The Sick Note

A while ago now, Child Unit 2 was hit by a rather nasty bug and we had a few restless nights here while he recovered. Nothing serious, of course, but it is difficult to sleep when one of the shorter members of the household is waking up every half hour, covered in assorted bodily excretions.

When the devilish bug first reared it’s ugly head, Host Body found himself all a-flutter and in the wee small hours, began scribbling something in his drafts folder. I’ve unearthed it, polished it up and present it to you now.

Ladies and gentleman, I give you “The Sick Note” (or “Ramblings Of A Sleep-Deprived Assclown”)

As i’m writing this, Child Unit 2 is feeling rather under the weather. I’m sure he’s probably fine but Host Body is doing what any responsible, loving parent would do, freaking the hell out over things and generally making an arse of himself.

Marital Unit is currently tucked up in bed, the little lad asleep next to her, being as always the level-headed, sensible type that she is. She has given Host Body one simple task, email her college tutor to explain that she won’t be in today on Tuesday as she’ll be taking Child Unit 2 to the doctor.

Even he couldn’t screw that up, drafting a simple mail as follows:

Dear Wossname

Really sorry, but Marital Unit won’t make it in on Tuesday. She’s taking our son to the doctor because he’s poorly as all shit. Hope that’s ok?

Hugs and kisses
Host Body

Well, something like that. Anyway, gets the point across doesn’t it?
But it’s hardly elegant. So i’ve taking the liberty of sending this instead…

Dear madam, I must ask of you a moment of your time
To read this simple message, laid out for you in rhyme,
Which will, I trust, serve as explanation plain and clear
to explain to you exactly why instead of there, i’m here.

By here, of course, I mean at home. Which is where I was last night
sat at my computer, with many an essay still to write
But as I toiled o’er textbooks and Wikipages by the ton
I heard a fitful stirring from my supposedly sleeping son.

I glanced up from my studies, my heart did miss a beat.
And then, a sound most chilling. Teeny tiny feet!
The boy awoke! And so, pausing only to close my book
I rose up from the sofa and readied a stern parental look

I’ve been here before and expected some excuse
as to why he could not sleep. Perhaps a glass of juice?
Or maybe another monster, lurking ‘neath the bed
Some terror in the dark, which filled him with such dread

That sleep was not an option. For he must stand guard!
Lest the demons in the closet steel his favourite Pokemon cards.
Or some horror from the sock drawer which, with a single glance
could cause a frightful soiling of his tiny underpants.

T’was something of this ilk which I expected from the lad
but the reality was different and oh so very sad.
For his little face was flushed a most unpleasant shade of red
As he shuffled towards me, sobbing, clutching his wee head

To my eye, there came a tear, at this wretched sight
So saddened was I by my wee boys dreadful plight
And so it was that I tucked him up, besides me in my bed
That I might watch over him as to the land of nod he sped

A restless night we spent, the wee one tossed and turned
One minute frozen to the bone, the next his for’ead burned
I snatched a few brief minutes sleep, as he rested still
But who could truly rest, with their beloved child ill

And so it is with great regret, that I must write to say
I will not be attending my scheduled lectures on this day
But I hope to return soon, to my studies and my friends
And shall, with renewed vigour, strive to make amends

Kind regards,
Marital Unit of Host Body

I reckon that’ll cover it.


An open letter to an unknown party…

Dear disease-ridden penis boil.

Today, the crippled putz (or Host Body) had to drag himself into Taunton Job Centre to sit down and talk to a lovely woman about this website and his merchandising income.

This was not, as he had been given to understand, a routine appointment.

No, they wanted to discuss a call which had come in from the Benefit Fraud Hotline.

And why has he been reported?

For running this website, of course.

Yes, you goat-pleasuring son of a rancid buttock, your call worked and he was called in to explain himself.

Oh bugger, claiming benefits while earning a few quid online, he’s in trouble now right?


You want to know why?

Because Host Body is not a moron and i’m a freaking genius.

You’ll never guess what we did.

We told the Job Centre about the website, quite some time ago.

We explained the merchandising side of things, making sure to explain the most important points, which are:

1) Until we build a very, VERY large following online, we’re not really going to make any money from merchandise.

2) The merchandise which IS online now, awesome as it may be (because I designed it), is more a trial run of the merchandising potential than the full range which we’d like to have available in the future.

