Archive for the ‘british liver trust’ category

Chopped Liver – No Alarms and No Biopsies

February 20, 2011

the power of positive thinking – thank you all.

I had a unit of blood drained away today as I had too much – risk of clotting – I had a chest X-ray today to check for fluid and stuff – that went fine.

And I’ve had @drobeirne come round to assess my results and how my rejection was taking shape – and the fact is – today has seen a marked improvement.

Through fine tweaking of the meds they have enabled my body to settle down along the process of living together in some sort of harmony.

This is good news.

Still a few things to overcome like getting my weight down and stable – but in the grand scheme of things – the best day yet.

So there is no desire to upset this state of play with a biopsy.

If I told you how exactly they perform biopsies here you will be pleased for me on that score – not painful – just pretty darn weird.

Now I wanna be able to walk properly – that’s the next step (!).

Dum di dum

Hey – hope your carrying your card?

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Chopped Liver – That’s Hip…Hip…Hip…Hip…Hip Priest

February 8, 2011

The rest of this post will be as confusing as the title, don’t worry. I could’ve written about me waking up in the early hours of this morning and planning how I am going to react when I get the Liver Call – and whether I should write a blog post about it now rather than leave it to reflect my actual live mood of the time. I think the latter is better.

But I did mention a couple of days back that I had a Silence of the Lambs story. So, here it is. It’s not really my kind of film – not really into gore and horror – unless it’s happening to me!

But I did find myself watching that film on the telly box one day many moons ago. And it builds up to a climax, doesn’t it? In fact I would call it a crescendo. The final scene has a lot of fast camera work and loud sound effects going on. Well, my attention was drawn to one of the sounds in the mix – deep down in the mix – I thought I could hear the unmistakeable Manc twang of Mark E. Smith belting out one of The Fall’s “classics” – Hip Priest.

But of course it couldn’t be. This is a Hollywood blockbuster. Why would they be having an obscure Fall song in this film, especially so far down in the mix.

But it meant I had to wait for the credits to roll – and what do I see? The Fall. Hip Priest. Performed by The Fall. Available at few record stores, and some pretty obscure ones at that.

So, there you have it. It is possible, tho’ unlikely, that someone reading this will be interested in this fact. Most will wish I’d written about my moods and plans of 6 a.m. this morning. Perhaps @drobeirne will be interested. Who he? Ah, now that is another story!

Now there… are 3…. steps to… carry a donor card – ooh, wap wap!
Just follow steps

Chopped Liver – We Are The Champions

February 7, 2011

For those of you who had the misfortune to read the previous post – entitled The Loving Cup, I have to report that modesty forbids me to reveal who won the Super Cuparoonie this year.

And what a great feeling it is.

Championees! Championees! Oh Way oh way oi veh!

Now there… are 3…. steps to… carry a donor card – ooh, wap wap!
Just follow steps

Chopped Liver – I’d Like To Teach The World To Singe

February 4, 2011

I had my hair cut today.

I went to a barber’s on the High Street I hadn’t been to before – seemed nice and clean. Perhaps the lack of customers on a Friday afternoon should have told me something, but I gave it a try.

And I was very impressed. Most men’s barbers simply ask you what number you want and subsequently produce a massive electric razor, switch it to “hatchet” mode, and attack your scalp believing they are going to be judged by how fast they can get the job done and get you out of there without the need of polite conversation.

They are right.

But this guy wanted to talk.

“You been around here long?”

“Eh, yeah – ’bout 15 years”.

And so endeth that arduous conversation.

But he used scissors! Yes. Indeed. The barber used scissors.

I found a barber wot used scissors!

No massive Number 2 razor for him. And so I sat back in the knowledge that this was going to be one long haircut. He used scissors, cutters, clippers, trimmers, strimmers, rimmers, brimmers, blammers, whammers and duckers – the last two I made up – he didn’t use whams and ducks – but, believe me, you’ll find out more about those in tomorrow’s post – oh yes!

And then, his piece de resistance, he picks up this disgusting-looking metal rod with a pink ball of cotton wool like thing on one end. He dips it into a bottle of methylated spirits, produces a cigarette lighter, sets fire to the cotton ball – and ask me if I have had ever had one of these before?

"Your usual, sir? Number Two?"

Before I was able to contemplate this real life Silence of the Lambs (wow, do I have a story about that film??) moment and provide him with an answer – he was waving the fireball at my ear – at my ear, I tell you. He was burning my bleedin’ ear-hairs off!!!! The smell was… was… a burning smell. The heat intense. Then he did the other ear!! Two ears! I thought, “when is he going to start on the eyebrows and nostrils?”

