Don’t seem to have had much time for blogging recently –
more a case of dogging as looking after two dogs as opposed to one which seems
to have taken priority over everything else. Get up, take dogs out on field so
they can check their pee mail as Caesar famous dog trainer calls it, come back,
wipe mud off underbellies (dogs not us unless it’s really wet and we’ve got
muddy bellies too!) do something useful like housework, or maybe not, decide
what to eat or more importantly if can afford to eat – eating far too expensive
these days. Nod off on sofas as knackered from walking, wiping and worrying! Time
to take dogs out again. Luis and I have finally come up with a system to avoid
tangling of dog leads and subsequent rope burn, which is s a bit like kiting
except on the ground.

“Toma ya,” says Luis when Doody delivers her massive missives
(poo mails) and calls them regalos, which is Spanish for presents. Talking of
regalos it’s that time of year (already) when one is forced into thinking about
buying Christmas presents one really cannot afford. I’ve been trying to order
my mine in advance online on ebay although up to now most of my bids have been
unsuccessful – some bugger always outbids me. I’m not going to get that Luis
anything as he didn’t get me anything for my birthday and I’m still sulking. If
he wants a regalo he’ll have to go out in the garden or on the field and wrap
up one of Doody’s. That’ll teach him.

Some good news when I was checking my pee mails – at
least I think it is although I’m not sure if it applies to me.

‘BBC News: HIV life-expectancy rises in the UK’

Our study shows the longevity of patients
who started antiretroviral therapy with a CD4 count of 200-350 cells/mm3.

(mine was only 21 so I guess that rules me
out!)

Life expectancy for people with HIV in the UK has
increased by 15 years in the past decade, thanks to modern drugs and earlier
treatment, a study suggests. The Terrence Higgins Trust says people at risk
should get tested now. Figures suggest 80,000 people in the UK carry HIV, and
about 25% are unaware they have the infection.

A team led by Dr Margaret May, of the University of
Bristol, looked at the life expectancy of the average 20-year-old starting
treatment with anti-retroviral drugs between 1996-1999 and 2006-2008. During
that time average life expectancy increased from 30 to almost 46 years,
according to the data, reported in the BMJ.

A woman with HIV could expect to live a decade
longer than a man with HIV, perhaps because women are tested for HIV during
pregnancy and are likely to start treatment earlier, the study found. Co-author
Dr Mark Gompels, of North Bristol NHS trust, said: “These results are very
reassuring news for current patients and will be used to counsel those recently
found to be HIV-positive.”

The HIV and sexual health charity Terrence Higgins
Trust said it was good news for people with HIV, their families and friends. Chief
executive Sir Nick Partridge said: “It also demonstrates why it’s so much
better to know if you have HIV. Late diagnosis and late treatment mean an
earlier grave, so if you’ve been at risk for HIV, get tested now. “Of
course, it’s not just length of life that’s important, but quality of life too,
and having HIV can still severely damage your life’s chances.”

Not sure if the counsellor should emphasise that.  

Earlier grave? Life’s chances – huh! HIV sure puts
a caybosh on life’s chances; chances of a ‘normal’ life, job, family, not to
mention love. Oh well, at least we’ve got more years in the last chance HIV saloon
- unless they find a cure of course, then chance would be a fine thing.

Happiness is……when you don’t know when one dog stops and another begins! A doggy match made in heaven – but it wasn’t like that at the beginning. I am dog sitting for a few weeks whilst WW (Wonder Webmaster) has a well deserved holiday, after all fair’s fair – he looks after my website and I look after his dog. The only difference being my computer does not growl and snap or follow me round the house at all hours of the day and night, or want to sleep with me – and neither does it pee on the carpet.

But on saying that Pepsi dog is a joy to look after and I think even Lady Doodle would agree.

“Girls, girls!” I find myself shouting all day long, “Calm down will you”

Talk about Girls Aloud – except when they’re Girls Asleep!

