Summer, summer, summer time. Makes me want to moan and whine.

Firstly, you will NEVER hear me complain about it being too cold in winter. I'm not one of these infuriating people who can't seem to ever find satisfaction with the weather. I may express surprise at how heavy the rain is, how strong the wind is or how low the temperature may be but I certainly won't moan about it. For me winter is bliss.

I do acknowledge that summer does have some benefits but I think the negatives vastly outweigh the positives.

The first hot day of the year is when the madness begins. Everybody forgets what happened the previous year or the year before that or the year before that. Pasty white morons open their curtains, see the sun and lose all sense of reason. Off they go to fill up the beaches, parks and beer gardens. They've invested in new sunglasses, bikinis, shorts and flip flops but haven't purchased the one thing they should have done. Sunscreen. Sure enough, several hours later Facebook and Twitter is swamped by these cretins posting photos of their lobster pink sun damaged flesh. This continues over the next few days with every new victim seeming to be genuinely surprised at what has happened to them.

All the people with reverse body dysmorphia come out of the woodwork. I live on the coast and think we suffer more than most with this terrible summer affliction. Swathes of baggy, saggy, sweaty, hairy skin is exposed (usually lobster pink - see above) for the world to gag at. What you wear on the beach is up to you but at what point does it become acceptable for men to wander round the shops wearing nothing but speedos or women to wear a bikini in Asda? You would never roam the streets in your underwear so why do it in your swimwear? There's a lot of press about airbrushing and super skinny celebs at the moment and how it has a negative impact on how people see their own bodies. If you have the self-confidence to show your body off then seriously, good for you but there is a time and a place. The clammy, hairy moobs of a balding middle aged man or the hulking stretchmarked gut of a size 20 woman should be covered up in the majority of public places.

The summer insomnia begins. The air is thick and muggy outside, there is no breeze and you're genuinely concerned that you may melt into a puddle during the night. When you do finally drop off you're woken up obscenely early by the sun coming up at 5am. The daytime heat saps the energy from you yet by the next nightfall, even though you're exhausted, it's once again too warm for you to sleep. You become ratty, snappy and emotional. You're grateful when a thunderstorm is predicted on the weather forecast because you know you'll finally get some rest. That's assuming that you aren't lobster pink and therefore unable to find a single comfortable position due to the agony of sunburn.


The insects come out in force. You're roasting hot and want to cool down but you can't have an ice lolly or a nice drink because the wasps will come after you. You'll end up running around and waving your arms like a lunatic and by the end of it you're hotter than you were in the beginning. The mosquitoes feast upon your flesh leaving your body adorned will itchy little bumps making you constantly scratch therefore adding to the nightmare of summer insomnia.

Hayfever destroys your life. If you're a sufferer then you can't leave the house (which is actually a good thing given the probability of you being lobster pink) and even if you don't suffer from it, you can't escape the constant sneezing/sniffing of the people around you. There is a limit to the effectiveness of allergy tablets and every year I'm amazed I haven't blinded myself by scratching out my itchy eyes or that I haven't punched someone who's left the house without any tissues. BLOW YOUR GODDAM NOSE.

The moaning never stops. It's too hot. I couldn't sleep last night. My face is peeling. Why doesn't this office have air con. I can't breathe. This mozzy bite is driving me mad. Mike at work has forgotten his deodorant again and he stinks.

The only plus sides to summer are being able to get your washing dry quickly and barbecues but even they aren't proper positives. We all know the summer law that any cloud coverage or rain will take place on the weekends. Many a bbq ends indoors after a sudden flash of bad weather (assuming you've got any guests and they aren't at home nursing their lobster pink skin).

I hate the summer and if you're honest with yourself, so do you.

What makes you smile?

We all have our pet hates and things that drive us mad but since my last couple of blogs have been a bit moany, I thought I'd do one about the little things that make us smile. We all have something that is guaranteed to cheer us up on a down day whether it's a cuddle with your pet, snaffling a favourite chocolate bar or receiving a funny text from your best friend. These are my instant happiness triggers.

