ADRIENNE'S HIV BLOG – Hivine's Weblog

HIVINE is written by HIV positive women but still with a sense of humour

Archive for September 25, 2008

Boldilocks and the three heirs

It was my birthday yesterday and in the slightly hung-over aftermath I find I am given to nostalgic introspection, in other words I am feeling a bit grouchy and sorry for myself. Birthdays as one gets older can be traumatic as well as celebratory occasions because aside from the physical reminder that you no longer have the capacity to recover from a hangover, they also serve to remind us that time is rapidly passing by – yet another year has slipped through life’s capricious net and we must gather ye rosebuds while we may – knees and hip replacements permitting.

Incidentally, you can avoid all that painful bending, stooping and crawling around whilst gathering ye rosebuds if ye must by purchasing a Garden Hopper, which looks a bit like a miniature Noddy Car and can also be used, according to the advert, whilst waxing your car (hello?) painting baseboards (double hello?) fixing your bike or going round to call on Big Ears – now that’s more like it. Mounted on the Garden Hopper you will find yourself seated at a comfortable 12-1⁄2″ off the ground, states the advert, with all the tools you need close to hand, even a canned beverage. You could even carry an extra can or two for Big Ears who I believe is partial to a few lagers when he’s out on a night on the toy town. Although you’d better warn him in advance that you’re thinking of popping round, because ol’ Big Ears can be a bit antisocial at times, at least according to the age old joke, which if you remember, and I’m sure you do, goes like this –

Noddy is on his way to see his best friend Big-Ears, so he puts on his special blue shorts, red hat and red jacket to match his little red shoes and leaves his house.

He meets the Postman.
He says excitedly: “Hi, Postie, I’m off to see my best friend Big-Ears.”
He meets the Milkman: “Hi, Milko, I’m off to see my best friend Big-Ears.”
He sees a delivery man: “Hi, Van Man, I’m off to see my best friend Big-Ears.”
He arrives at Big-Ears gate and cannot wait to surprise his friend.
He knocks on the door and Big-Ears opens it and says:
“Not you again! F*** OFF Noddy!”

Mind you, they’re all a bit odd and prone to antisocial behaviour in toy town if you ask me. There’s those two yobbos, Sly and Gobbo for example, who are always trying to steal Noddy’s car, although they get around those two and I’m sure I’ve seen them hanging around in Blackburn town centre eyeing up the cars on the car park. But luckily PC Plod, who apparently Arnold Schwarzenegger based his character for kindergarten cop, is always close at hand to slap an asbo on them. Then there’s that Dinah Dinah show us your leg, who runs the market stall, where according to toy town gossip, whatever you need Dinah’s got it – and I’m sure she has if she keeps showing her leg to every Sly Dick and Gobbo.

Being one year older is both a good thing and a bad thing in relation to HIV, because if you’ve been positive for six years or longer, as I have, you are classed as a long term survivor. I can now join the Long Term Survivors club, although the only club I thought I would be signing up to when I reached this ripe old age would be the OAP’s club or getting my bleary eyes down for a full house at the local Bingo hall.

Surviving another year living with HIV I feel I can give myself a well deserved pat on, as my positive African girlfriends would say, my buffalo hump and repeat the mantra over and over again to myself, I am a survivor and hopefully with the help of the medication I will continue to survive.

I will survive, the Gloria Gaynor classic favoured by karaoke aficionados and drag queen’s and probably even our very own queen, Her Royal Highness herself, who probably sung it through her annus horribulous – although her mouth might have been a more appropriate option.

Now, ‘ I will survive,’ is the anthem for all us long term survivors, although with poetic license and Royal copyright permitting of course, the words would need to be adapted slightly –

First when I was told I was petrified
kept thinking I could never live with HIV in my insides
I should have changed that stupid lock (change the L for a C)
opted for celibacy
If I had known for just one second
I’d end up with HIV

But HIV aside, Mother Nature is a cruel mistress and does not take the trauma of ageing into account. Anyway, what is it about getting old; there is absolutely no logic to it. Take hair for example, you start to lose your hair at a time when you need it most, to keep warm – why then does it suddenly decide to move off your head, exposing you to the winter chills and leaving you a boldilocks and migrate to other parts of your body where you don’t need it for insulation, such as your big toes for example. Who needs hairy toes? That’s what those furry slippers were invented for isn’t it?

And why would you need three hairs under your armpit or just a couple under your chin, what earthly good would they do to keep you warm. Never mind giving pensioners a Christmas bonus towards heating bills, they should give us a free fur coat – fake fur of course, unless you want to be pelted with raw eggs or subject yourself to involuntary euthanasia by the animal rights brigade. Not that I am a pensioner yet, but am rapidly heading that way and although I don’t want to pop off just yet, I wouldn’t mind a fur coat, fake or otherwise – and the eggs would come in very handy in these financially stretched times.

Gordon Brown in his recent speech at the Labour conference in Manchester promised in view of the energy crisis (which is a syndrome people living with HIV experience every day) to help people with their fuel bills, so why doesn’t he give us all a fur coat instead with a matching Davy Crockett hat and think more green – although I would prefer to think more neutral myself as green doesn’t become me, especially if its furry.

I know Gordon Brown is as Scottish as they come and studied for his degree in Edinburgh, where the saying goes if you are the type of person who puts on a lot of airs and graces, that you are all fur coat and nay knickers. Just a thought here – If dear Gordon did give all the pensioners a fur coat, especially if they came from Edinburgh, they could always supplement their meagre incomes and lack of knickers by working as stripogrammers – or strippograndmas.

The other thing about hair is why does it suddenly lose its colour and start turning grey? It’s like the ink running out of your printer – warning, ink levels are low. I know my parting, rather like the red sea, is getting ever wider. At this rate the only hairs I’ll be left with will be to my family fortune, which is thinning as fast as my locks. Talk about hair today and gone tomorrow. But looking on the bright side, even though I don’t come from Edinburgh at least I’ve still got my heirs and graces to fall back on and my M&S knickers of course. A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, although that wouldn’t be strictly applicable to pubicly challenged pensioners. Anyway, Gordon Brown, being Scottish, would be more likely to say a midge in your hand is worth two up your kilt.

Well, I’ll just have to be patient and wait for him to buy me my fur coat I suppose, although I might have to wait a long time, because aside from being a politician and therefore likely to renege on his promises, the Scottish are notoriously tight – as well as having totally incomprehensible sayings. For example this often quoted puzzling toast about hairs.

“Hair’s tae us! Wha’s like us? Damn few, and their all deid! More’s the pity.”

Mind you, the Scottish have many confusing sayings, such as “Lang May Yer Lum Reek…” which translated means, long may your chimney be hot and fed with good coal…”

I do hope Gordon Brown is familiar with that particular saying. He did mention chimneys in a roundabout way at the Labour Conference and helping working mums, but perhaps I misheard him and he said reeking lums. Then again he might just have been slagging off the Tories. Anyway, whatever he said let’s hope he does what he says he will.

So, on the aftermath of my fifty ninth birthday, aside from along with Gordon Brown wishing everyone a reeking lum, I would like to quote this final confusing toast to all my loved ones, especially those who are already confused dot com and suffering from short term memory loss. In order to confuse them even further I raise another hair, as in hair of the dog and say –

“Here’s to all those that I love.
Here’s to all those that love me.
And here’s to all those that love those that I love,
And all those that love those that love me.”

And I’d just to add my own special dedication –

Especially those living with HIV