thyroids et al.

I didn't expect to be told that I needed a thyroidectemy at 20 years old - when you're that age you feel pretty much invincible. I was really upset, to say the least. I dislike operations - the irony of the thyroidectemy was that the surgeon found out that I needed one when I was on the operating table getting my wisdom teeth out. I woke up from general anaesthetic feeling terrible and was told that the lump on my throat (which I hadn't noticed before) had to be removed too.

I decided to do it in Brussels, not because I have anything against the NHS - I love the NHS, they fixed my wrist without question when I accidentally threw myself down the stairs - but because Brussels does have a pretty good reputation medical-wise.

Anyway, I was booked to stay in for two days and two nights - I swear, longest two days of my life, and I was crashed out for one of them! But contrary to my expectations, the experience was actually more pleasant than the wisdom teeth removal.

Because I obviously looked stressed out, the nurses gave me a 'happy pill' to chill out before the op (they should sell those for everyday use...they're amazing!) and then I waited around on a bed until they wheeled me into the operating theatre. After a 5 second weird experiece of feeling my body close down but my brain still working when they anaesthetised me (not pleasant) I woke up what seemed like no time later - but actually a couple hours - with gloop in my eyes and feeling disorientated and generally shit.

The general anaesthetic made me sleep for most of the first day so I didn't really know what was going on anyway. They also gave me a tube attatched to a pot to drain blood out of the cavity which I had to carry around with me, when I went to the bathroom. I was also attached to a drip. But to be honest, I didn't really feel like doing anything but mong for the first day and night. Sleeping was hard, but only because I had tubes coming out of me. The blood-pot tube fell out of me in the middle of the night but apparently that was fine. When I went to the bathroom I noticed I had red (probably antiseptic) stuff smeared from my chin to my breastbone, and bits of glue where heart monitors had been stuck. I looked like a tribal woman.

Second day was the longest day. Ever. I was still a bit disorientated and jacked up on painkillers, so didn't really feel anything or notice that a piece of me had been taken out of my neck. Got woken up early and played cards and stared into space until Tribal Wives was on BBC2 at 11, then watched that and went to sleep. God it took forever. Got fed different flavours of protein mush - which wasn't too bad (apart from the banana one) and accidentally got fed tuna and peaches (the nurse mixed up my liquid-exclusive diet with someone elses - bad times, but nothing bad actually happened). That was the highlight of my day.

The night took ages, especially because a mosquito found its way into my room on the 7th floor of a hospital in downtown Brussels. It bit me on the hand three times and once on the bum, and I couldn't really swipe at it because I was still attached to a drip. The miraculous thing was that the itchy swollen bites disappeared by the morning, because of the super antihystemine drugs I was on. They should sell drips in the shops to get rid of bites, I swear.

Woke up in the morning and got my bandage on my throat ripped off, and the scar was suprisingly small and inoffensive. I also have a pinprick scar beneath it where they drained the blood (see right, after I got out of the hospital. The scar is going to fade into the neckline, apparently, and the pinprick below looks like a beauty mark anyway, which could be seen as exotic... I'm going abroad in a month or so and just need to cover it with factor 50 suncream to protect it and make the scar less brown. You can also buy a gel to get rid of scars. The scabb appearance is actually only medical glue - didn't even need stitches!). After hanging around for a while the doctor strolled in, said everything was fine, perscribed me paracetemol and ibuprophene and told me that I didn't have a total thyroidectemy, as previously thought and discussed, but rather that he left a bit in. So I'll still have to be on thyroxin replacement pills but less of a dosage. On top of that, I haven't taken any thyroxin for nearly a week and I feel absolutely fine, because I have excess thyroxin in my body.

General consesus, therefore, is that having a partial thyroidectemy is a lot less unpleasant than getting impacted wisdom teeth yanked out. There's literally no pain, the only problems are boredome and inconvenience - boredome in a hospital room, boredome having to eat nutritious mush, and inconvenience of having to walk everywhere with a drip in your arm. If you're going in to get one, bring an easy to read book or a lot of crappy magazines.

And on top of that, I have another crazy scar to add to my collection - check out this one - no, it's not from a crocodile bite or cigarette burns, but from when I fell down a flight of stairs, shattered my wrist and had to get metal pins inserted for months - all a year and a half ago. Delish.