Seagulls. Nope, I've not gone mad, I absolutely love the noise they make. Hearing them lets me know that I'm near the sea and brings a cheer to my heart. I wouldn't go to the beach let alone step foot in the sea if you paid me but for some reason I need to be near it. I missed it so much when I moved back to London and whenever I'd visit Bournemouth I would always make time to park my car near the seafront in Southbourne so I could take in the sea air without having to come into contact with any sand. I also watched a baby seagull grow up on a roof next to my office window one summer. I named him Jonathan Livingstone and his progression was fascinating. Every time I hear one shriek I can't help but smile.

Being able to drink a whole glass of water/cola/juice without feeling guilty. I've spoken about how hard it is to live on 1 litre a fluid day whilst on dialysis and now that I'm healthy I can drink as much as I want whenever I want. I really struggled with guilt after the transplant whenever I had a drink because it's drilled into you how important it is to stay dry. I'd even gone as far as washing off all the sauce from a tin of spaghetti hoops before eating so I didn't go above my fluid restrictions and suddenly being able to glug down pints of ice cold water was quite strange. Also, Pepsi Max is my all time favourite drink but because of the brown colouring it was banned while I was ill. After getting used to being able to have fluid again, my house has always contained at least one bottle of the stuff and I'm still not bored of it. 

I am obsessed with the colour purple. I've got purple clothes, purple make up, had a purple phone etc. The only thing stopping me painting my car purple is the cost. I will only give The Avengers 9.5 out of 10 because Hawkeye wasn't purple. Not out of fandom for the character but out of love for the colour. I can't understand why it isn't more peoples favourite colour. It's the only colour of clothing that suits every single skin tone so you should all go out and purchase some purple clothes. Immediately. 

Pygmy hippos. If you can look at a picture of one of these and not feel the need to the smile then you must be a monster. Look at his little face! It's just too cute. Obviously I love miniature dachshunds more, I have to stay loyal to Monty, but these are a close second. A friend bought me an adoption kit for the ones at London Zoo and it's one of the best presents I've ever been given. 

Whenever I've got a cold, a headache or I'm feeling a bit sickly this stuff is my ultimate cure. It's impossible to feel sorry for yourself when you've got a piping hot bowl of pure comfort in front of you. It was yet another food item that I wasn't allowed when I was on dialysis and it was the first meal I had when I got out of hospital from my transplant. It always has to be Heinz though, no other kind cuts it and there must always be a slice of buttered bread involved. 

So, what are the things that make you smile?

Welcome to Hell, I'll be your tour guide.

Last month I wrote a blog about my kidney transplant being 9 months old. I got some really great feedback on Twitter about it with people saying they didn't realise how invasive and distressing dialysis was. Thing is, I actually held back because it upsets me to think about it and I find it hard to process those emotions. When I do look back on the bad times I get very panicky and end up crying. I just sit there and sob for a few minutes until my brain snaps me back to reality. I do wonder if I'll ever address this but the answer is probably no.

I've decided to expand on that blog a bit in the hope that just one of you joins the Organ Donor Register. I'm going to include a couple of gnarly photos so if you're squeamish, look away now.

As I sit here having finished work until Wednesday with a gloriously fun packed four days ahead of me involving friends, Mexican food, movies, driving through the countryside and a visit to the Sealife Centre, I remember where I was a year ago today. I was in Dorchester Hospital having Roger the kidney removed. I'd had Lionel removed in at the end of April the previous year. Those of you that know me will probably realise that this meant I spent mine and Rich's 2 year anniversary in hospital.

I was diagnosed with kidney problems when I was 19. From then on I survived on a cocktail of codeine, morphine and tramadol to deal with the pain. I regularly suffered Renal Colic which is proven to be more painful than being shot, surgery and child birth. Don't believe me? Look it up. My kidneys were the size of rugby balls and covered in cysts. Twice I had procedures to drain the cysts. This meant lying on my side while a doctor repeatedly inserted a huge needle through my skin and into my kidneys.

