Thursday, November 04, 2010

When Chris Rea wrote "Road to Hell"...

...he must have been on the M6.

Earlier this year (in September), we travelled north from deepest Hants to watch the only league club in Manchester (a status to be lost if Oldham Athletic’s plans to move to a new stadium come to fruition) play Liverpool. Although the pleasing outcome to the game did much to lift our flagging spirits, I shuddered at the memory of the trip, and still do. I’m not good travelling at the best of times.

We left home at 11.15am on a journey which normally takes between 4 and 4½ hours and fondly imagined ourselves checking in at the Oldham Premier Inn (on Broadway, about 15 minutes from Eastlands) at around half-past three, then relaxing for an hour or so before setting off to savour at our leisure (insofar as you can relax with a stoma and a walking stick!) the new delights of City Square (around the outside of the stadium) with its selection of covered bars and cafés, live music and big screens. Instead of which, we didn’t have time to go to the hotel and had to go straight to the game, eventually (having been turned away from four full car parks and leaving the car on the pavement outside one of them) taking our seats ten minutes after kick-off; 9 hours door-to-door – hello, is that Mr Guinness?

Obviously, I hope no-one was badly injured in the accident that precipitated our misfortune (so far as I can ascertain from the Crewe Chronicle, no-one in any of the seven vehicles was) but, surprise, surprise, an HGV was involved; just do a Google search for accidents on the M6 and see how many HGVs play a part in the frightening statistics. Several incidents during the trips there and back certainly didn’t do anything to dispel the notion that the majority of HGV drivers are no longer the ‘knights of the road’ they once were; blights of the road, more like. If I wasn’t in mixed company, I’d say they were, by and large, the biggest knobheads on the roads today. Anyway, it took us 3½ hours to travel the 20 miles between Junctions 14 and 16 but I would like to take this opportunity to thank the Highways Agency for its helpful messages on the information boards as we approached our doom: “J14 - J16 Long Delays” (when we were stuck in it, I phoned my son and asked him to check the Highways Agency website; he reported that they were warning of a 1½-hour delay – blatant lie – not on my son’s part, naturally, he was brung up proper) “Caution – Spray, Slow Down” (actually it had been quite difficult to see this message because of the spray – when we were travelling fast enough to be affected by it, obviously), and as we progressed (‘progressed’ doesn’t sound quite right, somehow) through the queue: 40 – just their little joke, of course; although I did manage the 4 part once or twice.

On the day we returned home, we left Oldham at 9.15am and got home at 1.30pm.

I still hate the M6.

Hello, is that Cross Country Trains – or Virgin – or National Express - or Flybe?

Monday, November 01, 2010

Marvellous

I see the Loan Relationships and Derivative Contracts (Disregard and Bringing into Account of Profits and Losses) (Amendment) Regulations 2009 have been brought in. Doesn't it give you a nice warm feeling?

Friday, October 29, 2010

Cars and electrickery

I think there is too much of it in cars these days and our technological expertise seems to be running away from us; the more there is, the more it’s likely something will go wrong.

So it seemed to be with my 2002 Citroën Xsara Picasso with 52,000 miles on the (electronical) clock – genuine low mileage. I had decided that, because the mobility of my left leg continues to be in a state of flux and, in case it deteriorates to the extent I might find it difficult to operate the clutch pedal, I should look for an automatic. I commenced a trawl of the internet and local advertising media (the latter often containing columns in the classified ads headed “Citreon” and, in one instance “Citron” – just lemon-coloured cars in this one) finally deciding that, being part of a family of Citroën devotees, I quite fancied a C4. I found a couple quite quickly at a main agent nearby and took the Picasso (car, not painting) to let them assess its part‑exchange value and to view the aforementioned C4s. The red one was quickly dismissed (nothing red allowed in our household – surely, you don’t need to ask why) and the Arctic Grey was settled upon, 2007 1.6SX 5-door hatchback model, only one owner and 12,000 miles on the clock (electronical, obviously). The deal was struck and I arranged to collect it the following Friday.