Images: own 

in the woods

I'm impressed with twitter today.

I've previously failed to understand the whole hashtag - @ thing, the impersonality of it, the point if no one really wants to listen to what you're saying (pretty much my case at the moment... a measly 32 followers). The fact that the majority of my friends do not have twitter, and if they do most of them don't know what to do with it.

My internship at a newspaper has dragged my twitter account out of stagnation - the instancy of it means that you either have to be on the computer all day (as I am) or have a smartphone (I unfortunately do not).
So after a failed fox-related vox pop attempt I'd been chatting to one of my only friendlings who has a mass of followers and followees, a wicked blog and a sense of technology and media.

I lamented in twitter-speak that not many people are interested in what I have to say and she retweeted my vox pop to some hundred of her followers after telling me to just follow anything of interest. I got an instant reply and struck up a mico-convo with this complete stranger.

I checked his blog out too and he looks like such an interesting person - if I understand correctly he directed, or helped to direct, this:






Its strikingly beautiful. I like it because its completely lovely and innocent - of only real life was like this...! (including having a guy who can do capoiera)...

His website is amazing too, check out all sorts of mini films at http://www.milkyfilms.com
The song, incidentally, is 'In The Woods' by Ed Hope & Friends. Love it!

And I got this from a complete chance meeting online, someone whom I'll never meet or even speak to in person - and this is where twitter differs from facebook. twitter is impersonal flashes of information, just superficial levels of information which lead to deeper discoveries. facebook is a personality splash-out, which is often not that great (how I loathe those people who update their statuses about their feelings every half hour...ug).

bikes, glitter and jiggly bits

Last  weekend's Brightonian frolicks also included the Brighton Naked Bike Ride. Yep, you heard me. Apparently it happened in London (believable) and Southampton (really?) as well. I think Brighton is the most suited place to do it though, after all it is the most hippyish liberal place in the UK - and I love it. I really don't want to leave it for London's calling now.

At midday at The Level, a bit of green just off Lewes road, a couple friends and I strolled down to watch and take photos (I know it sounds dodgy - but it was purely out of curiosity). I was expecting to see a meagre handful of naturalists attempting to ride bikes nekked in on a sunny and yet probably unpleasantly breezy day. Instead we saw close to 500 people at various levels of undress skanking, lolling about on the grass, smoking and singing along to a live 50's style jazz band (who subsequently stripped off as well). The Level was rife with bums, boobies, willys and vajay-jays - I felt like a prude for not stripping off myself, so to compensate I painted a nose and whiskers on my face - it made sense at the time.

There was also a moustachio's unicyclist who 1. amazingly managed to ride a unicycle 2. amazingly managed to ride a unicycle whilst staying pretty much in the same spot 3. amazingly manaeged to strip completely whilst on a unicycle whilst staying pretty much in the same spot 4. looked sexy whilst doing it. I was in awe and took plenty of photos of him.

The bicyclers then departed in a flurry of bikes, skin, paint, glitter and jiggly bits. I asked them why they were doing it and nobody gave me a straight answer. One person said that it was to demonstrate the vulnerability of bikers. One person said it was to promote bikes rather than cars. Another said it was to promote body image and break taboo. Yet another said that it was in protest against the BP oil spill. I really didn't care if everyone said they were doing it for fun - I would definitely have done it if I had a bike, or rollerskates, or a unicycle... I was even contemplating jogging alongside.

It wasn't even about being naked - some people were in shorts and a bikini top. It was more about community and celebrating mankind. I love Brighton - and there's always next year.

Images: own

football fever

I have been dreading world-cup mania for weeks, and I am not alone. For starters, at a guess I'd say about half of the British population either dislike or are not that bothered by the fact that television viewing will be plagued by balls flying across the screen and lager adverts for the next few months. To paraphrase the voice of reason himself David Mitchell, it's just hours and hours of dizzying, mind-numbing, endless football, each hour more 'climactic' than the last.