Don't for one second think I'm saying I've had a terrible life. Despite the health issues I've enjoyed holidays, gigs up and down the country and I've lost whole weekends to a bottle of tequila. Yes, the pain sometimes meant I had to stay at home or in hospital but I made the most of the times I felt normal. I can think of plenty of people who've had it worse.

When I was 24 it became obvious that the only way forward was to remove my kidneys. Thanks to this I have two 14 inch scars on my abdomen. They start where my ribs meet in the middle and sweep down in a curved line. I hate looking at them. They are disgusting. I am disgusting.

I've already gone into the adverse affects that dialysis has on a persons life. What I didn't include was that my hair started falling out because of the Heparin used during treatment to thin the blood and stop it clotting in the machine. It fell out in clumps and I was scared every time I washed it. I once got so close to dying that my hair started growing blonde rather than my natural dark brown because my body didn't have the resources to make the pigment.

I also didn't mention that kidneys are responsible for telling your bone marrow to make red blood cells, they regulate the phosphate, calcium and potassium inside your body as well as controlling your blood pressure.

Oh, and without kidneys you can't produce urine. So you stop weeing. Completely.

Needless to say, the dialysis diet is terrible. You're limited to 1 litre of fluid a day because whatever you drink stays inside your body in your blood stream and puts pressure on your heart. This includes anything you drink and fluid in food like sauces, gravy or soups. Due to the potassium problem you're advised not to eat lots of fruit and veg and to have a maximum of 2 portions a day. This also rules out potatoes and chocolate. You can't have milk, cheese or yogurt because of the calcium and phosphates. In short, you live a life of perpetual thirst on a diet of boring food. I pretty much existed on plain bagels. If you don't stick to the diet or fluid restrictions, you die. Simple as that.

Along with fluid the main toxin removed by the dialysis machine is creatine. This is the waste product your body produces in every day life and would usually be filtered out by the kidneys. A new born baby would have a level of 60 and a body builder would be around 150. Mine regularly topped 900. The fatigue you feel is like nothing I've ever experienced. If the worst hangover and cold you ever had got together and had a hellish love child, you'd be 50% of the way there. I felt like this every single day. There was no reprieve.

In the end, I had no choice but to send my mum under the carving knife. From day one she'd been keen to donate but I'd refused, convinced I could cope and hold out until one came up from a dead donor but after all the complications, it wasn't likely I'd last much longer without a kidney.

All over the country, right now, people like me are on dialysis simply because there aren't enough kidneys to go round. You do NOT need your organs when you die. What's the point of burying them in the ground or burning them. If you were in a position that you or your child needed a transplant of any kind, you'd take it right? If you answer yes to that question then you have no reason not to join the organ register. If you're not willing to give but you are willing to receive then, and sorry if this sounds harsh, you disgust me.

It costs the NHS in excess of £30,000 per YEAR to keep a person alive on dialysis and that's not including any hospital stays or complications. To keep a transplant patient alive it costs just £6,000 a year. The news is full of protest at NHS cuts but think how much money they'd save if every person offered their organs up. I have no idea what the costs are like for heart, liver and lung transplant patients but I assume they're similar. Think how many nurses, research projects and new machinery could be funded with these savings.

And now, as promised, the photos.

This is Lionel. He died on 28th April 2010. The green ruler in the middle is 9cm long.

This is Roger. He died on 4th May 2011. As you can see, he is being held by the surgeon. He was huge.

This is my poor arm during a dialysis session. Normally there would only be two needles but I regularly ended up with three like here because of complications. If you read my Kindle vs Books blog then maybe now you'll understand why there was no possible way of me holding a book in that hand.

The complications mentioned above would result in bruises like this.

Or this.

Remember, if you take your organs with you when you die, you take someone else with you.

Yo ho, yo ho, a pirates life for me?

There are several reasons why I go to the cinema. The first is obviously that I love watching films. The other reasons are wanting to view the movie the way the director and actors intended and to support the film industry.