Anyway, I cleaned the Picasso out on the Monday but, when I went to move it, it wouldn’t start (first time in eight years and it had to be this week). My friendly local mechanic, having decided it looked like an electrical fault, sent an auto‑electrician round (an expert in car electrics, not a robot), who spent some time with his diagnostic box plugged in, concluding that the fault lay with the BSI (something-or-other Systems Interface) unit which was causing the immobiliser to kick in for some reason. At this point, I must come clean and admit that, although I have had the car from new, I never knew that there was an immobiliser lurking within the vehicle’s circuitry; you learn something new every day.

So, nothing could be done to rectify the problem and, at 7.30 a.m. on the morning following the electrician's visit, I was given a rigid tow to the garage by my life-saving mechanic so they could determine how much they could fleece me to morph the car into something that moved of its own accord. They have concluded that it needs a new fuel pump, cost £316.41, inc. VAT, fitted. So that was how much the part-ex has been reduced (well, they let me off the 41p – decent of them). In view of their ultimate diagnosis, though, I just wish I hadn’t given a chap there my confident summation of the problem that had produced a fault code on the electrician’s diagnostic unit thus making them aware of a potential new problem. See? Electrickery – it trips you up.

The situation is actually not quite as bad as it sounds – I had previously managed to get the salesman to give me an additional £250 in part-exchange than he offered originally, subject to the road tax remaining (to May 2011) being part of the deal. A nice touch and, in the end, satisfaction all round.

It's a shame that, less than two weeks later, some bastard drove into the back of it while it was parked in a car park in the centre of Malmesbury, Wilts. No note under the wipers, no CCTV, no response to my whingeing letter in the North Wilts Gazette & Herald. £225, thank you very much! There goes my winter fuel allowance - I'll have to wear extra clothes now.

Sunday, August 15, 2010

Growing up

Everyone’s very communicative about their horticultural activities and, determined not to be left out, I thought I’d debrief you all on ours – when I say ours, I really mean Sheila’s, as I am no longer able to take part in anything which departs from an upright or seated position.
Take a look at the picture and I’ll guide you as best I can through the elements from left to right in a 360 degree fashion - not bad, these 10 - 22mm wide angle zooms, are they? Mine ruddy well shouldn’t be, it cost me enough; it makes the garden look bigger, though, doesn’t it?
Starting from the bed slightly north-east of the black bucket, here there be onions (mostly now harvested), leeks and a few spring onions. To the right the bunches of pink flowers are wild geraniums. Heading vaguely frontwards and inwards, round the outside interspersed with blue ageratum and more geraniums are some kind of salvia – they’re the big red buggers. In pots near the bird bath (which, annoyingly, the dog keeps drinking from, leaving masses of disgusting gob floating in it) are pelargoniums and lilies (dead).
Moving round – in the greenhouse are cucumbers, tomatoes and peppers; and heading back towards the louvre door (you haven’t seen that), there is clematis, sweet peas and fuschia, in the trough on the wall are petunias, fuschias and some white flowers which I don’t know the name of. Behind the louvre door is the ubiquitous rhubarb (yum). Things to be careful of
- The giant triffid in the greenhouse which I am expecting to walk out any day now - One of those curly hosepipes that helpfully rebounds back to the tap if you don’t keep a firm grip on it, and which gets caught on anything and everything along its length, e.g. pots, bins, buckets etc., usually knocking them over Things not to be noticed - Louvre door (tip bound - not even Freecyclers interested) - Shelf (same) - Car dog guard (used at certain times of the day at the back door to stop the dog crapping on the onions) - Weeds between flags - Ringwood Brewery parasol (ahem) So there you are.

Monday, August 02, 2010

Lege et lacrima

Today, I would like to share with you some linguistical research I have been undertaking and talk to you about (and, at several junctures, in) Latin. I hold up my hands and admit that I am not fully responsible for all of the actual translations.

Some say it’s a dead language, but only its usage is dead and I think it should be revived by dragging it into the 21st Century. It’s all very well for people like René Descartes to come up with stuff like cogito ergo sum (I think therefore I am) and in probably quite a smug way, as if to say when people looked mystified, bene, cum Latine nescias, nolo manus meas in te maculare (well, if you don't understand plain Latin, I'm not going to dirty my hands on you). Or even more ancient bores like Horace: aequam memento rebus in arduis servare mentem (remember when life's path is steep to keep your mind even). What we should be doing is looking at ways to modernise Latin which, you have to agree, has a wonderfully profound feel to it no matter what its meaning: sic transit gloria mundi (so passes the glory of the world) looks and sounds as impressively romantic as sona si latine loqueris (honk if you speak Latin) or braccae illae virides cum subucula rosea et tunica caledoniaquam eleganter concinnatur! (those green trousers go really well with that pink shirt and plaid jacket!)