Alright, this fantastic parody is a commentary on TV's endless coverage of football rather than the four-yearly world cup. I have to admit that world cup fever 2010 is infectious and exciting, especially because this is the first time I've been in the UK for it. For me, WC 2010 is all about the office sweepstakes (I'm Slovenia, and will get £14 if I win!!!???!!?!!? Gotta keep an eye on that!), cramming into pubs and bars whenever an England game is on (two friends and I squished into The Bear on Lewes Road for the fist Engerlaand game - England v U.S.A - on Saturday), the camraderie (I hate that word), the drone of of vuvuzelas (which may potentially be banned in South Africa http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport1/hi/football/world_cup_2010/8737455.stm - bad times!), English flag face paint (I <3 facepaint!) etc. etc. I almost blame myself for not really getting into 'the beautiful game', it's probably my ignorance - when I watch football all I see is a pretty straightforward ball-going-back-and-forth and people tumbling over each other. I go for the atmosphere rather than admiration of technical skill.

Previously living in Brussels meant that a handful of expat teens and I used to have to find English-y pubs in the town centre in order to get the magic combo of exciting pub-atmosphere and an English game. The choice always turned out to be, ironically, a toss-up between a couple Irish-themed pubs. Nevertheless, the atmosphere in those pubs was exciting and pretty amicable, because everyone in the pub was generally a mix of different nationalities, despite being from the 'English Section' of a European school - so although we were all supporting England, the fact that none of us bar one or two were actually 100% English made the experience somewhat more civilised.

I don't really mind about the hours of television time which will be dedicated to football fever (as long as, I'm thoroughly ashamed to say, Big Brother remains untouched - I've been sucked into it again and need my daily fix. I know it's embarrassing). But I do mind the attitude of a bunch of football fans.

Yes, ok, football brings people together - I agree with that, in my case it's cool as long as you're English. I thought it wouldn't be that bad in Brighton, it being a totally liberal lefty trendy green multicultural place and all that jazz. I was wrong. I have nothing wrong with competition whatsoever, and pride, and going for your own country, and stuff. I have to say, I was less than impressed by the attitude of English football fans last Saturday. Being British and American myself, I was pretty much going for England but also wouldn't have minded if U.S.A won either (funnily enough, the score turned out to be 1-1). The people in The Bear were pretty pissed, both angry and wasted, acting like they caught some kind of airborne football fever. The wasted bit it fine as long as being enraged doesn't come with it, because that really sours the atmosphere. The game in The Bear started off fine but gradually deteriorated when Robert Green let the ball literally slip through his fingers (I feel sorry for him, it was cringeworthy). That's when massive abuse started, waves and waves of 'fucking yankee cheating wankers' (I didn't see any cheating at all) and general rowdiness, shoving, bitching and whingeing by the Brits. Not graceous at all. Pretty horrible to watch - you got the feeling that if you happened to be rooting for the Americans you would have been mauled by red sweaty beer-bellied England supporters, both male and female. A friend of mine went to watch the football in a pub in Essex - don't get me started on what they were shouting.

This is what I've been dreading. Dickheads, basically. The attitude of a large amount of football supporters is not cool (not specifically Brits, I'm sure it spans across the globe). Football supporters are called 'yobs' for a reason, warnings about the British pilgrimage to South Africa have been issued for a reason as well. My experience on Saturday just strenghtened that arguably harsh and sweeping claim. From what I've experienced, there's no dignity or grace in a bunch of supporters. If you lose, you'll get plastered and hurl abuse at an HD screen. If you win, you'll get plastered and hurl. England neither won nor lost and everyone was mad, the whole thing was just generally uncomfortable and unfriendly. I will most probably be going to more pubs when the England games come about again, and I hope the atmosphere will be better than Saturday's. I hope I'm not disappointed.

(n.b. see below for the result of a combination of patriotic facepaint, too many pitchers of beer and a disappointing game)

Images: own

the not-so-great british circus

The Great British Circus came to town and I, another intern and a professional journalist trecked to Dial Post in West Sussex to see it. Not as part of a preview piece for the 'best circus with animals', however, but to research a report on the ongoing controversy that is the fact that exotic animals are made to perform for our entertainment, at as much as £28 a pop [I dislike using the term 'wild' when referring to these particular circus animals because the animals have been bred in captivity for as long as 10 generations].