3) We’ve made $7.53 thus far

4) We don’t expect to make a lot more, yet.

That’s right, we told the Job Centre, we went through all the details, they referred us to a small business advisor who thinks there’s some definite money in slogan merchandise but we haven’t the following yet.

So, Host Body has easily circumnavigated the shit pile which you have tried to land him in and hobbled on about his business.

He’s happy to let this slide, not a vengeful man our Jim.

I am though.

I’m not the Happy Little Voice In His Head.

Not the Chirpy Voice.

Certainly not the Forgiving Voice.

I’m the Angry Voice and I shall have vengeance.

To quote another vengeful spirit and dear friend of mine, @BlamelessNinja, “Run fast, run far, I will find you”

There’s nothing wrong with him.

Let me tell you all a story.

In 1984, the Host Body came into this world but, in keeping with his inability to do anything right, he arrived with his feet pointing in quite the wrong direction.

He was diagnosed with Talipes Equinovarus, “Clubfoot” in laymans terms.

(You know, i’m not sure who this Layman chap is, but he came up with some nifty terminology to make all this medical nonsense much easier to spell)

Anyhoo, his feet were turned inward and upward and a series of surgeries were undertaken to correct this.

The last of these surgeries took place when he was 10 years old.

They very kindly performed the surgery at the start of a school summer holiday so he would be healed up in time for the new school year.

The left foot was pretty good, the right, not so much.

For years he suffered day to day aches and pains but so what?

He was alive, reasonably healthy and tried not to let it affect him.

Up until the age of 17 he attended regular check ups to see how the foot was getting on.
Mention was made of possible further surgery but the choice was left to him.

He decided, as he was getting along OK, to forgo the operation.

And then, “The Incident”

One night, as the Host Body was arseing about doing something tedious, he noticed his left foot was a little swollen.

This was nothing new, his feet had a tendecy to ache and swell when he had been on them for a bit and he’d been doing some decorating that week.

The next day he arose from his slumber, partook of his regular caffeine boost and set about his business for the day.

He tidied, he painted, he broke various household objects.

Come the evening, the foot was very swollen and becoming increasingly painful.

By late evening, the wretched man was writhing in agony on the couch, whimpering like a puppy with a thorn in it’s paw.

Sickened, though I was, by this display of weakness, I had to agree that the man needed medical attention and so I aided the Marital Unit in dragging his carcass to the nearest Accident & Emergency department.

This was the beginning of several weeks of doctors appointments, consultants appointments, clinic appointments and much bitching from the Host Body, culminating in a diagnosis of Osteoarthritis in both ankles.

The arthritis was caused/exacerbated by the fact that Host Body had been walking on a broken bone in the right foot for 10 years or so, after the staples from the last operation had sheered off and the bone failed to heal.

The solution? Major surgery to the right ankle, to fix the broken bone, hopefully make it stronger and take some of the weight off the left ankle.

In August 2010, the Host Body underwent a fusion operation, leaving him with naught but slight up and down movement in the ankle and a foot which looks like a partially digested pork scratching.

Throughout all of this, I would like to say that the DWP were incredibly helpful and understanding.

I would LIKE to say that, but the truth is they have been about as much help as a large pile of excrement.

According to the DWP health professional* who examined the Host Body for his ESA claim, there’s nothing wrong with him and he should pick his lazy arse up and get back to work.

DLA? Pfft. Get knotted, good sir.

After a long fought battle, Host Body WAS finally awarded DLA, ESA is still under appeal.

I would like to point out, right now, that neither the Host Body nor myself are complaining, at this point.

No we’re not, really.

Yes, there’s a lot worse we could be going through.

My point is, he’s not a picture of health but the DWP have been less than useless, at least useless would have some use in there somewhere.
Hmm, clever that…

Anyways, he is obviously appealing the ESA decision but in the meantime, I thought I should write up a “Gizajob” letter, just in case:

Dear Sir/Madam

I write to you on behalf of my Host Body, to enquire as to any positions which may be currently available within your organisation.

Host Body is reliable, to a given value of reliable.

I mean, he can’t actually walk most days and only gets around on his hands and knees so you’d have to either allow him to work from home a lot of the time or make sure you’ve got well padded carpets.

Oh, he’s not good with stairs either.

