Minus a tooth.

My middle sister puts it down to us having inherited lousy genes. The it in question is my sisters and I pondering why we seem to be having more than our fair share of operations and procedures, compared to our peers. We all do our best to stay healthy and fit, but it would appear the powers that be have other ideas and so it’s off to the hospital once more, for one of us.

A fortnight ago it was my turn again. This time a troublesome tooth needed to be tackled, in the operating theatre. The roots of this monster were so long and twisted, and worryingly close to my facial nerves, that my dentist admitted she lacked the nerve to tackle it. ( No pun intended.)

And so, in an operating theatre, in a hospital not very local to me ( more on that in another post) a slight, young woman, but by no means lacking in substance , wrestled the tooth and one root from my middle-aged jaw. The other root had to remain, due to it being very close to my facial nerves. 

“Look at the hook on that,” I heard her comment to her colleague, as a tremendous crack echoed throughout my head and heralded the removal of the offending tooth.  

I lay on the bed wrapped up in what felt like a warm water blanket, with a soothing eye mask, to protect my eyes from the extremely bright lights. I could have been having a spa day, if it hadn’t been for the dentist drill and the battle taking place around me to pull the tooth.

Fast forward two weeks and other than a minor infection that hopefully has been sent packing by a short course of antibiotics, my jaw seems to be adjusting to the loss of the tooth. Very strong painkillers assisted when I was climbing the walls, in the days following the procedure. But, I managed and even took my swollen and red face out to a family meal, two days after the operation. 

I’m in awe of our amazing National Health Service (NHS) and am truly grateful for everything they do for us. Sadly, they are under real pressure at the moment. In my particular part of Yorkshireland, our local hospital in Scarborough has seen many of its services transferred out of the local area. This is worrying and causing a lot of hardship and problems for local residents. A very dedicated and hardworking team of protesters who care about our brilliant local hospital are battling the powers that be to ensure that we keep essential services at a local level. We are a tourist town and a lack of essential services such as an A&E would impact massively on our town.

I feel strongly about this topic and will be posting on this subject again. I know that this problem is not just restricted to my area.

So, I am finally rid of a tooth that threatened to give me a lot of trouble.

Unfortunately, my days of visits to the operating theatre are not over… an arthritic knee needs to be replaced by a presumably  plastic fantastic version. It would appear that my years of hiking and hill climbing have not kept the big A at bay. 

So, how about you… do you have any views on the health care in your part of the world? Are you the proud owner of lousy genes, no matter how hard you try to remain relatively healthy? 

It’s time I wasn’t here, but thanks for dropping by.

Dorne x

P.S. I’ve written this post on my phone using the new editor. So, it will be interesting to see how it turns out!

I’m fed up with my fat suit!

Ten years ago I lost 4 stone (56 pounds). But, gradually the weight crept back on over the years. 

The weighing scales grew rusty and my waistband grew tighter. I went up a dress size.

Great- a new wardrobe. Life was for living… right? I was approaching middle-age and a few pounds here and there was to be expected. I was a curvy woman and I loved my curves so much. I celebrated my curves! I was an ‘average’ size. Nothing wrong with that… right?

The healthy eating went out of the window… life was for living… right? 

And, the new wardrobe now largely consisted of sacks with lace on.

Who was I kidding? Certainly not my body.

In my youth I had taken my brilliantly fast metabolism for granted. I could eat whatever I wanted and didn’t gain a gram.(I am trying to get with it!)

However, middle-age had other ideas. A hysterectomy and developing hypothyroidism, and fibromyalgia all exacerbated the weight gain. I deluded myself that I would not be able to lose weight and took refuge in a box of chocolate eclairs!

Then, the arthritic knee decided it wasn’t happy with the womanly curves bearing down upon it. 


Despite of and because of physiotherapy the knee wouldn’t play ball… or anything else for that matter. A replacement knee was the answer.

But, guess what? A weight loss is required before surgery.

 In my particular corner of Yorkshireland, our National Health Service Trust stipulates that if you are obese you must lose ten per cent of your body weight before they will operate on you. 

There are those that would argue that this takes a discriminatory approach. That overweight people should have access to the same treatment as others. 

But, for me it was my watershed moment. The idea of having a general anaesthetic for such a major operation and putting my life at risk, because I was so heavy, was a no-go. I want to wake up afterwards and get to know my plastic – fantastic knee!

Fast forward to present day and the weight loss is well underway. As I did ten years ago, I have returned to my local Slimming World group. The food optimization produces fantastic results. More importantly, I never go hungry. Because, as we all know hunger is your enemy when you are weight watching. It distracts you from your goal and tells you you can’t do it, you need food.

I have lost over a stone and hope to reach my 10 per cent body weight loss before Christmas. That is my Christmas present to myself. That and a new wardrobe, when I achieve my target weight. Just another 3 stone to go! 

I imagine my lost weight as 2 pound bags of sugar. (I am also a sixties child and can’t quite get used to kilos… yet. Although I do now work in centimetres.)

I have lost approaching ten bags of sugar. Perhaps,  if I ever go off plan, I should strap them all back on to my body to remember how it felt? 

