After nearly 6 weeks away from my little Oli-world in far, far Bletchley (that’s kind of like a Galaxy far, far away, only with less hospitable bars) I’m back and wonderfully happy to be in my own space again.

Mum and Dad have been fantastic over the last two months and have really gone out of their way to make it look like they’ve not been going out of their way to accomodate me, when I know it must have been a pain in the butt.  I appreciate the fact that most parents would do whatever they could to make life easier for their offspring, but that doesn’t make it any less wonderful when they do.

I suppose it helped that my bro was home for a good chunk of the time too, because at least I could pretend that maybe a little of the disruption was thanks to him, but I know that it’s mostly me!

Still, I’m out of their hair now, although I dare say I’ll be just as, if not more, reliant on them back here than I was at home.  I know that when the going gets tough here, it’s going to get really tough, even with K around to help out, but we’re all prepared for it and we’ll tackle whatever hiccups come our way head on and with true Lewington smiles plastered all over our faces.

It’s just a really wonderful feeling to be back here, living with K and enjoying being just the two of us for the first time since November.  More than anything, it’s been lovely tonight just to curl up on the sofa and watch TV and chill out.

I’m possibly slightly sadly over-excited at the thought of getting down to work tomorrow in my newly re-mastered study – the story of which is an epic tale of human calculation and lateral thinking that only my Dad and I could get lost in.  Even my mild-mannered mother started losing her rag with us yesterday.  Suffice it to say that it’s not too easy to work out how to fit 2 bookcases, a desk, a filing cabinet, a drawer chest and a soon-to come coat stand into one former bedroom.

All of the excitement of the move and the on-going tidying, sorting and clearing has drained my batteries for the day, though, so I’m off to bed for a good rest up in my own bed, with my own pillows, my own sheets and my lovely K beside me.  Oh, and Neve, too.

So the New Year has started proper now, hasn’t it?  First day back at work notched up and I’m relishing the challenges ahead.

It was awesome to be back at the Theatre and to see the group again.  The majority of the girls are still the same people I’ve been working with for a while now and it was like slipping back into a comfortable pair of shoes, or a freshly made bed, or something similarly warm, comfortable and welcoming.

The guys I did know seemed so happy to see me that it really lifted my spirits and the ones who I didn’t didn’t seem to think of me as too much of a freak, which was good.

I have to confess, I was feeling pretty nervous ahead of time – it’s been over 6 months since I last properly set foot inside the Theatre and whilst it’s full of familiar and friendly faces, I couldn’t escape the fact that for me, a lot has changed since I was last there.

Striding in with my oxygen cylinder (OK, strolling), I tried to embody the kind of confidence with which I normally arrived at the building, but I found it a lot harder to muster my usual sense of artistic bravado.  Somehow the oxygen makes me feel weaker, and more self-conscious, and at the same time I know that it’s only my attitude which is creating that impression.

As much as people tell me that no one notices the O2, I know that it’s not true.  It may not be as big a deal to other people as it is to me, but it’s also nonsense to pretend it’s invisible.  My hang-up about looking “ill” came back with a vengence and seems to be staying firmly put for the time being, although I’m trying hard to learn to ignore it.

I didn’t wear my O2 all the way through the session – apart from any vanity-related reasons, it’s hard to fully engage with a group when you’re tied to a cylinder and I sure as heck wasn’t going to have the energy to lug it all around the rehearsal room with me.

On reflection, I should have been more strict with myself and re-attached when I was sitting down discussing ideas or talking to the group and only coming off when we were doing something that demanded me being on my feet.

That’s a big part of the learning curve that I’m going to be on for the next few weeks, though, and I know I’m going to have to push my boundaries to a large degree and see what I can and can’t cope with.  I appreciate that I don’t have much room for error, but if I don’t try things I’m never going to know how much impact I can have on things.

The rehearsal itself went really well.  The group are all really keen and worked really well, incorporating the new people quickly and in a much more friendly and welcoming way than has often happened in the past. 

