Serequel quelled?

Intentionally going for a walk in the rain is a sure-fire indication that I’m chin-deep in yet another bout of depression. In the past, my Black Dog, or more accurately my Black Wave, would wash over me every few months, often sticking around for just as long. Recently however, it has been occurring far more often. One minute I feel as happy as a dog with two dicks, the next I feel as though I’m being fucked by one.

I have been taking Seroquel for years, they are supposed to keep my mood swings in check, but recently they seemed to have ceased to function as prescribed. I decided to stop taking them, which, ordinarily, might be considered a positive thing to do. However, doing so by going cold turkey was not such a smart move. I had been on, and suddenly stopped, taking other medications before, so my head was prepared for the resulting consequences, but on none of those occasions had my middle-aged body been subjected to such debilitating physical withdrawal symptoms.

No doubt you have all had the ‘flu and can painfully recall its symptoms, multiply them by a factor of ten and you won’t even get close to the affects of quitting Seroquel. For the first few days all is reasonably well as you metaphorically pat yourself on the back for having taken a positive step. Then it begins. By the third or fourth day, you feel as though you have been beaten up with a big stick for a month as every bone begins to ache. Your skin crawls and the simple act of putting on a shirt is like running a cheese-grater across your back. Sleep becomes impossible as you toss and turn vainly struggling to find a painless position. If, through sheer exhaustion, you eventually do drop off, it will be short-lived because your bladder will be in overdrive and you’ll be up and down like a jockey’s bollocks running from bed to bog.

It is also a good way to lose weight, because the idea of eating disappears completely, hot drinks, coupled with regular doses of ibuprofen and paracetamol being the only thing your stomach will accept. You retch every few minutes but can’t vomit, at least not for a few days, after that you will be able to upchuck for your country. Strangely, there might not be any diarrhoea, which, once you become aware of what is happening, you might have expected. Quite the opposite in fact, you won’t go for several days, then you will go like never before!
All of the above will continue for what seems like months. The only thing that will get better during that time will be the ability to swallow some solid food, albeit most likely nothing more than a bowl of mashed potatoes and gravy. After about ten days, the shivers and the aches and the pains and the retching and the shitting and the vomiting and the insomnia will all begin to subside, but you are only half-way through it.

In the next stage, your body will be trying to figure out a way to continue without the medicinal support you have so cruelly taken away from it. The ‘flu-like symptoms stay for another week or so but in a milder form. The need for food becomes huge and your life will be ruled by hunger pangs that will not go away even when the portions of mashed potatoes are doubled and joined by huge lumps of meat, veg and puddings. You will eat like your life depended upon it, possibly as many as three or four meals a day, something you probably haven’t done since you started taking Seroquel. But you will be feeling much better, for about three days. After which the ‘flu symptoms return and bring along a couple of friends, severe constipation and a bloody awful pain in the lower abdomen. Isn’t this fun?

This is point where you make an appointment to see the doctor because you are convinced that it is not possible for this level of pain and discomfort to be nothing more than withdrawal symptoms from a legal prescription drug. The abdominal pain will be so bad that you convince yourself it cannot be related to Seroquel, it must be something far more serious. Nevertheless, you will try anything to ease the constipation while you wait for the doctor’s appointment and after a bit of Googleage you decide that Epsom Salts are the way to go because they are less harmful than some of the other laxatives on the market, the reported side effects of which are startling!

Driving to the shops will be out of the question because by this time your frail body won’t be able to bear the idea of squeezing into the car seat let alone crushing your swollen belly with the seat belt. So, you walk to the shops, in short steps, every step feeling as though you have been punched in the gut by a deranged boxer. You buy your very reasonably priced Epsom Salts, and a bag of apples and oranges (because Google said you should). The walk home will be worse than the walk to the shops because by now you will have been away from your toilet for far too long. Even though you can’t poo, you cannot escape the feeling that you must and will at any moment. The short steps get shorter as you clench your bum cheeks in case your bowels suddenly decide to vacate without warning.

Once home, the abdominal cramps have you racing to drop your pants within seconds of turning the lock. All to no avail. Not even a decent fart. You guzzle down a glass of the medicinal salts and almost throw up as you remember that you were supposed to pick up some lemon juice to tone down its foul-tasting bitterness. Now all you can do is wait for either the salts to work, or the doctor’s appointment, whichever comes first. All the while hoping they don’t happen simultaneously.