They say that two heads are better than one and so are two dogs. I recommend anyone with HIV related ‘head’ problems or HIV related loneliness and lack of love should get a dog – or even two. I will be sorry when Pepsi has to go home, but in the meantime – Happiness is…

http://www.hivine.com

Was my birthday today – 62 what a shock! What did I do? Don’t
be fooled by the above picture. I watched ‘Complete Make-Over’ on the sofa of
course, inbetween being chased round the house by two demented dogs. Lady Doodle
is not taking kindly to visitor Pepsi dog – or her Buster collar.

Then I forgot to order rice with the Chinese take-away which reduced me to tears. How could I
forget the rice? I really am getting senile. All in all, not one of my best
birthdays – but lots of lovely messages on facebook and cards and presents from
my friends. Anyway, why am I moaning about turning 62 – when I was first
diagnosed my prognosis was eight to ten years so with a bit of luck I’ve got a
year left!

Hopefully – and some!

http://www.hivine.com

Here’s an update on my lovely flowers aren’t they
magnificent – and to let you know I’m feeling a lot better, and as Dave Clark
used to sing (whatever happened to him?) or was it Dame Edna, that I’m feeling
gladiolus all over – and I hope seeing them makes you feel gladiolus too.

http://www.hivine.com

After a month of absence I seem to be suffering from some sort of writer’s block. The task of writing about some of the awful things that happened during that time are too heavy to contemplate, so I will leave it to you to click on the link at the end of this blog, which will lead you directly to a news article where all will be revealed. The headline reads, ‘HIV Woman targeted by YOBS.’

The photograph of me is absolutely horrible. My only consolation is that hopefully no one will recognize me. I should really have known better than to let them photograph me. I did email them a photo but they said I had to be looking miserable in view of the seriousness of the subject matter. Fair enough, I thought, although I tried to argue that it would be far more empowering to people living with HIV and in respect of HIV related stigma to present a reasonably ‘glam’ image to defeat the myth that everyone with HIV is a down and out or on their last legs. The latter might well be true, but it’s not exactly encouraging for the newly diagnosed, is it – not to mention one’s personal pride. I know an awful lot of people in Blackburn.

The photographer spent exactly two minutes in setting up the shot – coat off – it’s freezing – sit there on cold stone wall – it’s damp will catch chill – walk along edge of canal – it’s too windy what about my hair - bit closer – might fall in.

Did photographer care? No! snap snap snap – “Sue Johnson from the Royal Family is at Hoghton Tower so I’m off, bye.”

 In total the shoot took less than five minutes.  Definitely a case of -

‘Old it, flash, bang, wallop, what a picture

What a picture, what a photograph

Poor old soul, blimey, what a joke

Hair blown up like a cloud of smoke

Clap ‘ands, stamp yer feet

Bangin’ on the big bass drum

What a picture, what a picture

Um-tiddly-um-pum-um-pum-pum

Stick it in your fam’ly album

There were two articles in the paper that ran on subsequent days. After the shock of seeing my photo i.e. wrinkled old woman with fly away grey hair and an umbrella mouth (was that really me?) I did text the reporter to ask him if they’d use a better one for the next day. He promised he would, but of course he lied. That’s what happens with the paparazzi – all they want is your story and they couldn’t care less about anything else. I now know how those footballers wives feel, not to mention members of the Royal family (aside from the sitcom) and talking of which, how could a story about a bloody actress be more important than highlighting issues to do with HIV?

What we need is a positive star or member of the nobility (a star or a wag or an X Factor winner would probably be better in this day and age) to act as a representative in order to make politicians and the general public sit up and take notice. Because I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again – HIV can and does affect and infect anyone.

A huge thanks to the staff at Blackburn Royal Hospital GUM clinic for the beautiful flowers delivered by hand after reading the article in the paper. (featured above). And to the two have to remain anonymous members of Thrivine who also sent me flowers and the two dearest of friends who took me to Southport flower show to cheer me up.

