The Samaritan and the Sweatbox

Well...that was interesting.

d and I went away for a long weekend to London. Interesting, really to see the sorts of things that are really important to us, when faced with a city we called home for nearly ten years ago, but now to see it as tourists.
Friday we arrived at our hotel in Canary Wharf, and went for an Adventure - which in our terms is a random bus ride. By some strange inevitable force of logic, we ended up back in Stratford, where we spent all those years living, laughing, loving and hating a reasonable portion of the human race.

d went off to M&S to find a scarf, taking my bank card and her dead phone. I went to Starbucks, with my credit-loaded Starbucks card. I took one sip of my decaff delight, coughed...and found I couldn't focus my eyes. My head went swimmy and I was pretty much heading for the deck when I realised what had happened.
 
Tachy-bleedin'-cardia.
Normally I lay down, elevate my feet and do some breathing exercises and the damn thing straightens up and flied right. Notsomuch this time. A passing doctor happened upon me, diagnosed it (for the first real time - it's been recognised as tachycardia before, but really you need to diagnose it precisely while it's going on - mine apparently is supra-ventricular tachy), and helped, but I was still massively out of control. Mall Security called me an ambulance but it would have taken 40 minutes to arrive. Jumped in a cab to Newham hospital and fortunately, on the way there, the symptoms dissipated and I was fine again. 

Decided not to press on to the hospital, as it would have further knackered what was supposed to be a romantic weekend.

But I'd like to pay tribute to the nameless doctor who stopped to help a stranger in distress, in London - where many people in my town think people would stab you soon as look at you. To which I simply say ha!

Great weekend apart from that - went to see Miss Saigon, and managed to keep it a secret from d till we arrived - she's wanted to see it for a while. The hotel room was an interesting challenge though - last night it was 27 degrees in there, with the air-con on! Basically turned us both into bacon.

One quick thing. I first started Disappearing after a health scare, brought on by tachy-bleedin'cardia.

I've had enough of this shit. Tomorrow, the perspex walls go up again - have bought salad and everything. The Disappearing Man is freakin' back!
2lbs a week has always been the rationale. We'll see what I weigh tomorrow, and calculate where I should be a year from tomorrow accordingly.

Let's do this bloody thing!