There will inevitably be some drawbacks to achieving the renaissance I am advocating and I think we’ll have to forget some of the jokes that rely on the idiosyncracies of the English language as they simpy don’t translate effectively: for example, clamo, clamatis, omnes clamamus pro glace lactis (I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream) – it’s a great shame! However, this sad state of affairs is rescued to a degree by the nature of some of the more bizarre insults I’ve come across in my research, apparently in common use in the ancient Roman culture: such as mater tua criceta fuit, et pater tuo redoluit bacarum sambucus (your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries); or ripostes to recalcitrant Roman teenagers: antiquis temporibus, nati tibi similes in rupibus ventosissimis exponebantur ad necem (in the good old days, children like you were left to perish on windswept crags).

It would be nice to be able to cover many of life’s modern eventualities with a choice Latin phrase; here is a selection of some common ones: Balaenae nobis conservandae sunt! (Save the whales!); Braccae tuae aperiuntur (Your flies are undone); Capillamentum? Haudquaquam conieci esse! (A wig? I never would have guessed!); Catapultam habeo. Nisi pecuniam omnem mihi dabis, ad caput tuum saxum immane mittam (I have a catapult. Give me all your money, or I will propel an enormous rock at your head); Da mihi sis bubulae frustrum assae, solana tuberosa in modo gallico fricta, ac quassum lactatum coagulatum crassum (Give me a hamburger, french fries, and a thick milk shake); Die dulci freure (Have a nice day); Ducator meus nihil agit sine lagunculae leynidae accedunt (My calculator does not work without batteries); Duco ergo sum (I calculate therefore I am); Cogito ergo doleo (I think therefore I am depressed); Veni vidi visa (I came, I saw, I shopped); Interdum feror cupidine partium magnarum europe vincendarum (Sometimes I get this urge to conquer large parts of Europe).

So why not join me in attempting to revive a flagging interest in the language and bring it into everyday conversation? When you need an excuse to leave, say Cum homine de cane debeo congredi (Excuse me, I've got to see a man about a dog); after you’ve tried to contact someone unsuccessfully: Sane ego te vocavi. Forsitan capedictum tuum desit (I did call. Maybe your answering machine is broken); when you want to make a wise pronouncement at a summer barbecue party with friends: Animadvertistine, ubicumque stes, fumum recta in faciem ferri? (Have you ever noticed how, wherever you stand, the smoke goes right into your face?); or just an introductory platitude (definitely not a chat-up line, though) Vidistine nuper imagines moventes bonas? (Seen any good movies lately?). On the subject of movies, wouldn’t it be much better if the dialogue was in Latin? "Certe, toto, sentio nos in kansate non iam adesse" ("You know, Toto, I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore"); Credidi me felem vidisse! (I tought I taw a puddy tat!); Me transmitte sursum, caledoni (Beam me up, Scotty).

By the way, the heading means “read it and weep” - possibly a warning too late!

Sunday, May 09, 2010

Back in the forest

Hello, everyone, I’m home! A few more entries from the diary of medical history to sum up where we are. All did not go as smoothly as one might have hoped!

Monday April 26th – had anterior resection and temporary ileostomy (apparently). Surgeons say the operation was very successful; spend the next few days recovering and trying to count the number of holes that have been made in my skin.

Friday April 30th – I get the word I am to be allowed home today and, having phoned Sheila to tell her, I walk to the ward window to admire the view of the Wiltshire hills in the distance, which is a bit difficult as this is obscured by three massive air ducts and the hospital laundry. Experience a severe posterior epistaxis – sounds better than a “bad nosebleed” doesn’t it? Following a traumatic visit to ENT, I am told I have to stay in. Epistaxis occurs on two further occasions, the second resulting in the on call Registrar having to drive from Southampton to take charge, and a tranfusion of two units of blood.

Saturday May 1st – Am taken by ambulance to Southampton Hospital (“blue-lighted”, I understand! Exciting, eh? Not.) Spend a total of four days (and as many sleepless nights) in Ward F5, not being allowed to eat or drink anything hot because of the epistaxis thing, and not being allowed out of bed.

