Another Url, Another Planet

If they hadn't given away a two goal lead at Fulham, Manchester City would have a perfect start to this season's Premier League, ten wins out of ten, reminiscent of Big Ron Atkinson's last full season with Manchester United. Then, United's Captain Marvel, Bryan Robson, got injured and the rest is history: United's results tailed off badly, Atkinson was sacked the following October, and Lord Alex Ferguson began his twenty-five year reign of uninterrupted glory (if you discount his first six seasons).

A lot has changed since those days. While United still rely on a talismanic Wayne Rooney to be fit and firing on all cylinders, City have assembled a squad of players the envy of pretty much every other team in the Premier League. They have replaced their talisman of the last two seasons, Carlos Tevez, with Sergio 'Kun' Aguero, who looks fitter, faster and equally, if not more, capable of scoring against anyone and everyone. David Silva already looks like the player of the season.

Then there's Yaya Toure, Mario Balotelli and Edin Dzeko, all of whom look genuinely class acts. Micah Richards, James Milner and Gareth Barry look to have rediscovered some decent form and Adam Johnson continues to look like changing games in City's favour whenever he plays. Gael Clichy and Aleksandar Kolarov look better than Wayne Bridge. And while Kompany and Hart don't look quite as accomplished in defence and goal as they did last season, they're solid enough alongside Lescott or the returning Kolo Toure. Add to them, Nasri and de Jong, Zabaleta and Hargreaves, and City appear to have an incredibly strong first team squad.

In addition to their freak 6-1 win at Old Trafford, City mauled a well-below-par Spurs 5-1 at the Lane and thrashed woeful Blackburn 4-0 at Ewood Park. They also beat newly-promoted Swansea by the same score in their opening fixture at the Council House, after being outplayed for an hour, and saw off relegation certainties Wigan 3-0 in their second home game. Everton's traditional miserable season start continued with a 2-0 defeat at Wastelands and Aston Villa offered little resistance succumbing 4-1. Wolves looked like they might take advantage of City's ten men in their last game, but ended up losing 3-1. Similarly, abysmal Bolton briefly looked like staging a comeback before losing 3-2 earlier in the season.

Perhaps tellingly, City have struggled so far in their first season in the Champions League, drawing at home to an impressive-looking Napoli, losing so poorly in Munich that Tevez refused to play and luckily scraping a last-second winner at home to Villareal. The return with Villareal is tonight, followed by a potentially awkward trip to QPR Saturday tea-time. However much I'd love to see Gabriel 'The New Ronaldo' Obertan score the winner, I don't expect Newcastle to continue their unbeaten run at City the weekend after that, but I do expect Liverpool and Chelsea to at least get a point each in their upcoming home games against them, and who knows what Arsenal will do when they visit?

So City have done almost as well as could be expected of a team costing several hundred million pounds, but can they sustain their often brilliant start in tougher fixtures to come, and for the rest of the season when the winter kicks in and when the really difficult games come thick and fast? God, I hope not. And history tells us that City will find a way to fuck it all up again, somewhere along the line.

As for United, a freak 8-2 win at home to Arsenal, an easy 3-0 win over well-below-par Spurs, a somewhat lucky 3-1 victory against Chelsea and a 5-0 stroll at abysmal Bolton aside, United have ground out wins at West Brom and Everton and at home to Norwich, and draws at Stoke and Liverpool. United's upcoming fixtures look relatively straightforward on paper, assuming that we can at least continue with our tendency to win even when not playing particularly well. Crunch time, as usual (I hope), will be in late January and early February, which could well lead to a title decider in the return fixture with City scheduled for the last weekend in April.

Chelsea are clearly a team in transition and seem to be blowing hot and cold. I think they've blown their chances this season already and could find themselves in a fight for a Champions League place by the season's end. That fight will, of course, be with Spurs, Liverpool and Arsenal, and it will be a fight to see who can be the least crap on a consistent basis. My money's on Spurs and Arsenal to finish third and fourth.