I do not go to the cinema to stare at the back of someones head, have my chair kicked or listen to folk talking, eating and coughing. Nor do I go to the cinema so a person with a weak bladder can tread on my foot trying to get out of their seat to visit the loos and again on their way back. 

I know I'm not the only person who struggles with cretins at the cinema. Mark Kermode has bemoaned this subject for a long time and I'm always hearing people have the same complaints as me. 

I don't expect total silence during the film, there are things that can't be avoided. I'm guilty of accidentally slurping my drink. If you need to sneeze or cough then there's not a lot you can do about it but if you've got a cold or the flu, do everyone a favour and stay at home. I wouldn't want a food-free zone either, I have no issue with popcorn but if you're eating sweets that have individual wrappers then I hope you choke to death on one. 

I am really short - I'm only 5 foot 3 and I struggle seeing over people at the cinema. Invariably I'll end up sat behind someone who is 6 foot 5 and I'll have to swap with Rich. If you were born tall then good for you, I'm totally jealous. But please spare a tiny thought for the vertically challenged sat behind you. We went to see The Avengers on Saturday and, sure enough, a man with a giant head sat in front of me. He insisted on sitting bolt upright throughout the entire film so he was a full head and shoulders above the chair. Thankfully Rich had swapped so I was sat behind the man's son but not only was the man a contender for the Guinness world record for large craniums, he was also heavy. Rich had to sit with his legs to one side for the whole film because this guy weighed so much the chair was reclining half way into our aisle. The funny thing was that his wife told her son at the beginning of film to behave because he had to think about the people behind him but her husband was a complete dick. As it was, if I hadn't known there was a little boy sat in front of me, I'd have assumed the seat was empty. I can only assume he inherited his mothers consideration for others because he certainly didn't get it from his dad. 

It doesn't get any better at the theatre either. On Sunday we saw Stewart Francis at The Pavilion. I was seated next to a hideously obnoxious man who kept elbowing me quite hard every time he had a sip of his pint. He could obviously feel that he was elbowing me but he carried on doing it. During the interval I wedged my handbag between me and the arm rest just so he couldn't hurt me. We also had one of those people sat a row in front of us too. You know, the ones that constantly try and get noticed with a weird laugh or by heckling. Piss off love, I've paid to see Stewart Francis not Maureen from the chippy. Sit down and shut up. 

What the hell is wrong with people? What happened to a bit of common courtesy and self awareness? I have NEVER spent the duration of a film kicking the chair in front of me, elbowing my neighbour or texting on my phone and I'm sure the majority of people reading this haven't either. Why do a small amount of morons have to ruin it?

To date I've never purchased or downloaded a pirate movie. I'm not saying I've never watched one because I have, several in fact. But this is going to change, no doubt in the near future, because I don't know how much more I can take. Either I learn how to use a set of ninja shuriken starts so I can silently and efficiently end the lives of anyone talking at the cinema or I look into other methods of seeing the latest films. 

I guess it's time to invest in a parrot and get a diamante eye patch. Yaaar me hearties. 

Don't be a hater?

What exactly is a hater? If somebody could explain this to me, I'd forever be in your debt.

So far the only definition of "hater" I can draw from what I've seen/heard is someone who expresses a negative opinion upon any particular subject. It doesn't mean an abusive opinion, just a negative one.

Last week on a dreary rainy day I was dazzled by a vision in white. Was it an angel or Madonna circa 1980s? No, it was a teenager standing outside McDonalds on Boscombe highstreet wearing a white tracksuit with white trainers, a white t-shirt and a white hat. He couldn't have looked more ridiculous if he'd tried - it was like something out of a bad rap video. Due to the weather his trousers were a soggy grey at the bottom and there were a few mud splashes. One of his friends asked him why he was wearing this ensemble (a valid question in my opinion) and was told "don't be a hater, bruv".

A while ago now one of the accounts I follow on Instagram posted a tweegram text explaining that the account belonging to her sister had been disabled "because of all the haters". The full story was that her sister mainly posted pictures she found on sites like tumblr or reposts of photos from other users. The original owners and their followers had reported her for breach of the terms and conditions and for copyright theft and Instagram had blocked her account.