And as for the article I’ll….

Stick it in my fam’ly

Stick it in my fam’ly

Stick it in my fam’ly

album!

http://www.lancashiretelegraph.co.uk/news/blackburn/9240232.Blackburn_HIV_woman_targeted_by_yobs/

http://www.lancashiretelegraph.co.uk/news/health/9243248.Blackburn_AIDS_campaigner_says_the_disease_must_be_diagnosed_earlier/

Think I’ve seriously lost the plot, I keep forgetting vital appointments and losing things. What’s wrong with me – is it old age creeping in or is the dreaded lurgy HIV taking its dastardly hold on my brain? I keep doing the daftest things. At times I’m even getting my words mixed up. For example, in a restaurant the other night the words sticky toffee pudding got tangled up on my tongue and I asked the young Italian waiter for a stiffy. Is this normal behaviour for a sixty one year old woman who is HIV positive? I don’t think so. The young Italian waiter didn’t show the slightest sign of being amused, or even any interest, so no chance of a stiffy there. Maybe I should eat less stiffy toffee pudding and start eating the kinds of food which improve brain function. My HIV specialist did say (rather worryingly) that my dizzy head might be being caused by oxygen not reaching my brain.

As ever, good ol’ Google provided the necessary answers.

“Have you ever bumped into someone you know well but can’t recall their name? Frequently forget where you put your keys? We all experience those absentminded moments, but another culprit could be the lack of key nutrients tied to memory.”

There, you see I was on the right track, although as yet there was no link to HIV.

“These  foods can help you fill the gaps and may improve your memory, if you can remember to eat them! You might notice that the foods on this list are red or purple in colour. That’s because the phytochemical that colours them, anthocyanin, is the same phytochemical that’s good for your brain. Red, purple, and black grapes all contain quercetin, so does Red wine, but overindulging in the vlatter may negate the benefits, so keeping consumption to one glass per day may be wise.”

Hello Google! I don’t think so!

“Red onions and Red apples also contain high levels of quercetin, an antioxidant that has been shown in recent studies to protect against Alzheimer’s disease.”

Mmmm not sure about that – don’t want to get any querer than I already am.

“Blueberries have been proved in numerous studies to do wonderful things for the memory and for the brain in general. Old rats that were fed blueberries scored the same as young rats on memory tests.”

So that’s why Luis and I have been feeling compelled of late to ferret for bilberries, the Lancashire equivalent of the blueberry, which grow in profusion at this time of year in our local beauty spot Tockholes. But even after eating a huge portion of homemade bilberry pie I still managed to lose my mobile phone, then whilst searching for it I left the keys invitingly in the car ignition all night. Surprisingly, considering the area in which I live, no one nicked it. Mind you, I suppose its hardly worth nicking. It’s on its last legs if you can say that about a car and is making impatient erratic jumping movements like a horse about to bolt, especially whilst waiting for the traffic lights to change. My neighbour shook his head when he heard me starting it up and told me that it wasn’t firing on all cylinders. A bit like me then.

Well, I might be HIV positive, losing my mind and possibly my means of transport, but at least I haven’t lost my sense of humour – or my dog, I couldn’t cope with that. Lady Doodle and her daily offering of unconditional love is the one thing that keeps me sane. Come to think of it I’ve lost many things because of HIV. 

List of things I’ve lost -

My bottom

The ability to do a twirl whilst doing the salsa

List of things I’ve found -

Many new positive friends

A strength I never thought I had

The ability to accept others for what they are and not what they have.

All things considering, the things I’ve found are more important than the things I’ve lost, so if you are newly diagnosed take heart.

Back to Google – “Research shows that having meaningful relationships and a strong support system are vital not only to emotional health, but brain health. In one recent study from the Harvard School of Public Health, researchers found that people with the most active social lives had the slowest rate of memory decline. If a human isn’t handy, don’t overlook the value of a pet, especially the highly-social dog.”