As for the rest, it's either mid-table mediocrity or a relegation dogfight to keep the fans entertained. Wigan, Bolton and Blackburn already look doomed, but I expect Wolves, QPR and Swansea to give the Lancashire clubs' fans some hope for most of the season. But you could pretty much pick any one from Norwich, Sunderland and West Brom to join them in a season of struggle.

To have any chance of making sense of this continuation of my personal review of my year in 2010, please refer first to Twenty Ten (Part One): Hard Cheese.

My follow-up appointment with my psychiatrist was due mid-March. Scornfully following his advice to pull myself together and get a life in the month that had passed since our first (and to be last) meeting I had actually begun to feel quite a bit better in myself, but my ever decreasing lung capacity meant that even if I'd wanted to go, I wouldn't physically have been able to. I could barely walk to the corner shop and back.

Yak Shaving vs. Bureaucrazy

I had a letter from the psychiatrist's secretary inviting me to the meeting, so I thought I'd email her to let her know I wouldn't be going and why. Much easier than dragging myself out to the post box, I thought. Little did I realise then the wailing and gnashing of teeth that was to follow as I set about shaving this particular yak.

Although her email address wasn't included in the letter I knew from my work that the mental health trust, like most organisations, uses a standard email address format:

firtstname.secondname@nameoflondonborough.nhs.uk

No problem! Oh, wait. The email bounced. I tried again:

firstname.secondname@nameofmentalhealthtrust.nhs.uk

That bounced, too. I looked up the names of the team managers on the trust's website and emailed them, along with the 'communication team' asking for the secretary's email address and explaining that I preferred to email her because of my poor (physical) health.

Several auto-replies later told me that three of them had already resigned or otherwise left the trust's employment. Then another two came in saying the same thing. I went higher up the food chain and emailed their managers, one of whom - instead of simply giving me the email address I asked for - copied in two more managers to ask them to contact me.

By this time I had received and answered an unwanted, unwelcome and totally unexpected call from none other than my psychiatrist. I asked why he was calling me. It turned out that the communications team had assumed that my 'poor health' meant that I might be in danger of killing myself (which actually wasn't far off the truth at this point) and so decided - instead of simply giving me the email address I asked for - to place an emergency call to my psychiatrist, who then called me. He did, however, give me his secretary's email address (it turned out that she helpfully uses a shortened version of her first name for her email, unlike on her letters).

When I finished the call I went to email the secretary to confirm what I had told my psychiatrist, that I would not be attending any further meetings with him because, apart from providing me with her email address he had been no bloody help at all. One of the other managers had also now replied to me saying that he knew that my psychiatrist had just spoken with me and gave me the secretary's telephone number, which I had already - instead of simply giving me the email address I asked for.

I decided to make a formal complaint, as that is what gets me off what I do here. Of course, five months later, the chief executive wrote to me to say how sorry she was that I felt that no one wanted to provide me with an email address, but not to uphold my complaint on the grounds that the team manager had emailed me to give me the phone number (that I already had) after being asked by someone else to give me the email address I asked for. Coincidentally, last week, I received information about who has accessed my patient record, when and why. Interestingly, the team manager and the person whose email I wanted both accessed my patient record shortly after I sent the first email and several hours before the team manager actually emailed me (the why is unclear as it's a coded reference).

Oliver! vs. Pickabook

Speaking of complaints, I also got into a bit of a pickle with Pickabook. After that musical romp I had a stiff neck, a bad back and was short of breath. Another x-ray or and a big fat needle in my back later I was feeling sick, sore and sapped.

Meanwhile, the price of cheese in the UK doubled, nightmares fell by 50% and (presumably due to a price-related cheese shortage) cheese rolling in the UK was outlawed.

Various doctors still hadn't been able to diagnose me with enough certainty to prescribe any treatment, so I headed off for a CT scan. The good news was that I didn't have anything really horrible and/or potentially deadly, the bad news was that they still didn't know what was wrong with my lung and that keyhole surgery would be necessary.

Turtles vs. Tortoise

To matters worse, much worse, United contrived to snatch a one goal victory and an aggregate draw (meaning defeat on the away goals rule) from the jaws of an assured three goal victory and safe passage through to the semi-finals of the European Champions League.

