I am no longer blonde!...Well from a physical point of view that is. I've always had "fair" hair, which I pushed into blond since I was 15. So to have absolutely no blonde whatsoever is strange- plus with added fringe, it looks like I'm wearing a wig when I look in the mirror.

They tried to Pob me (which is the "posh spice" bob for anyone not down with the lingo) but I resisted. They pushed and nagged but I said no. It would have looked fantastic today but by Monday, it would be one big, fuzzy, MC Hammer afro.

So this morning, I got up early, "dashed" over to the Mater to give a lovely little sample (from my lungs) for their labs. We need to find a good method of clearing this pesky chest infection once and for all. The place was dead, with nobody about so I went on through to the transplant ward which sits off their clinic. Thankfully I've never had any reason to be a resident in there (I had my transplant in the UK), so know nobody at all, but they seem lovely and were ever so helpful.

Two hours later I arrived and then went down to the hairdressers. I am no longer blonde!... At this point, you can go to the top of this blog entry and start reading again. It's kind of a go-around-in-a-circle blog.

Random observations:

Neighbours (the programme): I've never been to prison (I'm a good girl), and would surely hope I'll never have to go, so therefore cannot really comment on how those places are run, BUT, I am almost certain if ever I were sent, it would not be to the same place as Skye Mangel went. Hers was like a drop in centre, with Harold and Lou and Toadie, her lawyer, coming in and out like it was a café kitchen or something! I always thought those places had visiting hours (or days), not "Skye, ya feemilys he-aah ta see ya" every 10 minutes. What sort of a lesson would that teach a no good-doer??

Airlingus: While browsing on their website, I clicked "special requests". Always one to try and get something more for my money, I followed the link, only to find it was just detailing the various special meals they offer on board. Among those listed were Diabetic meal, Gluten Free meal, Hindu meal, Vegan Vegetarian meal, Asian Vegetarian meal, Lacto/Ovo Vegetarian meal, all very interesting I'm sure. And what do I see, among all these 'special meals'???

Bland meal. Bland meal??? How is that special? How is that any different to what they give you anyway? More to the point, imagine requesting the 'bland meal please' for your dinner. "No, no, I can't eat *this*, I specially requested the bland meal!"

High School Musical 2: Two bags of buttered microwaved popcorn and some Diet Coke later, I finished watching High School Musical 2. Definitely rather disappointing. In the first film "Get your head in the game" was a very popular song and it would seem the creators of HSM2 are trying to recreate that, but with every. single. song. Then the solos they handed out are like pop songs, and don't get me started on Zac Effron's solo, or video for it. They should warn people that too much cheese these days is bad for you.

YouTube: How do you save videos to your computer? Anyone??

Becky: Yes, Hairspray is fantastic... read on for a partial review!

Most of you will know I'm a huge, massive, fan of High School Musical (the Disney film that launched Zac Effron, who now stars in Hairspray). I mean, I could probably stand up and recite the whole film I like it that much. But I'd have to leave out the singing parts, as I can't sing. Anyway, considering I thought HSM was so good, I figured HSM 2 would be even better. But sadly it was not. Well, I haven't finished watching it yet, but I can already tell. There are no catchy songs in it, Troy (Zac Effron) has become way too cocky, both in character and in acting. The huge dancing numbers are gone, to be replaced with smaller sets, with Troy doing some repetitive "break dance" numbers at the front. Gabriella still has an annoying voice, but is less geeky. It's just all wrong. I think the new writers should have taken the advice from the first film: STICK TO THE STATUS QUO. Hmm.

Anyway, Becky, back to Hairspray. I thought this film would be good, but second to HSM1. I didn't want to like it, for the simple reason that everyone else seemed to love it. After all, nothing could ever top my High School Musical.

And then I went into the cinema, missed the first song (yes, I was one of those really annoying make-everybody-move late comers) and sat down, counting down the time until I could get out. I laughed (grumbled) along with the rest of the audience at some of the jokes. I tapped my foot lightly to make it seem to everyone else that I thought this was fantastic. And then, slowly, it seemed to get better. I began to actually get into the film. It wasn't as bad as I feared, in fact it was rather good, and funny, and... good. Before I knew it I was singing along (ignoring the fact that I can't exactly sing) to songs I hadn't heard before (which is always a good sign) and my spirits were lifting.