Ah, Lady Doodle, where would I be without her, she makes me laugh every day and the best medicine of all is laughter of course.

“Laughter is good for your brain. Unlike emotional responses, which are limited to specific areas of the brain, laughter involves multiple regions across the whole brain. Looking for ways to bring more laughter in your life? Start with these basics:

Laugh at yourself.

Share your embarrassing moments.

(you sure that’s wise Google?)

When you hear laughter, move toward it.

When you hear laughter, seek it out and ask, “What’s so funny?”

(be careful where you do this, they may be laughing at you – in which case move away quick sharp!)

Spend time with fun, playful people. These are people who laugh easily–both at themselves and at life’s absurdities and who routinely find the humour in everyday events. Their playful point of view and laughter are highly contagious.

(and so is HIV so always practice safe humour by wearing a condom)

Frame photos of you and your family or friends having fun

.

(or alternatively make a video of them and put it up on you tube as I have done with Lady Doodle and Luis eating a sausage.)

Someone sent me this topical joke -

Did you know that senior citizens are the leading carriers of AIDS

HEARING AIDS

BAND AIDS

ROLL AIDS

WALKING AIDS

MEDICAL AIDS

GOVERNMENT AIDS

AND MOST OF ALL,

MONETARY AIDS TO THEIR KIDS!

Not sure whether I am finding that funny – it’s a bit too close to the bone. I’ll stick to watching funny you tube clips of dogs dancing or eating in restaurants – or uploading clips like this one of Lady Doodle/Luis eating a sausage. To see them visit my other hivine site at http://www.hivine.com

Woof Woof – Lady Doodle here your resident doggy blogger. Pack Mistress hasn’t bothered to write anything recently so thought I’d better keep you updated.

Things are a bit calmer here on the home front although work on the attic has to be postponed due what PM describes as a ‘severe financial setback’ so no more therapeutically uplifting trips in the car to B&Q. Instead they took me to recycling where I nearly managed to escape through the hatchback whilst PM and Luis stumbled around in the rain trying to work out where to put things. Honestly, it’s hardly rocket science is it, all the skips are clearly marked.

“Did you put all that stuff over there?” the grouchy recycling man demands of Luis. “Should be in electricals.”

“Where do dogs go?” PM asked him jokingly (at least I hope she was joking) which I didn’t think was very funny and neither did he by the bad tempered look on his face.

“Nice mutt,” he said patting my head although his hands were a bit whiffy have to say.

Went to pets4homes afterwards to stock up on dog food for me and treats of course, where I caused my usual havoc jumping up at everyone and trying to shoplift all the squeaky toys.

“What incredible white teeth,” one man pointed at me peering at my gnashers in envy, “Never seen such white teeth on a dog. He’s like Simon Cowell.”

Huh! Can’t he see I’m a Lady.

“I know, they are aren’t they,” PM says proudly but with a touch of envy in her voice wishing her teeth were as white as mine. Tio Luis just wishes he had some teeth, white or otherwise.

What PM doesn’t know is that all those whitening toothpastes she buys are a complete waste of time and she would be far better employed using natural remedies, such as rubbing the bark of walnut tree on them like I do i.e. chewing sticks. Every dog knows from birth (we don’t have to be told) that hard wood ash containing caustic potash (potassium hydroxide) if rubbed on the teeth is known to whiten them.

The only ash she rubs on her teeth is fag ash. She keeps saying she is cutting down on the filthy habit, but I haven’t noticed. We even put her in the stocks but as you can see even that didn’t stop her from trying.

They’ve been trying to train me again after watching that Cesar Milan fellow the dog whisperer. He’s Spanish too like Tio but from Mexico, although he’s obviously been chewing on sticks all his life or at least had regular visits to the dentist (unlike Tio Luis) because his gnashers are even whiter than mine. Tio doesn’t know how to whisper and neither does she for that matter as you can see on the training video she’s put up on youtube called “Move over Cesar,” http://www.hivine.com where she tries to speak in a high posh voice, which is hardly a whisper and then lifts her bosoms up at the end like Les Dawson. Why you may ask – and the answer is I have no idea.

