L) Got the date for my surgery

Monday 18th August 2003.

Another long gap, sorry Diary. I keep saying I'll do better. Lately
though it would have only been demented ranting.

Okay what's been happening.

Big news is the op.

Other news.

Mark driving me nuts
Decorators from hell.
Books
Nothing different, no rampant sex in ripe wheat fields, or murdered
family members. Just the same old, same old.

Okay I have finally got the date for my operations. I'm devastated.
Owing to my consultant, Mr. Ball, having an influx of emergency
procedures to perform lately, his backlog of non-emergency surgery has
been put back six months.

What the frigging hell happened to them not being allowed to leave
anybody on the waiting list longer than twelve months?

I asked about that and they said they try not to leave anybody longer
than twelve months because, for every patient going over, the hospital
is financially penalised.

So I'm not getting my ops until end of March next year.

Okay it's not the end of the world, at least it is still happening. But
I'm so disappointed. Again it's the whole issue of Christmas. Jesus, I
hate Christmas. I so wanted it all over and done with by then. I was
hoping to be able to go out and socialise a bit. But no, another
Christmas stuck in this fucking monstoricty of a body. Another eight
months of solitary confinement. I never leave the house at all now
unless I have to. Work, shopping, school talks, if I have to take Mark
somewhere. The only mirror in the house is in Mark's room. I've taken
all the others down. I despise myself so much. I can't believe, or
understand, how I came to this.

Okay part of it is down to my Rhesus Disease. And I'm intolerant to
complex carbs and don't break them down well, and I live a sedentary
life. I don't even walk the dog anymore because I can't face walking
down the street. I feelthat everybody is lookingat me and making nasty
comments. The only thing I don't do is over eat. But what I do eat is
all wrong. I love pizza and pasta. Potatoes and sandwiches. I rarely
eat sweets or chocolate, but love a rich creamy sauces in my
cooking.

I've always been ugly, but twelve years ago (half a lifetime it seems)
I had a sensational body. The perfect ten but with plenty of curves. I
am a brown belt in karate and used to love competing. I had a huge
circle of friends and was a semi-pro dancer with an opera company of
all things. I worked the bars in Morecambe and for three years (before
pole dancing was invented) was a bar dancer. Six times a night I'd
dance on the bar in stockings and a basque (with and without a python).
Cheap yes, but I loved the attention and the pay was good. I used to go
out clubbing several times a week and lived to sing and dance. When I
had my horse I used to ride every day no mater what the weather. What
the hell happened to me? Of course nine pregnancies hasn't helped
any.

Now I'm eighteen stone and disgusting. I've put a lot on since being
accepted for the op but haven't been weighed so haven't a clue how
much. Eighteen stone might even be a conservative guess by now.

I'm not sleeping because I never burn any energy off. I've come to
detest the job I've spent my whole life loving because it means going
out to do it. And sometimes I shower up to ten times a day because I
can't wash away the feeling of being disgusting. Screwed up? Me?
&;#8230;you betcha!

What was the first thing I did when I found out I'm not getting my op
until next year &;#8230; and it's an almost certainty that there
will be no cancellations? After five months without so much as a puff,
I headed straight for solace in a packet of fags. I'm back up to at
least twenty roll ups a day. Silly cow. I'll stop again in February to
make sure my blood tests come out clear.

For the pat month I've had the decorators from hell in. It's my
landlord's brother and his mob. The landlord informed me that my living
room was going to be done. Lovely, it's ready for it. He wanted it done
on the cheap and told me my lovely wall paper, that I was very happy
with, was going to be painted over in white emulsion. I hated the idea,
it's a big room and I don't want stark white walls. I like nice
patterned paper and borders, that's my taste. I said that I'd pay for
the paper if I could pick my own, but he refused.

The decorators came the following Monday. They painted my back wall and
after six coats the original paper was still showing through and it
looked bloody awful. That took them three days to paint one wall. Then
it was decided that they would strip the walls after all and put
anaglypta up. I HATE anaglypta. Again I said that I didn't think it was
fair being expected to live with something I don't like. He said that I
can look for somewhere else if I wish. It's been seven weeks now and
all they've done is strip the walls, papered half of it, and they've
painted the woodwork. My chimney breast has been painted in white GLOSS
it looks ridiculous. For five days all my furniture (computer included)
was piled in the middle of the room. We had to live upstairs. I became
more and more fed up and depressed. They came for a day and then had
five days off and then came for another day. It's taken seven weeks to
half decorate ONE ROOM. They were supposed to come back two weeks ago
to finish off but I haven't seen hide nor hair of them. When they did
come, Graham, the main decorator, brought his five year old son. I fed
them every time they came and had to look after his brat of a kid all
day while he was doing the minimum amount of work. Because they are
family of the landlord, and therefore doing it on the cheap, I'm
expected to just go along with whatever is decided. It's not on. I'm
still looking at the wall in front of me that hasn't been papered yet.
I rang the landlord and said that I'd finish it myself, but he said I
was just being petty. They've broken the glass in two of my pictures
and covered on of my new sofas in white gloss. They were supposed to
come back with something to clean it, but haven't

I like a nice house and this is driving me nuts.

Mark is bored, he still doesn't have any friends. The holidays have
been endless. I haven't been able to write much at all. When I do write
it's through the night and then I'm bad tempered and snappy the next
day.

Other than all that, life is pretty good.

I've finished Keepers and put it out to both of my publishers (not
bothered with Publish Britannica, because I'm not keen on them). Arthur
did Leap for ?250. He wants five hundred to do Keepers. I don't like
this 'lure them in with a lower price and them sting them with the
second book' mentality. So that's a no go. He's been quite unpleasant
about me going to Graham with Devil and offering Keepers
elsewhere.

