The wedding... the aftermath....

Yes people... I'm back, alive, kicking and thrilled to bits with the novelty of being a "missus". Back feeling mildly smug after a 2 week honeymoon. Back after a hair-raisingly stressful homecoming. Back to mundane work, flat heeled shoes and chipped nailpolish.

Thanks to all you well-wishers who read my posts and those who decided to comment here... to those creative ones who composed poetry (awww... I'm so touched) and those who followed up with phone calls (hey sisters...) and all the interested one who wanted to know more. To them, I dedicate this post... well it may be a series of posts, depending on how long I can type before running out of steam or what time hubby comes home (whichever comes first lol).

The wedding...

...was just dreamy. Even the pre-wedding jitters weren't too bad. Mums was mildly panicy because there was so much jewellery lying around at home (hidden in various odd places, wrapped in old handkerchiefs), but other than that, things were ok. My bridesmaids were a wealth of support, turning up the night before and helping me iron my saree (10pm), dry my hair (11pm), touch up my nails (11.21pm) wrap gifts to parents and write thank you notes(finished slightly past midninght). Not very good timing as had to be at bridal dressing place by 3.45 am.

Actually got to bridal dressing place at 4.30 pm. This was partly because of jitters and partly because we had to hunt for all the jewellery. Was bundled into my slip and blouse and the whole process began. I was crazy happy during the whole thing.... the attention I was getting had a lot to do with it... people were powdering my knuckles, Mums was giving me misty looks and bridesmaids kept shooting winks and thumbs ups...

So I floated out at 7 am... be-decked with Achchi's chunky gold necklace and be-veiled with yards and yards of tulle... crazy grin still on face, I made it to the hotel... to be greeted by Darling who had an identical soppy grin on his face... obviously, traditions of not seeing the bride before the wedding were smashed to smithereens. Photo's were taken, tilting head this way and that, looking up, looking down and mugging for the occasional tourist who had stopped to stare.

Of course things went wrong... but many disasters (actual/potential/mitigated) went totally unnoticed by me because others had done their best so that I wouldn't know of them. The flower people had got all creative and sprayed the snowy white flowers I ordered - a pale golden brown, in order to match the colour of the maids' sarees. Not a very smart thing to do, since this made them look all faded around the edges. Mums had very firmly taken the flower people to task and got them to trim the (sprayed) edges of every single flower! So when I walk into the hall, what crosses my mind is "oh what dainty lilies! I didn't know they came this small... how pretty and fairy like etc. etc." Obviously the wedding high... but I didn't find out the truth till last week.

The candle for the pahana was snitched by the ashtaka guy, who proceeded to light the lamps on the four sides of the poruwa with it, and then toss it aside. When we reached the pahana, there was much waiting and looking around and then finally we ended up lighting it straight from the match, with the matchbox cunningly hidden behind my bouquet and away from the cameras.

My flower girl (my sweet little niece, bless her cotton socks - although she refused to wear shoes and went barefoot on W-day) was I think having a bit of a sugar rush herself. It was fun seeing her run around enjoying herself after the photoshoot... less fun seeing 3 huge black splodges of grease on her skirt... just before we had to make the grand entrance. Several times during the whole table round thing I felt my head rudely jerked backwards... only to glance back and see the kid standing on my veil, grinning madly at me.

Well, to make a long story short... I totally, completely enjoyed my wedding. The flowers - especially my bouquet - were exquisite, the company was great, the food was marvelous plus we ended up getting 2 chocolate fountains for the price of one! (As a tribute to Mrs. G and her wonderful service, please check out Chocolate Joy at http://www.bridesofsrilanka.com/chocolatejoy.htm - it was awesome and had my friends and cousins all shook up!) The jazz band jazzed away, Darling made a wonderful speech where he called me lots of lovely things and during the going away handfulls of fragrant jasmine were thrown at us by the crowd (surprise arrangment courtsey of Darling... ain't he sweet?) I can honestly say it was the best wedding I'd ever been to... and the pictures say so too... I have that sappy grin on my face in every single one of them! Enjoy the pics people... and await more details later...


















Darling initially tried to put the ring on the wrong hand... after I hissed "the other hand, men" at him, he managed to get it right...


















Ah..... the transfer of ownership! Now all I need is a brand saying "property of Angel"!


















Our rings! Yay... we're married!


