Self-styled football hooligan Luke Slater summed up the evening so perfectly that I had to beat him over the head with a baby turtle. So-called journalist and self-styled football expert Daniel Taylor, on the other hand, told Sir Alex that he needed to spend big if he wanted to bring further success to United.

My sour mood was lifted somewhat the following day thanks to Marvin Preuss who slapped me around the ears with a gigantic tortoise:

Tommy Steele vs. Chris the Crafty Cockerney

Five days later I was told to attend the Heart Hospital in London in three days time for surgery on my lung, prompting a lovely conversation on Identi.ca covering a whole range of medical complaints and procedures including diarrhoea, halitosis, Tommy Steele, anaesthetics, hypnosis, funerals, cirrhosis and, of course, cheese.

I'm pleased to say everything went well and the price of matured dairy products fell as freshly-plucked cheese flooded the market. Although rather than keyhole surgery, I had a regular thoracotomy, which would extend the recovery time - something which escaped my Dad, who a week after visiting me in hospital, phoned to ask if I was going back to work the following week. No Dad. I'm having my stitches taken out tomorrow.

With hindsight, of course, I do wish I'd followed the sage Andy C's advice to take six months off work to recover fully, but at the time it just felt impossible. Especially as the doctors still hadn't been able to rule out that I might have (latent) tuberculosis.

Everything is permissible.

As of today, Sir Alex Ferguson has been the manager of Manchester United longer than the late, great Sir Matt Busby. Fergie has had the top job in English club football since November 1986.

Except it probably wasn't the top job when he took it.

To put things into perspective, United hadn't won the First Division title for 19 years at the time. Our only truly bitter rivals Liverpool had 16 Championship successes to their name (next to our 7) and had totally dominated the previous 11 seasons, winning the trophy 8 times. Only the brilliance of Brian Clough's Nottingham Forest (who I had the privilege of seeing rip United to shreds 4-0 at Old Trafford on their way to their first and certainly last League title in 1977-78), Aston Villa's great team of 1980-81 (who won probably their last ever top division title after a then 71-year wait) and Everton in 1984-85 (not their last ever title, but almost certainly their second-to-last ever title).

The first season that I can remember watching United, 1974-75, we were in Division Two and playing the likes of York City, Orient (minus the Leyton, as they were then known), Oldham Athletic and Oxford United after the final and complete break up of the Busby Babes. Unless you count Sammy McIlroy, which I always did. I was heartbroken when Ron Atkinson publicly signed Bryan Robson on the Old Trafford pitch before the game against Wolves on 3 October 1981. Everyone knew that it would be Sammy, United through and through and still only 27, who would have to leave to make room in the first team. He scored his only United hattrick that same afternoon against Wolves and was sold on to Stoke City 4 months later.

In the years before Ferguson that I was a United fan, we won Division Two and had a new, young and exciting to watch (and listen to on the radio) team under the flawed management of Tommy Docherty. In our first season back in the top flight we managed a creditable third place in the League just 4 points behind Liverpool and 3 behind a great QPR side (Stan Bowles, Gerry Francis) managed by Dave Sexton. Some great old footage of match and players' hair highlights:

Although United inexplicably lost to Southampton in the FA Cup Final that same season, we beat Liverpool in the Final of 1977 to prevent them winning the real Treble, a truly remarkable achievement by a team that will live forever in my memory and which was immortalised (for a few years at least) on my Subbuteo table. The disgraced and disgraceful Doc was sacked, which at the time was impossible for me aged ten to understand. Replaced by his antithesis, the dour and disappointingly defensively-minded Sexton, the highlight of the next four years was our return to Wembley in 1979. We lost in the most devastating fashion to a last minute Alan Sunderland goal for Arsenal after having just clawed two goals back to level ourselves (including a brilliant equaliser from McIlroy).

Ron Atkinson brought back the flair and entertainment of Docherty's years and won two more FA Cup Finals, the best moment being Norman Whiteside's winner to prevent Everton from winning their own trophy Treble. Big Ron's United were always far too reliant on Captain Marvel Robson and his injury after we won the first ten games in the League the following season signalled the beginning of the end of his five years in charge.

