Tag Archives: Snoring

Coming Soon…

27 Aug

…The conclusion to my London tale.

Wax Lips

Wax Lips (Photo credit: red clover)

Thank you all for your good wishes.  I am on the mend but I have spent today catching up with some of your blogs.  Don’t be offended if I haven’t visited you yet; I follow a LOT of blogs.

Tomorrow, I’m off to the hospital to see a man about a gag.  I will take two buses there at the crack of rush hour to be fitted for a thing in my mouth that I don’t really want but which is supposed to stop me snoring.

If the dental doctor ends up with my breakfast on his shoes, don’t blame me – I gag if I put too much food in my mouth (it’s why I can’t eat trifle) so how they expect me to sleep with a plastic wotzit in my gob I really don’t know, but doctor, apparently, knows best.

Of course, if I choke to death in my sleep on the plastic wotzit that’s bound to cure my snoring, so the Hub’s all in favour of it.

Anyway, the ordeal of taking four buses and rubber fingers poking around my very private mouth probably means no London post tomorrow.

Sorry.

Joke 793

25 May
English: Snoring English Bulldog

English: Snoring English Bulldog (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Every hotel was full when the tired driver pulled into town late that night. At the largest hotel he pleaded with the night manager to please find him some place to sleep.  “Any bed will do – just a place to sleep.”

“Well, there is one regular client who always says that if we are ever full, he will be glad to split the cost of his room with someone. But I must warn you, he snores like a volcano; and we get lots of complaints from neighbouring rooms.”

“That will be no problem,” said the weary traveller, “just show me to the room.”

Next morning the man came down to breakfast looking rested and full of life. The manager said, “How’d you sleep?”

“Never better!”

“And the snoring didn’t keep you awake?”

“Slept like a baby.”

“How did you ever manage that?”

“Simple.  He snored like thunder the whole time I was getting ready for bed, but once I was ready to sleep I simply went over to him, kissed him on the cheek and said, ‘Good night cutie’.  He sat bolt upright, and watched me like a hawk the rest of the night.”

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I love this wonderful definition of my problem:

I do NOT snore.

I am nasally repetitive.

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From snoremd.com

 

Let Snoring Dogs Lie

24 May
English: Road north from Little Snoring to Gre...

English: Road north from Little Snoring to Great Snoring (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’m off to see the Ear, Nose & Throat doctor this afternoon, about my snoring.  I have begun to suspect that all of this bad weather is caused by my sucking in the sun every time I inhale in my sleep.

Yes, I am that bad.

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If you are wondering where Patrecia, Miss Whiplash, she who was always thinking about things, has gone to, it’s to a new blog, God’s Creatures, about animals.

She forgot to tell you what she was doing before she deleted her old blog.

I bet she snores; it’s hard to remember things when your head is aching from sleep-sniffing the entire contents of your bedroom.

Patrecia writes about animals, including her dogs.  

Did you know that the calculation of 7 human years for every 1 dog year is incorrect?  And did you like my smooth segue from one topic to another without the use of an asterisk?  I should be on TV.

According to BBC News, it works like this:

For first two years:

  • 12.5 years per human year for the first two years for small dogs
  • 10.5 years per human year for the first two years for medium-sized dogs
  • 9 years per human year for the first two years forlarge dogs

For years 3+:

  • Small: Dachshund (Miniature) 4.32, Border Terrier 4.47, Lhasa Apso 4.49, Shih Tzu 4.78, Whippet Medium 5.30, Chihuahua 4.87, West Highland White Terrier 4.96, Beagle 5.20, Miniature Schnauzer 5.46, Spaniel (Cocker) 5.55, Cavalier King Charles 5.77, Pug 5.95, French Bulldog 7.65
  • Medium: Spaniel 5.46, Retriever (Labrador) 5.74, Golden Retriever 5.74, Staffordshire Bull Terrier 5.33, Bulldog 13.42
  • Large: German Shepherd 7.84, Boxer 8.90
The Village sign, Little Snoring, Norfolk

The Village sign, Little Snoring, Norfolk (Photo credit: Wikipedia) I can only dream…

Time for my favourite-ever joke (from the film, Dumb & Dumber):

What do you get if you cross a Shih Tsu with a Bulldog?  

A Bullshit.

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Despite the funniest joke in the world, I think I’m in a bad mood. My head aches: my dog woke me an hour early for his breakfast, and wouldn’t take ‘no’ (or ‘Get lost, you horrible dog!’) for an answer.  You’d think at age 39.34 he’d be able to fix his own breakfast.

He’ll be wanting me to run his shower for him next.

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I think I’m mostly in a bad mood because a popcorn machine arrived this morning.  

Do you like a lot of salt on your Hub?

