Monthly Archives: June 2017

Scarborough, Sandwiches and a Broken Phone

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This morning (Thursday)  I broke my phone. It slipped from my hand and hit the pavement face first. I’ve dropped it many times before but this time the screen shattered. In itself it’s annoying, but the full importance will be revealed later…

The weather on Wednesday lived up to its forecast so we swung into action with a trip to the coast. It was Julia’s only day off of the week so I thought I’d treat her to a day at the seaside.

We drove further north than usual and visited Wetherby Services for elevenses (breakfast had been toast, which I don’t actually recognise as a meal). We’ve stopped there once before and were impressed by the architecture.

Sadly, having decided to have a bacon baguette from Upper Crust, the architecture remained the only impressive part of the visit. Too late, we remembered that this was the situation after the previous visit. The bacon tasted of fish.

From there we turned towards Teeside, dropped down through the moors and emerged on the coast at the top end of Whitby near the Rugby Club.  A few years ago Nottingham U15s went on tour to Scarborough. Scarborough Rugby Club, with their £10 million facility, didn’t reply to my enquiry about a match.  Despite it being last minute, Whitby stepped in and hosted us.

They made us welcome and lent us several players (including a full Yorkshire player) to augment our squad. By “squad” I mean 11 forwards and a scrum half who had spent the previous day and night on a training diet of seaside rock, chips and Red Bull.

All in all, I always feel a warm glow when driving past the club.

We had crab sandwiches at Mrs Botham’s. They were excellent. The photos are currently stuck on my camera. Attempts to extract them, trying to swipe the shattered screen, did not go well.  At quiet times of the year you can park outside the shop, obtaining a parking disc from the newsagent.  There are some very interesting shops along the street.

Finally, we went to Scarborough.

The vessel in the featured image is the MV Coronia, the second excursion ship of that name to sail from Scarborough. Built as the Brit, she cruised the Norfolk coast from 1935 to 1939 befire being taken up by the Admiralty and renamed HM Tender Watchful. She spent the war in hard but unglamorous work – boom defence on the Humber, resupplying destroyers in Yarmouth Roads and working on PLUTO (Pipeline Under the Ocean).

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For a short time in 1940 she was one of the ships that rescued troops from Dunkirk, bringing 900 home. One of the crew at that time spoke of clearing body parts from the deck and having to beach the badly damaged ship on the return to Dover.

The other shots show the castle above the town and a painted bicycle – probably from the recent Tour de Yorkshire.

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Bowie, Bears and Staxtonbury

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There’s been an outbreak of bears in Yorkshire.

We were coming back from a day out on the coast last year when we first spotted them. It was twilight at the time and too dark for photos. This year we were better prepared and managed to take some photographs.  There is another group about 200 yards away, but that would involve parking by the side of a fast bit of road, obstructing traffic and putting my life at risk for a picture of a teddy bear made from straw bales.

They are advertising Straxtonbury. Follow the link for more information and a video including pictures of last year’s bears.

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They are at Staxton, in case you want a look. Or pretty close to Staxton, I’m a bit hazy on the geography.

 

Going into Politics

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In the UK anyone can stand for Parliament providing they meet certain criteria. Details are available here. You also need to put up a deposit of £500, which will be returned if you obtain 5% of the votes.

I am over 18 (by a considerable margin), a UK citizen and neither in prison or unlawfully at large, so I’m good to go. There are a few other stipulations but, as far as I can see, nothing to say you have to be sane or intelligent.  Anyone who has observed Parliament over the years will not be surprised by this.

We have a fine tradition of joke candidates in the UK, mainly from the Monster Raving Loony Party, who have been about longer than some of the more serious parties. We also had Mr Fish Finger this year, and Lord Buckethead made another appearence.

Of course, the Americans do this sort of thing much better – the one time they had a joke candidate they elected him President.

So, with Donald Trump as my inspiration, I am seriously thinking of going into politics.

Now all I need are some policies. I’m sure I can rely on my readers to come up with some, but here are three to start.

