Monthly Archives: May 2017

Waiting for the Rainbow

It rained this afternoon, as you can tell from the top picture. That yellow blur in the middle of the picture is Julia’s jumper as she traverses the car park at TESCO.

However, as both Dolly Parton and G K Chesterton tell us: Without the rain, there would be no rainbow.

There was no rainbow today, which would have rounded off things nicely, but we did have a cream tea, so it was worth getting wet.

That was my part of the mission – whilst Julia shopped I waited until the rain slackened off, bought lottery tickets and selected two cream teas. Then I waited in the cafe… and waited…

It’s difficult to judge the best time to buy a cream tea when you’re waiting for someone who is shopping. It’s made more difficult when they have a habit of haphazard browsing. And, let’s face it, when you’re looking at a cream tea and salivating it can be a testing twenty minutes.

Eventually Julia’s random retail activities ended and we were able to start the cream tea. The scones weren’t too bad, the company was good (well, I thought it was, Julia may have another view) and despite a nagging feeling of guilt about the calorie intake, I enjoyed getting out.

I suppose it’s possible for a rainbow to be metaphorical.

Eventually the rain eased up.

Whilst checking for rainbow quotes I found this quote from G K Chesterton.This one isn’t about rainbows, it’s about grandmothers, but it is quite interesting.

The word ‘good’ has many meanings. For example, if a man were to shoot his grandmother at a range of five hundred yards, I should call him a good shot, but not necessarily a good man.

Socks and Seagulls

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I’ve confirmed my hospital date, I’ve eaten cake from one of the neighbours and I’ve bought socks with grips on the bottom. They seem to be the preferred footwear in hospital these days. They did lend me a pair last week, but as usual they don’t do my size. It’s not as if I have fat feet, just a size or two bigger than average.

I’ve also written a book review, made up my diary, developed a system of paperwork and exercised my bad foot. The “system” consists of tucking current papers into the back of my diary and putting an elastic band around it all. Once the paperwork is no longer current I file it in a plastic folder as this makes it easier to lose in bulk. The “exercise” consisted of walking to the fridge and answering the front door to accept the cakes.

From this I presume you can see why Julia laughs in an ironic manner when I refer to the future date “when I retire”.

She has had a fuller day than I have, preparing for a job interview, holding a meeting at the community accounting group she chairs and doing associated paperwork.

However, because I have used more words to describe my day it looks like I’ve been busier than she has.

I suppose I should have taken a photograph of the cakes. They were miniatures for an event tomorrow, the open day at the hospital garden. Hopefully the weather will improve as they put a lot of effort into the gardening. I may give it a miss, as I’ve seen it enough recently, but Julia is going.

The picture is a Herring Gull walking on the top of my car in Llandudno. Fortunately the recent rain has washed away the other evidence.

Book Review: Free Country

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Free Country: A Penniless Adventure the Length of Britain

by George Mahood

CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform (18 Dec. 2014)

Paperback 352pp Paperback £8.99 Kindle £1.99

ISBN-13: 978-1490356662

I’ve read a few books of his sort (which I think of as novelty travel, or even annoying novelty travel) and have mixed feelings about the genre. Is it really necessary to do more than travel and write entertainingly? Do you need to take a fridge with you, or in this case, do you need to start off in your pants and beg your way the length of the country? Not that it really matters, because charity shops are full of these books and they rarely cost more than £1.50. At that price I can adapt to most things.

Part of the problem is that everything seems to fall into place so easily, finding footwear before doing any serious damage to their feet for instance, and the other is that a lot of the stuff they are given is the result of theft. They may be amazed at the generosity of staff in large chains, but actually, that’s theft. Same goes for the employees of smaller establishments who give them free drink or food while the boss is away – theft.

George Mahood thinks the penniless journey is a demonstration of the basic decency of human beings who are selflessly prepared to help two idiots on their way from Land’s End to John O’ Groats.

I think it’s about finding a gimmick to base a book on.

