So here I am in my home and I feel content. Whilst I write this I am chatting to a friend on MSN and one on facebook. I never really got the whole social networking thing but thank heavens someone had the sense to do it. I am fortunate enough to still talk frequently to those friends I miss.

I now have another reason to stay. He is away this weekend and I miss him and I will be glad when he returns home. (don't get over excited readers we ain't shacked up, I mean my home). 

Growing up all I wanted was to be was a nurse, and bake cakes and take care of someone and be taken care of and also have a rose garden. I know that sounds a bit dull but I never wanted the smell of success. I am a simple soul and can relate to the below

Every house where love abides

and friendship is a guest

Is surely home, and home sweet home

for there the heart can rest

Henry van Dyke

So to those I love, if you are ever passing please call in and you may get a cake. If you don't you will certainly get a smile because I am happy. If you are not sure if its you I  love , then ask yourself do I call you my friend and if the answer is yes, then there is your answer.