Appoint a Minister for Books 

You know it makes sense. The world would be a better place with more books. There are many things you can do with books apart from reading them. You can build roads with them, you can use them in craft projects or you can let your imagination run riot.

Personally I would translate books and drop copies into world troublespots. After an intensive course of Paddington or Wind in the Willows I can’t see anyone feeling like committing acts of violence.

Legalise Drugs

According to a paper I’ve just been reading, if you legalise drugs you could raise £3.4 billion to £6.4 billion per annum, even after setting up and running Offdrug to supervise things.

There may be a problem persuading people that we ought to legalise drugs, and I appreciate it will be a hard sell, but just think what £3 billion will do for the NHS.

As another benefit, if we make drugs legal it’s likely that teenagers will stop taking them as it won’t upset their parents.

Regularise the legal position regarding longbows

Since the twelfth century there have been laws on providing weapons to defend the realm (Assize of Arms 1181), and laws to enforce the pracice of archery continued until at least 1541 when King Henry VIII passed  An Act for the Maintenance of Artillery, and debarring unlawful Games.

It would appear from the Internet that there is some doubt as to whether this has ever been repealed, so just to be on the safe side I would reinstate the old laws and have everyone between the ages of 14 and 60 providing their own bows and practicing for at least two hours a week. That’s everyone including women, as we have moved on from the days when only men were included.

In days of spiralling military costs and increasing wars this will allow us to provide a cost-effective Territorial Army for the 21st century.

Bearing in mind the words of Albert Einstein (“I do not know with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones”) we will, with a nation of trained archers, be well-placed to repel the post-apocalyptic monkey army or take over the remaining world.

Let’s be honest, how many political parties are planning for World War 4? Most of them are just stocking up for WW3.

As a final point, the York by-law allowing people to kill Scots carrying bows and arrows, will definitely be repealed. Unless they decide to leave the Union, in which case we may need a referendum to bring it back.

 

 

 

Pizza, Shopping and Death

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I’m not quite sure how to order the words in the title, so I settled for my order of preference. I like pizza, I sometimes like shopping, and although I’ve never tried it, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t like death.

We had the pizza at Pizza Hut in Mansfield. It was the Lunch Buffet , featuring unlimited pizza and pasta with unlimited salad. They have improved the pizza selection since last time we had it. It used to feature very dull pizzas, such as cheese and tomato and cheese tomato and onion, which always made me feel I was being short-changed. That has changed and there was an excellent selection, including Hawaiian, pepperami, chicken and bacon, BBQ and Vegetarian. There were others too, but I  forget. The salad was OK, though the bowls were small so even Julia went back for a second helping.

The trick with all you can eat buffets is stopping before you are uncomfortably full. Or is that just me? Anyway, after eating two plates of pizza and two bowls of salad I felt comfortably full, and haven’t needed much for tea.

The shopping took place at the East Midlands Designer Outlet. It’s quite good, if you like walking round lots of shops that sell things you neither need or want.  Julia bought a flask and I bought some books. No suprise there, I suppose.

Finally, death. I had a few minutes to think, whilst sitting on a bench waiting for Julia, and for some reason started thinking of living wills. They asked me if I had one when I was filling in some of the interminable paperwork in hospital last week.

I don’t, and, after looking it up and finding out what one is, I’m a bit concerned that they thought they might need it.  I’m also concerned that at the age of 59 I didn’t actually know what one was. I assumed it was a recording you could play at the funeral for the assembled family with a few jokes, a bit of poetry and some wise remarks for the kids.

It could have been quite embarrassing to have handed the NHS a DVD with a couple of jokes and some paternal advice when what they really wanted to know was if they could feed me down a tube.

I think I’ll pass on that. I’m not sure anything worth eating can be fitted down a tube, apart from porridge and very thin chips.

Politics and Cricket

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If I was more skilled, I would weave together a story about cricket and elections.

Or, to put it another way, an archaic game of complex strategy, which uses words never heard elsewhere, has just come to a conclusion nobody understands using an arcane method that many people find hard to accept.