Ooooh... the wedding cake... all 15lbs of it - ribbon cake with vanilla filling, covered with white fondant icing, courtesy of Fab.


















Home-coming cake! Finally people agreed that chocolate cake is a wonderful idea. Sigh... rich chocolate fudge cake with chocolate ganache icing...


















Home-coming hairdo! Was really impressed with it... the little curly bit you see there is my great grandmothers konda katta (hair comb)

So, I'm getting married...

In 10 days time...

Needless to say, I'm freaking out.....aaaaaarrrrrggghhh! But I'm also thrilled about the whole thing and shivery and excited and enjoying every scrap of attention coming my way! :)

Of course, things aren't going smoothly - homecoming jacket sewn the wrong way, flower girl's dress adorned with hideous silver and gold roses, pastry chefs in Colombo saying chocolate gateau for a wedding cake just not practical, grooms tie made of purple silk that looks positively gangrenous... ad infinitum. But as Darling points out, things rarely go smoothly, so the best thing to do is hang on tight and enjoy the ride...

This weekend is going to be hectic as that is when everything will actually have to be paid for... I won't deny that it'll be heart wrenching to fork out literally hundreds of thousands of rupees for a single 4 hour event. However, I will heave a sigh of relief because making the payment = final confirmation = things will get done... I hope!

So, Angel will be quieter than usual for a good three weeks. Bear with me gentle readers... I will be back soon with more stories for your reading pleasure!

The taste of futility

a.k.a. Why I don't like my job

Mrs. P walked in one busy Saturday casualty, smiling apologetically. "It's only my wheeze, doctor. I got nebulised at the OPD but they said to get admitted anyway." She was breathless and a brief listen at her chest showed basal crepitations - the signs of heart failure. She was made comfy in a bed close to the nursing station with the HO insisting on oxygen... the registrar okayed the drugs, added another and casualty went on... hectic as usual.

It was close to 2 a.m. when the nurse came and told me that her blood pressure was on the low side. A drip was started as well as another drug. I wasn't happy because we couldn't attach a cardiac monitor... there were 3 admissions with heart attacks and there simply wasn't a machine to spare.

So I kept an eye on her, going up to her every 10-15 minutes "how are you feeling Mrs. P?" - checking and recording her vitals. Her lungs were clearing and the BP started going towards normal. She was feeling better and talked briefly about her kids and why there was no one with her because someone had to be with them. Everytime I left her bedside she smiled and said "Thank you, doctor."

It was just past 3am when we had a new admission, an old lady literally vomiting buckets of blood. I had never seen haematemesis that bad. The BP apparatus was in my hand so it was just a matter of turning from Mrs. P to the next bed, checking vitals and asking the nurse to take blood for grouping and matching before sending saline in fast. The old lady's daughters were there, both attendants at the hospital and both screaming and wailing like banshees... they kept embracing their mother and I had to practically wrestle my way past them to adjust the drip. It took the HO telling them very firmly to be quiet and calm down before we could continue with taking a history, giving medication and writing out the forms for blood and plasma.

I remember glancing at Mrs. P at some point during the melee. She seemed comfortable and was breathing ok. It was about 15 minutes later that we got the old lady stabilised with a blood transfusion and things had quietened down somewhat.

I walked over the few steps to Mrs. P and just went cold. She was lying on her back, eyes open, pupils dilated. The oxygen mask had been torn off and was in her hand as if at some desperate attempt to breathe.

I barely checked her carotid pulse before launching into CPR, calling out to the HO and nurses. Tubes were put in and a cardiac monitor (unceremoniously removed from another patient who was "stable") attached - flat trace other than the spikes due to my cardiac massage. Adrenaline was pushed in, then other drugs, over and over, while I kept mumbling please, please, please hoping that any God, anywhere, would show some mercy. We tried for close to an hour until the HO gently told me what I knew all along... there's nothing more we can do, she was gone.

I closed her eyes, and listened one last time with the steth. The monitor was removed and re-attached on the first patient. Fighting tears, I wrote down the needful on the ticket.
No central pulse
No heartbeat, no respiration
Pupils fixed and dilated
Death confirmed at 4.20 a.m.

She was only 42 years old.