The appointment arrives, and the doctor tells you that it is common for your body to go into one when you suddenly starve it of a drug you never knew was addictive, as addictive as heroin in fact. You don’t say! You are given a prescription for a much more powerful bum-clearing medicine and sent on your way. You hastily take the medicine, which thankfully was a slightly better flavour than those from Epsom, then you wait, and possibly wait some more. Convinced it’s not working you take an extra dose, after all, it says on the box you can take it three times a day. It doesn’t work so you spend another uncomfortable night with the cramps.

The next morning you gulp down another dose, followed by a few cups of tea. You switch on the news but barely get past the second headline before something starts to rumble in your nether regions. For the next few hours you thank whomever you pray to that you have plenty of toilet paper, and that you live alone! Several more visits over the next few hours and before you know it you have opened a bottle of wine, taken a large swig and are sitting in the armchair wondering what all the fuss was about.

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Yet another birthday.

Hey @Maddona! We share a birthday! But I’m 6 years older. Can’t help but wonder if you too have a pot belly, hairy ears and have to get up several times a night to have a pee? #MaddonaAt60

Healthy Clean?

Healthy Clean? As opposed to what exactly?

Wilko & Out

I’ve just been served by a checkout dude who resembled Uriah Heep and smelled like a garbage heap. Should it be down to shop owners to train staff on personal hygiene, or is it a matter of personal pride? If you work with a stinking colleague, do you tell them?

Some of the things I wish I’d written.

In no particular order….
Your skin makes me cry – Radiohead, Creep.
We gonna get medieval on your ass – Marsalis Wallis, Pulp Fiction.
She’s a hundred but she’s wearing something tight – Leonard Cohen, Closing Time.
Arseholes, bastards, fucking cunts and pricks – Ian Dury, Plaistow Patricia.
And when he pulls his frilly nylon panties right up tight – The Kinks, Dedicated Follower of Fashion.
You raise the blade, you make the change, you rearrange me ’till I’m sane – Pink Floyd, Brain Damage.
Charlie don’t surf – Colonel Kilgor, Apocalypse Now!
I chose not to choose life, I chose something else – Renton, Trainspotting.
The holiest of holy’s – Jules Winnfield, Pulp Fiction.
Sitting in a sleazy snack-bar sucking sickly sausage rolls – Lindisfarne, Fog on the Tyne.

Milf hunters paradise? – Regurgitated.

Trying to think of a reason not to move there!

Good graffitti – Regurgitated posts

Talk about batting on a sticky wicket?

Check out the text on the pic to see what is being sold second-hand!!

Smoking homes – regurgitated.

I took this picture a few years ago and still find it hard to believe they built homes around those monstrosoties!

FIXED AND NO FILES LOST- WOO HOO!- BLUE SCREEN OF DEATH

After two days of trying all manner of suggestions (many of which seemed to be complete BS) I managed to recover my PC from the dreaded Blue Screen Of Death without losing any files or having to reinstall Windows.

The list of commands shown below worked for me and came from this website: DRIVER EASY.

There may be others out there but this was the first one I saw that made sense.
It is definitely the easiest thing to try before you go down the route of reinstalling windows.

For the curious, what you will actually be doing is changing the names of the corrupted files by adding the word ‘old’, then replacing the files from the backup system.

FIRST
Open the command line window. If your pc is showing your disk repair options etc, the command prompt will be one of the advanced options buttons.
If your are new to command lines, be careful, the lines below look similar, but they are not.
You can save a lot of typing if you use the up arrow to get the last line you typed to appear again, then just change the required words.

STEP ONE
Type the following commands ONE AT A TIME, EXACTLY AS YOU SEE THEM and press Enter after each line.

CD C:\Windows\System32\config
ren C:\Windows\System32\config\DEFAULT DEFAULT.old
ren C:\Windows\System32\config\SAM SAM.old
ren C:\Windows\System32\config\SECURITY SECURITY.old
ren C:\Windows\System32\config\SOFTWARE SOFTWARE.old
ren C:\Windows\System32\config\SYSTEM SYSTEM.old

STEP TWO
Type the following commands ONE AT A TIME, EXACTLY AS YOU SEE THEM and press Enter after each line.

copy C:\Windows\System32\config\RegBack\DEFAULT C:\Windows\System32\config\
copy C:\Windows\System32\config\RegBack\SAM C:\Windows\System32\config\
copy C:\Windows\System32\config\RegBack\SECURITY C:\Windows\System32\config\
copy C:\Windows\System32\config\RegBack\SYSTEM C:\Windows\System32\config\
copy C:\Windows\System32\config\RegBack\SOFTWARE C:\Windows\System32\config\

Reboot your PC and cross your fingers!!

