"crisis" - noun from the Greek κρίσις - krisis - any event that is, or is expected to lead to, an unstable and dangerous situation

Forgive me readers for I have sinned - it's been 6 weeks since my last post. 

The reason mostly being that I have been exceptionally busy having a midlife crisis. A recent article in the Daily Record (whatever that is) asked...."Do you hanker for the simple life but fret about job security, while harbouring a secret desire to learn a new musical instrument and go to the Glastonbury Festival? If the answer is yes and you are a 43-year-old man or a woman of 44, you are having a mid-life crisis". Great, not only am I having one but I'm underage.  It had to happen sooner or later - afterall, I could already be beyond the halfway mark of my allotted time on earth. Luckily I had a windfall courtesy of my lovely bank. I know - how often does that happen? But it enabled me to have a real midlife crisis - one which I could actually act out with proper money and not just drool over in front of The Antiques Roadshow with a cup of rose tea and a copy of Plastic Surgery Monthly.

I'd do this but it would ruin my new tan

The Boy "suggested" that I pay off some of the mortgage with the rest but then, after I'd had to buy a new pair of secretary-style specs because mine shattered when I accidentally threw them on the floor  and then a new bag to put them in, I thought "how about a boob job instead"? Someone asked what made me think I needed one? That's easy. The Twins. Boob jobs (and tummy tucks) should be standard procedure on the NHS for any woman who has given birth to more than one child at a time. No woman should have to endure having to buy a new pair of canteloupe melons to stuff down her bra every other day. I've probably spent the equivalent of a boob job on melons in the 3 1/4 years since I had the twins anyway. It's a false economy.

Spot the Difference -  The Tilt Table -
also looks suspiciously like
the electric chair  - 

Waterboarding - lego style

Anyway, the other thing not occupying my time has been running. As a direct result of the swimming pool incident in New Zealand, I am under doctors instructions not to train stupidly for the half marathon I did last year and was signed up to repeat this year so I have registered for a 50km walk instead. I had signed up for the 100k walk  but I was so busy having my midlife crisis that I forgot to train and had to downgrade. Today I went to see the cardiologist that the doctor referred me to - it seems next on my list of medical procedures is a heart scan, a 7 day trace and a "tilt table test". I was intrigued by this last one so I Googled it when I got home which is the cardinal sin as far as the quest for medical knowledge self-improvement is concerned. Basically you get strapped to a horizontal table, they tilt you to almost standing measuring your heart rate all the time and waiting to see if your blood pressure plummets and if it doesn't they repeat. They do this until either you faint or you've been tortured for an hour but what's reassuring according to Wikipedia is that "In extreme cases, tilt table testing could provoke seizures or even cause the heart to stop" Great. The helpful "information" video on You Tube makes it look like water-boarding and , as your arms are strapped down,  you can't even read your Kindle or research plastic surgery options on your iPad. But look on the bright side, it could be quite good fun and is probably cheaper than going to Chessington World of Adventures.


When I picked up the children today,  little girl twin asked "have you been to hospital today mummy?". Yes, I've been to see the heart doctor (in the absence of a travelling husband I have to have someone to share my trials with, even if they are 3 years old). The Monkey (6) gave me a huge hug and sang "Cause when you hold me like this you know my heart skips, skips a beat". It sounded familiar but, again, as another sign of midlife crisis and because I am so wrapped up reminiscing about Depeche Mode and Fine Young Cannibals, I had to google it. It's Olly Murs and The Monkey even knows the dance. If anything was going to jolt me back to reality it was that. I need to play that boy some of The Cure instead.