Brick-bats and Bouquets

Okay... the bouquet first, to (wait for it...) the wonderful customer service at the Ceylon Continental. Mums had gone there for a workshop and at lunch had been quite sad that all desserts had been made with eggs. After picking a few pieces of fruit off the top of a mousse she had noticed the chef hovering around and in her charming way requested that they please consider just one egg-free option for the next few days of the workshop.

No sooner had she returned to her seat than a marvelous concoction topped with whipped cream and a cherry was placed before her, compliments of the chef and certified egg-free. Mums was happily munching on the toothsome morsel when a dish of kiri-peni was whipped in front of her as well! Much laughter at this turning of tables from the rest of the crowd, who are usually used to flaunting their wide range of dessert choices in front of Mums... :)

Now Mums goes for these big do's at hotels (wedding/workshop/conferance) fairly often... and usually asks the chef/steward if there are any egg free desserts. The usual answer is a shrug and a polite "sorry madam". Was really pleased with the chef for being so nice to her and not forgetting to provide egg-free goodies for the rest of the workshop... loads of brownie points, dude, and well done Ceylon Continental!

The brick on the otherhand is thrown at a certain "superbrand" men's clothing boutique which for ethical and possible legal reasons shall remain un-named. Since Darling and the Brothers needed suits, there they went to choose fabric and give their measurements... I tagged along too. The first fishy thing they did was up the price the moment they realised it was for a wedding... the 6K tailoring charge became 10K. Then they said that only italian made fabric was available in the colour we wanted... fabric initially quoted at 4K per suit length became 4K per yard... and 3 1/2 yards needed for a suit.

After deciding to go ahead with it the three guys were hanging around the measurement counter for ages, occasionally chatting with the salesguy. I waited and waited and waited. Mearly an hour later, no measurements had been taken. The sales dude, who had been servile to the extreme while the manager was about, started dishing out some serious attitude when politely asked when they planned to take the measurements. I was irritated, the boys were irritated and finally we just walked out... it just wasn't worth the fuss and feathers. The irony of the "superbrand" books placed prominantly about the store did not escape me. So much for fancy titles!

The last forage of the Glut-club

a.k.a. Golden moment #2

To be honest, it was the culmination of a long series of golden moments, gently spread over 6 years of Med-school. There was no official inaugaration... it was more of the brownian motion of life bringing together a bunch of serious food addicts, cookery experts and...well... gluttons. A mutual craving for salad took us to a certain fast-food joint down Union Place and with the tutorship of C we quickly developed salad-bar surfing into an art.

Birthdays heralded competitions (who has the tallest salad?) and this became more or less the ideal way for us perpetually broke undergrads to eat cheap. Cheap salad that is. There were stares from the staff... and sniggers from the other diners... but nothing dampened our enthusiasm. The management shut down the salad bar 3 times during the past 6 years. Each time it reopened (with much fanfare and progressively dilute mayo) the Glut-club made its presence gently felt.

The day after our final paper, we went there... for the last time as penniless undergrads, eight of us happy to share 2 salads and a garlic bread and split the 625 rupee bill.
Salad served by C, who once managed a 9" salad. mmmm...mmm look at all the chunky pineapple.

Angel with her (pitch)fork poised to attack the salad. Never can manage to get enough pineapple to stay on top.


We came, we ate and we conquered... :)

Hurrah!

Dr. Angel MB,BS (Col)

I am SO happy... :) What more can I say?

My first job interview

Last week self was once more demurely draped in 6 yards of cotton and waiting to to face a panel. This time however, they were not to cross-question mercilessly on disease states and their management... they were to go through my CV and find out if I, Angel, was the kind of person they could trust in a temporary post at the Faculty.

I had to wait in a side room with the rest of the hopefuls and despite the balmy weather, makeup was getting slightly oozy and nervousness was mounting. I repeatedly asked why I was voluntarily submitting myself to this type of agony... do I get some kind of cheap thrill out of it? I dunno - before I had figured out the answer, I was called in.

Many questions, some predictable and some not. And then I was shown out. My rather slim file of certificates wasn't even glanced at. Shame, I was looking forward to boasting that I had won the relay race in grade 5. :)

So anyway, I got a call yesterday. The whole thing is very hush-hush as nothing can be "official" until our results are known.

Results are due on Monday... eeek!

Cupcake frenzy

I think I mentioned before that the post-exam blahs left me in no mood to celebrate... but I did have a number of golden moments...