She’s pots for rags as they say up north, although I have no idea what that means either. Talking of rags its high time I did some chewing, so one woof for now – Lady Doodle.

My Daily Mirror horoscope – With Saturn still poking fun at Uranus you could be sitting a little uncomfortably when it comes to a relationship matter so shift your position. Ha!

http://www.hivine.com

I’m giving the dam things up, I mean it. After all, in the grand scheme of things does it really matter what is the answer to two down or six across? Crosswords for me are merely an escape from reality or to be precise the crosswords flying backwards and forwards, up and down and all around (doing the hokey cokey!) in this house – most of them directed at me. Once those angry words have been said they stay lurking in the atmosphere like pesky flies or bats in the belfry and it doesn’t matter what I say or how many words I use, I can’t seem to make things right.

Fed up of employing my rusty counselling skills trying to work things out, I got in the car and tried to make my escape, but they followed me like a swarm of bees. I drove directly to B&Q to indulge in some therapy of my own making, as in regional car park therapy RCT as I have named it, the new alternative to person-centred therapy PCT or cognitive behavioural therapy CBT. It’s been a while since I’ve indulged in the latter but as they say actions speak louder than words and action had to be taken before something extreme occurred.

I opted for B&Q because it’s the nearest and sometimes there is a magnificent sunset over the Blackpool coast, but I was a bit too early for that. I did the usual – grabbed a huge trolley and wheeled it up and down the aisles tunelessly whistling to the piped musak – mmmm – what could I buy? In the end I bought some colour testers to try out on my walls because certain colours can influence moods. Words are such powerful things, I was thinking to myself as I wheeled my wheelbarrow through the aisles broad and narrow, like Molly Malone, only I wasn’t thinking about cockles or mussels. I was thinking about how you can make feel someone feel like shit with very few words or alternatively make someone feel really good about themselves.

Words can also be terrifying things, for example being told you are HIV positive are probably the worst words anyone will ever hear. After that words become meaningless such as (telling a newly diagnosed person as I am doing at the moment) that things will get better. They don’t believe me of course their life is shattered and they are numb with shock and fear and although it was nine years ago, I can still remember that indescribable feeling. Then there follows the great silence. Most people have to keep quiet about their positive status – keep stum, or schtum, or is it mum? In this case it should be numb. Uncomfortably numb – Pink Floyd should change the title of their famous song for people living with HIV.

On the way back from B&Q I stopped at the co-op and like the addict I have become, broke my pledge, snuck to the news stand and bought a Daily Mirror – my feeble excuse for falling off the wagon being to find out the answers from yesterday. That way I figured at least I had the answers to something.

Oh wouldn’t it be nice to live in a world with never a cross word! Someone please tell the Daily Mirror and my warring housemates.

World War Three is currently taking place in this household between England and Spain. Lady Doodle, like all posh girls/puppies were urged to do during the Second World War, is being a Land Girl and digging (not to mention chewing) for Britain and I have been trying to act as go between. It’s a bit like, ‘Allo allo,’ only in Spanish. “Leesen carefully you stupid hombres,” I try to come between the warring twosome, “I vill say zees honly vonce.”

Maybe its because things keep going wrong round here like the boiler breaking down etc. so money and tempers are stretched to breaking point. Today, water started pouring from the ceiling for no apparent reason, then just as suddenly as it started it stopped. Are we being attacked by phantom sources and if so who is our mysterious enemy? Whoever they are maybe they were also responsible for sabotaging my car, because on the way to get some rations we stop to refuel only to find the exhaust was hanging off and trailing along the floor. Corporal Luis tied it up with a rather camp bow using a handy tape measure that was lurking in the boot and we managed to make it to Asda to do our roll back foray, although we did have to join the long weary queue waiting to pay – then used my ration book (i.e. trusty credit card).