They were also all really pleased with the ideas for the show that Suze had drawn up and happy with the casting for the sections we’ve decided on.  There’s going to be a few tough calls on casting for some of the pieces and I think the Hamlet section could prove a tough one to fill – whoever we choose is going to have to work hard.  The great thing with this group, though, is that you know they all will work hard and give it their best.

The 4-hours I was out of the house was, I think, about my limit for the time being – although the strain was doubtless enhanced by my being off the O2 – and on Thursday I really felt it. 

I woke up feeling pretty good, although tired, and I knew I had to take it really easy all day.  Things seemed to go pretty well in recovery terms until about mid-afternoon when everything took a bit of a nose-dive and I completely ran out of energy.

About 5pm my reserves seemed to have deserted me and I was left absolutely shattered and dying for my bed.  I eventually made it until about 9pm, but not before I’d managed to cause a mini-argument with K over the phone by trying to organise things when I was tired.

I really knew I was exhausted when I found myself in bed reading Ben Fogle and James Cracknell’s story of their Atlantic rowing race and getting emotional with the ups and downs they were experiencing in their moods.  When they talked of missing their wives and getting tearful and I started welling up too, I knew I’d let myself get WAY too tired.

Still, today has been a clear and bright day (mentally, if not meteorologically) and I’ve been to Oxford, where my lung function was only ever-so-slightly down (which I still put down to it being taken before not after physio) at 0.7/1.3 and my weight had risen to 50.8kg.  I also spoke to the dietitian about the sickness I’ve been feeling and she prescribed me… something I can’t remember for a couple of weeks to see if it takes it away.

Tonight, with my Gramps here and my bro heading off into the sunset on another punishing course (who’d be in the army, eh?), we sat and ate dinner together before he high-tailed it away to colder, wetter climbs.  Rather him than me. 

Now all that’s left is for me to get my beauty sleep before Phase 1 of the Move Home tomorrow.  If all goes to plan, I’ll be back living in my little apartment paradise by this time Sunday!

Anyone watching last night’s edition of Watchdog would have seen the BBC taking Allied Respiratory to task for their abject failures in the oxygen delivery system – which you may have read me blogging about in the past.

You would also have seen that doyen of small-screen campaigning, my good friend Emily, performing admirably in berating the oxygen companies whilst simultaneously looking gorgeous and intelligent at the same time.

Frankly, there was very little of substance to the programme by way of solutions, but it was invaluable to help highlight the problems that oxygen users are facing and the poor job that Allied have been doing.  It was telling that they didn’t send anyone along to the programme, simply supplying an apology statement.

To this end – although not related to the Watchdog programme itself – I’ll be going along to a meeting at the end of the month with the Chief Exec of the CF Trust at the Department of Health along with representatives of Allied.  Although pwcf are not the only ones who depend on oxygen delivery, it plays a significant part in many of their lives and any benefits or progress we can make on our behalf will only serve to benefit others as well.

Of course, it should really be Em’s realm to follow up her campaigning for better oxygen provision, but as we are all so wonderfully aware, she is otherwise detained at the moment!

Speaking of which, by way of an update – Emily was taken off her ventilator yesterday and is now breathing on her own with her bright, shiny, clean new lungs!! Hooray for her and here’s to many more years of happy deep breathing!

Who’d have thought I’d be back to studying, eh?

Not 24 hours after my mammoth meeting on the new show, I realised that if I was going into rehearsals on Wednesday, I’d sure as heck better have done some work on the script I’m tackling.

It wasn’t till I sat down to piece together the sections of text from Hamlet and Tom Stoppard’s Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead that I realised it was going to be impossible to work from copies of the script I had, so I’d have to type it all out fresh for the cast to use.

Laborious as it was, I’m actually grateful for the need to take the long way round, because it took me through both texts line-by-line, which got me much closer to them than I would have been if I’d just have given them a cursory glance through.