It’s beginning to sound like I don’t like the book, but nothing could be further from the truth. It’s a good book, with well-observed characters, warmth, moments of peril, light and shade and humour. I did follow them with bated breath, I did worry about them, and I was rooting for them, despite my moral misgivings.

It was a birthday present from Number One son and arrived in the post whilst I was in the grip of several different infections (the advancing years are not being kind), so I left it for a week before picking it up.

Once I started it I finished it in two sessions and was really sorry to reach the end.

Judged from a moral standpoint – theft, begging, fecklessness and having defective brakes – it’s hard to give it more than three stars, but from a reading point of view it’s a massive five.

Mad as a Hatter

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Sorry, this should have been part of yesterday’s post.

I’ve always known that “mad as a hatter” was something to do with hatters, madness and chemicals but I wasn’t quite clear on the details. I’m currently reading The Elements of Murder (slowly, I admit, but it isn’t light reading) and the book has some interesting details.

I was going to stick a paragraph in about it, as it seemed appropriate and I had a suitably mad photograph. However, having the information and the need to write a post I thought I’d better find more information to fill it out.

This proved to be a mistake. “Mad as a Hatter”, according to some sources, has little to do with madness, and nothing at all to do with hatters.

This is a nuisance, to say the least. According to Wikipedia there are several possible sources for the expression, including the Anglo-Saxons who used the expression to mean venomous as a viper. There are other explanations too. I’m not happy with any of them, nor am I impressed by the references to early usage, without exact dates. However, this is a blog, I’m citing Wikipedia and I’m never going to be mistaken for an academic. Can we just say “other explanations are available”, and I’ll talk about the one I want?

The Mad Hatter is supposed to be based on Theophilus Carter, an eccentric Oxford furniture dealer and reputed builder of an alarm clock bed exhibited at the Great Exhibition of 1851. When it was time to get up a clockwork motor engaged and tipped the sleeper into a tank of water. This seems a bit brutal even for stern Victorian early risers.

Unfortunately, though there were two alarm clock beds exhibited in 1851, neither of them was attributed to Carter in the catalogue. Nor, despite Carroll’s extensive diaries, is there any real evidence that the Mad Hatter is based on Carter. It’s a shame, because it’s a good story.

There is, however, plenty of evidence for hatters exhibiting signs of madness.

The main material used in making hats was felt, which was made from the hair of rabbits and beavers, mixed with mercuric nitrate and repeatedly shaped, boiled and washed until it formed smooth cones of felt. This process released mercury vapour which, went inhaled, caused symptoms such as delirium, hallucinations, irritability, excitability, tremors and depression.

In many countries, including the UK, measures were taken to protect workers from exposure and by the end of the 20th century hatters were no longer suffering the effects of mercury poisoning. In the USA it persisted until 1941, being known as the “Danbury Shakes”, after the hat-making centre in Connecticut. Eventually the need for mercury in the war effort meant the use of alternative chemicals and the end of the Danbury Shakes.

Be that as it may, in the 1860s, when Carroll wrote about the Mad Hatter, mercury poisoning, was a major factor in the behaviour of hatters.

Llandudno – a brief visit

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On our way back from Wales we visited Llandudno. Since then, things have been a bit hectic and I forgot all about it.

Was it really only five weeks ago? I seem to have packed quite a lot into the time, though at the same time I also seem to have achieved nothing. The image of a hamster running in its wheel comes to mind, working hard to get nowhere. Even without the metaphor I often think of hamsters in wheels – they are just so funny.

Herring Gull on Llandudno Pier

Herring Gulls on the beach at Llandudno

Mad Hatter – Llandudno

Places to go – Llandudno

We parked by the Mad Hatter statue, as you can see. The Liddell family had a holiday home in Llandudno, though there is still argument about whether Lewis Carroll ever visited. There are other statues scattered round town, though we didn’t have time to view the others properly. By the time we’d tracked down toilets (this was pre-operation so I wasn’t as self-sufficient in that department as I am now), chased gulls off the car and toured the pier (which included eating doughnuts) there wasn’t much time left, as we still had to get home.