Enter Ferguson.

Although I didn't fully comprehend it at the time, looking back now, it's easy to see how amazing his achievements were with Aberdeen, not only in breaking the Old Firm monotony, but even winning in Europe, too. A real foretaste of what was to come.

But it took several more seasons of hurt and under-achievement. I'm thankful that, apart from Xmas and New Year, I spent the entire 1989-90 season in the US. I did make it back to see us win another FA Cup and it was this cup run and victory that is supposed to have saved Fergie's job. If I'm honest, I probably wanted him to go some time before then, so rubbish we were.

Whatever the reasons, thank God he stayed! The rest is relatively recent history and well documented.

All I want to say is thanks to the Boss for filling the last twenty years with new found and real hope, unbounded and tearful joy, some of the most thrilling and unbelievable moments and matches. And trophy after trophy after trophy.

He knocked Liverpool off their perch as he promised he would. He took the spirit of Busby and re-modelled it for the modern game. He imbued himself in the traditions and the culture of the club and made damned sure every single player at every level did the same or they were out. Christ, he even shut my Dad up harking on about how we'd never be as good as Best, Law and Charlton. He made us United again.

Just thinking about Barcelona in 1999, where my then new housemate and landlord was experiencing first hand the atmosphere for himself (I'd moved to London for a new job just ten days earlier) and phoning me on his mobile to let me hear the singing, is choking me up.

1-0 down in injury time, having been totally outplayed without our suspended talismen Keane and Scholes, I was literally on my knees praying to a God I didn't believe in. It wasn't be the first - and I hope it won't be the last - time I was running around, jumping up and down, screaming 'Yes! Yes! Yes!!!!'

It would have been fitting if we could have beaten Chelsea today, but I hope the postponement has meant a day at home for Sir Alex with his family to relax before Xmas and the always most important next match against Sunderland.

Thanks, Boss!

After just two days of the Pope's visit to the UK four games of the English Premier League, the table already has a familiar look about it with the Big Four of Chelsea, Arsenal, Manchester United and LiverBlackpool occupying the European Champions League qualifying places. The top three remain unbeaten.

Bottom-feeding

Carlo Ancelloti's Champions Chelsea have been on a bottom-feeding frenzy from the start and are the only team to have picked up maximum points with a huge sixteen goal difference. Not that the Rentboys have had to overcome much resistance so far from West Brom, Wigan, Stoke or West Ham, all in the bottom four and all likely candidates to go down. Having Michael Essien back in the side and on form after his long injury absence, however, is undoubtedly a massive boost for them, as is the continued good form of Florent Malouda.

I just wonder how they will cope with any long-term injuries this season as their squad looks a bit light on senior players. Cover for Petr Cech are the unproven Hilario and Turnbull. With Ferreira, Ivanovic and Yuri Zhirkov (not to be confused with Youri Djorkaeff) as defensive back-up to Bosingwa, Alex, Terry and Ashley Cole, that looks just about adequate. But a midfield quartet of Mikel, Essien, Lampard and Malouda has only Ramires, Zhirkov and Benayoun in reserve. The front duo of Anelka and Drogba are supported by Kalou and Daniel Sturridge. They will expect to win the League again, but also the European Cup as well. I wonder if they have the strength in depth to do that?

Catholic priest

After somewhat luckily rescuing a point from a game they should have won at ten-man Liverpool, Arsenal thrashed ten-man Blackpool and ten-man Bolton with a good win at Blackburn snook in between. The Gunners' shooting down of three of the smaller Lancashire clubs has come at a price, though, losing Robin van Persie and Theo Walcott to injuries in addition to the already injured Aaron Ramsey.

Arsene Wenger must surely regret not signing a new goalkeeper to replace Manuel Almunia, who has looked about as safe a pair of hands as a Catholic priest looking for the soap in a bath full of kids. Talking of which, Wenger has groomed some good young talent in Clichy, Fabregas, Gibbs and Wilshere. In Eboue, Squillaci, Djourou and Gibbs he has adequate defensive cover for Sagna, Koscielny, Vermaelen and Clichy. He has Rosicky or Wilshere to replace Walcott, and Diaby and Denilson to cover for Fabregas, Alex Song and Nasri. Without van Persie, Wenger has Arshavin and Chamakh, with Bendtner and  Vela in reserve.