The basic idea of what I’m trying to do is use two of Shakespeare’s scenes with Hamlet, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern (or Ros and Guil, as their mates – well, my type-worn fingers – call them) to book-end my favourite section of R&GAD involving a rapid-fire word game which is not only fun to watch, but also to perform and direct.  The contrast between the language and the style of performance in the two different parts (ancient and modern) is a great opportunity for the actors to really explore and play with the text and their characters.

What I didn’t count on, wading through the text as I typed it out, was just how much extra work I’d created for myself by going back to Shakespeare’s original.  Foolishly, having studied it for A-Level, I was hugely confident of my grasp of the material.  But looking at it again I realised that although I still had a good hold of the sense of it, there were a hundred questions that leapt out at me from the verse which, as an actor, I would immediately have thrown at the director.

Being the director, that means I have to know the answer.  Of course, it’s not as simple as just throwing out an answer – I prefer, in rehearsals, to let the actors reach their own decisions and conclusions about what they’re doing – but in order to keep them on the right track and not flailing off in random directions which take us round in circles, I needed to swat up on my ancient English and get to grips with Will’s words.

Remarkably, I slipped back into my studying patterns without so much as a hiccup.  In fact, I think I may have been better at it now than I was when I was studying it to be tested on.  Whether that’s a reflection on my abilities, or motivation, as a student, or on the problems with teaching Shakespeare in an English class I’m not quite sure.

Whatever the result and however well it goes in rehearsals, there is no doubt that getting back into creative endevours – and practical ones at that – has refreshed my mind and my imagination and pushed my motivation to stay fit, healthy and able to work even harder than it was before.

More than anything else right now, I want to be able to see this through to the end.  Ok, if I get my transplant call, I might just see fit to relinquish my role (provided, of course, I get comps to the show…), but beyond that, I don’t want anything else to get in the way of me being able to do the thing that’s been so missing from my life.

So it’s double-physio, extra drinks (of the build-up kind, not the alcoholic kind) and plenty of rest throughout the day so that I can make the very most of the opportunity afforded me.

And if you haven’t bought your tickets yet – why not!?!?!

I’ve had a brilliant day today, taken up mostly with a mammoth 4-hour meeting with Suze and Rheya about the MKT show this April.

The show, which is going to be in aid of the Cystic Fibrosis Trust, will be something of a gala performance for the Activ8 Youth Theatre, with whom Suze and I have worked (on-and-off on my part) for the last 5-6 years.  We’ve never had the opportunity to start with such carte blanche as we’ve been given here, and it’s fantastic – if a little daunting.

The Youth Theatre have been lucky in the past if they secured a single performance date in a 12-month period, so to have this show coming so quickly off the back of the summer show is exciting in and of itself, but to have such free reign to make the most of our stage time is a fantastic opportunity for all the children and young people involved.

So far, we’re looking at doing devised pieces for the youngest three groups, and then a combination of devised, scripted and new-writing pieces with the oldest group – who have mostly been with us for a long time and will no doubt be raring to display the many facets of stage-craft they’ve had the chance to develop working with a practitioner as accomplished and, let’s face it, off-the-wall as Suze.

Today’s meeting was spent hammering out exactly what each group would be doing – allowing for the fact that the rehearsal process is sure to kick up a few new challenges and options on the way – and also going over a few storylines for some of the devised pieces which needed solidifying before we past them back to the groups to continue working.

The groups have already been working on some of the stuff that will be incorporated into the performance in the last term, but the ideas they’ve developed will all be picked up and run with over the course of the next 10 weeks leading up to the show.  The idea is that we’ll be using familiar material but probe deeper into it to make sure we’re challenging them to come up with something that will push them and make the most of the showcase they’ve been offered.

I’m most excited about the fact that I’m due to return to rehearsals on Wednesday and Suze has offered me the opportunity to write part of the show and to direct a separate section with some of the older group involved.  It’s been so long since I’ve directed anything from scratch that I’m REALLY looking forward to it and can’t wait to get going.

