Ok firstly dear Diary, I apologize for not keeping in touch.

It's surprising how easily normality can get in the way of creativity, and working for a living takes the place of living. I am striving to correct that imbalance I promise. There is so much to tell I hardly know where to begin, so I am not going to bother to chronologically account for everything anymore - I'm just going to put whatever is in front of me down on paper, or rather down on white square on LCD screen, and - I promise - I will fill in the gaps where there is an amusing anecdote to be shared of the oddities that have gone by.

Right now as I type, I am at some ungodly height flying across the world yet again China bound and looking forward to food that will leave me bound in China. (Right now as I read what I typed I am at home - I should have posted this a few weeks ago) I had forgotten how much of a pain in the arse this journey is - even when you are upgraded to executive class it is still a backbreaking trip, with temperamental chairs and an entertainment system that crashes every two hours - (Still rather that than the plane). I do have visions sometimes though pondering that as us simple folk back here shake the dead displays and curse to any listening Deities there could well be a flight-deck crew frantically kicking at monitors and punching buttons waiting for some readings to come back to life as the plane does the equivalent of coasting down a steep hill for a few seconds (and they call it turbulence - hah!)

So here is something from the heart (or rather slightly lower) to share with you dear reader…. I have been getting bad aches in the region of my appendix - 'Aha' you say, 'You have trouble with your appendix' - but you see that was hacked out of me, in an emergency operation, on the point of bursting like a water balloon with a much less favourable liquid content when I was 15. I therefore doubt that to be the cause, unless of course, I had grown a new useless organ to replace the old one. Also and rather more disturbingly I have been getting a lot of aches in one of the wheels of my Tonka-Toy and that has been unpleasant to ponder.

I am not sure if it is a pride thing, or a guy thing, or how to define it really - but every chap is close to his little pal (lets be honest - we name him, speak to him, and play with him too), so the idea of things being wrong in that region is not easy for many of us to contemplate. Whether that could be running with a flat, or your swimmers are not making the team, or the water pressure isn't strong, or you can't get the flag up the pole - whatever - you can't help but worry and fret about the little chap and the possible causes of complaints down there.

So like any sensible person I ignored it for a few months in the hope it would all sort itself out and not worry me anymore. Unfortunately, burying your head (so to speak) in the sand really only works for ostriches, so I had to face up to the fact that something needed to be done. Duly I scurried off to my doctors.

Is it just me - or is the relationship between doctor and patient more like supplier and customer these days? There is no personal level interaction there - you are just a number - and because they are financially rewarded for each ailment treated you are only allowed to discuss one problem per appointment. So if you have a few things on the wonk and need an overhaul then you would need to make multiple appointments to discuss them, and you would not be able to refer back to other items from previous meetings - how ludicrous the medical institution is becoming. We have a better level of support and care from our vets than we ever get from our doctors - so I am going to go there for future medical worries instead as I have more faith in them. (They give you kibble treats too)

Anyhoo.....he asked me how my appendix was - and I replied that it would probably be a little smelly by now as it had been sitting in a jar in formaldehyde solution for 22 years. So he poked and he prodded in a manner which must be the medical equivalent of a mechanic kicking ones tyres. Then he asked me to drop my trousers so that he could check 'under the hood' - was he treating me, or going to try and change my oil? So here is a thought - why is it referred to as cough and drop when in fact one must drop before anything can be studied as you cough? Touching nothing he asked me to cough - duly I coughed. What this achieved I have no idea - was he expecting a reaction like one of those desktop Newton's cradles where they swing left to right as the momentum gradually dissipates? If I could do those kind of tricks I'd be working Vegas.

Once more, with feeling. That is - me coughing once more, and this time, him feeling. Now like most I am delicate in places and rather ticklish by nature, so this was not my favourite moment of my day. (you can ask the good Mrs Wrighty who has had many an adventure cut short by squeals and involuntary body spasms from me trying not to laugh at an inopportune moment) However, his hands were warm - his touch was light - if we'd been dating I'd have been considering buying him flowers - so my embarrassment was as minimal as it could possibly be when you are standing in a room with somebody studying your meat and potatoes with both hands.

'We need to send you to hospital to take some tests' he said. So that is organized for a few days later. I hoped the tests would be easy - he never told me what to study.

Until next time……………………………………..