John Travolta plays the mother, which to me spelled disaster. But funnily enough, he actually made it work. He wasn't a man in drag, he was a funny lady!

So hayle, I emerged from the cinema feeling really good and upbeat!! And then rumour got around that I may have liked the film, and the Hairspray fanatics cult club in the office where I used to work got word and now we're all going to see it again tomorrow. (If I'm not back by 11pm, can someone please call the police!)

Bree: Phantom-step going down is scary, when you think there's another step left and you goose step it. In fact, no stairs related accidents or incidents are ever fun. In fact, they are no laughing matter whatsoever.

Jac: WOW! I'd have *loved* to see that tumble crumble. Of course, I wouldn't have laughed; as I just said, these sorts of things are no laughing matter at all. Ahem.

In keeping with the theme, I found this on www.youtube.com: Some claim it's faked, but I find that hard to believe. Not speaking from experience (obviously), but I would reckon if you're falling on your back, you would try and catapult yourself forward to stop moving. Either way, it's interesting.... (especially the uniforms. Talk about dorky!!!....Mind you, I wore a turquoise uniform for six years, who am I to talk?)

Yes, I really do know that groovy dancing girl and I really did take her job when she left. And yes, it's true I can dance like that too. I just haven't done it yet.

Today I fell up the stairs. When I was a young pippen in secondary school this happened a friend who was a girl in my year. What made it worse was two things:

She had a long, metal ruler with her (the one that *claaaaaangs* when dropped - did anyone else ever have the token person in their year with one of those?).

It was at the top of the stairs, where two double doors open on to the mezzanine level.

So *claaaaang* went the ruler, as her feet went from under her, much like a young calf on ice at the same moment someone swung the double doors open, crashing into and then wounding either her head, or her arm. She just wriggled like a little caterpillar. Probably expecting someone to rush to her aid or something.

By that stage the tears were falling so fast down my face, I was about to lose control of my bodily functions, I was running out of breath because it was that funny. And I was that immature.

Needless to say, said girl ignored me and my friend for all of an afternoon for our despicable disloyalty and uncaring reaction. But it was funny. Hilarious in fact.

And today I share her pain. Well I did in my toe, at least for a few minutes. I suppose I'm fortunate there was no audience watching, and I went up the stairs not down. That would have been dangerous.

A bit like...oh I don't know...running up a 'down' escalator in a public shopping centre, making a successful jump off at the top, then losing my one's shoe as it travelled back down to a gathering queue, and then dropping my one's watch (which had a broken battery anyway) down, following the shoe.

Yes, *phew*, thank GOODNESS that's never happened to me! Only silly fools do things like that...

As most of you know I pretend to work on Saturdays. I started in January of this year, replacing a girl who had been there for a year or two. She fills in for me when I'm off sick/travelling/doing something else and she also fills in midweek if the midweek person is off sick/travelling/doing something else.

Anyway, where I work there are only two people there at any time. Small. Cosy. When the two of you run out of conversation it gets quiet, but it's nice.

So when this girl moved on, it was to better and bigger things. I actually think she went to college - she's very talented when it comes to arty stuff. In her spare time, she can also dance. Check this out: (and the 500,000 odd views):



I might add, that I too could dance like this should I want to. But I'm too lazy. But seriously, it's pretty impressive stuff. Kudos Sophie.

I went and saw Hairspray tonight. It was a slightly spontanous decision which meant I missed the opening song. I had had my eye on this film for some time, as a few people who I used to work with have a freak like obsession healthy interst which borders on illegal intrigues me so much, I decided to check it out.

Anyway, Zac Efron is so totally dreamy(!) and the acting and dancing was excellent. It was a musical and I love anything that has music in it so I was in my element. I can't claim to be able to sing - I blame an undiagnosed deafness somewhere - but I enjoyed "singing" along nonetheless. And I am serious, I really, honestly can NOT hold a note if I was trying to save my life. It's not that I'm tone deaf, as when I sing, I can hear I'm not singing right, I know I have the wrong note, but there ain't nout I can do about it!

It must be noted, I left the cinema feeling in a most upbeat of moods; I reccomend Hairspray to anyone.