The section I’m working on is an amalgam of scenes from Hamlet and Tom Stoppard’s Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead – a show I’ve always wanted to direct in its entirety.

I have to confess I’ve been a little on the tired side after our enormous brain-storming/planning session, but I feel so jazzed at the thought of being part of this show.  It’s wonderfully exciting to be working with the groups towards something that will really show their families and, hopefully, the wider community, what they are capable of doing.

Tickets are available NOW from the Milton Keynes Theatre box office 0870 060 6652 (with a booking fee) or online here. (plug, plug)

In other news: my new BlackBerry arrived today, too!!  After all my to-ing and fro-ing with O2 (the phone company, not the oxygen people), I managed not only to secure a free upgrade to the BlackBerry, but also to upgrade my call plan to double the minutes (400) and ten times the texts (1,000) per month for the same money.  And I only wanted the phone….

Unfortunately, since it arrived I’ve been castigated by K after spending all morning and half the afternoon in a meeting for then getting so wrapped up in my new toy that I’ve hardly paid any attention to her all day. 

I’d like to make a witty-yet-cutting riposte to show her that she’s completely in the wrong and I’m smugly in the right as usual, but I really can’t defend myself on this one, so I’m going to slope off and use my apologetic face.

EMILY UPDATE: For those of you still keeping tabs on Em (of which I know there are tons) she’s still doing well.  She’s still on the vent for the moment, but her family say things are looking good for now.  Thanks to you all for your love, prayers and support – I know they’re greatly appreciated. 

EMILY UPDATE:

As updated on Friday, Emily came through the surgery well and is currently in intensive care.  They made an attempt to wean her off her ventilator today, but she didn’t take to it too well and has been sedated again.  This isn’t a major issue, as it is quite common for the de-ventilation (as it were) to take a little while, what with the mixture of sedation, pain meds and new cocktails of anti-rejection drugs.  She has become slightly more awake and alert at points and is showing good signs of her old bubbly personality in flashes, so things are looking cautiously optimistic at the moment.

As for me, well, the last two days have been pretty up and down.

One of the weirdest things at the moment is how other people seem to think that I’d be really adversely affected by Em’s transplant – perhaps expecting me to be jealous or angry, the old “why not me?” chestnut.

But the truth is, I don’t feel anything like that at all.  I’m completely overwhelmed with joy for Em and her family and devoted boyfriend – I couldn’t be happier for them all, and especially seeing such a close friend going through what we’ve both been hoping for for the last two years.  It feels odd, because there’s a part of me that thinks I should be feeling some pangs of jealousy or upset, but it just isn’t there.

It has made me think a lot more about my own transplant, but actually in a much more positive light.  I have to confess that I have had moments, particularly over the last few weeks leading up to Christmas, where I have been doubting my conviction that this will come for me, and I still don’t like to hear people talk about it with such certainty in their voices. 

But I know that Em has been through patches like me as well – particularly in the summer when she had an exceptionally bad spell and was touch-and-go for a while, and we spoke about it afterwards.  And I know that although she had her doubts, she never lost faith and never stopped fighting, right up to her call.  She’s set a kind of positive-thinking example to me and perked up not only my enthusiasm, but also my previously rigid belief that this will come for me too.

Secretly, I also have to admit I’m quite pleased she got in there first, because she’ll now be on hand to help talk me through all the relevant stages of post-op recuperation as I come across them!

The last few days have been a bit rubbish for me, though, since I’ve started to feel really sick after my evening meal for the last three nights in a row now and the pattern is becoming a little disturbing.

The first night, on Friday, I had a horrible moment of thinking I was coming down with the same virus that hit K on Christmas day and that has slowly been working its way through her family.  But so far I’ve not actually been sick.

Another theory that struck me yesterday was that, having spent two afternoons back at the flat trying to get it ship-shape before we aim to move back in over the next couple of weeks, all the dust and stuff we’d been kicking up has upset my chest and made me more productive, which in turn I’ve been coughing up and swallowing a lot – causing not-too-goodness in my stomach.