Golden moment number one

Inspired by Darwin (actually, reduced to helpless slobbering by the luscious photos) I trawled the net for egg-free cupcake recipies. I came across a really good one here. I made a thick chocolate icing and decorated with chocolate crispies.


The pic is very fuzzy because I couldn't find a camera and all I had was Darling's camera phone.

I was really thrilled they came out so well 'cos although I'm ok in the kitchen (never poisoned anyone, yet!), I suck at making cakes. The look of ecstasy on darling's face was pure gold in itself. :) Hurrah! Am turning into domestic goddess in manner of Martha Stewart and Darwin!

The cupcakes were delicious but a little on the heavy side. I think I have to add more X or reduce a little Y. A whipped cream topping would have done much better on a banana cupcake. Mmmmmmmm.... I foresee another golden moment in the near future!

Random thought...

There's a wierd sort of satisfaction in having made it to the top of the food-chain in campus. We are "super seniors" to almost every other medical student. Memo to self : enjoy the feeling while possible... in a fortnight said self will be at the bottom rung of the professional ladder... with a long, long climb ahead!

A closure of sorts

This post is over three weeks late... it has been 22 days since I(officially) completed my final MBBS exams. In the deep dark armpit of the night whilst I was battling sleep and headaches and cramming obscure facts, I used to wonder what it would be like "afterwards". I dreamt of parties and celebrations, shiny new shoes and trendy hairstyles,I laid elaborate plans... yet the end came, not with a bang but with a fizzle.

So here I am, still waiting for the "kick" to set in. Results are due in 2 weeks and till then I am stuck in the no-mans land between being an undergraduate and a graduate. If I pass... well... then I join the rekiya virahitha upaadhidaari club. You may even see me protesting at the Lipton circus/Fort railway station, a flowery umbrella carefully shading my face from the sun. It will be close to a year untill the Government allows me to practice as a doctor and make use of the degree that I spent 6 years struggling for.

So right now, I'm job hunting, looking for a non-clinical post within the Faculty itself. I figured that since I'll be doing clinical work for the rest of my life, better experience the other side of the coin when I have the chance.

I can't help wondering how much I would have forgotten by the time I start my internship. Right now, I'm at my peak... I know stuff about various diseases... even obscure ones. I can prescribe rationally. Yet for about a year, I will not be able to (legally)write a prescription. Well... I guess I'll find out, eventually.

Mums says to accept that which we cannot change... She is SO zen!

OMG... minihek!

Ok... so some guy managed to creep into our hostel at around 12.30am, Sunday night. This is a definite step forward. Usually the dudes just drive up in their 3 wheelers/mo-bikes/BMWs/4 wheel drives, play with themselves while gazing at the bras fluttering on the balcony washing lines... calmly wipe themselves with a bit of rag and drive off.

However, I don't think anyone has actually gotten in since Dr. JP (in her student days... many years ago) famously grappled with one of the "showmen" who made a misguided decision to walk into her room while she was studying for an important exam.

So anyway, last Sunday, this guy had gone into a room on the 3rd floor, where the occupant was sleeping but the door was unlocked as her room mate was studying downstairs. He had been rummaging around when the girl woke up... and he had then clamped her mouth shut with his hand (eeeek!) and threatened her and asked for money. After getting a few hundred rupees, he then calmly walked out and down the stairs. Another girl coming upstairs had met him and immediately started shrieking "budu ammo! minihek!! minihek!!!" etc. At which the guy had shouldered past her downstairs, run past the dumbfounded and bleary eyed security guards and straight into the arms of the policeman from the police post opposite the hostel!

So the policeman growls "mokada mokada kalabaley??" To which this thief/perv/druggie dude calmly replies "ne Ralahaami, prashnayak ne!" and the stupid policeman frikkin LETS HIM GO!!!! By this time the husband of our subwarden has come out and he sprints past the (still motionless and slackjawed) security guards and chases after the thief/druggie/perv but loses him among the tiny twisting lanes of Maradana.

Half the hostelers are now up and running around the place... much shouting, screaming and general excitement. The dazed (and drunk) security guards were sharply questioned by a bunch of irate girls in frilly nighties. Do you know what the idiot guard had said? (only one had been awake.) He had SEEN this dude calmly open the gate and walk into one of the hostel buildings and had asked what he was doing... and, in the guards own words "eya mukuth kiyuve nethi nisa, mamath ganan gaththe ne!!!" (The guy didn't reply, so I didn't take any notice).

