10th Anniversary of my Heart Attack

Goodness gracious. How time flies. Sorry to use a really over-worked cliché, but it's true. I can't believe it's ten years since I had my heart attack. The night of 17th and 18th of May 2006 was when it happened. I have written quite extensively in an earlier blog post on here about what happened on that night and how the paramedics came and I ended up in the C.C.U. (Coronary Care Unit) at Bedford Hospital. I feel a good deal better than I did then. Actually, I feel as good as I've felt in a good long while. No real problems.

I've been mowing the grass at the back of the house. (I still refuse to refer to it as a 'lawn.') I did a cut yesterday, and to be perfectly honest with you, it looked really poor. As if it had been nibbled by some strange creature. Scrappy, to say the least. So I've cut it again and now it looks a good deal better. Not really like a lawn (it's never going to be that as it's just horrible grass.  Tough and terrible.) But it looks a good deal better. I've also been Stimming the long grass around the edges and cut some of the twigs that grow up along the fence. It's taken me a while to get the hang of the Strimmer (actually it's not a Strimmer, it's a Qualcast machine. 'Strimmer' is a registered trademark, but it's like 'Hoover' being used as a generic term for a vacuum cleaner.  But it works in exactly the same way.) It was worth buying a more expensive one as the extra power this one has means it does the job far better than a cheaper, lower power machine.)

The shed where the mower and strimmer are housed is beginning to cave in. Or at least the roof is. It has a hole in it. During the winter the wind took some of the roofing felt and left the remains, rotting and just past it, in the garden. So, what happens when the whole roof caves in? I don't suppose our beloved landlord is going to get it repaired. The lady next door, whose shed backs onto ours, had hers reroofed by the Council (they presumably own her house. They repaired the fence when it was blown down by a really severe winter wind some while ago.) The shed is full of the odd belongings of former tenants of this property, such as ancient portable televisions, baby baths, etc etc. Similar leaving are in the other shed, including a really old mattress and other bits and pieces. The meter cupboard, which is at the front of the house, contains similar junk. Why couldn't either the landlord or SmartMove, the agency we originally rented from, have this stuff removed before we moved in? It surely wouldn't have taken too much to get a skip and just throw the stuff away. Too much trouble to expect such a service, without us being charged. Gary, our neighbour the 'other side' suggested he repair the roof of one shed and take away all the junk within and then make one shed waterproof and then put a door in from his garden side so he could use it to store his things. But then he had second thoughts, having spoken to someone further along the street who knows our landlord and said that it might not be such a good idea because once they found out they'd want to charge rent. Also, I imagine that it might contravene our tenancy agreement, sort of 'sub-letting' or something. But it still means that we can't put anything of ours in there, including our bicycles which are still kept in the entrance hall of the house.

Alfie Goes Walkabout Again

It's 5.45 a.m. and I go downstairs to make tea, as I do every morning. Alfie follows me down to the kitchen and goes to the sliding patio doors expecting to be let out. I set up the mugs on the worktop along with filling up the kettle at the sink (now, fortunately, running away smoothly.) Having finished at the worktop I let Alfie out, but as I do so next door's cat is seen disappearing over the fence. Alfie shoots off across the garden, chasing the cat, barking noisily. I call after him, but he ignores me and then he disappears through the hole in the fence. I am not exactly over-pleased, as you can imagine. I chase after him, calling for him and going to the hole in the fence. No sign of small Yorkshire Terrier, as it's pitch black and with the small pocket torch I attempt to shine the rather ineffectual pool of light produced by the torch through the hole into the trees behind the fence and lining the Redway behind the garden. From previous similar escaping dog events from Alfie, I would have expected him to yap when I call his name. I panic as I'm not sure where he is. I return to the house to see whether he has gone back into the bedroom, as he has a habit of hiding either behind the sofa in the lounge or upstairs and under the bed. He will hide in these places if he thinks he has done something wrong. Meanwhile, Carol has come out and is vainly calling for Alfie but still no success in finding him. Our other dog, Poppy, is in the kitchen and barking noisily near the patio door. It's as if she's trying to tell us something. We can hear Alfie's bark from somewhere, but it's not clear where. Then I go out into the garden, having by now changed out of my slippers into my trainers as I went across the wet grass in them and as a result got my feet sopping wet. I go to the clapped-out shed, which has the door hanging off as the hinges have given up and it's been kept up with a variety of oddments to keep it shut. I can hear Alfie inside the shed and have to pull the door open as best I can and there he is inside. I have to pull him out of the shed through the narrow gap in the door by catching hold of his collar and dragging him out. I still have no idea how he manages to get into the shed, but as he's so small he can get through almost any small hole. But I'm just glad to have him back, safe and sound. I know he wouldn't go far as he's not the world's most brave little dog and would not have survived very long when it's cold and wet. Relief all round. I actually get to complete the making of the tea which I had been attempting to make when all the bother over the escaping Alfie began. He doesn't wander far when we go of a walk and he's let off his lead. He will run ahead and keeps within eye contact of use and will run back to use when called so it's odd that he was in the shed and didn't respond by barking when I was calling him. I was just so worried that he might have run off and got on the road and got run over which would be tragic and doesn't bear thinking about.

As I've said on here before, our landlord had promised faithfully to repair the fence and after something like five months we are still waiting for something to be done. The state of the fence has deteriorated considerably since we had the visit when they surveyed the fence and we signed a new tenancy agreement and when we moved away from renting the house through Smartmove rental agency. I can't in all honesty see why it has taken so long to get things fixed. We know it was difficult to get new fence panels after the high winds of earlier this year, when no doubt a lot of fences got blown down in the same way that ours got blown down. We spent some time looking for replacement panels in various garden centres and builder's merchants in and around the Milton Keynes and Buckinghamshire area, but I can't see why the landlord couldn't have done something to at least fix the fence even if it's on a temporary basis.

Blackberry Picking

This morning I've done my annual blackberry picking expedition, or I suppose I should say ONE of them at least. Walking along the Redway behind our house and collecting a fair amount  in a plastic box and also from the brambles that grow over our back garden fence. Although 'fence' as a description is rather rich, as what purports to be a fence is just a rather wobbly, rickety example which won't last much longer. Of course, expecting our landlord to repair it would be asking too much. We have done our best to shore it up with the odd bit of timber, in an attempt to keep Alfie in. The shed is also in just as poor a state of repair, and Alfie has a habit of going inside it, and then finding himself trapped. Quite amusing when our other dog, Poppy, comes to tell us where he is whenever we can't find him. The door of this shed has been off it's hinges for all the time we've lived here, and really doesn't do much of a job of preventing Alfie from venturing inside and is also propped up with quite an array of bits of timber and flower pots. Alfie has now found an exit from the back of the shed out onto the no-man's land at the back of our garden, and on several occasions I've had to go round to rescue him, which can be  really quite difficult, as the brambles and bushes there are quite thick and make it almost inaccessable. He does know how to get back through the hole at the back of the shed, but I really don't want him to get out on the road.