Although that seemed a plausible explanation yesterday, it seems less so today, when I’ve done nothing but chill out at my ‘rents.  And it also doesn’t explain why it’s only in the evenings, either.

It’s not too bad, just annoying that I can’t seem to eat in the evenings without feeling like I’m going to hurl for a couple of hours afterwards.  It goes off slowly over the course of the evening, but it’s not very pleasant to have to put up with.

Still, things could be worse and my chest is still doing very well a week into the New Year.  I’m waking up every morning with lots of energy and get-up-and-go and I’m hopeful of a successful move back to the flat in the coming week or so, which will be lovely not just for K and me, but doubtless for Mum and Dad, too.

So next week is a chance to start focusing back on work, with the start of a new term at MKT and a show to build towards, as well as time to start turning my attention to the next issue of CF Talk.  And then, of course, there’s all my writing projects, too….

I’ve just this minute had a text message from a friend (the other half of the Live Life Then Give Life team) to say that Em has gone down to theatre for her transplant at Harefield.

Words can truly not express what I’m feeling at the moment – I’ve been through a lot with Emily over the last 12-18 months and we’ve both come across new challenges around the same time as each other (although I have to say I’ve been the lucky one and had things an awful lot easier).

Almost precisely two years ago, Em was told she had a year left to live – she’s been close to losing her battle on at least two occasions but has never given up fighting and believing that her Tx would come.

And now it has and I’m delirious for her – it’s just unbelievable.

But it’s not all plain sailing from here – she’s going to have a lot more fighting to do over the coming few days and weeks to get through and out the other side to where she can finally enjoy the rush of fresh air into her new lungs. 

So I’ll ask all of you out there reading this, whether it’s tonight, tomorrow morning or any time in the next few days to say a prayer or two for her and help her in her fight.

Em, you’re a legend and I couldn’t be happier!

UPDATE:

I’ve been told that Emily has come through surgery with apparent flying colours (Em does everything with flying colours.  It’s not worth doing if it’s not colourful, mainly pink!).

She’s now out and in intensive care – her family have seen her and she’s doing well although obviously she’s still critical at this stage.  Please keep praying and keep her strong to fight through and come out the other side.

It’s been a bit of a quiet, stay-at-home kind of day today, spent largely on the sofa chilling out.  I have, however, managed to do my first piece of real writing for ages and I’m really pleased with it.

It’s an odd thing, writing.  I love doing it and when I sit in front of a screen with a real purpose to my ideas, I seem to be able to rattle things off at speed.  The 6-page scene I wrote today, which is something that will hopefully be part of the Youth Theatre show in April, took me a little under an hour to write, although I must confess I wrote the verse part of it over the course of an hour waiting for K yesterday.

It seems that when I have a deadline to write to is when I do my best writing and when my mind focuses most clearly on what it’s trying to do and say.  If I’m just sitting there of my own volition, tapping away at the keys and seeing where I end up, it doesn’t come in the same way.

What this means, of course, is that once I start getting commissioned and paid for my work and I’m a top-flight, in-demand scriptwriter and playwright, I’ll be knocking out classics left, right and centre (OK, OK, but stay with me), whilst right now I need to find that spur to keep me going when I don’t have an identifiable goal to achieve in front of me.

People say the key to it is to make sure you write a little every day, no matter what it is.  Specifically, I’ve heard it said that you should set yourself a page or word target that you must hit no matter what.  The trouble with those plans is that I always just end up writing drivel to fill the quota and end up hating myself for being so uncreative and unimaginative.  And when you think you’ve lost it, your enthusiasm for the project drops off the face of the planet.

All of which does nothing really to solve my dilemma, but it’s nice to be writing again and reading my own words on a page.  There’s still something wonderful about reading back over scripts that have just emerged from your head through your fingers and ended up as a formatted file on a hard drive and ink-on-paper in front of you.