Honestly!

I am speechless. I am horrified. I am so glad that I am now at home and the only guy likely to walk in is Brother in search of my stash of chocolate.

Of picketings and protests...

There was a big udgoshanaya outside the UGC yesterday, protesting the "politicizing" of appointments of the new graduate doctors. When I got to campus, the union was all active with members running around stencilling posters etc.

I like our students' union. They regularly piss off the maha shishya bala mandalaya of the University. Protests are limited to the lunch hour (nobody wants to miss classes). Our posters are notoriously tame... instead of the usual denu, karanu etc, it is denna, karanna - occaionally with a "please" or a "if it's not too much of a bother" thrown in. Yet we get great publicity 'cos of carefully cultivated media contacts. :)

I asked around and found out that this was because of the government decision to fill in the vacancies in the East with graduates from Jaffna University. I had a bit of time to think about it as I sat trembling in the Surgery Department, awaiting to be called for the "Long and Short Cases" of my final exam. Why was I here, decked up in a saree dry mouthed and petrified? Why were we doing these frickin exams in the first place? Examiners were coming from universities all over the Island, in order that the marks are standardised, because it's on these results that the common order of merit (the notorious "merit list") is set.

How fair is it to have to sit for all the standard exams, to get good marks and then be shoved off to the East for internship just because you studied at a particular university? Note, I have nothing against working there... if I am appointed to Trinco or Batti, I'd grit my teeth and go there determined to do a good job for the duration of my appointment. I'd just like to get that appointment on merit and not on a political whim.

I have the greatest respect for graduates of the Jaffna University and have been privileged to work with a few of them as my seniors (house officers, registrars etc.)They don't have half the facilities (to learn) as we have here in Colombo, some of them have been arrested by the SLA on various charges (this was about a decade ago), they have experienced dodging motars and scrambling into bunkers on the way to campus. They are friendly, hardworking and fun to work with. They are no less than any of the rest of us, and deserve to be treated equaly.

So these were the thoughts that ran through my mind as I listened to the faint sounds of the slogans in the distance. Then I was called in, screwed up the short cases, did reasonably well in the long case and will hopefully pass. Well, 13 down and 5 more to go... phew!

Fiddling away while the ship sinks...

There's a squeak of pure delight from a matey little mite
As it tortuously tunnels in the skin,
Singing "furrow, folly furrow, come join me in my burrow,
And we'll view the epidermis from within."
(Guy's Acarus)

Ok, I know that seems a little displaced, but I came across this little gem tucked in a corner of my dermatology text book... right next to the section on scabicides and how to squash the matey little guy out of existence.

I can't believe that after nearly a month of silence I'm blogging now, with only four more days to go for my final exams... shouldn't I be sitting somewhere with my feet in a tub of hot water, poring over textbooks? I guess I should... but I think I've reached the "lah-de-dah" stage of pre-exam panic where I no longer care if I get good marks or end up looking like a blithering idiot during a viva.

Of course my sang-froid is strongest during the daytime... cometh the evening panic rises up (along with gastritis) and I hear the voices of miscellaneous professors echoing in my head... "the results of this exam will mark you for LIFE!" Oh well... we'll see how it goes. Keep your fingers crossed for me people!

Blouse Blues

My dressmaker is very unhappy with me. After asking her to do me a complicated saree blouse design on a very tight deadline, I go for the final fit on... and the sleeves do not fit. In her own words "your arms have gotten unusually fat, haven't they?" Several dark mutterings and a few more measurements later, it turns out that not only are my arms fatter by almost an inch, one arm is fatter than the other!

Mums was most unsympathetic. She asked me what I expected after eating 6 slices of bread for breakfast everyday during the preceding 2 weeks. The "I told you so" went unsaid, but hovered in the background, flapping around in a pointed sort of way. Felt very downcast, but resolved not to cut down on the bread too much until after the blouse was worn... another refitting would have made poor Aunty tear out her hair in frustration.

Happily, I got the blouse, big sleeves and all, a full 4 hours before the party, so I guess all's well that ends well.

And in case you're wondering, it's a yellow blouse.