Llandudno is a lovely place if you ever get a chance to visit. The resort was planned in the 1850s and developed by Lord Mostyn, which is why it was developed in such a controlled manner.

Llandudno

Llandudno – Pier entrance

Llandudno – hotels

Llandudno, including War Memorial

We’ve never really seen much of the town, and reading up on it, I’m amazed how much more there is to do. Looks like we’ll have to go back again one day.

Yellow Flags, Ducklings and Swifts

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Things are changing in Arnot Hill Park, the shrubbery has finally come to life, and the trees are in bloom. A pair of camera-shy Song Thrushes took cover in a horse chestnut as I approached and the trees were full of annoyingly elusive birds.

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There’s nothing quite like yellow flags for cheering the heart, particularly when you’ve just been confined to the house. I like irises, and I particularly like the yellow ones so it was good to see them in bloom this morning.

As you may be able to tell from the photos, the water has changed colour to an exotic blue-green, while we’ve been away too.

There are ducklings about too – though they are a bit of a handful from the parenting point of view. The first ones I saw seemed to be attached to a pair of Red Crested Pochards but they made a rush for freedom, the adults swam off and the ducklings carried on by themselves. I think they may actually have been Mallards, as they seemed to stay with the adult Mallards.

Round the other side of the pond I found more Red Crested Pochards, this time with four ducklings. I’m amazed by how fast they are for such small things, particularly once you try to get the camera on them.

Incidentally, I’m back on the old camera as it’s easier to slip into my pocket and…well, to be honest, I can’t remember where I put the other one last time I used it. That’s how bad my memory has been during the last few weeks.

Finally, alerted by high-pitched squeaks I found a family of Moorhens with four chicks. Two of the chicks swam across one of the islands and took refuge inside the wire bastions they use for extending the islands. It makes a nice secure cage for chicks, though the other two kept to open water. Typical kids, you have a nice safe cage for them and they make for open water.

There are also two Coots sitting on eggs, so there are more chicks to come.

Moorhen wtih chicks

Duckling in Arnold – Red Crested Pochard

Moorhen chick in cage – Arnot Hill Park

Mallard duckling – Arnot Hill Park

Unfortunately the Mandarin seems to have gone, so no more Odd Couple.

The film clip shows a pair of Mallards feasting on unappetising scum. No wonder they do so well if they are prepared to eat that.

And finally – Julia was out in the street this afternoon when she heard screaming calls, Looking up she saw eight Swifts. Looking down again after a few moments of Swift watching, she found a woman staring at her as if she was mad.

Who can tell?

The Good News

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Thanks for the comments everyone, working on the basis that a trouble shared is a trouble halved I feel much better already.

I had a call from the hospital this morning. They have fixed me up with a new pre-operative assessment next week, my third (fourth if you count the extra one with the anaesthetist I had to have so they could tell me I was fat) in six weeks. I’m pretty sure this is due to a need to tick a box somewhere rather than the fact I need to be seen. After all, the proof of the pudding is not in the pre-op but in the fact that I didn’t die under anaesthetic during the first operation.

Regarding my weight, I’m fairly sure that could be left to a volunteer, as I don’t think you need five years at university to spot that I’ve let myself go a bit. I may suggest this efficiency measure to them, as doctors clearly have better things to do.

They have also fixed me up with a new operation date in two weeks, though I’m not sure how much faith to put in this. Fourteen days isn’t a massive delay, I suppose, though if I give any of the staff involved in the delay the chance to wear a urinary catheter for fourteen days I don’t suppose anyone will volunteer.

I was lucky they didn’t cancel me the day before the operation. By cancelling on the day for non-clinical reasons they are committed to giving me a new date within 28 days. If they had cancelled the day before there is no such obligation. In the last quarter of 2016 there were 21,249 cancelled operations, which is 233 a day.

