December 2006

I made it past 40. I’d like to say I defied the doctors, but that’s not true. Without Dr. Valabhji (Diabetologist - St. Mary’s Hospital) I probably wouldn’t be here today. Well, I’m here. Hobbling post-surgery, recently hospitalised for fuck - knows - what - bugs - are - cooking - but - I - did - have - a - flu - jab - recently, no foot pulses and recently hit by a couple of mini-strokes, but in the words of a friend who saw me the other day “You look a hell of a lot better than you sounded from your blog”. I do. It’s always been that way. People must think I make it up.

My children didn’t call or text. That hurt. It shouldn’t. I’m 41 for fuck’s sake. And I know it isn’t their fault. Kids don’t really remember dates. I know this much though: their mother does remember dates. And she should have reminded them, because when they find out, they’re going to feel very bad about it. She would rather that they forget me. She has said as much many times in front of the kids - “Why don’t you just stay away? We don’t need you!”. Imagine how that hurts the kids. Imagine how confused they feel at being told such a load of shit by their primary “carer” and “protector”.

I am sure some plausible story will be invented. That was always the case before, it is just more that way now.

My brother called me earlier to wish me a happy birthday. I sounded a little down because the kids hadn’t called. He asked me when I had last been allowed to see them. I couldn’t remember. It was a long time ago and I have had a lot on my plate. The Emotional Terrorist will act as if she never stops them or me. She is well versed in the most advanced techniques of Implacable Hostility. In fact, she wrote the book - and she’s the only living tenth dan master in this black art.

So she should have reminded them. For their sake if not mine. I give them money to spend on their mum in advance of her birthday. And if they were living with me, I would make sure that they remembered. It would be the right thing to do.

So no, it shouldn’t hurt. But it does. It’s not their fault. I looked at their pictures, I read my eldest’s old texts. I recalled the good times - and there have been many - before and after our own private holocaust.

I felt bad today for my wife. She is such an amazing, wonderful human being. I am so lucky to have her. I was moping and distant and I tried not to be and she tried to ignore it whilst staying supportive. She knew I was pining for them. She had asked me what I wanted for my birthday weeks in advance. “I would like the girls to come over”. We both knew that wasn’t going to happen, but like the child of divorce hoping for their parents to mend their broken lives again, one hopes in vain, hopes for no gain, hope’s a pain.

One less friend this year. I used to have a friend who promised to be friends for at least another couple of decades. This friend, call the friend Z so as not even to betray the sex, (I owe Z that much) dumped me by text a few months ago because of my blog.

Well I still stand by what I said. I say fuck Israel, I say Hezbollah are a legitimate resistance, I say the Palestinians are wronged and oppressed, I say the Zionists are evil, I say the jury’s out on Hamas, I say the West is Islamophobic to the extreme and I say I’m proud to be a Muslim Londoner who despises the actions of the Zionaxis. If I had been white and said all this, I doubt I would garner so much suspicion or revulsion.

Anybody who has my mobile number and who doesn’t like the sound of it, feel free to TEXT “DUMPED” to me.

Imagine my surprise when out of the blue, moments after I put this post up, Z texts me a belated happy birthday, oh around 00:10.

For months, I have been bewildered. I thought about sending back Z’s books. I maintained my dignity, and felt strongly about my position. I couldn’t do it. The books are still in a pile, because sending them back would have been too final and I wasn’t the one trying to hammer nails into the fucking coffin of a great friendship over a lousy fucking text message.

So I am confused. I don’t think Z has betrayed me. (God I hope not!) I think Z has too much self-respect for that.

I am hobbling back onto my feet. I went to the office today on crutches. I got a seat on the bus in a flash on the way out. On the way back some youth was occupying a disabled seat and actually made me stand. If my knees had been better, I might have clubbed him with my metal crutches. Then again, if my knees had been better, I wouldn’t have needed the seat, nor would I have had the crutches. What made me more angry was that he was with some girls and he was making all of them stand. Chivalry has been wiped out in a generation.

I was delighted to be contacted by a few friends and family wishing me a happy birthday. Delighted because at 41, you really expect people to stop bothering!

Not one’s kids though. Just over 20 minutes to go. Like a child waiting for a best friend to remember, or for its parents to heal the divide, I wait and I hope. It’s never the child’s fault. And one day, what I have sown, I too shall reap. As did my father. God rest his soul.

I don’t often post when I have a hypo. Well, I’m suffering from a hypocglycaemia now, and I thought it would be interesting for me to post. (Don’t try this at home!)

My ex comes across as a Mary Poppins type figure to most. The truth is, she’s more like Scary Mary. Actually, she’s a lot worse than that.