It never ceases to amaze me when I sit at a computer that in a matter of a few hours I can turn out something really quite readable to fill a blank page and possibly more.

My head tells me that I need to set myself some time aside everyday to try to achieve something in writing, even without self-imposed artificial quotas and the like, but at the same time I know that if I set myself a timetable and don’t stick to it or am too tired to achieve it, I’ll just get down about it.

But enough of that – it’s all a bit unnecessary.

Today I watched FIELD OF DREAMS with K on the sofa and absolutely loved it.  It was a Christmas gift from her because I had told her I’d not seen it and I’d heard lots of good things about it from lots of people, so I finally sat down to watch it today. 

It’s a lovely little film, filled with a beautiful kind of magic that you somehow just don’t question.  It’s one of those films with such wonderful heart that you forgive it it’s little foibles and unnecessaries and allow yourself to get swept up with the characters and their journey and the magic they’re experiencing.

And who knew Kevin Costner used to be so watchable?  And not in dodgy-accented, car-crash kind of terms?  I mean, he was almost like a real actor.  You’d have sworn he’d never do something as silly as make Waterworld.

I also wasted nearly an hour of my day on a programme about the Archers, which promised in it’s Sky+ blurb that it would follow the production team as they put together the show’s 15,000th episode – the kind of behind-the-scenes peek that I’ve always been addicted to.  But instead, it spent the vast majority of it’s time covering the whole of the back-story to this momentous episode. 

Which, when you’re covering a radio drama on TV, is somewhat dull.

Still, at least I watched that before I watched Field of Dreams, so I could have my memory of it wiped.

Also watched a great Mark Lawson interview with Armando Iannucci, one of the writer/producers behind things like The Day Today and Alan Partridge or, more recently, The Thick of It.  I love watching programmes about writers and programme makers and getting a glimpse into their various thought-processes and working practices.  It helps focus the mind onto things I want to do and ways in which I could drive myself forward.

Of course, we all know all I really need to drive myself forward is a deadline to write to.

I think I might have cracked it.  Not in a bad, going-to-need-to-replace-it kind of way, in an it’s-about-time-you-silly-arse kind of way.

First of all, big Happy New Year to one and all – hope you had a good night’s celebrations and woke up later on the 1st without too much of a fuzzy head and swirly stomach.  Being the paragon of virtue that I am, I was enjoyable tee-total (or is that tea-total) all night and felt super when I woke up.  So bleh to you! (I don’t know how you spell the noise you make when you stick your tongue out at someone…)

But most excitingly, I’ve managed to get through all of the weekend’s festivities and back into normal life with no kind of a chest-related hangover whatsoever – how brilliant is that?

Not only did I save up enough energy on the 31st to have a really good night with S&S and the big C at the Lodge, but I lasted the course of a day with my Godson and family yesterday too.

Sunday night was great fun – just the 5 of us chilling out, chatting, laughing and watching the Hootenanny on the telly.  I love the Hootenanny, mostly just because it has a totally brilliant name.  Hootenanny has to be one of the best words in the whole language.  And it is totally fitting for some kind of party!

Come midnight we all hugged and danced (some more energetically than others) and decided we were knackered and ran away to bed.

Monday was another cracking day of fun and frolics with my Godson, his Mum and Dad and bro.  We played Uno and I lost by a lot, we played Game of Life and I lost by a little less, then after our second meal of the day – don’t you just love those days when you have a huge roast dinner and then come back later in the afternoon to finish off the leftovers and clear out the fridge with some lovely crusty bread and pickles and cheese and other wonderful delights? – we played Game of Life again and I won.  I didn’t mean to, I sort of did it by accident.

The whole thing was interspersed with an hour’s break in the middle when the two Dad’s took the young’uns off for a walk around the lake and I laid on the bed with Neve strapped on resting myself up for the 2ns half of the day.  It worked brilliantly – just as I was beginning to flag, my mini-break, semi-nap set me up for the rest of the day perfectly.