Before heading out to Dial Post, I did some research on the GBC. Intern-boy and I moseyed around Horsham doing vox pops, and the general consensus of those under 60 was that the circus, especially ones using animals, were outdated and cruel. Its website looks tired and tacky, but insists that it adheres to the code of conduct of the European Circus Association (ECA) and has this statement on animal care:

"A note about ANIMAL CARE - The Great British Circus provides the best and most practical accommodation for our animals. We construct purpose built, state of the art, travelling accommodation, and ensure all our livestock is gently and patiently trained using positive reinforcement. We ensure the animals' diet is wholesome, varied and nutritious. With a network of four experienced veterinary surgeons, blanket health care is possible around the country."

Fair 'nuff. Sounds like quite a good lifestyle for an animal, really - no risk of disease, plush living conditions, good health care, no risk of being attacked or eaten by a bigger and better animal, and probably treated kindly, because living with animals must create a great bond between animal and trainer. Interestingly, a yellow highlighted message at the bottom of the homepage reads SOMETIMES YOU CAN BELIEVE WHAT YOU READ IN THE PAPERS - and proceeds to hail a journalist from the Ilford Recorder who reported that the RSPCA was satisfied with the living conditions of the circus animals. It almost seems like a threat to journalists on the 'other side' - check it out: http://www.greatbritishcircus.co.uk/. Indeed, we weren't allowed to bring any recording equipment into the big top. Probably because of incidents of animal cruelty recorded in 2009 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bta6UxBX6xM.

Nevertheless, I was excited to see the show. I hadn't been to a circus since I was an ickle kiddy, [when I saw an elephant smoking a cigar, which in retrospect was rather bizarre] and I used to enjoy the circus . I enjoy the romantic idea of the travelling circus and the life of circus performers, the sort of tired and traditional feel the shows tend to have have, the weird home-made community atmosphere, acrobats, lions and tigers, out of date organ music, the musty smell of the big top - oevrall general victorian-feel quirkiness. My secret fetish is variety acts [sorry to say that I've been glued to Britain's Got Talent] and I would love to see the Cirque du Soleil. I loved all of that kind of stuff when I was little, and I love them still - my memories of the circus were positive. I was expecting something great out of the Great British Circus and went in curious and not really knowing what to expect.

Before hitting the big top (without our camera and other gear), we stopped to chat to the handful of protestors picketing outside [I must admit I was expecting more of a turnout - probably because of my experience of protest-mania at university]. They had banners and signs saying things like 'Roll up, Roll up, to the cruelest show on earth', etc. Now, my experience at the University of Sussex has made me wary of protestors. Although I admire the fighting spirit, dedication and organisational powers the hardcore university protestors have, their excessive use of megaphones and shouting definitely promotes a sense of alienation and hostility. Bad tactics, if you want to get the average person - not who couldn't care less, but rather who could see both sides of the argument - to listen and get involved. Most of these protestors were different, though. One of them weilded a megaphone and seemed quite aggressive, but the other 10-odd people were middle aged, kind and thoughtful people with full time jobs, who have taken time out of their evening to fight for something they believe in. Maybe leftovers from 70's students enraged at animal cruelty. I think that's fantastic and admirable.

They explained to me that on various accounts the RSPCA had found problems with the conditions of the animals, that the animals spend something like 22 hours in a cage and the rest of the time training - i.e. walking around in circles and leaping over each other, that they are loaded up and taken around the country like luggage. That Martin Lacey, the lion and tiger tamer, would 'shoot animals which he couldn't sell on the free market' if circuses were to be shut down. That the living conditions are generally unnatrual and unhealthy. They asked me to look for the sorrow in the animals' eyes as they trapsed around the ring as they handed me a leaflet.

I went in feeling shocked, and maybe that tainted my experience. Either way, the circus itself was not really worth the reduced-price fiver we each spent (apart from the last act - Duo Stefaneli did a fantastic piratey gymnastic act). The big top was only one third filled up to capacity with parents and little kids - the circus nowadays definitely appeals to the much younger generation, namely that of an age where they have no concept of ethics. Professional journalist, intern boy and I looked like grumpy adults sitting at the back and armed with notepads.