Yes, England just beat Australia by 40 runs (calculated by the Duckworth Lewis method.

In another example of cricket mirroring life, Afghanistan just handed out a spanking to a more established country, beating the West Indies by 63 runs. I use “country” in the cricketing sense rather than  “a sovereign state and a member of the U.N in its own right.”, as they say on Pointless.

Sadly, I’m not that skilled and that’s as far as it goes.

Really I’d like to add a homilly on  walking, as it’s something some politicians could learn from cricket.

And finally, an off-colour joke about googlies and I’m done…

 

The Kings we Never Had (Part 2)

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During the Wars of the Roses a seventeen-year-old known as Edward of Westminster was killed at the Battle of Tewkesbury. He is the only Prince of Wales to have been killed in battle. That’s really the only reason I include him, because he wasn’t that important; the line of succession was seen more as a guide than a rule during the Wars of the Roses, so being Prince of Wales didn’t mean as much as it now does.

With the death of Edward and his father (Henry VI), Edward IV became king for a second time (you see why  I find the Wars of the Roses tricky?) and on his death his son, Edward V, succeeded him, though he was never crowned.  I’m not quite sure whether he was a King or not, as he’s often referred to as one of the Princes in the Tower.  Having said that, as I claimed him as a King  in an earlier post I can’t have him here too.

However, I’m on firmer ground with Edward’s brother Richard of Shrewsbury, the Duke of York.  He was definitely never a  King. I’m not even going to start on the subject of the Princes in the Tower, as plenty of people have already covered ti,  but what if  Lambert Simnel or Perkin Warbeck really was Richard?

Lambert Simnel initially claimed to be Richard but then claimed to be Edward Plantagenet, 17th Earl of  Warwick. He was only 10 years old at the time. His rebellion was crushed at Stoke Field, just outside Newark, in the last battle of the War of the Roses.

Julia took part in a re-enactment at Stoke Field before we were married. I didn’t. In the end I was proved the better judge, as I wasn’t me who ended up limping for two weeks after being hit in the ankle by a mistimed arrow. Before you ask, it had a rubber tip but still left an impressive bruise.

Simnel’s position was somewhat weakened by the fact that Edward Plantagenet was still alive, though nobody seems to have mentioned this at the time. Recognising that he had been led astray by cynical adults, Henry VII employed him as a spit turner in the kitchen, and later as a falconer.

Perkin Warbeck claimed to be Prince Richard.  He facially resembled members of the family, and may even have been one of Edward IV’s illegitimate children according to some theories. He was recognised as Richard IV by Emperor, Maximilian of the HolyRoman Empire, and formed an alliance with James IV of Scotland. In many ways he was a much more serious threat than Simnel, though he was still treated well by Henry after his capture.

He tried to escape twice, the second time in the company of Edward Plantagenet (remember him?) They were executed in November 1499,  Warbeck by hanging and Edward Plantagenet, Earl of Warwick by beheading. These social distinctions were important.

Next, we have Prince Arthur. If he’d have lived we would have been spared endless quiz questions about the six wives of Henry VIII. Arthur was seen as the great hope of the Tudors, uniting the houses of York and Lancaster, and was named after the legendary King to make his family seem more ancient. At the age of 15 he was married to Catherine of Aragon. Yes, that one. Six months later he was dead.

Catherine was a great political match so, after consultation, the parents decided that rather than waste all the arrangements they had made, she should marry his brother Henry. This needed a Papal dispensation.

Later Henry would use her marriage to his brother to obtain an anullment. If Arthur had lived, or if Henry had married someone else…

Alternative history can be so interesting. Or pointless. Without the death of Arthur we might never have had a Church of England, and I might have been writing this in Latin.

One more for this section – Henry Fitzroy, Duke of Richmond and Somerset, illegitimate son  of Henry VIII.  Henry was happy to acknowledge him, as can be seen from the fact he made him a Duke, and used him as evidence that he could father a healthy boy. There were even rumours, at one time, that the measures he was taking to secure the succession could be used to allow Henry Fitzroy to take the throne.