Once again, I think Arsenal will find they don't have the quality in the squad, particularly at the back, nor the mental or physical strength to challenge for any of the major honours, unless Wenger prioritises the English cups. The best they can hope for in the League is third again, but I wouldn't be surprised to see them slip out of the top four altogether.

Cottagers

United really should have twelve points, but sloppily conceded late equalising goals at Fulham and Everton as well as declining the gift of a penalty from the Cottagers. Having said that, it's better than we did last season against those two. Added to that, comfortable home wins against Newcastle United and West Ham and the good form of Scholes and Berbatov have to be set against the continued absence of Owen Hargreaves and his wonky knees, the loss of Antonio Valencia and the poor form of our defenders (Vidic, excepted).

Maybe Rio Ferdinand coming back will improve the defence, but how long can he stay fit? Jonny Evans has looked shaky in his place and Smalling is unproven, as is Fabio. A return to form and fitness for any of Gary Neville, Rafael and Brown would see them preferred to O'Shea, who looks to be lacking in match fitness and confidence after his return from injury. Without Valencia, a lot will depend on Nani's ability to sustain his recent improvement. Obertan, Park and Giggs are our other wing options. As well as Hargreaves, the midfield would welcome back a fit and in form Anderson. Likewise for Carrick. In their absence we only really have Gibson as cover for Fletcher and Scholes. Up front we have Chicharito, Owen and Kiko to step in should Berbatov or Rooney be unable to score.

United will also be looking to win the title and the Champions League again, but I think that will depend on fixing the defence, a return to form of at least one of Anderson and Carrick and Chicharito or Owen chipping in with goals (assuming that Berbatov and Rooney get their share).

Miracles

Newly promoted Blackpool are the surprise package so far, with great wins at Wigan and Newcastle. After their six-nil loss to The Gooners they drew with Fulham in their first game back at the revamped Bloomfield Road stadium. I don't see how they have any chance of staying up.

Also unbeaten are Birmingham and Fulham, in fifth and sixth place in the table, with one win and three draws each. Home wins against West Ham and Everton see Aston Villa in seventh despite losses at Newcastle and Stoke. I can't see it getting better for any of these teams. The horrible Fulham Chairman truly is a fantasist if he believes that Mark Hughes can get his club into the Champions League and I don't expect Gerard Houllier to be able to perform any greater miracles than Martin O'Neill.

Young Boys

Despite seeing off Liverpool three-nil at Wastelands, City lost to a last-minute winner at Sunderland, scraped a draw at Spurs - thanks to Joe Hart's inspired goalkeeping - and managed only to avoid defeat at home to Blackburn. They lead a group of six teams with only one win (and one defeat) each, including Spurs and Liverpool. After playing with Young Boys in the Champions League Qualifying Round Spurs lost at home to Wigan and drew at West Brom. The Scousers recovered from a sticky start to win at home to West Brom and get a typical nil-nil draw at Birmingham. Wolves, Sunderland and Bolton will be happy to be in the same company.

City will expect to finish in the top four at the very least. If Roberto Mancini can find a first eleven that clicks then I could see them challenging. They suddenly have a core of English players in Hart, Richards, Lescott, Barry, Adam Johnson and Milner to complement their horde of foreign mercenaries, but they currently look too defensive with a midfield three of Barry, de Jong and Yaya Toure. Mancini has five strikers, but is playing Tevez alone up front. I think he will need to find a way to get Adebayour, Santa Cruz, Jo or Bolatelli contributing goals, too.

Spurs have defensive problems in the absence of Michael Dawson through injury and Ledley King's ongoing battle for fitness. It will be interesting to see how last minute signing Rafael van der Vaart fits into their team. Liverpool, under new manager Roy Hodgson, must see the Europa League as their only hope of success this season.