Zac Efron as Link Larkin

Need I bother actually writing a blog today? Might it just be easier to copy and paste yesterday's first paragraph?? Heck, why not?!

I got up early this morning for my radio thing, which got postponed because the show grew legs and went off on a tangent. The producers felt they wanted to give the Cystic Fibrosis topic good time, and didn't want to just squeeze it in. So tomorrow Monday, I will be up early again. One wonders is certain this was this a ploy by my Dad to try and get me up early. Pretty original. Hmmm.

Did you know that when this 'get up early' thing started (which I'm certain by now is being orchestrated by my father), I was left to do nothing, at a time which I am not normally up at? I thought, well with all this time on my hands, I should go out and do some errands (see yesterday), but to my dismay I discovered my car was blocked in the driveway by my Dad's car. It would appear my Dad wants me up early and housebound. Anyway, left with little other option, I decided to move my Dad's car.

I drive Delilah, who is a beautiful black micra, with superb handling and is as light as a feather. My Dad drives Bruce, a heavy old tank of a Volvo - very much a man's car. (And yes there are mens' cars and womens' cars!). Anyway, I found the keys and went out, but the car was *slightly* bigger then antipitated, and keep in mind I am rather petite. I brought the whole seat forward, reached up and held the steering wheel and off I went. The problem was, me being petite, driving an obese car, with only my nose reaching the door window, my eyes peering over the steering wheel, the situation wasn't exactly ideal.

I managed fabulously though, despite the fact it looked like a ghost was driving the car. People on our road never pay much attention to us or anyone, so a self driving car emerging from our driveway shouldn't raise too many eyebrows I don't think.

As I finished parking on the side of the road, a kind driver behind stopped so I could get out of the car. You should have seen her face as I got out, in my hoodie and bottoms, looking all of fourteen years old. Her eyes and mouth formed three identical circles. I could have clocked a hole in one (or three) had a golf ball been present. *Caaa-lock* Not only that, but as she slugged past me in her car, her head turned really slowly like some sort of childnapper you see in a film. Creep. Polite creep. She probably thought I was a polite joyrider as I smiled her on her merry way.

Anyway, today I gave the car (both of them) a rest (apart from playing taxi for EVERYONE in my family) and went cycling and then swimming!! It was for my lungs (which are improving I think) and I got a good few lengths in. I feel better but tired. But

I got up early this morning for my radio thing, which got postponed because the show grew legs and went off on a tangent. The producers felt they wanted to give the Cystic Fibrosis topic good time, and didn't want to just squeeze it in. So tomorrow I will be up early again. One wonders was this a ploy by my Dad to try and get me up early. Pretty original. Hmmm.

Anyhoo, it worked out for the better anyway, as I have developed a temporary addiction to Strepsils lozengers, as my persistent tickle in my throat is...well rather persistent. There may also be a colony of frogs living in my throat. So an extra 24hours should do me good.

Being up early, with the rest of the day ahead of me gave me opportunity to catch up on plenty of errands I've been meaning to do for a while. A long while. But how many did I actually get done? None. Zero. Through no fault of my own though of course...mostly. I just managed to use up a whole lot of petrol, come home, and fall asleep. For about five hours. Me thinks/hopes this is a sign that the new antibiotics are fighting really hard inside thus making me a wee bit tired.

And I figure I'll mention this now. My "friend", let's just call her....aesigefheoigfSaraasoigfsef for anonymity purposes is proposing a silly interesting crazy mentally sane death defying defying way to raise money for charity: A sky dive. I think it's a suicide bid that she wants ME to take part in...or else a homicide bid on ME...hmm either way, I'm locked in. I'm trying my best to get out, you know I've had a transplant (Have I mentioned that before?) and did try pawning that one off on her, but to no avail. Seems she's had one too! Two months before me. What lengths people will go to get attention!

Anyhoo, it looks set that this will be in October/November. We are looking for support and/or kind donations. Even something as small as €1 would be fantastic, as every little helps! If there is anyone out there who would like to join our pact (Life is sooo over-rated anyway!) please let me know. After all, if I jumped off a cliff, you'd follow too right?