The circus opened with some impressive hula-hooping, and some pretty shoddy dancers who reappeared at dispersed intervals [although I must admit I kind of liked the crappiness of it in a weird aesthetic way. If you've seen and enjoyed 'The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus' you'd understand]. There was also a less-than-funny clown and a person in a monkey suit, whose most advanced jokes were based on bums and farts [again, the tired and depressing feel was almost enjoyable for me]. Five feathered stallions did some jogging and twirling around the ring, camels, reindeer, a llama and a tiny frisky pony (it was so cute) were taken for a walk around the ring. The llama jumped over the camel at one point, which was the pinnacle of unnaturalness but I have to admit quite impressive. The tigers came in and they did non-tiger things whilst yawning, one even pissed on the crowd [I don't think that was part of the act]. A dancing dog did some cute doggy things and seemed to be the only performer there who was enjoying him or herself.

Overall, it was tired, weird and a bit depressing, and the enjoyment I got out of it was because of its weirdly aesthetic crappiness. But I have to admit, it must take some skill to make llamas jump over camels, and (probably de-clawed) tigers not perform rather than maul you [surely if those tigers were that pissed off they'd attatck the trainer]. Skill or patience. Either way, I certainly don't have the skill or the patience to do that, so well done GBC, I am mildly impressed.

I wouldn't go back, though. Purely because although the technicalities of training animals was rather impressive, the atmosphere itself was a bit mouldy and damp and not generally pleasant. I was not really amazed and entertained by them. The human acts were definitely better than the animal acts - sorry, the last human act was better than all the other human and animal acts - and I would have enjoyed the circus more if it was more trapeze and gymnastics stuff. I would have rather seen those animals doing what animals do in a zoo or safari park, because seeing all those animals in such a weird cramped space didn't feel great. It's probably because I spoke to the protestors first, though - I would have liked to see the act before I spoke to the because i feel that my experience was tainted. The little kids loved it though, and fair enough, they get to see tigers do crazy things inches before their gleeful little faces.

The travelling circus is a dying breed, probably because there are so many laws to stop animals being kept in terrible conditions. I don't think the GBC is a torture house for animals, I'm sure they're looked after according to EU regulations now - especially after the exposition of the cruelty last year. Without the animals the GBC would be nothing, so it would be foolish to gamble your only asset. It's just that the general atmosphere of the entire performance was weird and depressing. Now, if it was a fantastic act and amazing circus and the animals seemed full of life and vigor and happy and well looked after, I would have probably enjoyed it, because I like that kind of stuff. Dancing dogs really entertain me - it's crap but true. And I have to admit, I would be impressed if animals like tigers can be trained to do weird things. But I do think this production was a failure, those animals didn't look happy. If I had to pick, I'd rather animal welfare over circus entertainment.

bun fights and big spoons

My weekend was riddled with record breaking attempts for some unknown reason. Maybe June just seems like a good time to try fun and yet irrelevant stuff as a means for claiming fame.

On Friday I covered the record breaking fight attempt for the Largest Bun Fight (yep, you heard me) for a local Horsham newspaper, photos and all. To make it even weirder - although I do admit, fantastic because I did feel like I was 10 years old again - 90's phenomenon Get Your Own Back host Dave Benson Phillips was there chanting 'Another One Bites the Crust' as what seemed like millions of tesco-provided bready missiles flew through the air. I'm glad to say he hadn't aged a day.[Here's some footage from the Midhurst and Petworth Observer - you can see me for about 2 seconds at 0.20, behind the barrier, next to the woman with the red trousers and the camera] http://www.midhurstandpetworth.co.uk/horsham-news/Kidz-Stuff-world-record-bun.6343380.jp

The whole two minutes of mayhem was part of a day-long activities for kids with special needs and their friends, families and carers and I had as much fun watching it as everybody in the arena did lobbing buns at each other - it was weird and wonderful and something worthy of BBC's Oddbox. And that was only one part of a three-day Kidz Festival which was also attempting to break the Largest Wet Sponge Fight and the [Guinness World Record] Largest Three Legged Race Over Multiple Locations on Saturday and the World's Largest Gunge Fight on Sunday whilst a continuous attempt at the Most People Dressed as Story Book Characters spanned across three days. The previous bun fight record of 251 people was incidentally broken by 2 extra people - so a grand total of 253 people turned up to the pastry-chucking madness.

