Battery Low... Please Recharge...

Morning folksies. I've become one of those stupid mobile phones that have a low battery so they start lighting up and vibrating and wasting even more of their batterylessness. I have been ultra busy this week, running around and waving my arms and becoming overexcited, which my poor few remaining haemoglobins just can't take. I'm such a slave driver. *gets out the cancer whip* *three lashes for each haemogoblin* WORK HARDER, damn you cells. Just because each of you is doing extra work for your disabled and off sick colleagues, it doesn't mean you can slack!

So, yesterday meant another trip to the infamous Royal Hallamshire Hospital. Transport came suprisingly early, waking me up from my pre-travelling slumber. It was the driver who's in the Caravan Club. Maximum respect. Although he has a 30 year membership badge, and I only have 10 :(:(:(:(:( One day Constanze, One day. I have such high dreams and aspirations... *cough* Anyway, Trot-a-lot-sky (AKA Nick the dietician) appeared, woke me up (angering me as this was now the second nap to be interupted) and asked me about my bowel movements in front of the whole 02 day ward, which was nice. Luckily my poo is still a-ok so my audience didn't have to listen to me describe sloppy faeces. Then he broke the terrible news to me- NO STRAWBERRY BUILD UP DRINKS. Only banana. Banana! Banana is only a seven out of ten... Strawberry is 9!!!

I had me bloods taken and waited for good old Yusef. Obviously, I'd fallen asleep again as I have -5 blood, so yet again my glorious sleep was destroyed. He had little of extra special interest to tell me, other than complimenting me on my excellent self diagnosis skills. I am so good at da lymph nodes. I so don't need doctors. SavingtheNHSafortunestanze.

Then, to the legendary pharmacy. Free drugs! It was there I was recognised by a woman... Quote "You're from the 02 ward, aren't you?" Oh, my celebrity never ends. She invited me to a leukaemia supporty groupy, but tis in Sheffield and that is too far for Stanzelegs. Which is sad.

And after that, I went down to wait for transport, where I got the uber super special treatment!!!!!!!!!!!!!! My car home can normally take a couple of hours to arrive, as you all know, so I make a nest on a few chairs, and, suprisingly enough, sleep. BUT. Today the transpost area was superbusy, super super super duper extra amazingly incredibly busy. No room at all for a Stanzenest. Barely even room for a Stanzesit. However, the woman who runs the transporty bit realised my peril, and phoned the MYSTERIOUS ROOM. This room, of fabled mysteriousness, has huge armchairs and many beds and free hot chocolate. I was informed the room had accepted me, and with top secret instructions of how to get there, I set off. I was not disappointed. A bed was there, ready made, just for me. And 60 minute makeover on tv. And a very nice nurse who tended to my every beverage desire. It's all a girl could want really...

I apologise for this paragraph, but I just can't help it. There are several parts of my brain that are wired up incorrectly. EUROVISION EUROVISION EUROVISION EEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. It was so good. Voted Moldova for that saxophonist's dancing, although Russia nearly got it with their 'not a photo' moment. I am so happy. I was however, overenthusastic with my singing and dancing, and ended up lying on the floor, screaming slightly in agony. Whoops. I went out the next day to buy the cd. :D Needless to say, the same thing happened again...

I also bought a lovely cardi from BHS. The ages 19 and 90 are interchangeable.

AND I got all the way to Derby shopping, which is the first time since I got the cancers. Sexy Emma escorted me. We had a bit of a terrifying moment with a strange man... He came up to us and asked us if we'd give him 50p, and I asked him what for... He unzipped his jacket, slowly, and put his hand in it... At this point, Constanze is thinking shit he's got a gun eee argh etc... Then... He pulled something out... That's right, it was a leg of lamb. He'd been cleverly concealing it in his jacket. He then proceeded to tell us which bit of the lamb he was going to feed to each indavidual family member. Strange.
Paying for it now though, oh yes sir, yes I am. I am Sam, said the jam. Iran jam. I'm an Iranian. What's that off? Brasov. Zdravo. Ja. Nyet. This city is a whore. Das Modell.

Oh, I can't believe I nearly forgot. This news will make some people who my ridiculous Northen drone of a voice annoys very happy. My voice has pretty much gone, I am a near mute... I can squeak words, and that's it. Yusef is clueless as to why. I am scared of getting on the bus later, because I might not be able to squark where I want to go... Oh dear.

Off now. Time to rub my acheing knees with sexy Lush massage bar and watch shit tv and write Jane a letter and prepare for my night of debauchery tonight...

xXXxXXx