No, REALLY not good with stairs, he sleeps on the couch and pisses in a bottle, what with the lack of downstairs toilets in the house, so best he only ever has to work on the ground floor.

Also, is there a bus route which let’s off right outside your door? If not, don’t even bother replying, it’s a no-go.

Of course, even with all of the above, he’d only make it into work when dosed to the gills on painkillers but not to worry, it’s not hugely likely that he would be so drugged as to feed himself into any machinery or anything.
Probably not.

Possibly not.

No, i’m sure he’d be fine.

But other than that, he’s an intelligent, hard working individual who would be an asset to any organisation.

Yours sincerely,
Al Vimh

Wow, DWP are right, this guy should get his ass back to work, zippylike.


*For “Health Professional” read “Glassy eyed, slack jawed moron who couldn’t be trusted to put a plaster on a boo-boo”

I’m not getting involved.

With everything which has gone on in the news of late, I decided that I would take a step back.

There are other, better political bloggers out there to cover the news for you and Floaty Beard knows, they have enough material.

Take Nadine Dorries for example, the Conservative MP for Mid-Bedfordshire.

Now, i’m not going into it but I will ask if you saw her tweetings from earlier in the week?:

There’s this one

And this one

which she followed up with:

This one

Right, i’m just wondering, what difference does that make?
Quote or no, I can only assume you believe that pile of drivel to have posted it on Twitter?
I mean, I had an e-mail today which assured me that Cialimegapenilift was THE erectile dysfunction pill but, doubting the efficacy of their product, I DIDN’T BLOODY TWEET ABOUT IT!

But as I said, i’m not getting drawn into the political machinations of the country just now.

Mind you, what about the NHS reforms?

David Cameron and his pencil topper, Nick Clegg are slowly but surely taking this country to the cleaners.

Next step in their “Screw You Britain” plan of attack? So-called reforms of the NHS.

Don’t get me wrong, the NHS could use a little re-thinking, what major organisation couldn’t?

I’m just not so sure they are going about it the right way.

Perhaps i’ve got the wrong end of the stick but plans would seem to include pushing management tasks onto GP’s to cut down on admin staff?

Hmm…I can’t get an appointment for love nor money, which leads me to assume that my GP is either fighting crime and has no time for such paltry pursuits as the health of his patients, or is pretty busy with all the sick people.

Call me nuts, as many have before, but looking at one of the surgeries local to me, there are six doctors and, unless I am mistaken, one hundred and eighty four receptionists.
I may have fudged the figures just a little, but my first thought is not “Fire every last receptionist and let the doctors pick up the slack!” so much as “We could do with less receptionists, certainly…”

I digress, politics is not really my area, so on to the main reason for this blog which, I admit, is semi-political.

Did anyone catch Alastair Campbell on Question Time this week?

I’m not entirely sure why but, at one point, he felt the need to put on a Scottish Accent when quoting/mocking George Galloway.

I don’t mind a bit of Galloway mocking, I have, sadly, seen that cat video, but the accent Alastair?

I hear he’s joining Jon Culshaw for the new series of Impressions, you’ll forgive me if I don’t Sky+ this one…

I’m free. Free!

Well hello there, bet you thought i’d forgotten about you huh?

Over the Christmas holidays, I found myself snowed in with family, in the village which broadband forgot.

Seriously, if you’re going to go and stay with family members when snow is on the cards, pick a relative born post 1845 who doesn’t think the Internet is something you catch temporary office workers with.

In the run-up to Christmas 2010 I was introducing you to “10 Things I Hate About Yule”, we got as far as number 7, I believe.

Well, I will be bringing you the rest of that countdown shortly, probably, why should you miss out just because I was trapped in a place where the wheel is still regarded as cutting edge technology.
Of course, I could save it until Christmas this year…well, we’ll see.

Also coming soon, my thoughts on being wheelchair bound. It didn’t go well.
I didn’t honestly believe you could crush someone under such a small pair of wheels, ironically he’ll never walk again…

A final note before I go and kick a bag of kittens, i’ve been nominated for a Shorty Award in the category of humour.
Don’t know what’s so funny about the fountain of vitriol that is my blog but if it makes people chuckle and I get shiny baubles out of it, i’m in.

So vote for me. Not a request. There’s a button to the right, somewhere…