Bishops

Of the teams on four points, West Brom have had the hardest start on their return to the top flight with fixtures at Chelsea and Liverpool and at home to Spurs. Wigan recovered from thrashings at home to Blackpool and Chelsea by winning at Spurs, while Newcastle thrashed Aston Villa, but lost at United and at home to Blackpool. Blackburn, under Sam Allardyce, will expect to improve.

Of the bottom three, Stoke have been beaten by the odd goal in three of their four games and will expect to improve. Everton, looking like a bunch of Anglican bishops at a reception for the head an international paedophile ring in their delightful pink away shirts, lost at Blackburn on the opening day. They got off to a bad start last season, but should improve quickly.

Happy Yom Kippur!

Lastly, West Ham.

If [Avram] Grant were to arrive in Stoke before nightfall on Friday, attend a synagogue service in the area, return there on Saturday morning and then walk to to the stadium, without coming into contact with his players, it might be considered acceptable. Particularly if he then returned to a synagogue after the match, although again he would be expected to walk - and not in leather shoes.

Sounds like the offside rule.

Last week I met a beautiful young hispanic woman and we spent the night together. She cared for me deeply and, well, carefully and I gazed upon her lovingly as the morphine (d)ripped through my veins. She checked me out and made sure that everything seemed to be in working order. 'Hi, I'm Sofia,' she said. 'I'm going to be looking after you tonight.' Thanks to the morphine, I carried on smiling and Sofia carried on with her job of nursing me through my first night after my operation on the high dependency unit of the five star NHS hospital I was staying in.

[caption id="attachment_219" align="aligncenter" width="479" caption="My morphine drip"][/caption]

I had quite a good time despite drinking nothing but water out of a plastic cup the entire evening. We shared a few bottles together - Sofia would hand me an empty one, pull the curtains around me and I would half-fill it and hand it back to her so she could measure and record, discard and disinfect. She checked my tubes and drains to make sure they weren't getting clogged up with 'cheese'* or any other unwanted dairy products. She made sure that my drains were working properly and that I was getting enough suction (stop it, please). In the morning, she washed my back. My only regret is that half-way through the night somebody much more attractive ill than me was trolleyed through and Sofia spent more time with him than she did with me.

So, Sofia had taken over from Gilbert, who - in the interests of equality and non-discrimination - was a beautiful young Chinese-looking man who I woke up with after my general anaesthetic. Gilbert was every bit as diligent and caring as Sofia and I don't think this is just the drugs talking. I was amazed by the level of care I received throughout my stay, with one or two relatively minor exceptions, which I'll come to later. And it's not just because I was probably quite a good patient - I was calm, polite, not in any great pain or discomfort, doing well - eating, drinking, breathing, coughing and I had a 'good swing', so the doctors told me. Most of the other patients around me appeared to be quite a lot older than me and if not older then certainly in more pain or experiencing more problems after their operations. They were cared for with equal if not more time and attention as far as I could see and hear.

Who else do I need to thank for treating me so well? On admission to the hospital at 7am on Friday morning I was met by nurse Martin, who seemed more nervous than me, but who handed me over to the highly organised Lindsay. Lindsay wasted no time in getting me half-naked on to the bed so that she could attach clips and cables to my chest and stomach to run an ECG. Then she made me strip completely and wear a flowery dress. To complete my humiliation, she had me walk down to the diagnostic testing department in full public view where I had an x-ray. When I got back she wanted me to wear some thigh-high stockings, too. How could I resist her helping hands to put them on for me? Thank you Lyndsay!

[caption id="attachment_217" align="aligncenter" width="346" caption="Don't I look sweet?"][/caption]

Thanks also to Rick, the porter, for his sense of humour in wheeling me up and down and up and down again to the operating theatre where I'm sure everyone had a good laugh at me in drag. No doubt the pictures are all over the internet by now. And thanks to Dorcas, the clinical nurse specialist who spoke to me on the phone before I went in to tell me how bad it was going to be and who greeted me in the hospital before the operation with her hands - literally a nice touch, and one repeated by Lyndsay, Rick, Gilbert and Sofia later. A quick, simple touch to the hand, the shoulder, arm or elbow is extremely reassuring I find. Thanks for your humanity.

