Pets

I have had some lovely tweets today following my posting on twitter that one of our two German Shepherd dogs, Steffi, had a stroke this morning. None animal lovers will no doubt find it weird as it's "Not as if it is a person or anything" but it just shows how much we all care about our pets.

I had never owned a dog and inherited two with Janet. I wasn't keen but was soon won over, especially with the spunky Jack Russell who was once caught with a step ladder under his arm when he found out that the Great Dane next door was in season. We had to lock him in a cupboard at night if a local dog was on heat. I was pleased he was not aware of Jan.

Thomas was killed outside the house when the door latch blow open in the wind and he walked straight out under a car. The shithouse didn't even stop though there were car parts in the road. Thomas never ran anywhere so he must have just ambled into the road. It was early evening and I suspect drink was involved. Not Thomas you understand. I buried him in the back garden but, whilst I dug the hole, out last German Shepherd, Eva (as in Braun) sat next to him. Every time we let her out for a month after this, she went straight to the same spot, checking that his smell was still there. It was sad and touching to see. Harry is the same with Steffi. Steffi was the runt of the litter and we took them both as we felt sorry for her. They are inseparable.

I cannot imagine not having a dog in the house. It wouldn't seem quite right. We live in a remote spot so it is a good idea for security but I would still have one if I lived on the top floor of a tower block. All pets ask for is that you look after them. They ask for nothing else. They don't sulk or cheat. They don't argue with you and are always on your side.

As I type, Steffi is at my feet, dosed up with steroid injections. She looks woe begone and is very shaky on her legs but 10 hours ago she couldn't get up at all. If she lasts the night we should be o.k. unless she has another stroke. Another one will probably be fatal. We would probably put her to sleep even if she survived another one as we could not stand by and watch her suffer and fade away. We owe her much more than that. I hope that someone will be kind enough to do the same for me if I am ever in this position.

A little doubt goes a long way.

One of my favourite ever Tweeters is post op following cancer surgery. I am sure she has gone through every emotion in the book and she now has the waiting game which, sadly, sometimes never ends. I hope to hear soon she is well on the way to recovery.

I was very blasé about my own condition. I didn't take it seriously right up to surgery which my better half often found both annoying and baffling. It is always more difficult for the people who love you. They never know if they are saying or doing the right thing. I made a joke of it. I still do. It wasn't a veneer to cover fear or anything approaching it. It was just the way I am.

One thing does change though. You only need a fraction of a percentage of doubt about the success of the treatment to enable less than positive thoughts to surface. For instance. I have eczema. I've had it, on and off, for most of my life. When it flares I use various prescribed creams and it usually disappears, only to reappear elsewhere. The most annoying was on my bollocks when I was a kid. It was worse for my dad who took me to the Doctors and was so embarrassed at having to explain where it was to him. I seem to remember "penny" being used. How quaint. I'd have said bollocks in his position.

Anyway, I have a patch on my leg that will not respond to any treatment. It sometimes seems to glow in the dark and itches like buggery (so I'm told). It is eczema I am sure but....

I need some dental work done. I went to the surgery two weeks ago and the hygienist was concerned with a white patch on the roof of my mouth. She wanted a second opinion and I booked in again. I had to wait two weeks. That fraction of a percent kicked in again. I read the John Diamond book a few years ago and decided that was one way I didn't want to go. I actually dreamt, the following night, that I had mouth cancer. It was a relief to wake up. I have since had the all clear. Whatever it was has gone. No doubt there will be other issues from time to time. It doesn't bother or worry me. At least, I am 99.9999999% sure it doesn't.

Radiohead versus Pisshead

Last night I went to my, much looked forward to, Radiohead concert. We were somewhat apprehensive at the ticketless entry system and must have checked the booking terms a dozen times to make sure we had everything with us that we needed to gain entry.

In the end it was faultless and we were in our seats in good time. I had never heard the support before "Caribou" but I enjoyed them. They were loud.

The tickets cost us £150 with booking fees and I am always wary at the M.E.N. as I don't think the acoustics are brilliant. far too much echo in the cavernous empty roof space for my liking. I now get to the point of this posting.

Is it just us two that are out of touch with the realities of modern culture or, has everyone become a pisshead? The queues for booze, once you gained entry, never dropped. There were vendors with cases of Fosters on their backs dispensing it to eager customers. I assumed that once the band came on, it would stop but, did it buggery. If anything it got worse. It was almost as if electric shocks were being passed into selected seats at regular intervals as people stood to let pissheads go to the bar then stood again to let them come back with their bottles and plastic cups.

When the fifth song from the set was underway, there was a queue of dozens out in the corridor, thirsting for booze. I could see them lining up as the doors never closed with the throughput of traffic. If booze was so essential to the enjoyment, why not just go to Wetherspoons and wear headphones? It never stopped, from first number to encore, in out, in out in case they had the faintest chance of sobering up.

I won't complain about the dickheads who pay £75 for a seat then stand all the way through the concert nor the complete twat somewhere nearby who was obviously smoking a joint. I won't complain about the hundreds of phones pointing at the stage recording fuck knows what as all you got was a mass of colour and the sound would have been terrible. When played back it would be like you had recorded someone's bad dream.

As for the concert itself, I love Radiohead but I came out slightly disappointed. They played an unusual set. No Street Spirit or Just or Karma Police. It would be like the Moody Blues refusing to play Question and Nights in white satin. The bass was decibels too loud and drown out all the lead guitar work for me. I just couldn't hear it. There was an intricate stage set of off angle screens showing individual band members but I found it annoying. They only stayed on one band member for a few seconds before switching and sometimes had angles that you couldn't work out what the hell you were seeing.

To cap the night, we stayed in a nearby Travelodge and were given a bed that they must have bought pre war. There were more springs coming up than we have in the back garden after the floods. Fotunately they threw in a breakfast by mistake so I won't bother complaining.

Despite what it sounds like, we had a great day.