I'm a member of an online dialysis forum and long ago, before I even joined, a woman created a thread about how she was going to try and get pregnant despite being on dialysis along with a list of all the reasons why it would be ok. She obviously didn't get the response she wanted because she was immediately berated by all the other users for being irresponsible and an idiot. Her reply? "f*ck all you haters".

If a particular artist or type of music isn't to your taste these days you're immediately branded a hater. I can't stand Cher Lloyd or Skrillex and I'd be quite happy if I never heard mention of them again but if somebody told me they didn't like my favourite artists I'd take that as their right to have an opinion, not as being a hater.

To me, hate is a strong word. It's used to describe horrific crimes and the preachings of various religious nutjobs. It's not something to be thrown about whenever someone doesn't like your new shoes or the album you've downloaded.

Why do we expect to get a positive reaction to everything we do even when what we're doing is clearly insane? Getting pregnant whilst on dialysis is not only risky to you but also to your baby. Stealing the works of other artists and claiming them as your own is theft. Wearing an entirely white outfit on a rainy day in Boscombe is plain moronic.

Why are surprised when instead of getting a fan club, we get something different and why are we so quick to take offence to it?

Yesterday I managed to have my first Twitter "argument". My mother would be so proud. I accidentally caused offence to someone who asked if they should buy a hot tub. It started out as a three way conversation and was obviously light hearted. I joked about how the hot tub would freeze in the Scottish winters. The other person (who is also Scottish) said the only people that owned hot tubs in Scotland were the kind of people that appeared on Come Dine With Me. I then said that my ghastly neighbours who were utter pigs also owned a hot tub and that's when it all went wrong. He somehow translated that into me directly calling him a pig and him "taking offence to being tarred with the same brush by somebody with a name like a transvestite". Ok then. Me thinks someone might be a little bit too sensitive. In all seriousness, I was nearly called Rainbow Drops so I got off lightly with Romany Scarlett! Personally, I'd have taken umbridge to being lumped with the Come Dine With Me trash but each to their own. At that point I politely retired from the conversation and apologised for any upset that was caused (although in reality I was laughing my head off).

I wonder if we'd fawned over the suggestion and ooh'd and ahh'd about the prospect of a hot tub, the conversation would have been different. But that's the risk you run when you openly ask for opinions, you have to be prepared to hear ones that don't necessarily appeal to you. Also, much love to the two people that DM'd me to say what a douche this guy was. I appreciate the sentiment but didn't reply because it's best not to get wound up by the little things.

But what has given us this bizarre sense of egotism that everything we do is fabulous and must be praised? Is it because we're told as children that we can be whatever we want? Because that is a lie, we can't. I wanted to be a scientist when I was a little girl but unfortunately I lacked even the basic understanding of Physics and didn't get the grades I needed when I took my exams in later life. You see people on the X-Factor saying that they want to be international superstars but they sound like my dog howling at the terrier next door. Not everyone can be talented or beautiful or clever. That is why those words exist along with untalented, ugly and stupid.

I'd love it if everyone stopped pretending that they were so superior to others, took a step back and allowed people to express themselves however they wish to without being branded as a hater. If that means accepting that another human being doesn't want to listen to Skrillex at 2am on a Tuesday night (see, my neighbours really are utter pigs!) then so be it.

Stromboli

After watching the Hairy Bikers make one of these on Tuesday I absolutely HAD to give it a go. It's probably one of the worst things I could make given that white flour hates me and Rich is lactose intolerant so shouldn't eat cheese. But hey, it's Friday and we've got all weekend to be ill. And anyway, it was SO worth it.

The original recipe is HERE but I changed it up a bit because I'm lazy.

I copied their dough method and recipe pretty much exactly apart from using garlic infused olive oil instead of the plain stuff.