It’s madness what we do to our bodies, sometimes. It isn’t straightforward and of course our minds need to work in line with our bodies to achieve the desired end results.

So, for now I am ‘in the zone’. I hope to remain in it. My initial weight loss is already benefiting my poor, deformed knee. Not as many bags of sugar for it to carry around.

I don’t claim to understand how sometimes I can tolerate and even embrace my ‘fat suit’ and then I want rid of it.

A renewed sense of hope and confidence accompany the weight loss. 

And… the use of this new editor thing on here. I can’t remember the name of it. I can’t access the preview or anything else for that matter. But, I am about to hit the ‘publish’ button; because, I have lost weight. If I can start to strip off my ‘fat suit’ what else am I capable of? 

Here’s hoping that this post makes sense.

How about you?

Do you struggle with your weight?

Any tips to share?

Shall we be fat friends – slimming down?

Do you have a gammy knee?

Until next time.

Dorne x

Finding the words again.


How many times over the last year have I tried to find the right (write) words… for posts on here?

Sometimes life does that to you and we all have our own ways of dealing with a word-drought and an inability to write.

Some turn up at their blank computer screen daily and just type. It doesn’t matter what appears on the screen, at least these determined types have written something!

Others work through exercises, to get the writerly juices flowing.

Some of us give ourselves permission to just not write. We don’t want to do it, we don’t have a clue what to write and besides we’re a lot happier not writing… yes?

No, actually!

My WordPress dashboard is littered with half-hearted and half-finished posts. Begun with such gusto and passion and then abruptly brought to a halt by that voice of doubt.

Can I still write? Could I ever?

So, I’m trying to re-enter the blogsophere and try to remember how to drive this thing. In truth, I probably never really passed my test before! And now – there’s a new kid on the WordPress block… Gutenberg editor! I thought why not have a go, downloaded it and presently I have no idea where it has gone. Some things never change.

So, as I brush off the cobwebs and try to actually complete this particular post, I have much to learn and re-learn.

What about you guys… have any of you had a blog break? By choice or due to certain circumstances? Are any of you using the Gutenberg editor? What do you think?

Let’s hope I locate this Gutenberg guy and learn how to get on with him soon.

Thanks for taking the time to drop by here.

(Hey, I actually finished a post!)

Dorne x





I’m still here!


As some of you may be aware life has been a challenge this year. My posts on here have been sporadic…  to say the least. And yet -folk still drop by. They don’t always ‘Like’, but, hey they visit. Come to think of it they probably make a hasty retreat and vow to never call again. After all… there is a plethora of other rubbish to read out there. And then there is some really GOOD STUFF!

Anyhow… I just want to wish you all a very happy Christmas and say a huge thanks for following me, reading me and running away very quickly – when you realise what this blog has to offer.

I plan to reappear on here next year. Sooner, rather than later. You have been warned!

Wishing all of my victims a peaceful and contented Christmas. Yeah, right… like that is going to happen. Just survive, just survive! 

See you on the other side.

Dorne x

P. S. If there are any spelling mistakes in this post, it doesn’t read very well, or you’re bored silly by it – that’ll be the fault of my cataracts.


80 mourners for a 4 year-old and going out with a dance!

So, on the morning of our four-year old grandson’s funeral my car parking abilities were at their absolute best. Unbeknown to me, my brother-in-law had watched it all from the car behind me. I had it right at one point and then ended up partly on the grass verge and partly on the road. Oh sod it!  At least I wasn’t blocking the hearse that carried our grandson’s white coffin.

In my defence, I had been somewhat distracted by the sea of people who rolled towards us and the entrance of the crematorium’s chapel, like a huge wave.

“Are these people all for Daniel?” I asked the funeral director who walked along side us and the vicar.

” They are,” she gently replied.

” Wow,” I said. ” So many people for him.”

Daniel arrived and we, the immediate family followed his coffin in. I was worried about crying. I always try to get a tight grip of myself at funerals. The room was quickly filled with heavy sobs and I joined in.

The vicar led us in a beautiful celebration of Daniel’s life. We cried, we laughed and we smiled at the memories. We saw photos of him and outside, a bubble machine reminded us of his love of bubbles. This grandma still has tubs of bubble mix all over the house.

A blue Thomas The Train floral wreath adorned his coffin and elsewhere yellow ( his favourite colour)  flowers had been made into a teddy bear.

Julie, the vicar told me that there had in fact been 80 mourners at the funeral. In his short life our grandson had touched quite a few folk.

We  left the funeral service to the sound of Meghan Trainor. Daniel loved to dance.

And he had some rather cool moves.

Julie’s closing words to Daniel were :

” We love you. We miss you. We want you to be happy. 

Go safely. Go dancing. Go running home.” 

Those words and this song will remain with me forever and I’m sure Daniel did dance his way home.

I will be writing some more about Daniel, in the future.


Thanks for reading.

Dorne x




A tribute to Daniel, our youngest grandson.


Sometimes life deals you a tragic blow and you are catapulted into a nightmarish existence.

