Since my last blog, I have had to go to hospital twice, firstly to A&E, following advice from my GP who feared I’d had a mini heart attack, brought on by exercise (I knew exercising was a bad idea). Then to cap my week while I was happily minding my own business queuing up outside Wilko, I was accused of being an OAP. All in all, it has been quite a week!

Having committed the fatal error not only of weighing myself but weighing myself in stones rather than kilos, so I knew exactly what the numbers on the scales meant, I decided I had to do something about my increasing size. Never in my life have I weighed so much.

On a friend’s recommendation, I turned to Joe Wicks’ YouTube videos for help. I’m no fool so I found the first one he did for lockdown. I can’t say I enjoyed myself, but I did feel a sense of achievement having worked my way through it. I appreciated the fact that it included a lot of mini breaks which, for someone as unfit as me, were more than welcome.

An hour later I started getting chest pains. I was naturally freaked out. I had never felt anything like this before. Fortunately, after several minutes the pains disappeared and I carried on with my day. Later I talked to my dour Scottish father and told him about the chest pains. His response?

‘You’d best write a will. I don’t know what to do with your stuff.’

You have to hand it to my father he’s practical if nothing else. I thought his reaction was hysterical. I have to otherwise I would burst into tears. I texted my mate Jen and told her what my dad had said. To ensure she didn’t worry about said chest pains I put in brackets (I’m all right now). That should do the trick, surely?

Apparently not. It turns out putting such a caveat in your text does not stop a good friend from worrying, and seconds later Jen was on the phone.

‘What do you mean you had chest pains? Have you been to the hospital?’

While slightly miffed that Jen had missed the point of my text i.e. isn’t my dad a character, Jen continued to give me a right bollocking down the phone. Not only is she a good friend who cares she also realises that I can be pretty slow on the uptake at times. Thus she needed to ensure that it hit home that I should, at the very least, ring up my GP the next day.

Suitably chastised, I talked to my GP the next morning. He feared I had possibly suffered a mini heart attack brought on by the exercise, and insisted I get to A&E as soon as possible. Now really worried, all the more so by the fact that I had waited 24 hours before seeking medical advice, I was still apparently not concerned enough to call a taxi but insisted on going by bus. In my defence, you don’t have to tap in at the moment so it’s free. (Just imagine Jen’s face when I explained that particular thought process to her).

I had a long wait – 5 ½ hours before all the tests were completed and I got to see a doctor. Then again, we are in the middle of a pandemic. The doctor was brilliant. Fortunately, it wasn’t my heart but muscle pain. He suggested that given the state of my health I should build up a lot slower to these things. I must point out here that the Joe Wicks video wasn’t to blame. The video takes into account different fitness levels and allows you to warm up, warm down and rest. The issue is that I’m not in great health; I’m unfit and overweight. I chose the wrong type of exercise for me. As a good friend pointed out later, the thing about exercise is to do it regularly: not to do it just the once every 40 years.

During the consultation, the doctor had also suggested I visit the eye clinic as I was currently enjoying my 5^th stye in less than 8 weeks. Believe me, it’s not a great look. Another day, another trip to the local hospital. It turns out I have blepharitis – not bletheritis– as a Scottish friend joked. It was disheartening to know I had another infection to add to the list but at least it explained all the bloody styes.

Following on from a flurry of healthy recipes and two recipe books, sent to me by Jen, in the hope I would increase my cookery repertoire from ‘something with mince’ to ‘something with chicken’, I found myself outside Wilko a few days later in the hope of buying a casserole dish. Yes, I know how to live. While minding my own business (that’s code for being on my phone), a woman came up to me and informed me that ‘Pensioners can go to the front of the queue.’

Slightly taken aback as to why she thought I needed to know this I then understood the inference. ‘I’m not a pensioner,’ I assured her.

It was obviously her turn to look taken aback (a bit too much for my liking) and then she fought what can only be considered an admirable rearguard action in a valiant attempt at backtracking. ‘I wasn’t suggesting you looked like a pensioner,’ she said, evidently not quite convinced by her own assertion and walked off. Given that it was a long queue and I was the only one she approached I personally have my doubts on that score.

I admit that my roots need doing: and I had a shopping caddy with me (don’t judge me: casserole dishes can be heavy) but I would like to think I’m not being overly deluded when I say that neither factors should tip me over the edge to looking over 65. As is my wont, I phoned Jen to let her know what had just happened. ‘You probably look tired,’ Jen said in what I presume was a spectacularly unsuccessful attempt to reassure me. I mean: how tired can I look? To add insult to injury, there was just one casserole dish in the whole of Wilko’s and it was chipped.

This week has taught me to be grateful once more to the NHS while at the same time feel powerless as I watch the government continuously lie about PPE and testing while the media remain not only mute but amplify the lies. It’s as if we’re sleepwalking into some kind of dystopia where the government can blatantly lie and no one seems that bothered besides a few people on Twitter.

On a more personal note, as you know, I am generally content with my singleton status. However, the only time I ever wish there was someone special in my life is when I’m ill. I suppose it’s because when you’re unwell, you’re at your most vulnerable. Heading up to A&E, I was really worried. You tend to fear the worst and sat there on my own it’s only natural to wish there was someone with you who could hold your hand and tell you everything will be all OK. As usual, my friends filled most of that breach via calls, messages, to sending recipes to offering to accompany me on walks.

As a result, I have never ate so much veg  in my life as I have in the last few days in an attempt to eat more healthily. Given that doing exercise had me ending up in A&E, knowing my luck I’ll probably end up back in A&E having overdosed on Vitamin C. Let’s face it, if it’s going to happen to anyone, it’s bound to be me!

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