Wednesday May 5th – I can go!! They tell me at 1.30pm and I ring Sheila with the good news. She arrives at 3.25pm, having queued for 40 minutes to get into the car park, I get dressed, and all we have to do is wait for my sack of medication to come up from Pharmacy. We manage to get away at 6.05pm. No, don’t say it, I already have.

Friday May 7th – Post-op clinic appointment with consultant who confirms that the tumour was self-contained and had not spread to the lymph nodes. The pathologist, however, spotted some minor microscopic vascular invasion which may or may not require chemo. This is up to the oncologist, who I’m seeing next week. So there it is. For the record, and for about two weeks following discharge, I have to:

(1) Avoid blowing my nose
(2)
Avoid picking my nose (as if I would)
(3)
Avoid strenuous exercise (damn!)
(4) Avoid lifting heavy weights, such as a full kettle (it says that – honest!) (5) Keep baths/showers cool (sod off!)
(6)
Avoid bending over (wilco)
 
See you soon!

Thursday, April 22, 2010

Don't say the C word

I've thought long and hard about this, but have decided to share some recent diary entries with you.

12th March, 10.30 - Go to medical centre and have routine blood test for diabetic check; nurse spots the angry red itchy rash at the bottom of my right arm and makes an appointment with the doc at 5pm the same day.

12th March, 17.00 - See doc, who prescribes penicillin, special soap, skin cream and strong steroid ointment. He asks if I have any other problems and I mention one or two toiletry issues. Before I realise what's happening, he dons plastic gloves, pokes his fingers up my backside and refers me to the bum department at Salisbury Horsepiddle.

22nd March, 11.00 - Have barium enema (*knock knock* - is that a friend or an enema? The old ones are the best) which, if you weren't aware, is quite horrible.

22nd March, 15.00 - Hospital rings to say I have to go back and see the consultant surgeon - "there's a problem".

26th March, 10.30 - See consultant (she is a very lovely person, by the way) who says there is a tumour lurking in the lower bowel and it is cancerous (how did I know she was going to tell me that?). Best case scenario - we cut the little bastard out and rejoin the bowel, but first I must have scans to find out if it has spread to other organs.

1st April, 11.00 - Have MRI and CT scans and spend the days following in a hell in which I am convinced that every spot, mole, ache and pain is raging cancer.

8th April, 12.30 - Consultant tells me it hasn't spread. Am a bit relieved. I then have an examination and biopsies under anaesthetic to determine whether or not the best case scenario mentioned earlier can happen. The consultant comes to the recovery ward to tell me that it can. I kiss her - I did ask permission first.

15th April, 12.00 - I now have a date for the operation - 26th April - and, today, the consultant fills me in on what will happen. I will have to have one of them bags (*groan*) but only for a temporary period and, possibly chemotherapy afterwards. I then go to see one of the stoma care nurses (the consultant calls them bag ladies) with whom I spend a happy hour going over some practicalities. She was very forthright and words like 'wee' and 'poo' slip glibly off her tongue.

25th April, 15.00 - I go to the horsepiddle, have a blood-thinning injection, go home and return on the morrow for the surgery, following which I'll be in for four or five days, then signed off for two weeks. Good job my employer now has a sick pay scheme!

I feel like I've been in a whirlwind; still, given the alternative, I should think myself lucky. See you again soon.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Spring Has Sprung








You'll all know that Stu had to stop running the Tuesday Challenge for work-related reasons. Well, Jonathan Gazeley, a regular contributor, kindly offered to step into the breech to host a new weekly challenge and jolly good it is, too! It's now up to #20, this week's subject being "Spring Has Sprung". So, armed with an idea (and a new digital SLR), I went out yesterday to search for Spring foals in the New Forest. I only saw one and it was lovely; however, there was nowhere to stop the car and, by the time there was room, it was too far away for my poor old leg to cope! Anyway, I took some more piccies and, after much umming and aahing, eventually narrowed it down to one from the three up there ^^. I chose the top one, hoping that lazing around in the late April sunshine was normal Spring behaviour for deer in the New Forest. Please tell me I was right!

Sunday, February 14, 2010

I'm addicted...

...to this. Don't blame me!