Neither Rich or I like chunky tomato sauces so I used normal pasata straight out of the jar. It's also because I'm lazy and wanted to watch something awful on the telly. A teaspoon each of Very Lazy chopped garlic and chilli were also added to the pasata.

The fillings we had were prosciutto ham, smoked bacon, sausage, salami and three different kinds of cheese. At the time of writing the posh prosciutto ham is half price in Sainsbury's and the pre-cooked smoked bacon strips are £1.75 and I only used a quarter of a packet. I cooked the sausages last night and pulled them apart into tiny pieces. The cheeses were grated mozzarella, grated mild cheddar and reduced fat buffalo mozzarella although quite frankly, trying to reduce the calories on a recipe like this is a futile mission.

After I stretched the dough and skillfully and artistically placed scattered the fillings I tucked the edges in and rolled it up which was actually easier than I had anticipated.

My rolling could have been neater but it was my first attempt so I'm not going to be too hard on myself. After a second proving and 30 minutes in the oven the meaty beast emerged golden and glorious.

We had ours with a side of baby spinach drizzled with a bit of garlic oil.

There was more than enough to feed myself, Rich and my mum as well as the birds in the garden who have been given the ends of the Stromboli to feast on over the weekend although poor Monty was unsuccessful in his begging attempts.

Overall it was love at first bite but I must have done something wrong. When I watched the Hairy Bikers make theirs, they used only ham, mozzarella and basil - around half what I used in terms of volume but even with the mountains of fillings we all felt that they got a bit lost in all the bread. I used 4 whole sausages, 4 torn slices of ham, several strips of bacon and an entire mozzarella ball not to mention the grated cheese and slices of salami. It looked like so much before I rolled it up and I was worried I'd over done it but I think you could easily double that!

I'd still rate it a solid 8 out of 10 and it's something I will definitely be making again in the future. That's if we both the survive the weekend ahead without dying from our food intolerences. Oops. 

How to become a better person?

I mentioned in a blog on Sunday that my doctor told me that now I had a working kidney I also had a second chance in life and I had to go out and do good in the world. I've changed my career path and now work for a local charitable organisation but how do I go about changing myself for the better?

On paper I have a place reserved in Hell. I don't like children, I'm not fond of cats, I'm impatient, I watch utter trash on the telly, I swear too much, I drive aggressively, I'm more than happy to make disparaging remarks about someone not looking their best, I don't have a lot of sympathy for anything self-inflicted, I'm pro-choice, want the death penalty reinstated and I don't believe in any kind of god. I've also voted Conservative more than once. 

In my favour people always comment on how cheerful I am, I'm loyal, generous and would do just about anything for a someone I care about. I've always made friends easily and been popular so I must be doing something right.

I thought about becoming vegetarian like I was back when I was 17. Surely not eating animals would make me a better person right? But then what if I became one of those militant vegetarians who looks down on everyone and likes to bring up the subject at every opportunity? 

Or I could give up my car and start cycling everywhere. It would certainly help with my weight loss quest and I'd be helping the environment. But we've all met one of those cyclists who truly believe they are the second coming of Christ because they cycle instead of drive.

Maybe I could become more spiritual but I'd hate to end up being one of those people who thank Jesus for letting their sports team win whilst ignoring starving nations.

I used to follow someone on Twitter who took up running. Now he posts a daily brag about how far he's gone that day. It's great he's found something he loves so much but if we all ran 10km each day, who would he boast to? Why do people feel the need to use their achievements as a way to belittle others? I grew tired of "Booyah, ran 12km today while you lot ate chips. Who's the daddy" tweets so a swift click of the unfollow button soon put an end to that.

You can still be a good person whether you eat meat, drive a car or sit on your fat ass watching Jersey Shore.

So how do I improve myself? I've come to the conclusion that by making self improvements you run the risk of actually becoming even worse than you were before. I think the only way I can become a better person is to take full advantage of the opportunity given to me by my kidney transplant. I'll enjoy the freedom it brings to do all the things I love and I'll make sure I stop along the way to remember how lucky I am.

I definitely won't stop eating bacon or swearing though.