This week I’m…
Doing Sunday lunch. My family in total equals fourteen these days and it’s a tight squeeze fitting them all in our house. And if they want to eat at the table, we have to do it in two-three sittings.
Still, I like to play the grand hostess at least once a year. It means I get to make lists. A lot of them—five different menu possibilities, what we need to buy from the supermarket and a schedule for the day. (Which I never stick to. I’m writing this for instance when I should be making the pea and feta cheese salad. And Lord only knows when I’ll get round to chopping those carrot sticks.)
Too many sausages?
Today’s a special day for us as we’re celebrating the memory of John Gilmour Baird, (15/08/40 to 18/08/2010), and I’ve bought in some of his favourite things for us to eat—sausages, hard-boiled eggs, the fruit and nut version of Dairy Milk and beers. Can you eat too many sausages? My father often tried to prove you can’t put the words “too many” and “sausages” in one sentence. If we have any left post dinner, I’ll eat my… well, the rest of them obviously.
Writing THE END. Oh, the lovely, lovely satisfaction of typing out the words ‘the end’. I’ve finished Highland Wedding—the third book in the series that began with Highland Fling (available here). Initially, I thought three books would do it but truly successful indies publish what they call ‘deep’ series, so I’m going to aim for five books even if the prospect makes me shrivel up inside… I mean, what next? I’ve got Highland Fling, Highland Heart, Highland Wedding, so Highland Baby? Highland Divorce? Highland Funeral? Or, for that matter, Highland Tinder and Highland Grindr?
Reflecting on good fortune. The marvellous health care system that is the NHS system in the UK (if you ruin it, Boris, I’ll kill you with my bare hands) saw fit to reward me with a flash glucose monitoring system recently. I’m a type 1 diabetic and flash glucose monitoring allows you to check your sugar levels multiple times a day.
Flash glucose monitoring
I’ve got a sensor on my arm and I hold the meter to it to check the reading. Big, big plus—you can do it through clothes.
If you want to know the difference it makes to me, here’s the before example.
3am, chez Baird-Birnie household. I stir awake sweaty and head-achey, and think, “Blast it, I’m not feeling well. Better check what the heck my blood sugar thinks it’s doing…” Sticks out hand, pats around the floor trying to locate handbag. Handbag found and hauled onto bed. Make-up bag spills out, as do two pens, a purse, phone and the laminated bit of card that contains a four leaf clover my dad gave me twenty five years ago. Finally finds blood glucose testing meter kit at the bottom. Opens it up. Wrestles the top of the tube and inserts the stick into the meter. Pricks finger and tries to place blood droplet on the top of the stick. In the dark, so I don’t wake my husband. Give up as I can’t see it and switch the light on. Blood disposed. Wait five seconds. 3.2mmol. (Under 4mmol is too low.) Scrabble round for open bag of jelly babies and spill them all over the floor.
The after version.
3am, chez Baird-Birnie household. stir awake sweaty and head-achey, and think, “Blast it, I’m not feeling well. Better check what the heck my blood sugar thinks it’s doing…” Takes meter from bedside table and runs it over arm. 3.2mmol. Scrabble round for open bag of jelly babies and spill them all over the floor. (Yeah, haven’t nailed that bit yet.)
Finally, in case you were wondering, the picture up the top is one of the climbers in our garden (a special prize to any nature lovers out there who can tell us what it is—my husband bought it from Asda and didn’t keep the tag). The bees love it, and I love it for that reason. Save the bees, right?