Pre-operation, I also spoke to several doctors/surgeons/registrars or whatever they call themselves. They may even have had first names, but somehow if they did those names haven't stuck. They always seemed to appear quite suddenly, teleporting as if from nowhere and often en masse in their little Star Trek uniforms. All I can really remember is being told that the operation would take 90-120 minutes rather than the 30-45 minutes I was expecting. This was due to the fact that they would be doing a conventional 'large' incision of about 10cm rather than the keyhole 2cm cuts I'd been told I was going to have. The change of plan was because of the 'cheese' factor - they needed to scrape the rind off the lung, not simply drain fluid. I signed the consent form. By this time they had me where they wanted me and I had resigned myself to my fate. What else could I do but submit? Yes, there's a risk with everything, but carrying on with a lung full of cheese didn't seem like a good bet.

Finally, Rick got me into theatre again after an aborted first attempt because my blood results weren't back in time. This also meant a delay of an hour and a half, which didn't affect me too much. I was in a semi-meditational state. Either that or just frozen with fear. Now it was the turn of the anaesthetists to do things to me. Thanks to Belton (not Ben Elton) for painlessly finding my veins first time and inserting the cannulas that would feed the juice to knock me out and sustain me with fluids. All I can remember is a bit of aimless chit-chat, breathing deeply into the gas mask that was placed over my face and....

Less than two hours later I woke up on the high dependency unit with Gilbert looking after me. At some point I remember my surgeon coming round to tell me, quite madly in his Chris the Crafty Cockney way, 'Weyyyyyy! You're fixed! Aarrrrgggh!' - 'Thank you' I said. Thank you, thank you, thank you! After Gilbert and Sofia I was handed over to Tara, who was a bundle of fun in our short time together. Tara couldn't wait to get rid of me, though, and pushed the wheelchair herself to get me on to the main ward so that she could go and have lunch or something. I had been looking forward to moving wards actually. The high dependency unit was a bit noisy and a bit dull and now I would have access to my belongings that I brought with me - mp3/video player, internet, email, phone, etc. But when I was shown to my room (it's on old private hospital bought by the NHS) I felt strangely disheartened and lonely. On the high dependency unit, Gilbert, Sofia and Tara were always within eyesight or earshot, but on the ward my new nurse Nas and everyone else were gone within seconds. I was still attached to two drains and my morphine drip, so I couldn't go anywhere. I felt as helpless as a baby.

[caption id="attachment_220" align="aligncenter" width="461" caption="Not very appetising"][/caption]

At least I was on the ward in time for the Manchester derby, the most important game since the last one. And my mum and step-dad, John, were visiting at 2pm. Lunch was forgettable - one of my few complaints is that the food was largely very poor quality. As I discovered on my discharge from the hospital, there is a very good coffee bar and staff/visitors' restaurant in the hospital, which I believe is managed by the same company that provides the patients' meals, yet the comparison is dreadful. I didn't have much of an appetite due to the morphine, but it doesn't help when you are served up slop that is worse than school meals of thirty-odd years ago.

Back to the footy. My mum proudly explained that my brother would be texting her with news of any goals. 'That's great, mum. But I'm getting text updates from the BBC every few minutes on my internet tablet.' BBC text updates on one of the most uneventful ninety minutes in the history of football aren't much fun, but sustained conversation more than my brother's updates. Bleep! Crikey, a text from my brother to my mother.

15 seconds left. Scholes header. Game over.

My mum read the text out aloud. 'What does that mean?'

Oh, Christ.

'It means' explained ever-patient John, who is not a football fan, 'United have won the game with a last minute winner, yet again.'

'Oh.'

'What do you think it means?'

This remote victory barely raised a smile on my dry lips and hardly registered an increased pulse according to Nas when she took my readings. It is surely my least celebrated United goal ever, although I did manage a laugh and a cheer the next morning watching the highlight (sic) on Match of the Day.