Happy Feet

I had my first ever pedicure and foot massage yesterday. Mmmmm...mmmm. Two hours of footsie bliss. I have never experienced such pampering, ever! As Dearly Beloved put it, it was the least I could do for them after all the standing/walking/running during the past six years.

I really liked the pedicure lady as well. She was full of amusing quips and anecdotes and wasn't too horrified at the sight of my feet. So she got out her kit and started gently rubbing off the dead skin with an exfoliator. About 2o seconds later, she gave me this exasperated look, rummaged around her basket and started going at my feet with something that looked like an industrial metal file! Was mildly embarrassed, but then the blissfull feeling just blossomed out again... and I forgot everything else.

Honestly though, some of the lotions and potions, not to mention the instruments, would cause even our well equipped surgical theatre to hang its head in shame. Oily stuff, salt like crystally stuff, cocoa butter, shea butter, other butter and scary looking pliers, clippers, mysterious forked instruments etc. After the clipping and rubbing, my feet were put into this warm bath which had little jets making the water all fizzy and bubbly. I was so thrilled at it all... I felt like the proverbial Banda on his first visit to Colombo!

I walked back to campus soothed, calmed and happy. My feet were happy too!

Hit counter - Ho!

I did it!! I've added a hit counter to my blog - and this after long phone conversations with more techno-savvy friends and several more long minutes peering at small print.

Cut and pasted the html with minimum difficulty.

Am feeling very pleased with self.

I think with a little practice I can actually get a hang of the whole technology thing... and move a step further from using the computer because I'm too lazy to write.

I didn't start off from zero, because that would be really really sad, but settled for a fairly modest strating point... even though 2657 seemed really tempting. It also goes up a notch everytime I view my own blog - e.g. when I went to see what this marvelous add-on looked like. That should ensure that my hits go up by at least one everyday!

Cheers!!

To booze or not to booze

I met Swarnapala* on the 103 bus last week while on my way to visit a preggy friend. He came up to me, grinning, and assured me that he was still guzzling his daily kassippu... "sometimes only 2 bottles Nona, but what to do... cost of living is going up."

Some of you may remember me moaning about him... this is the guy who turned up at our casualty in the wee hours of 14th April - the Sinhala Hindu New Year... the sort of festive season that only the obsessed and the unlucky hang around the hospital (myself belonging to the second group). His New Year resolution was to give up his habit of drowning his days sorrows in 2-3 bottles of moonshine and he had landed at his mother's place at an auspicious hour in order to be away from temptation while going cold turkey. Unfortunately, alcohol withdrawal delerium set in... he had a seizure, fell into a glass cabinet, split open his head and developed an intracranial bleed that needed immediate neurosurgery.

When I clerked him later that morning, he was lying on a gurney, feeling very sorry for himself. He had ample time to figure out the how's why's and wherefores of what happened to him... and lay there, covered with blood, quietly determined to start drinking again as soon as he got out of hospital.

This is the most skewed argument I have in favour of boozing.
Oh well...

_________________________________________
*His real name is much nicer

Festival of Light

Just got back from observing sil at Kanduboda and am feeling really happy about it. It's been ages since I've stepped into a temple and even though I didn't realize it, have been totally missing the cool quiet feeling away from the everyday messy-ness.

While meditating/dreaming by the pond, I also manged to get a picture of a splendid loooking kingfisher who dove in and out of the water... presumably bathing and not doing the whole panathipatha thing. The image is very fuzzy and small, despite full zoom... but got a good shot of the waterlillies. I guess it's acceptable for my first wildlife photograph. :)

On the way back I was surprised by both the number and variety of dansals along the road. From maha buth dansalas to kadala, sherbert and popsicle dansalas manned by kids with scabbed knees wielding limp buddhist flags, the roads were bursting with toothsome good will. I even noticed one organised by Waters Edge which had a HUGE queue!! It's nice to think that at least for these two days, no-one will be sleeping hungry. Of course, there are people like my questionable little cousin and his gang of friends who canvass for donations from the neighbours and run the yearly dansala at a respectable profit... enough for a good meal and some rented DVD's. Oh well....

Peaceful Vesak to all...

Hello!

Hi everyone...

I finally made good on my threat and started my own blog... something I wanted to do forever, but never had the time. I guess the sisterhood will be happy now, when I don't mail, you can come here and read what I've been upto.

Provided I actually get round to posting.