Health Wise: I decided just to ring the Mater Hospital, after getting fed up coughing so much. I have been on smarties Ciproxin antibiotics for the past 14days, which have done nothing. Zilch. Nada. After a brief call, explaining my symptoms, giving my current doses, my tablets were changed. The funny thing is, I finished the two weeks of m&ms Ciproxin as prescribed and then found a whole PACK out in my cupboard, unopened, uneaten from 2004. How funny. That was when I was in 5th year in secondary school. They don't even go out of date until next year. GAS!

I may also add at this point, that I shall be speaking (briefly and v.e.r.y s.l.o.w.l.y to take up as much time as I can) on a radio show tomorrow morning. And when speaking to the researcher earlier today, and requiring an umbrella to save me from the tickly throat tears coming down my cheeks, I decided that action was definitely needed. I have sent Jeeves out to get me some Strepsils.

Anyway, it's a week of Augmentin for me, and I shall be ringing the team in 7days time and be seeing them in 10days time. Fingers crossed!!

Holiday Wise: I will get around to doing a fully comprehensive report on my holiday soon, complete with photos and....well, yeah, just photos. In fact, if there are even photos, you'll be lucky.

Random Wise: There is the opinion floating about that I do not like plants. Who ever said I didn't like plants? I haven't got anything against plants. If someone were to, say, give a plant as a gift to someone else, I would see that as a beautiful gesture. A kind, loving and most thoughtful present. A few weeks ago, I stated I wouldn't like the idea of getting a plant; having had a transplant, this would not be wise, as I could pick up a bug from the plant, which may, god forbid cause a chest infection. *That* is why I would not like a plant. At all. Never give me a plant.

And now for my complete naughtiness in NOT emailing people months ago like I should have done, I am off to do that now.

I'm home. I'm alive. I have a chest infection, I am slightly pink, I am slightly fat(ter) and am very much relaxed following my two weeks in Marbella/Pta Banús.

It was a wonderful holiday and a wonderful reminder of wonderful holidays in times passed (past?). Since we are a family who usually take a 2week holiday every year (except last year when I needed a break and went off and got new lungs), this one is the first 'post transplant' one. No ringing a UK oxygen company to see where our oxygen machine was, and why it hadn't arrived at our apartment. No suitcase packed with 1Litre bag feeds. We didn't fret when Airlingus chose the day we were flying home to strike, thus potentially leaving us stranded for a week; a week without feeds (couldn't ever happen or I would fade away and eventually get blown away with a breeze). I got to enjoy three course meals every single night. No amount of walking, even with the average daily temperature of 30+ had me stopping to catch breath, had me too breathless to walk and talk, or worst of all, preventing me going somewhere because I couldn't face the walk. Anyway, point being, yadda yadda, it was great.

I didn't go to bed last night since we had to leave at 5am this morning, so I'm a bit tired. I'm not Superwoman (yet) after all. A more fulfilling and satisfying blog will come later or tomorrow.

PS: If anyone watches The Jeremy Kyle show (which I so do not, it just passed the time in the apartment some mornings, I swear!), did anyone catch the Paternity test results today? We were travelling at the time, and despite my sister calling over to my Dad on the bus 'Oh Dad, can we go into your office to see the paternity test results, pleaaaaaasssssse!!' , we didn't. Cheers!

I've just finished packing, whilst my Dad glared and stared and watched as I did it. I'm serious, he stood at the door, annoyed because I hadn't done it earlier and he "wanted to put my case in the car because he wanted to go to bed". What's the point in going to bed, if you're just going to get up again anyway? Psh.

Anyhoo, I thought, since on the topic of packing, I would show you the contents of my handbag, which I emptied yesterday. Now normally a lady would never divulge the insides of her bag, but I think that mine is pretty impressive. I have often been told I'm like Mary Poppins, in that I seem to have a bottomless bag. I like my bag though, because I can throw anything into it and it fits. It gets tricky when I have to locate things quickly though. Anyway, here's a photo, taken yesterday, of everything that came out:

Pretty amazing. The most random object to surface can be seen in the bottom right hand corner. A blue ice pack(!!). Don't ask. There is some suncream to the left beside the Vaseline. There are two pens, a bracelet, money, English money, face moisturiser, insulin needles galore, a tablet holder, make-up galore, tagaderm plasters (don't ask), hair bobbins, tissues, as well as glasses, a camera (which you can't see for obvious reasons), a few forms of ID and an ipod.