Laugh And The World Laughs With You; Snore, And You Sleep Alone

4 May

I am finally feeling better.  A good night’s sleep surely helped: the Hub and Spud kicked me into Tory Boy’s room last night, having endured The Night The Love Died on Sunday.  I slept well on Sunday, despite breathing only through my mouth.  The Hub and Spud got no sleep at all on Sunday, because I was breathing only through my mouth.  I’m not saying my snoring was bad (I wouldn’t know; I was asleep) but you know those earthquakes we keep hearing about?  Don’t be surprised to hear they have their epicentre in Stockport, England.

This post is brief because I have done nothing but sleep, or rest in bed and try to sleep, for several days; but I hope to be back to normal tomorrow.  Thank you for the kind messages; they are much appreciated.

To Bee Or Not To Bee

27 Apr

Never judge a book by its cover _ I am not a bee; I am a hover fly

  

The bee is back. It came in through the bathroom window yesterday morning; had a look around; disdained the decor, and left. It did the same thing this morning. I’m not sure my nerves can take it. In the spirit of know your enemy, therefore, I looked up some bee facts:  

  • they have five eyes, as if they’re not weird enough
  • life expectancy is 28-35 days, so I may have another month of this
  • honey is nectar that bees have repeatedly regurgitated and dehydrated.  Bet that puts you off your breakfast, doesn’t it?
  • in her whole lifetime (it is always a her) a worker bee will produce only 1/12th of a teaspoon of honey. Makes you wonder why she bothers.
  • a bee is not born knowing how to make honey; she goes to bee school to learn
  • male drone bees do no work and spend their time copulating.  Some things never change
  • it would take around 1100 bee stings to cause the average human being to die; I find that strangely comforting
  • honey bees have hairy eyes
  • honey never goes off: a jar of 2000 year old honey in an Egyptian tomb was said to taste delicious.
  • Bees vote on when to swarm or which food source to concentrate on, and they vote by moving nearer the proposer they support (proportional representation by any other name would smell as sweet)
  • it is against the law to kill a bumble bee in Britain
  • Ancient Rome’s tax system was paid in honey, not money
  • bees don’t snore – I want a divorce right now

*  

I was woken again by the Hub’s nasal activity at about four this morning.  Instead of tossing and turning or throttling him, this time I got into Tory Boy’s empty bed and went straight back to sleep…to sleep, perchance to dream; aye, there’s the Hub.  

I am beginning to suspect there’s a connection between the bee and the snoring; think about it: bzzzzz/zzzzzz….I bet the bee is lost and thinks it can hear the hive in the distance.  

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Yesterday’s prompt was to take an old abandoned poem and work on it again.  This is one I wrote in 2002 and I keep going back to it but it’s still not right:  

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On Reading Make Believe  

Gerda Mayer still
mourns her Dad
decades on.  Time
not had.  My
Dad died; aeons
ensued…count
the days is what
we do.  Killed
by Nazis, cancer,
hatred, disease:
still our dead
stay dead.
We living grieve.  

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Friends, Romans, Countrymen: Slice Off My Ears

25 Apr

Isn’t it funny how you can love someone with all your heart and all your mind, but not with your ears?  I have been awake since five-thirty because the Hub is snoring.  Have you ever slept with a snorer?  It ain’t pretty. 

Although awake so early, I have only been up since six because I gave him every chance to moderate his behaviour: I stroked his back; I cuddled him, which usually makes him hot and he moves away, settling down again without snoring long enough for me to go back to sleep; I tossed and turned and thrashed and harumphed in the hope of waking him up without having to poke him in the side and shout, ‘Oi! You! Shut it!’ but he was so deep into the Land of Nod I could have brought in a brass band to serenade him with Wake You Up Before I Go-Go and he’d have death-rattled through it.  I did briefly consider violence but decided against it on the grounds that I would not sleep well for the next twenty years in whichever prison I found myself in; I got up instead.

I had better confess at this point that the Hub may be a snorer but I am a super-snorer; I am so bad that every night he has to wear ear plugs and refrain from smothering me with my own pillow.  I blame Spud (another good reason to have children): I never snored at all until I was pregnant with him.  He made me so huge that I didn’t leave the house for the last month of my pregnancy, apart from Christmas Day, when the Hub took eight of us out for Christmas Dinner (him, me, Tory Boy, four parents and a niece) because I couldn’t reach the stove top unless I lay on my back on the kitchen counter and slithered along it with my arms stretched above my head.  Makes it difficult to mash potatoes, I can tell you; I have the scald marks on my scalp to prove it.

I have a feeling that this post isn’t finished; it needs a pithy ending.  I am so tired, however, that I’m out of pith.  Make it up yourself; I’m going back to sofa.

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We had to find a common phrase and write from it; I have read some fine poems over the last 24 hours that have arisen from the prompt: mine isn’t one of them.  I’m afraid it just didn’t inspire me.  It happens like that sometimes.  Maybe I just need some sleep.

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A Clichéd Life

At the end of the day
comes tomorrow
and tomorrow
and tomorrow;
and all our yesterdays
have been and gone.

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