There are various reasons for cancellation including lack of beds, lack of staff, running out of time, equipment breakdown and administrative error. Looking at it that way, 233 isn’t a lot of cancellations, though last week the man on my ward who was cancelled twice in two days may have had a different view.

I hope the new appointment is right because it’s for 7.30, which means there is no delay and though I miss breakfast I will be on the ward for lunch.

Institutionalised? Me?

The picture has nothing to do with the text, I just wanted to add something cheery to the post. It’s from the Cloud Bar at Anderby Creek.

Fish, Chips and Disappointment

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Well, I’m back home already. No overnight stay, no pain, no blood.

On the downside, there was no operation.

I rose at 6.00 and, like Paddington Bear, breakfasted on marmalade sandwiches. Five and a half hours later I was washed, packed and provisioned. I was also starving and slightly nervous, as medical staff kept drifting through, asking to see my appointment letter. In the end one of them, having drawn the short straw, sidled up and asked me to step through, obviously trying to separate me from the herd.

“I’m sorry, but you’re not on our list.” she said, and like a modern nightclub the NHS operates on the policy of “if you aren’t on the list, you aren’t coming in”.

So, despite having a letter telling me when to report, despite having rung to confirm and despite having had my pre-op done while I was on the ward last week, I was sent home.

That’s the summary anyway. In real life it took longer, with more muttered excuses and a lot of waiting.

I’m now waiting for a new date.

On the positive side, this gave us the time to enjoy the sunshine and go for haddock and chips at The Big Fish and Julia allowed me to have syrup sponge and custard to get over my disappointment.

I’m now engaging in one of my favourite activities – mentally composing a letter of complaint about my cancelled appointment. I always seem so much more intelligent at this point – the draft always seems so much better than the final written version.

I’m currently debating whether I should offer to fit catheters to the staff concerned as this might concentrate their minds on the delay in removing mine.

Rufford at Last!

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I finally managed the trip to Rufford.

The car journey was only the first step, the hundred yards of varied slopes between the car park and the lake was more of a problem.

It was worth it to sit in the sun and watch a pair of Moorhens struggling to build a nest with unsuitably large twigs. (It wasn’t so much the struggle as the persistence that made the watching worthwhile).

Things are very different from our last visit, with fewer birds, more sun and a lack of seating space. Where the winter visitors (the human ones, not the birds) tend to walk round the lake it seems that the summer visitors, who are generally older than the winter ones, like to sit. It was very pleasant to sit out in the sun, and I enjoyed it after all the time I’ve spent indoors recently. My only reservation is that sitting in the sun with a group of octogenarians is a clearer vision of my future than I want.

As soon as I’m out of hospital I’m going to start doing that list of things that’s been at the back of my mind for years.

Fortunately there’s no skydiving or mountain climbing involved.

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Turning into Nero Wolfe

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I think I’m turning into Nero Wolfe. It wasn’t a conscious decision, it just seems to have happened. I’ve turned into a fat man who doesn’t leave the house. I have the waistline, the aversion to exercise and I even have a selection of orchids. I say a selection, but I’m actually 9,997 orchids short of Wolfe’s total.

OK, I’ll come clean – I’ve had the waistline for a while, but being confined to the house hasn’t helped.

The cost of Nero Wolfe books on Kindle starts around £4, which is higher than I want to pay for something with no physical presence. I’ve bought one for a penny, though P&P is £2.80. It’s a tricky balancing act. £4 for a load of pixels, or £2.80 for stamps and a second-hand book I’ll give away.

I’m currently packing for hospital (just one more day left) though it’s unlikely I’ll get a lot of reading done while I’m in there. I’m making sure to pack Wodehouse this time, and a packet of sandwiches. My previous experience shows I’m likely to need cheeriness and sustenance.

What I really need is an auriga to follow me round the hospital and whisper in my ear how lucky I am. I tend to find that as I lie there in the operating theatre my good fortune isn’t always at the forefront of my mind.

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Life after the Care Farm