I’d never heard of him until I started doing the research (which is one of the things I love about blogging), but he’s interesting, as are the possible consequeness – no Armada, no Mary Queen of Scots, no Union with Scotland…

To be continued…

 

 

 

It all went rather well…

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I wasn’t really convinced it was going to happen until they called me through for the anaesthetic. At that point I started to regret being there, as I wasn’t really looking forward to having a needle shoved into my spine, followed by a laser being shoved…

Well, I think we all know where.

It turned out to be quite an good time, as the urology team are an entertaining bunch and they let me watch the screen as they pushed the camera up and had a look round the bladder. They couldn’t find them so they extracted the camera and tried a different one.

I didn’t realise that and my face must have expressed dismay as I noticed a small man walking across my bladder (which explained a few of my problems). The surgeon must have noticed this.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “they’re just changing the camera and that’s Tom walking past the lens.”

This was a relief. I  mean, I  liked the Numskulls but there is a limit.

The outcome was that the previous procedure had been done so well, despite the muttering, shoving and blood, that nothing needed doing in the urethera, which looked quite pink and healthy (yes, it was a colour camera. I was impressed.)

And the stones had disappeared. A combination of water and positive thinking seems to have done the job.  By water, I do mean a lot of water. You could have floated an aircraft carrier on the amount of water I’ve drunk in the last two months, but it seems to have worked.

So there I was, just half an hour later, all finished and on my way to a ground floor room.

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Yes, a ground floor room.

Could it get any better?

To be continued…

 

 

 

Nouvelle Cuisine and the NHS

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Yes, I was admitted, I was (finally) operated on and the food was good.

You can’t tell from the picture, but the chips were nice, the peas were tasty and the fish was excellent in its crispy coat.

However, it wasn’t large. There’s a lot of space on that small plate. Look at the fork for scale. When they uncovered it I didn’t know whether it was a starter or a cruel hoax.

Remember that I’m using my phone for taking this picture and the perspective is distorted. The chips were just average size, and there were only five of them.

 

A Start to Decluttering

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No, not the books!

 

I decided it was time to get rid of some clothes.

There were three shirts that don’t fit. I’d been hanging onto them for years, meaning to get on with the diet. There was also one that, with hindsight, had been an error of judgement. Beige with alternating shiny and matt stripes. I’m not yet ready for two-tone beige.

Two pairs  of trousers. See diet comments above.

Finally I shoved some ten-year-old vests in a bag marked “For Rags”. They are still quite wearable, but as I find myself exposing my underwear to hospital staff more regularly I’ve decided to upgrade.

It was a toss up between that or  cutting them up and composting them (they are 100% cotton so would compost down nicely) but laziness won.

In case you are wondering – yes. Cotton underwear, wool socks and leather/cotton gardening gloves have all gone through my compost bins, never to be seen again.

The theory is that by getting rid of clutter I’m going to have a better life.

 

The picture shows Julia doing the complicated bit at the clothing bank while I  sit in the car. You probably guessed that from the wing mirror.

Is this Rock Bottom?

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Julia had an email tonight.

It seems that I am not an acceptable volunteer for the garden project because working with her will produce a conflict of interests. So, not only am unemployable (due to age, health and lack of qualifications) but I can’t even give my labour away.

As if this wasn’t bad enough I then Googled “pizza gardens“. This produced many references to round gardens for growing pizza ingredients with kids. I tried “pizza beds“, which produced a selection of duvet covers with pictures of pepperoni.

This wasn’t what I was looking for, so I tried a different way – Googling “paper cardboard mulch”. That produced the result I wanted. It seems I wanted “lasagna gardening”. That’s the trouble with advancing age, all foreign food merges into one.

Not only am I unable to give my free labour away, I can no longer distinguish pizza from lasagna.

Add my medical problems and I think my situation can truly be described as rock bottom.

Having said that…