Just in case you want more, here is a photo from another angle. I was trying to fill up my memory card you see, in case you think that I always photograph the contents of my bags....

From this angle, you can make out the bottom half of my hairbrush which is standing up. You can also see my dog Sandy, who is completely uninterested in my camera snapping.

I guess you can only imagine what weird and wonderful crap artifacts my suitcase must hold. Adiós mi amigos!

I must firstly begin with an apology. G-Raze received a plant as a birthday (or Christmas?) present one year from her family. For me to sneer at and whine about plants the other day was unacceptable. I guess some people just like getting plants for gifts. (Sidenote: Rumour has it that plant is long dead)

I found my purse and money at last! I just need to begin packing now. It shouldn't be too difficult, and it would be impossible to make a worse job of it then my sister has done. She was the eager beaver this morning and got straight to work, which gave my Mum ample time to investigate what was put in to cause the suitcase to near burst. Apparently she was way over weight (with luggage ahem) and had the most impractical of clothing choices squished inside. As my mother always says "Pack it, then halve it". Of course by the time I've (started and )finished packing there won't be enough time to remove things. The key is to listen to mother's advice and then choose the best way to avoid it. Anyway, I for one won't be packing three hoodies with me!! Yes, apparently it didn't occur to some that it might be warm where we're headed.

Anyhoo, should I perchance pass an Internet café whilst away, and should I perchance have €2 to spare, and should I perchance already have food in my hand so thus not needing the €2 for anymore, I *may* pop in and write how I am getting along. I will put in a Tuesday blog though tonight anyway.

In the meantime, keep smiling and I'll be back soon. Or as Chanelle in BigBrother said "This isn't goodbye *tearcrytearblubber*, it's.....seeya later!"

The best news ever: I didn't get a PLANT!! *Exhales great sigh of relief*

As always, my family and friends were most generous to me; EILEEN even called me from San Diego!...Well Helen (who would be Eileen number 2) technically made the call... but still. EILEEN is sick and coughing and spluttering with germs - even when we're a thousand miles apart, that child tries to make me sick! Remind me to tell you about the time she landed me in hospital for six weeks after claiming 'There *cough* is *cough* nothing *splutter* wrong *spit* with ME *sneeeeze*'

I'd also like to thank everyone for texting and phoning and bebo-ing and commenting to wish me happy birthday. I did. It means a lot to me for people do that, even people I don't know all that well. So thank you.

I was a good deal fatter on my last birthday from the high doses of medications I was still taking (can someone say CHUBBY CHEEKS?!), so it's interesting to compare photographs. I also got a bigger cake this year, after my Mum realised that last year's cake was gone in a few minutes. It was the steroids that did it - I swear! *Looks nervously around*

Anyhoo, tomorrow I will begin packing for Spain and look for all my various things that have gone walk-about. Like, my purse and money. Whoops.

I shall then go and moan again at my brother for losing part of my tent. He borrowed my tent, claiming he knew how to assemble it, didn't need MY written instructions and then managed to bring only part of it home. Tsk. And to think I was planning on going camping never sometime never ever in the next someone shoot me if I mention camping twenty years my future...Tsk.

Two and a half hours to my birthday!!!

An old man elderly gentleman came into the pharmacy today. I took his prescription and handed it to the pharmacist to prepare. I then turned around, and stood silently, gazing at the floor. Then I felt foolish and attempted some sort of small talk. The weather's always a good starting point..

"It's looking good out there today..." I said merrily.

"Oh...okay..." He replies, *sighing* as he slowly shuffles with cane to a chair, sits down and looks solemn and gloomy. It took him about an hour to reach chair by the way.

Anyway, what did he think I said?! Because old people usually love me!!

It's my birthday tomorrow!!! I will be twenteen! My parents have threatened to get me a plant. What thuh???? A plant?! I have told them if they do so, I shall promptly throw said plant out the window and let it die a cold death in the garden. I will of course tell them that I appreciate the thought...but really, who wants a plant for their birthday? (I hope I have not offended any plant lovers out there; I *do* realise that some plants are of great pleasure/comfort and sources of loving friendships/relationships/bondings to their owners)

My brother 'Willy' (snigger, chuckle, giggle) on the otherhand has promised me great things! I look forward to receiving it/them/those...