Back home in the war zone there was a further unrest in the two opposing trenches i.e. sofas, where a noisy battle of the boxes was underway between the Spanish TV news and the X Box. “Allo Allo,” I grab the remote control and point it like an ak ak gun at the two warring parties. “Luis you get zee sniffer dog Lady Doodeel and we go look for enemy submarines in zee canal.”

Is zat a ded en on your ed? No it was my ‘at.’

It was all quiet on the western front, otherwise known as the Leeds Liverpool canal, apart from a few desultory dutch (as Luis calls them) wandering amongst the last of the bedraggled bluebells. The Dutch have always been our allies, so no worries there, but were you aware that our British Bluebell is currently under attack from a foreign invasion of the Spanish bluebell? According to conservationists Spanish bluebells, which are scentless and paler than the British variety, have started creeping out of flowerbeds and into woods and forests where they have cross bred with the native variety. The resulting hardy, quick growing hybrid threatens to eradicate the British variety by 2016 if no action is taken, therefore we are all advised to dig up and destroy any Spanish bluebells near our patch. If no action is taken they will be squeezed out by the hardier Spanish invader and disappear from our woodlands - and we can’t be having that.

“I do wish you two would stop fighting,” I remarked to Luis, “and whilst you’re at it, you can stop killing off our bloody bluebells.”

“Blue gels?” Luis looks confused.

“Bells, you know ding dongs,” I make like I’m ringing a hand bell, “Campanas azules,” I point to a remaining example of the threatened species. “You are wiping our hinglish ding dongs hout.”

“I know,” Luis smirks, looking quite proud of the fact.

“Spanish ding dong mucho stronger than hinglish ding dong,” I explain.

Luis looks smug and flexes his muscles.

“But they not so whappa and don’t smell of anything, (unlike the Spanish I mutter under my breath, who constantly smell of garlic) – and Spanish stem mucho more thick.”

“Mucho thick?” Luis’s eyebrows knot threateningly, thinking (because the Spanish tend to lisp) I said sick.

Then he smiles in a vengeful manner, “Is venganza (revenge) for Spanish Armada,” he growls and sounds like he really means it.

“Google Doody,” he breaks off the conversation to congratulate Doody who is contributing to the War effort by dropping her own particular atom/stink bomb, “Toma ya,” he says as the bomb hits its target.

It’s a good job that Australian feminist Germaine Greer wasn’t lurking in the undergrowth as she holds the outrageous belief (shut your ears Doody) that all dogs should be killed to protect Britain’s bluebells. Speaking recently at the Hay on Wye literary festival she blamed dog owners walking their pets through bluebells for killing off a fungus necessary for them to grow. “Something you need to know about dog poo,” she warns us, “is that it is full of phosphorous and it changes the environment and it will kill the mycorrhiza.”

Am I bothered as Catherine Tate would say.

Professor Greer, who owns a one-acre bluebell wood in Essex, said that the real threat to our bluebells is not a foreign invader, its people running through the woodlands, taking photos of each other standing on trampled bluebells. “And, at the risk of making you all very cross,” she added, “ may I suggest it is also time that the British gave up on their endless love affair with the dog. If you love your bluebells, kill your dog.”

Don’t listen to her Doody – the woman is obviously mad and not intelligent like you.

All true Brits and dogs should endeavour to do our duty to Queen country and the British Bluebell by following the creed of the Wildlife Trust who are urging gardeners to shun the Spanish bluebell Hyacinthoides Hispanica and to choose instead the traditional British variety, Hyacinthoides nonscripta.

I’m going to do my bit right now – I’m off to the garden centre to lay my hands on some Hyacinthoides nonscripta and I urge all hiviners to do the same. Flower power! Peace and love.