Then he asked for money! He wanted paid for this torture.

I shoulda asked him if he removed livers.

Now there… are 3…. steps to… carry a donor card – ooh, wap wap!
Just follow steps

Chopped Liver – Seat Down

February 2, 2011

I want to dispel a myth.

Arguably the greatest accusation of laziness levelled against mankind is unjust and unfair. And when I say “mankind” I mean mankind, and not womankind – as it is womankind who have levelled the accusation.

Blokes are accused, to the point of boredom, of leaving the toilet seat up after use. Well, yesterday it struck me that there is a genuine reason for this – and I stand up for mankind on this issue of national, if not global, importance.

My 6 year old son goes peepee. We have been encouraging him since the age of about 3 to go peepee – when he feels he needs to, and to go on his own, and to wipe himself etc etc.

So he does. He goes peepee. He lifts the seat up – after all you would not want him to pee on the seat, so good boy, lift the seat up. Then he goes peepee. Then he has a little wipe. Then he washes his hands – very good boy.

Now he does not have the strength nor the reach to flush. But hey, the boy done good.

And he leaves the toilet.

And the seat is still up. Now, I don’t know about you, but I would rather my boy not spend longer than is necessary (about a nano second) touching that toilet seat before he places his fingers in his mouth or on food or whatever – so I am happy with this situation and I reward him with a resounding “Good Boy!”

And so the boy grows up, through his formative years, being taught, and indeed rewarded, with leaving the toilet up.

We aim to please - would you aim too, please?


So, to do what womankind would prefer, requires a complete re-training of this nurtured behaviour. Some manage that. Some do not. Some do not know why we have to change. After all, boys – men – need the toilet seat up to do weewee (the adult form of peepee), whereas women need it down.

But us men don’t get all hot under the collar and complain that women leave the toilet seat down, so we have to lift it up. We simply get on with our lives – after all we wouldn’t want to miss a contentious throw-in in the footy match in the lounge – or worse still, lose control over the remote control!

Now there… are 3…. steps to… carry a donor card – ooh, wap wap!
Just follow steps

Chopped Liver – Here Comes The Sun

January 26, 2011

The Sun Page 1:

Gray Is A Sexist Pig.

The Sun Page 3:

Lindy Lou gets her kit off for the lads.

Phwooaaarrr!!!

Now there… are 3…. steps to… carry a donor card – ooh, wap wap!
Just follow steps

Chopped Liver – Rockin’ Robin

January 22, 2011

Admission time.

The first record I ever bought – well, to be honest I got two at the same time – but one of them is, in my opinion, pretty cool – the other decidedly not.

The cool one – Metal Guru by T.Rex.

The uncool one – Rockin’ Robin by Michael Jackson – back in the days when he was… well, he was black.

And the lyrics went something along the lines of “Tweedily tweedily tweet Tweedily Tweedily Tweet Tweedily tweedily tweet Tweedily Tweedily Tweet Tweedily tweedily tweet Tweedily Tweedily Tweet – Tweet Tweet, Tweet Tweet.

Which is my round-a-bout way of talking about Twitter today. Y’see I decided to perform a scientific experiment based on the power and effectiveness of Twitter over Facebook.

Under stringent laboratory conditions I played out my serious dilemma that needed an urgent and considered response. I tweeted the issue and pleaded for a response. I concurrently posted? Statused? I don’t know what they call it in Facebook. Y’see I am a Twitterer. Not a Facebooker. I Follow and am Followed. I don’t update my status or pee on my Wall or whatever it is F-worders do.

In fact I have a tag-line on Twitter that says “Facebook is where you lie to people you know. Twitter is where you’re honest to strangers.”

So, what exactly happened with my experiment? Well, within an hour – there were 21 comments on Facebook creating a thread of opinion and good humour – one of which was a comment from one friend called Hayley.

I said to B, “Did you see Hayley’s comment?” At which point, B jumped up from her seat and ran to the window pronouncing “What??? Hayley’s Comet? Where?”.

One of her better moments.

or is it tweeter on Facebook?


And what of Twitter?

Zilch.

Not a peep.

Not a tweet.

So, my scientifically controlled experiment has deduced that Quality is, indeed, still better than Quantity. Having hundreds of Twitter followers does not mean that I have hundreds of friends.

Or, maybe they are just a tad more discerning? Discuss.

By the way, I even lost a follower since my tweet.

Now there… are 3…. steps to… carry a donor card – ooh, wap wap!
Just follow steps