So what has a hypo got to do with Mary Poppins? Oh yeah, the song…supercalifragilisticexpialidocious (fuck - it takes something to get that right..did I??…during a hypo)

Here’s my words to the tune from that famous film..to the chorus anyway

You will appreciate this if you’re a diabetic, or if you have a nutty ex-wife, or like me, both. You probably won’t appreciate this if people turn away from you when you open your mouth…

So - to the tune of the chorus of that unforgettable song…

Sugar gives me diabetic ketoacidosis

If you brush your teeth you won’t be plagued by halitosis

Don’t talk with your ex-wife if she suffers from psychosis

Sugar gives me diabetic ketoacidosis!

From The Guardian today:

Tony Blair yesterday proposed a controversial plan to bolster Mahmoud Abbas in his escalating battle against Hamas by funnelling millions of pounds in aid directly to security forces under the Palestinian leader’s control.

The risky move, probably Mr Blair’s last power play on the Palestinian territories before he leaves office, has been agreed with the US and is designed to break the deadlock that has held back progress in the Middle East for months.

I know there are ladies reading this blog, so I have spared you my preferred alliteration in deference. I hope you will understand that when I write the word “creep” to describe the worst living insult to the highest office in the land, I might be more accurate, but my hatred of this tyrannical, self-aggrandising poodle-bitch of a cunt (whoops…there goes the female readership) is barely contained. Is there any limit to the hypocrisy and hubris of this obsequious bastard?

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Yesterday I started my first full week of recovery from my bilateral knee meniscus repair arhroscopy. That’s corrupted medigeekspeak for “my knees were busted, they knocked me out, stuck some instruments into my joints through a couple of small holes, cut some bits out and fixed it all up again”. I had time to sift through and review the half dozen or so letters sent by my GP. Every time a consultant wrote to her, it jogged her into writing to me. I thought GPs were beyond Pavlov, but what do I know?
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Rules for commenting on Suspect Paki:

• Everybody is welcome to post here, I ask that you observe a few simple rules out of courtesy.
• Anyone insulting Allah (swt), His Prophet Muhammad (pbuh) or any of the prophets for that matter is liable for deletion. I don’t insult other religions here, so please refrain from insulting mine. Any derogatory terms will be monitored closely. There are plenty of other places you can read the empty and poisonous terms “Islamist” and worse, “Islamofascist” for example, but please, unless it serves a legitimate purpose, not here.
• Anyone accusing me of anti-Semitism in any way will be liable for editing or deletion. Let’s get this clear for those of you who plainly, just don’t want to get it! I don’t hate Jews. I hate Zionism. Expressed in the illegal, terrorism-founded state of Israel, it’s actually worse than apartheid. The typical response of Israel-supporters to attacks on this illegal state is to slur the attacker as anti-semitic. A lot of Jews hate this hijack of Judaism to serve the political aims of a bunch of child murderers. The mainstream tolerates it because it’s in the pocket of Zionists. I will not.
• Anyone getting too personal towards me or other posters will be liable for deletion.
• You don’t have to like everything I say to be my friend. I don’t have to like everything you say to be yours. It’s called pluralism. It exists in Islam and has done since the beginning.
• I get asked puerile questions like “why not talk about Darfur or the Democratic Republic of Congo” or similar. If you want to read about Darfur, you’re free to read other blogs. I write about what interests me. And Britain, being my country, interests me. Britain created the mess in Palestine. Britain went to war against the Iraqi people, despite the will of the British people. I write about Islam, because there are plenty of ignorant Islamophobes around(who are no better than slave-trading, racist, holocaust-deniers in my book) with their own blogs. Go read those if you hate my misrepresented religion. Otherwise, you are welcome to stay.

A softography of all of the titles I’ve worked on from 1983 to 2003 - with all the gory truth I can remember about them.

I’ll talk about partners, villains and even the ones who wrote the cheques - including how deals used to get done.

I won’t be shy - if the game is shit (and most of them were) I will say why they were shit, why it got made, and why it was made the way it was (usually money)

I might even include a “Glorious Failures” section.
If you notice this page before I start building it, feel free to begin a dialogue on this very page!

I spent the weekend hospitalised. Not fun at the best of times, but unfortunately, this isn’t exactly the best of times. Before you medivac, fearing a bout of introspective morbidity or existential angst, snap out of it! This post is about how fucking shit the NHS is becoming.

Look, I don’t understand the NHS, I don’t understand how the funding works, I don’t understand the government, the Trusts, the Foundations, the whatever-the-how-you-funds. All I understand is that more stuff has got worse over the years than better. Despite more money. Despite more nurses. Despite more doctors.
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I really, really hate my diabetes.

I have been a Type I diabetic for 33 years now. Every year I’ve had it, this pernicious, rapacious disease has never been satisfied with the level of damage it has inflicted on my body. Like an over-indulged child, it screams “MORE! MORE! MORE!”

I won’t go into detail on the history, but suffice to say I’m on pills for kidney disease, stratospheric cholesterol and blood pressure and I’ve had about 60% of my retinas burned out by laser to preserve what sight I have left. Every time a doctor looks into my eyes, I hear a gasp. They are staggered that I have managed to walk into their consulting room without a white cane. I’m not. I’m a firm believer in the power of the brain to re-wire itself and carry on.

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