Sunday I had three separate visitors morning, afternoon and evening and I suspect I was fairly grumpy/tired during at least one of those sessions, so apologies certainly to my dad. I have to say, though, that visits are extremely tiring and quite emotional. It's no wonder hospitals advise no more than two visitors at a time. And when you're in that state of post-op pain or discomfort, lack of mobility, tiredness, feeling sick etc. you're really not much company. It's great to see people, of course, but as a visitor you can't expect too much from your relative or friend. And thanks, dad, for leaving me with the advice to get a hair cut and a shave so that I don't look so much like Frank Gallagher!

[caption id="attachment_221" align="aligncenter" width="412" caption="Frank Gallagher, nicked from http://www.endofshow.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/05/frank-gallagher.jpg"][/caption]

A quick thanks also at this point to some more lovely nurses - Sarah, Yvonne, Nadia, Esther - sorry if I missed anyone. I mentioned earlier a couple of minor exceptions to the high level of care I received while in hospital. One would be that the cannula on my wrist became loose, swollen, red and painful. I asked one of the nurses about it and she said it was ok and bandaged it up (after dropping the bandage on the floor!) to hold it in place. Later another nurse came to use the cannula to inject my antibiotics. Now this can usually feel a little uncomfortable, but nothing more than that. This time I was screaming in agony. I pointed out the problem again and she said that it was 'unacceptable' that the other nurse had left it like that, removed the cannula, patched me up and fixed the cannula in my hand so that it could be used for both the morphine drip and the antibiotics, painlessly. My second minor complaint would be that the same nurse who dropped the bandage came in gloved-up to remove my second drain, then went out again touching the door handle to call for assistance (two nurses are required - one to pull the drain out, one to tie the stitch, the painful bit). I asked her to change her gloves, which she did so willingly and acknowledging that she should do so. The point is that she should be taking the initiative not waiting for patients to prompt her. It's fairly basic stuff.

My only other quibble is that I was discharged on Tuesday morning (four days after my op), barely able to walk more than a few yards without getting out of breath so basically forced to book a taxi home. They gave me some paracetamol, ibuprofen and dihydrocodeine for the pain, but for three out of the five days I've been home so far that hasn't been enough to control the pain. It's really been quite distressing for me and for my family to see me in so much pain and to be able to do nothing to help. I'm seeing my GP on Monday so maybe I'll get some extra help with that.

I'm not sure how long it's going to take for me to recover and go back to working full-time. As far as I know, I'm expected to make a full recovery, although I was more than a little perturbed to read that post-op pain from a thoracotomy can take months or even years to go away.

I'm still not sure how this all happened. In January I had a chest infection and pleuritic pain similar to that which I'd had in March 2009 when I had a really acute episode of shortness of breath, fever and a consolidation of fluid on the same lung. That cleared up quickly with antibiotics and an inhaler. This time around, the antibiotics didn't work, so my body responded by sealing off the infection in my lung by surrounding the lung with fluid. In turn this 'pleural effusion' caused my lung to collapse (although medically referred to as basal atelectasis, which is slightly different to a regular collapsed lung or pneumothorax). Unfortunately I tried to work through this in February, which left me feeling too exhausted to go get an x-ray right away. When I did make it for the x-ray, I was immediately admitted to Accident and Emergency where they did some tests to rule out heart problems, I think, before sending me home. Then I had to wait five weeks before seeing a chest specialist and another week or two before getting the results of fluid samples and a CT scan.

*Fortunately, all of these tests were negative (ruling out the likes of cancer and smoking as possible causes, as far as I know). But the build up of fluid had continued and I had progressively felt more and more physically and mentally tired. My surgeon was certain that I had what is known as emphyema (the 'cheese' as he called it and that I talked about earlier) and this required decortication (scraping the rind off the lung) via a thoracotomy (an incision along the underside of the shoulder blade). As it turned out, I was told that the scraping bit wasn't required, which is great news as that would likely have damaged the tissues of the lung. I'll be seeing my surgeon again in a week or two, I think, and the chest specialist next month. I've been told it's still possible that I could have TB, although there is no evidence of that yet (it takes a while to show up in tests, apparently). Meanwhile I'm taking antibiotics for pneumonia - if I don't breathe deeply and cough well enough I'm at risk of getting a chest infection, pleural effusion and a collapsed lung. And, despite the lovely nurses, I don't want to go there again!