It's been a quiet day here in our street...the sun came out and the birds sang and I managed to get through the day without poking or prodding or cutting myself...didn't try melting the plastic beads anymore so we didn't even have toxic fumes floating around...in case you are simply desperate to know why I was melting plastic beads...and you might be for all I know...I saw it on YouTube. You melt a layer of plastic beads in a tin in a hot oven...leave them to cool...turn out...drill small hole in top...hang up as a suncatcher.
My beads melted...and they turned out...but I'd added some red ones and they hadn't melted properly and spoiled the entire effect. So I bashed the circle with a hammer...wouldn't break...didn't even look as though it was going to crack...it'll have to be back to Plan B which means buying a bag of cheap iridescent plastic beads...the sort children use to practice threading...and having another go.
We have a shop in town whose main income comes from printing...invitations and such like...but they also sell stuff for first school teachers...huge packs of good quality felt and bags stuffed with hundreds of ribbons...bags of beads and coloured pipe cleaners...all that kind of thing. So I'll see if they have any sparkly beads the next time we go to town...they are very cheap.
My hands get very shaky sometimes and I think that's why I'm always stabbing myself with sharp instruments though it could well be the after effects of the bedtime whiskey...wouldn't be that actually 'cos Himself rations it out...sometimes he just puts a dash in the hot chocolate and then I whinge and say I can't even taste it and what's the point if you don't get a gentle nudge at the back of your throat...
We watch very little television...and we don't have Sky or Cable or anything grand like that...but we do have guilty pleasures in our viewing habits...one of which is Benidorm ER. It's set around a private hospital in Benidorm and concentrates on the woes which befall the British people there on holidays...actually Himself says it makes him feel queasy...not the injections or putting dislocated shoulders back into place...not that...what makes him go a funny colour are the shots of the beach and the high rise hotels.
Billions of people with bright red skin crammed together on the beach is not an attractive sight actually...and those hotels all looking exactly the same...then the filming at night of Karaoke bars and gangs of girls out celebrating hens nights and so on...it's really awful. We watch it avidly.
Last night threw up something really interesting...a woman needed an emergency operation to remove her gall bladder...the surgeon performed the op as keyhole surgery which I always think is terribly clever...he put the infected gall bladder into a little plastic bag and tied the top up then withdrew it through one of the two small incisions he'd made...and as it was keyhole surgery, he did all that while manipulating his instruments as he watched the screen to show him where he was... I was very impressed...though I'd have liked a closer look at the infected gall bladder and the stones.
As student nurses we were obliged to attend several post mortems...I'd be pushing my way to the front and asking endless questions while everyone else was either heaving and bolting for the door or out cold on the tiled floor. One time, when it was a person who'd drowned and hadn't been found for a month, I was the only student there...everyone else had vanished.
I liked the care that was taken over the body...the respect with which they were treated, even as organs were removed to be weighed and measured...there was black humour too, however would the people involved have coped otherwise...and the pathologist played heavy rock music the entire time...he said it helped him to concentrate.
He was playing Led Zeppelin one day when everyone else on the course had disappeared to the nearest toilets...I crept closer to the table and watched while he sawed off the top of the persons head before I ventured the information that I was going out with Robert Plant...he almost dropped the saw...his assistants stood there with their mouths open and there was a chorus of 'Oh Please could you ask for his autograph'...so I did...and I came top of all the students in that terms revisions...the report from the pathologist was positively glowing...