A week ago our youngest grandson, Daniel, who was four, was rushed to Leeds General Infirmary, from our local hospital. At 11.30 the previous evening his parents, our daughter and her partner, had been informed that he had Leukaemia. He had been admitted to the hospital  for complications with chickenpox.

Basically, what followed over the next two and half days was like being in a twilight zone. He eventually had a machine working away for just about every major organ in his body. Daniel fought a brave battle for his life. But, on Sunday morning his parents were told that he was dying and they took the tremendously brave decision to let him slip away peacefully in their arms, rather than risk him having a heart attack and a violent passing.


This afternoon, with a hell of a lot of trepidation and shaking legs, I went to the Chapel of Rest to see Daniel. I needed to replace the image of him lying in the Intensive Care Unit after he had passed, with something more peaceful. I am glad to say I found my peace. I spent some time holding his hand, stroking his lovely brown hair and chatting to him. He may well have been listening in from somewhere thinking please shut up grandma! I talked about the many happy things we did together and fun times we had – such as counting our stairs to make sure that one hadn’t gone missing, making dens under tables, generally turning our lounge into a tip, walking the Daisy Dog and running around the house like lunatics!

I left the Chapel of Rest a changed person… no longer deranged with grief.

This isn’t to say that the grief won’t return. As anyone who has experienced a bereavement (and I’m guessing that is a lot of us) knows, it hits you in waves doesn’t it? You think you have it all under control and then that one little thing can reduce you to tears… yes?

As for Daniel’s parents… they are being so brave and strong. They have a rather dark and scary road to travel down. But we, the family will be with them all the way. And we are gathering some HUGE torches to light our way.

So Daniel my little sweetheart, next week your funeral will be a celebration of your life… with colours,  balloons and some pop star called Megan Trainer ( yeah, grandma has that wrong again) who you rather liked. You had a few cool moves when you danced to her tracks. Not for you a dark and dreary event. 


My daughter and her partner have surprised and filled me with hope with their take on the cruel event that  wrenched their beautiful son away from them. His dad told me :

” We were all on a journey together. Now Daniel has had to go on a journey of his own and we must find ourselves another journey. But, he will always be with us. We carry him in our hearts and we wouldn’t have missed our journey with him for anything.”

Are not our children brilliant? Do they not make us proud? Do they not inspire us?

Rest in peace Daniel Christopher. You were a one-off. And your mummy and daddy although broken-hearted will be just fine given the passage of time, because they made a promise to you as you passed. They understood that your journey together was over, but they promised you that they would somehow find a new way – in time. The better for having had you in their lives, albeit it for four short years. Mummies and daddies don’t break promises.

We all benefited from knowing you… our special, gorgeous little man.

Enjoy your journey sweetheart and don’t forget to come back and haunt us all on a regular basis. Particularly at the dead of night when we all can’t sleep.

And this grandma of yours will continue to talk to you… you don’t get away with it that easily!

This post is not written to depress or disturb you, nor to draw sympathy. On Write Dorne I write about all aspects of my life. 
Death is a part of life and we can not escape it. But, I think as we face up to it, it becomes less scary – well that’s the plan anyway.

I plan to write about Daniel a bit more. In fact a lot more… he was a large part of my life.


Thanks for dropping by.

Dorne x








I have murder on my mind… my printer has gone on the blink.

With a deadline fast approaching it’s good to be able to rely on computers, printers and modern technology to be there and to work beautifully. After all, isn’t that why we spend so much of our hard-earned cash on them?

So,… my printer has gone on the blink.  Okay, I don’t submit my writing by snail mail, but, it would be good to print it off and actually see what my masterpiece looks like. We don’t always pick up on the little mistakes, on a computer screen – but, when we read from a printed piece… it’s all too obvious. Our stupid mistakes STAND OUT! YOU ARE SO STUPID!

I’ve devoted the best part of two of my precious days this week, trying to coax the little sod into actually printing what I need it to print. It prints – but nothing that I want. I’ve done printer maintenance, changed cartridges, being on help sites, cleaned the printer heads with alcohol and so many other things I can’t remember. I’ve lost the will to live and seriously fantasized about purchasing an axe and smashing the blasted thing into little pieces. But, I suspect the actually axing to death of the damn thing would aggravate my fibromyalgia something rotten.

I’ll kill it in a story instead.

I might also buy  a new printer. So, my son-in-law can arrive the day after I’ve set up the new printer, press a button and make it all better – because he actually understands these things. And before you say it… no, he can’t talk me through it on the phone, because I am a complete computer, tablet, mobile phone and printer der brain.

It was all so much better in the days of typewriters. With a typewriter I would actually have a typed copy. Granted it would be covered in Tippex, have numerous typed over words and it would be my 100th attempt at getting it right… but it would be physical. I could hold it in my hand… and see the glaringly stupid mistake – right at the beginning of the feature. Then, I could take the same axe to the typewriter.

I’m not violent  – honestly. Just a wee bit frustrated by all of this wonderful modern technology.

Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go and drown a printer… then I’ll attack it with an axe!

Anyone else having fun with their technological gismos?

Thanks for dropping by.

Dorne x