Used is a terrible thing.

When I was young and ugly my mother would often remind me and my siblings of an old adage her mother used to say – “used is a terrible thing”. Not used, as in second-hand, we couldn’t say that was a terrible thing because we were surrounded by second-hand everything and hand-me-downs was a way of being, without which we would have spent the early part of our lives with naked arses parked on bare floors. The ‘used’ my mother was referring to was the idea of getting used to something which ordinarily you wouldn’t touch with a proverbial barge pole, such as being in situations your inner snob might consider to be mediocre but your circumstances mean you can do nothing about it.

You might live in a town riddled with snarling dogs and fathers, but you have no choice but to get used to it. At school, there are more pupils carrying knives than books, but you ignore it because you are used to it. The words protein and nourishment might be alien to the food you eat, but rather than have your belly think your throat has been cut, you eat what you were given, because you are used to it.

We all want something better, either for ourselves or for someone close to us, or both. For most people, the opportunity to grasp that something will either never arise or will be missed or squandered when it does. Said squandering often being because we all fear changing what we are used to.

My mother’s remark has always been at the back of my mind, but very recently it has crept its way to the fore and I find myself wondering just how many of the things I do now are purely because I’ve gotten used to them.

Six months ago, the age of government sponsored retirement came to my door, although I denied it entry, mainly because I couldn’t afford to, I still can’t. As luck would have it, last month the retirement reaper forced himself in declaring that my services as a self-employed contractor were no longer required on a full-time basis, just the odd day here and there. Consequently, I find myself with a lot of spare time, which I genuinely do not know how to fill, but that’s another story.

The desire to rewrite my CV and send off pointless application forms for jobs I have no chance of getting has long since passed. Instead, I responded to one of the many letters the DWP sent to me and accepted their offer of a State pension. Although I initially suffered sizeable pangs of guilt as I watched my neighbours trotting off to work while I was still in my undies, but that guilt is starting to subside, so I suppose I must be getting used to it.

I used to get out of bed between 4:30 and 6am, depending on where I had to be that day. Yesterday I slept until 7am. I think I could get used to that.

When working, I rarely ate anything during the day, but would have a substantial meal around 7pm. Now I eat three or four times a day and my gut is literally telling me I shouldn’t allow myself to get used to that.

I had never lived in a detached property before, and as I was earning a decent living I decided to treat myself to a 2-bed bungalow on a nice street. The move also helped to reduce the number of miles I was driving every day, but that would appear to no longer be an issue. Being what it is, the rent is quite expensive, and although my piggy bank will subsidise my pension for a short while, if I don’t move soon it will rapidly end up as scratchings. So, come Monday morning I will be viewing a couple of small, one-bed flats of the affordable housing kind. I am not looking forward to even viewing them, let alone living there, but I guess, you know, I’ll get used to it.

Shed no tears.

Sorted! Easy solution to stop the slow green progress bar in File Explorer.

This has irritated me for months now but I finally figured out how to prevent the very slow progress bar when I search for files and it is really easy.

1. Click inside the search box of your folder (in case you are wondering, mine is called Site visit reports):

2. Select Advanced Options:

3. Look for File Contents:

4. If there is a check mark next to File Contents, click to remove it:

5. Now type something in the search box and watch your searches fly. It makes sense because it must mean that the search tool is looking inside each file rather just looking for the file name, which I guess is all that most people want to do when searching.

Stripped naked.

You rang?

His race is run.

Nodding dog?

Safe to sit?

She is being bugged.

A very owld tree!

Metered rust.

Eee aye addio, we won the cup!

London Pied à Terre

Bunkered?

Tiny bench.

Beached in Wales.

20170328_143223

Anyone seen my key?

Screwed a lot!

Dead bird.

watch_the_birdie

Not so rosy.

DSC04663

Pea soup?

Soup

Be seated.

rotten bench