In the meantime, it's Saturday so I must work. Or pretend to work. Or whatever you call it - sit around, get bored and get paid. Work?

Question: Anyone know what/where this is?:


Answer: This is Nicolson's Café in Edinburgh. I was in here last week when I visited the city for the transplant games (Jac I welcome next year when you will be on the Freeman team!). While having a diet coca cola sophisticated moca frappa coca something coffee WITH latte, reminiscing about my weekend, the thought struck me. These characters just *popped* into my head. I could see them forming before my very eyes. I was on to a winner here. I grabbed my little jotter and pen that I keep handy and began to write, feverishly scribbling down my ideas before they evaporated.

I've always thought about writing a book, but have always been too lazy. Far too lazy. But this was different. I had a girl, a story, a background, a whole other world created within minutes. Her name would be Harriet. She would be special, a different kind of girl. She'd have a big ugly scar on her head from where she had had life saving surgery. I'd give her two friends...Herman and Don. Yes, the three of them would go off on little adventures. They would meet at school....yes school, a school called....Higwirts! Yes, how perfect. It would be a different type of school, not like a 'special' school for people with learning difficulties, but rather they'd teach different lessons, like learn how to pull rabbits from hats, and card tricks. A fun school!

But then, to make it a bit more serious, I'd put a frenzied killer into the story who escaped and went on the loose. One who wanted to kidnap the little girl Harriet and torture her and her friends Herman and Don. And then eventually the stalker maniac would try and kill her...and they'd have a 'magic-off'. Whoever could do the best tricks would survive.

Anyway, just as I was preparing to create a pseudonym for myself to publish the book (I was thinking J K Tumbling), just as I had the titles all ready, imagining what I would do with the squillians of money I'd make, and just as I was about to pay for my drink I saw it. A plaque.

Seems some woman did the same thing about 15 years ago. Haven't heard much from her since so you never know, may be hope for me yet! Look for Harriet Rotter on shelves next year!

When I was recovering from my transplant last year I was trying to come with a list of some crazy or weird things I could do with my new lungs. I decided, being the avid Harry Potter reader, that since Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows would be the last installment of the series, it was the last opportunity to do the whole queuing up at midnight to get it. I pretty much made up my mind that it was something I wanted to do.

Well alright, alright (you nit pickers in the back - you.know.who.you.are) I know it's not that crazy or weird, and being honest I could have probably done it without the use of new, functioning and working lungs, but still.

Anyway I did. I got the book and I saved it for my holiday to Spain (on Tue). But then I changed my mind and started reading. And now I've finished. And that is all I will say on the matter.

In the airport, in the baggage hall, at the conveyor belt, why do people *insist* on throwing themselves on to their bag when it comes around, making a big fuss while trying to pull it off? And then why does everyone around him reach in and try and pull the pesky bag off too? Don't they realise that these things go around and around and around?? The bag comes back around people! It doesn't just give you one chance to collect your bag and that's it!

On a similar note, why is it necessary for children to stand right.up.close. at the baggage carousel? I've never seen a seven year old haul a bag off the belt. They are clearly just there to take up room, so that when your bag comes around you can't reach it. Good thing the bags come more then once. This gives you ample time to tut and tsk and give disapproving looks to child and child's guardians.

One year ago today I left the safe surroundings of ward 27a and came home, ready to begin a new and exciting life having had my lung transplant. My family prepared a pretty impressive banner and welcome home thing in my porch. People even drove slowly past my house to have a good old gawk ("Oh...I wonder who Rosie is....and where she was..."). It was the last time I ever spent a night in hospital. Excluding the times I went back for bronchoscopies of course. I mean last time I ever spent a night in hospital sick.... excluding that last time when I was sick after my bronchoscopy...but that was coincidence.

That day, I sat in a wheelchair (my Mum didn't feel I was quite ready to manage the airport on my feet) in Dublin Airport and avoided those crushing and unnecessary scenes at the bag collection point. I was wheeled out to the Arrival's hall by the porter. People looked at me in the wheelchair and then people didn't look at me in the wheelchair (didn't want to stare you see...). And then people looked puzzled when I stepped out of the wheelchair and bounced off all excited to start my new life. I swear I heard someone mutter 'Con artist....Fraud!'.... I think that may have been the porter...