Adjusting back to SPC life this week has had its moments.

The SPC is a tube which is pushed in passed the scarred old body bits at about the bikini line to bladder.

Bikini, as in as if I could ever have a bikini…the battle scarred saggy belly hardly allows that! Thank goodness I’ve restarted Pilates this week, determined to get fitter to swim. Spine protestedbut it’s a start.

So, back to the SPC, from bikini the tube goes down the leg to a day bag. Fastened by ridiculous elastic band thingy. These are designed to only work when the bag is empty. As the bag fills it gets heavier and hotter and slowly slips down to the ankle. At this stage emptying the 500 mls is kind of urgent! It seems I hydrate well because the bag fills every hour.

At night the bag connects to a much bigger one and can just about last all night on its frame bedside. It saves all those trips to the loo at night. Rather relaxing really. #positives everywhere!

Some previous blogs have recounted my tales of emptying into wine bottles and leaking over borrowed books. But this week not only did I empty on a road side in Clacton to the admiration of the three musketeers I had joined for a charity bridge drive. They poor things had to q for loo.

Another afternoon I joined my sister to see a play…

The queue in the interval was longer than the rest of the play (Home I’m Darling – very funny)….

so not quite knowing what to do as my hot damp ankle threatened explosion …

I nipped tothebar, requested a bottle of water! Spied some champagne, ordered two glasses of that and rejoined my sister in our seats. She was delighted but confused when I asked her for her very posh refillable water bottle. But it’s empty she said. I know, I am going to refill it with the most expensive water you’ve ever had. £27 to be precise.

So I did that.

It was only as the lights went down for the second half and I bent to the floor. That she realised the method to my madness! I emptied my bag into the requisitioned-from-the-bar-bottle, trying to stop the splash and keep the noise down!

Bag emptied. Plastic bottle lidded.

Sat straight enjoyed the rest of the play!

OK this I can cope with and laugh about. But it only takes one uncaring little **** to rock this boat. That’s for another day. It involves being berated for not answering a particular and unnecessary WhatsApp message. I’m quite pleased I managed to say: I find it tricky to do messages under general anaesthetic!