yen_powell

I've only had a catheter once and I was knocked out when it went in. But I will never forget its removal. The infamous nursing quote of, 'I'm going to count to three'. Then they bloody do it on number two. It was about 5 minutes before my back was relaxed enough to let me put my bum back onto the mattress.

My knob was tiny and cowering in fear. Something funny I have just remembered. The surgeon squirted gel anaesthetic down the old pipe first. Then whilst he is waiting for the nurses to hand him the instrument of torture he turns to me and casually says, "Don't panic, I'm just squeezing your penis to stop the gel coming back out whilst we wait for it to work." He had to tell me because I had made it quite clear I wasn't going to watch him or his little tv. What a funny job to have eh. Then he said, my CT scan showed my kidneys were now clear of stone fragments although he saw a few small sharp bits wedged between the stent and the uretha. " You might feel them as we pull the stent out!"

It's finally out and I hardly cried like a girl at all. Sorry about the blurry photo, my hands are still shaking. First wee when I got in a little while ago made me jump, that should ease a bit. I was busting for it, rode like a loon to get home so I could do a sitty down wee.

I think I might have put this bloke up on the politically incorrect thread, so first of all his character, then his charity boxing match (from a wheelchair).

I had a mate who used to say if he had to get rid of a body he would wait till the council dug a grave for a funeral next day then bury the body in it at night and tamp down the earth at the bottom. Then next day a nice coffin would be lowered on top of it at the funeral proper and hide his body for him. You'd need a ladder, some rope, a shovel, a head torch and a flask so you could have a little cup of tea half way through.

Don't panic, you can't get it on your bike via an internet photograph.

I thought all Capris had rear end damage because they always spin round and go arse first when it goes tits up.

I've got a horrible feeling I'm the only sicko to have noticed it.

A few years ago I had to go and look at something in a road called St Leonard's Road. It's a road I always confuse with St Leonard's Street which is not far away, but separated physically by the building of the Blackwall Tunnel Approach in the 1960s. As I was riding along it I went past a statue that made me hit my brakes and spin round and take another gander. The artist who created it clearly didn't think it through. It's innocent looking from all other angles.

It is indeed rhyming slang, Bread and Honey- Money.

This is not me, but it is pretty much my journey to work (pre covid) at least once a week and the main reason I ride a bike to work if at all possible. Having said pre-covid, I did go through a 5 mile queue last week, traffic nearly back to normal and I had to go in at normal commuting hour to meet some white liners. Reason for a 10 mile queue (or longer) on my motorway part of the trip is usually:- Someone driving like a prat coming a cropper and crashing, a loose horse or cow running about on a motorway, or an HGV tipping over at it makes the turn north from the M25 onto the M11. The last thing happens so often I can't believe they don't reprofile the cross fall.

I save my favourites about 3 times a year and put them safely away. That way when I load chrome up on a new PC I can still have everything where I expect to find it.

I couldn't even tell you what this place was called before or now without looking. If I lose my link on my favourites I would be in trouble.

I put £21 of fuel into mine yesterday, that's a record amount for a bike of mine. I'd done about 180 miles since the previous fill up. In my early riding days I used to keep a £5 note under the seat so if I was ever potless far from home I'd be able to buy enough fuel to get back. That wouldn't get me to work one way nowadays. I moved my display about to get the things I wanted on my main display, which in my case was trip 1, engine temp and outside temp on screen 1, with trip 2, mpg average and current on screen 2. When I changed the battery the other day I was afraid it would all reset back to how it was, but it stayed the same, just zeroed all the trips, clock etc.

I never found the Roman track, just gave myself bellyache wandering about. I will be going back when I can cover more ground. Took a few pictures as I blundered about amongst the trees. At one point a squirrel froze mid tree scaling and tried to pretend I couldn't see him.

They have, inside the cover it says they also do:- WALES, SCOTLAND, LAKES & DALES, SOUTH WEST, CENTRAL ENGLAND, PORTUGAL, SCANDINAVIA. I have already bought Wild Guide: Devon, Cornwall and South West (Wild Guides): Hidden Places, Great Adventures and the Good Life (including Somerset and Dorset) for when I'm down that way.

Should have read the book properly before going to the old church. Apparently the grave of Richard Plantagenet the illegitimate heir to the throne is there. This may be what we sat on to eat our picnic, oh well, paid for out of our taxes I suppose. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St_Mary's_Church,_Eastwell

saw this by accident. I was going to switch it off, but got drawn in. Worth watching till the hat falls off at least.

Today I'm going to pop up the road a bit to look at Wool Street and I quote, "Wool Street, Chalkney Woods, This Roman trackway runs through a wood more than 10,000 years old. Bluebells and anemones in spring, nightingale song early summer. Home to the greatest concentration of small leaved limes in Essex. After the directions it says, turn left into Wool Street, distinct as a plunging path. There is no Wool Street marked on the OS map of Chalkney Woods, even as large scale, but I'll give it a go. The important thing is, it's not far to walk once I get off my bike, so I won't get guts ache and red wee. I'm saving Charity Lane for after I get de-piped next week as that is a bit of a slog.

A few months ago I bought a book in Costco cos I liked the pictures. It's called WILD GUIDE (London and South East). It is basically a book of good places to visit, i.e. lakes/rivers to swim in, old ruins, caves, ancient trees, places to watch sunsets, places to eat, places to camp etc. The pictures are amazing and this one covers Suffolk, Essex, Kent, Sussex and London. I fancied a picnic today as it was supposed to be nice weather so I picked out an abandoned church and grave yard somewhere near Ashford in Kent and plotted out the narrowest windiest roads to get there after getting across the Thames. My mate and his other half, the poor man who bought my 103,000 miler Versys, decided to come with me. I think my mate was regretting it when some of the lanes were so narrow his left boot was in the grass at the side of the road and the centre of the road was deep gravel or grass where no one uses them. On the way there we stopped for a drink at the Ringlestone pub which we all used to visit in the 80 and 90s (in the 70s for my mate who's almost a pensioner) when we would camp in a nearby farm and walk across the fields each lunchtime. I mentioned to the new landlady that it used to be owned by a mad woman who kept the front door locked and you had to knock to get in. If she didn't like the look of you she told you to sod off. If you didn't sod off she would pull out a shot gun and point it at you. She laughed and said there was still a shot gun there when they took over the pub and they had put it on the wall above the fireplace. I had a pint of shandy, followed by a wee just before we left. I had to stop on a tiny lane and rush behind a hedge again within 5 minutes of leaving for another waz. My mates were shitting themselves whilst they waited for me as a large dog was going berserk the other side of a farm gate and it looked like it was going to jump over to get at them. We found the church and had a picnic sitting on a handy flat stone with writing all over it. Someone's name and some dates I think....... Then on the way home we stopped at the other pub we used to visit at night when camping on the farm, the Blacksmiths Arms in Wormshill. The original landlord, Barclay is long gone, but the new landlord knew of him. As we were about to leave a strange woman came up to me waving a bit of greenery at me. I had earplugs in so I'm not totally sure, but I think she was asking my opinion on whether it was wild lettuce. Looked like a nettle to me!

I like a bit of Marty Robbins.