The best part of the whole weekend, though, without a doubt (aside from all the great bits) was waking up this morning feel fresh, energised and ready to tackle the day.  Not a single sentence of moany-ness from my chest and not a moment of complaint throughout the day.

I’m so happy it’s really rather silly and I’m aware of how fragile it all can be, but I can’t think of a better way to start the New Year than to realise that I’ve worked out the limits of my ever-changing body.

I know I tend to push myself too hard and usually too fast, but it’s fantastic to know where I can push myself to and to be able to recognise when I need to stop, take a breath or three and stop myself being silly.

Those of you who’ve been with me from the start will know that this whole escapade began with me searching for an understanding of the boundaries that were newly rearranged around my ever-more-protesting blowers, and to finally find something of an answer, or at least a vague level of comprehension, feels wonderful.

So now it’s time to turn my attention to more long-term and practical goals, and see what I can’t achieve with my year before Harefield get on the phone to offer me my part-exchange.

Anyone got anything they need me to do that involves sitting at a desk and preferably being creative, you know where to find me.

For now, I’m off to get my 10 hours sleep to make sure tomorrow goes just as well.

Happy New Year everyone, bring on the next challenge!

I’m still pretty impressed at myself just now for not pushing too hard and doing too much.  The nebs seem to be doing their jobs and keeping me fairly clear, and I’m sticking to the O2 all the time when I’m not using Neve.

Yesterday I had a FANTABULOUS couple of hour tour of Borders – Christmas voucherage always being a good reason to get out and about.  The best thing about Borders, among all the other best things it has, is that even in the height of the new-season sales, when the car park is full to bursting, the store’s so big it doesn’t feel busy at all.

Apart from finally getting to enjoy some proper browsing time – and by “proper”, I mean time enough to look around, then grab a book and sit and read the interesting bits that you want to read and put it back on the shelf when you’ve garnered all the useful info from it – it also served as the first time I’ve properly worn my oxygen out in the big wide world.

Those of you who were around early on in this blog may remember my difficulties coming to terms with the idea of venturing out and about with my O2 on and my reluctance to do so.  I still don’t think it’s entirely gone away, but I reasoned with myself that if I was going to be spending a couple of hours in the shop, it would be really silly of me to think I could do it unaided.  Especially when I’m doing everything else I can to make sure I look after myself and don’t take huge steps backwards.

So I grabbed one of the light-weight cylinders and trotted off with Dad and K to explore the store and we all had a whale of a time.  It was brilliant flitting between shelves, digesting bits of books, moving around and sticking my nose into all sorts of sections I wouldn’t normally look at.

I think we all struggled with not spending heaps of cash, but I did managed to spend the vouchers K’s bro and his family gave me, which was cool, netting myself Inside Little Britain (which I’m ripping through at pace) and a book about Max Clifford that I’ve wanted for a while.

The rest of the last two days have been spent very sensibly doing little-to-nothing in order to save my energy for the weekend ahead.  Tomorrow night for New Year, I’m hoping to bee able to make it over to a house-party S&S are holding at the Lodge. 

The plan at the moment is to chill out for the day and catch a late-afternoon nap in order to get up and over there for around 10pm, which should give me a couple of hours party time, followed by midnight and a bit of wind-down before scooting home.

New Year’s day I have my Godson coming over, which will be brilliant, but again very tiring, so I’m forcing myself to stay in bed for the morning and do plenty of physio while resting as much as possible so I can make the most of the afternoon with him.

This is going to be a major test of my stamina-planning ability and may have a massive impact on my decision as to whether or not I can try to phase a return to work in the near future.  What I’m hoping is that if I prove to myself I can manage my fatigue, then I will be able to take myself to work for a couple of hours on a Wednesday night to work with the oldest group. 

So I’m looking forward to the dawning of the New Year, with the feelings of energy and hope that it always brings, and I’m hoping that my planning and self-discipline holds out for the weekend and I come out of it tired but positive.

Here goes nothing….