Saturday was supposed to be an unofficial attempt (note: the bun fight was official, with a solicitor there and everything) at Brighton's Big Spoon - which, in essence, was supposed to be a massive session of people 'spooning' or hugging each other from behind. Unfortunately, as somebody mentioned, it was more of a 'Big Fail' [ROFL] than a 'Big Spoon' because it ended up with about twenty sheepish people who didn't really know each other sitting at The Level - one armed with a megaphone shouting quippy comments at passers-by (such as "Mr. Postman, are you here for the Spoon?"). My two spoonees and I eventually edged away from the group of people we didn't know and were yet supposed to embrace from behind, and admitted defeat. So we got hold of some soft toys and made them spoon each other instead.

Arguably neither the Bun Fight nor the Big Spoon were records worth putting in the Guinness Book of World Records - and I'm pretty sure neither of them will be put in there. The three legged 'do might be though, although it in itself is pretty unimpressive. The great records are fastest, tallest, smallest, fastest man or woman, etc etc etc.
A lot of people, including a partial part of me, poo-poo these banal attempts to be recognised. But after going to the bun fight and the (albeit failed) spooning sesh, I realised that the point of these events is for amusement, and being able to laugh at the banality of the event, rather than glory of breaking a world record. I am amused that somebody came up with the idea of a glorified food fight as a means to break a world record, but it was fun to watch and I'd bet hilarious to actually do. And even though the Big Spoon wasn't even recorded, I bet all 20 people who showed up just went along for mild entertainment and the chance to spoon a stranger. Technically I could break a world record in a second as according to research nobody has recorded banana fight to date, so if I gathered a couple friends armed with bananas and recorded it the same principle as the bun fight would ensue. And why not. Shmeh.

much needed updates

Dissertational woes kept me away from my emerging interest in blogging - both micro and macro [made that sound appealing, didn't I?]. But now those 24,000 words are down the tube I'll attempt to give this blog a bit more lovin'. Jazz it up a bit. Add some photos [too adventurous?] Maybe stop being so serious.
Either way, I left you hanging way back when in March when I promised you some 'Meow' links and how dodgy some newspapers can be generally.

http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/news/2747979/Lad-ripped-his-scrotum-off.html
Legal Drug Teen Ripped His Scrotum Off.Bollocks. [Excuse the pun]
Please enjoy this from New Scientist Magazine, a publication which is pretty much dedicated to cold hard scientific facts rather than gossip, passion and hearsay.
http://www.newscientist.com/article/dn18712-miaowmiaow-on-trial-truth-or-trumpedup-charges.html:

"November 2009 The Sun newspaper in the UK published a story under the headline: "Legal drug teen ripped his scrotum off". Quoting a police report, the paper said an unnamed teenager high on mephedrone needed hospital treatment after he tried to "rip off his testicles". Acting Sergeant Michael Urwin, of Barnard Castle, County Durham, later pointed out that this headline-grabbing tale and other aspects of his report to senior officers had been cut-and-pasted from blogs and internet forums. "That particular information came from a section of the website www.mephedrone.com under the heading 'Experiences'," Urwin told New Scientist. The Press Association agency, which sends out its copy to most newspapers and TV channels, obtained the police report, wrote up the scrotum story but omitted a warning in this report that it had come from an internet site and so may or may not have been true, says Urwin. The owner of www.mephedrone.com told New Scientist that the story had been published online as a joke. It has been repeated as fact by dozens of news outlets around the world."

Oh my days. Emphasis on the recycled information theory in the post below.
On another note I'm afraid I couldn't find the actual article reporting on the Scunthorpe teenagers, but do have a follow-up from the Metro which says that there were no traces of the drug in their systems. Hmm...
http://www.metro.co.uk/news/828366-mephedrone-not-to-blame-for-deaths-of-scunthorpe-teenagers
Cudos to the Metro for reporting that a few days ago.

I am absolutely not advocating drug use or abuse.
The reason I am focussing on the meow issue is because it is a highly controversial topic and both sides argue their cause passionately. Both sides have good arguments to support their causes - my emphasis is on the fact that a newspaper's duty is to report facts over fictions purely because of the massive influence they hold upon the general population.
Some of them have a long way to go.