Sunday, February 07, 2010

Panic on the second floor

I know a lot of you are pretty familiar with some quite intimate details about me - OCD sock-folding and the like - and I hesitate to provide a further insight into the murky depths of my life, not to mention further ammunition for certain people to extract the *ahem* compost accelerator. Oh well, whatever.

Those of you who were at the Annual Dinner of the association that employs me will have seen – and no doubt admired from a distance (that location seemingly being preferable to some philistines) – the new snazzy waistcoat. I confess I like snazzy waistcoats, but there was a special reason for its last minute purchase the day before I travelled to Blackpool.

It’s my practice to try on the suit (yes,
the suit, weddings, funerals, Annual Dinner) well before the trip, but I let things slip a bit – including a chunk of midriff as it turned out – and I hurriedly acquired some trouser waist extenders. I tried one on and soon realised that, even with a belt to cover up the buttonhole flap (aptly named as, unfettered, that’s what it did), the whole mechanism was untidy at best and unruly at worst, not to mention the zip problem. What? No, I said not to mention it. So, I had the brainwave of the snazzy waistcoat to cover the whole sorry mess up. I think I might have got away with it – until now, of course.

Anyway, to those few who were rather rude about it (“does your Mum know you nicked one of her tablecloths?”, “has someone been sick down your shirt?”, “why are you wearing a deck-chair?”) I would say that, sadly, style is obviously a concept entirely unfamiliar to you.
Oh yes, the panic. After stepping out of the shower about three quarters of an hour before going down to the wine reception, I realised I couldn’t find the very useful padded hinged box that I had brought as a convenient receptacle for a few small items. It took me thirty of those precious minutes to find it in the very safe place I had hidden it by which time I was very hot and bothered and my three-quarters-packed suitcase (forward planning - leaving the next morning) had reverted back to its empty state.

At first I thought the box had been stolen and I have to admit my fear was not for the loss of the solid gold matching cufflink and tie-clip set my Nan had given me for my 21st birthday, or the expensive gold neck chain Sheila had bought me for Christmas, but the trouser waist extender!
Here's a little tip: if you’ve got a memo facility on your phone, add things to it like seekrit hiding places, Chinese takeaway order numbers (don’t ask), PINs (disguised and hidden inside other characters), and items of shopping your wife asks you to get in Sainsbo’s while you’re in town. I know I can rely on you to keep these revelations to yourselves!

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

Extended training session

We had tickets for the first leg of the Carling Cup semi-final for last Wednesday evening at the City of Manchester Stadium but, of course, it was postponed because of some weather or something (tickets still valid for the rescheduled game on Tuesday 19th - more travelling).

This did not prevent me braving the elements on Wednesday morning (actually, at that time, there weren’t any elements) as Sheila was already at her mother’s in Manchester and I was packed and ready to go. Chaos reigned at Bournemouth railway station: trains between Bournemouth and Waterloo (both ways) were being delayed up to 1 hour 12 minutes – somewhat daunting when you consider the total journey time averages only about 1¾ hours - and platform changes abounded, including for my train which involved the rather comical spectacle of me trying to run through the subway to Platform 3 with 4 minutes to spare! When I arrived, the departure board had indicated that the 09:45 to Manchester Piccadilly was ON TIME but every announcement on the PA system seemed to be prefaced by the words: “We are very sorry to inform passengers for the....” and the nearer it got to 09:45, the more apprehensive I became. In the event, we were only 15 minutes late setting off and, despite the increasing arctic conditions the further northish we progressed (and this was between Bournemouth and Southampton, not the real north!), the adverse weather didn’t seem to hinder the train’s speed that much and we made good headway. Until Wolverhampton, that is, when the train manager (guard, in my day) announced: “I’m sorry to report [here we go again] that we will be delayed here indefinitely due to a suspected suicide on the track between here and Stafford, in the Penkridge area...” It could only happen to me! Anyway, as it was the first time I had been able to get a signal on my broadband dongle, I did over an hour’s work while we were stationary - see what I did there?

I arrived at Piccadilly a couple of hours late in the end, but in one piece, well, ¾ of a piece – don’t forget the dodgy leg – and a very nice (brave) taxi driver conveyed me to my mother-in-law’s in Middleton (Rochdale) along snow-covered roads. And my dongle carried on working! Ironically, the journey back home last Sunday took less time than it usually does - just 4 hours!