I am still faffing about with the impossibility of transferring my website, and am completely in the dark about the best way to do it. Apparently I should be an FTP. I do not know what that is and thought it sounded like a rabbit with an outbreak of hay fever.
Of course I looked it up on Google, I am not completely stupid and know that research is important.
It is called a File Transfer Protocol, and requires an FTP client application, so I am no wiser.
The problem is that to do it I need to spend some time at home in front of my big computer, and I have hardly seen it for days, firstly because of Blackpool, secondly because when we got back home this afternoon I was too busy unpacking and organising our lives so that we could live them again, and thirdly because I would far rather spend tomorrow rebuilding the camper van than scowling into the cyber-universe contemplating my website’s imminent mortality.
It is going to disappear any day now. If I don’t make it through the operation, it was nice knowing you all, and it is probably a far, far better place etc.
I am actually going to have a real operation in a couple of weeks, which is exciting.
As regular readers might recall, one of my eyelids is ridiculously oversized and heavy. This is a complete nuisance, not least because sometimes it gets in the way of seeing where I am going, and I have to shove it out of the way.
I am going to have an operation to have a bit sawn out of it.
I really am, it is really going to happen.
In about two or three weeks I am going to cover myself in Germolene to ward off MRSA and make my way to the hospital in Barrow, where the surgeon is going to chop bits out of not just one, but both of my eyelids, so that I do not look lopsided.
It is a measure of how very irritating the closing eye is that I can honestly say that I am looking forward to it very much indeed.
For some peculiar reason I am supposed to take a dressing gown. I do not know why I am supposed to undress, I do not keep my eyelids underneath any of my clothes. It seems to be a thing that hospitals do to put people in the right frame of mind for doing what they are told.
It is only a local anaesthetic so I will be able to go home the same day. I will probably not be sorry about that since I have got to be there at half past seven in the morning, probably I will have to set off the night before.
I am not exactly certain how I am going to organise this if Mark has buzzed off back to sea by then, since I will not be allowed to drive and the children will all be absolutely miles away. One of Lucy’s friends has kindly volunteered to act as a proxy helpful child, so I might take advantage of her generosity.
Apparently I will have two black eyes. This is entirely likely, since I always get massive bruises even if I am only having a blood sample taken, and have resigned myself to looking like a victim of domestic abuse for a couple of weeks, so probably it will be just as well if Mark is not around to be blamed.
We had a good time in Blackpool, by the way. The hotel was called the Boulevard, and they wrote it BLVD, presumably because they thought it might be too difficult for people in Blackpool to spell. We had the most colossal breakfast this morning, which was magnificently well cooked, and I am still feeling a bit rotund even now.
It was raining too hard for us to go and adventure anywhere, but we loafed about on sofas in the lobby, talking about politics until we ran out of time in the car park and had to say our reluctant farewells.
Probably by the time you read this we will all know what sort of a bloodbath has happened in the seat of Gorton and Denton.
I am awaiting the moment with great interest.