Graham is insisting that if we do the same deal as last time I still
have to have 100 advance orders. Devil was 190 K, Keepers is only 81K
and yet he's 'charging' me the same price for a book half the size. So
that's a no-go too. If it went out at ?10 a book, 100 advance orders
means 1000 quid to him, way and above the cost of the books and
publishing. Sod that. He says it's a four hundred page book &;#8230;
bullshit. If it makes three hundred I'd be surprised.

I really wanted to have it out by the end of October to catch the
Christmas trade that's impossible now.

I have been through Devil and pencilled in every single punctuation
mistake I can find. The book has gone off to him today, asking again
for my re-print.

I have had NONE of the wonderful promotion and marketing he promised
me. I've had NOTHING. After three months Devil doesn't even have a
proper listing on Amazon despite me nagging him relentlessly. It's
still showing as 4-6 weeks and doesn't even have a picture. The royalty
checks were due this month but I haven't had one. He says he's a bit
behind on everything.

When the schools go back I have a lot of work lined up at Victoria high
school and Dowdales School. I'm starting to panic about it. I know from
experience that I run an informative lesson that the kids get really
involved in and enjoy. It's just that first five minutes when I have to
stand in front of them looking like this and see them all smaning.
After six weeks with no talks at all, I don't know if I can do it
again. Once we get going and get into the exercises it's brilliant and
I feel a real connection with them and a fine sense of achievement.
It's just those first few minutes when I feel like an obscene freak. Is
it worth it? It would be far easier to just cancel and not bother. See,
laziness creeping in. I've never been lazy in my life. Now I'm looking
for escape from anything that means leaving the house.

I'm listening to Beverly Craven. I like her, she's a bit breathy
sometimes but she's got a cracking voice. I think she deserves more
recognition than she's ever got.

Jumping right into the murky depths of being completely un PC, I love
almost all the reality TV programs. I am interested in people and find
the psychology of them fascinating.

I was talking to Mary about them the other day and said that any time
now we are going to have our first RTV induced suicide.

Okay Federico being called a dinky dick in front of the entire nation
wasn't enough to do it. Some disillusioned kid on pop Idol might do it
at the mercy of nasty Mr. Cowel. But I think the most likely show to
bring it on is going to be My New Best Friend. Why the hell would
anyone do that? Ten grand v the potential to lose everyone you care
about. It's facinating.

And if we don't get an intentional suicide ..maybe we will have an
accidental one when some kid nicks the local drug dealer's gun while
the dealer is shagging the kid's mother. When the kids got the gun he
can emulate Derron Brown trying to blow his head off with a revolver.
Of course we all know Brown is going to be fine, but what about the kid
who copies him?

We aren't having a Celebrity BB next year because Psychologists have
decided it's too stressful for them.

Is reality TV right?

No it's obscene, gratuitous, and exploitive ... but it's bloody
compelling.

I don't think it's that we want to see people being hurt or humiliated.
I think it's that we want to see people on the edge kick back.

I think impatience is going to kill me before I get my surgery. And
it's such a major operation, well two operations at once, over ten
hours in all, that the longer it takes to happen, the more time I have
left to listen to everyone trying to talk me out of it.

I'm dreaming about babies all the time. Because the Gastric by-pass is
so
huge in my mind and so important to me, consciously I'm hardly thinking
about
the hysterectomy at all. It feels unimportant to me because all I can
focus on is the by-pass. But I'm dreaming about having babies all the
time. I'm not done with children. I really want a daughter but know
it's not going to happen. I've got two great sons (even though one has
fallen out with me). I've lost seven babies (possibly eight, I think I
lost one many years ago to my first husband) and
after the complications with the last one my heart isn't strong enough
to lose any more.
Can't bloody wait.

Speaking of Cli' he still hasn't been in touch since his grandmother's
funeral. Mark is missing him and rings him occasionally, but Cli' has
made it very clear that he doesn't consider me as his mother at all. He
said in a conversation to Mark that he is going to buy him a mobile so
that he can ring Mark too and there is no danger that he'll have to
talk to me. Mark now thinks he's going to get a mobile, but it's never
going to happen. Cli' is full of false promises and big talk that comes
to nothing. I do miss him, but I'm still so very, very angry with him
that I think it's good for us to have this distance. Maybe things will
change one day.

Mark starts his new school in two weeks. I hope it's going to bring him
some friends. He's not seeing Daniel anymore, thank god. Dan has moved
onto other friends and has dropped Mark like a hot one. I feel so sorry
for him.

Les has just rung me. Our Lou's having an Ann Summers party at the
Steelworks tomorrow. She said I've got no excuse not to go and that
they will be offended if I don't. I said that it wasn't my thing and
that I'm totally skint and can't afford it, but she said they expect me
to be there and if I'm not, they are not going to invite me to anything
in future.

I'd rather stick skewers in my eyes, than sit with a bunch of drunk,
cackling women giggling at vibrators and playing smutty games. I REALLY
don't want to go. Les said it will be a laugh. Little Mo' might get
away with sexy undies, but our Lou (who is bigger than me) can't. I'm
not going. I hate offending them, but really don't want to, so what's
the point? Les said that Mary's going, can't see her liking it
either.

Pedigree Crush is coming on well (though very slowly) I'm pleased with
it. Mark's going to stay with Allie and David in Bolton tomorrow for
three days, so I'm hoping to crack on with it then.