august book and film review

Welcome to this month's book and film review.

BOOKS

THE DIARY OF A YOUNG GIRL, by Anne Frank. Probably the most famous diary ever written, and is indeed a powerful testament of youth by a talented and skillful writer. But the thing I couldn't escape from, reading her accounts of the oppression of the Jews in occupied Holland, the restriction of movement, the careless brutality, was the feeling that this is precisely the same plight facing the Palestinian people under the military occupation by Israel. I don't think Anne would have approved. She believed fervently in freedom of expression, freedom of movement and the right to self determination.
FLAUBERT'S PARROT, by Julian Barnes. The back-cover blurb said Graham Greene loved it, that John Fowles loved it. Well, I'm sorry, but I didn't. Yes, there's a lot of fascinating material about the great man himself, but it's all a bit turgid. And the afterthought at the end about the author's (Barnes) wife's death was for me, quite superfluous.
THE LOST HONOUR OF KATHARINA BLUM, by Heinrich Boll. Now here's a bit of real quality, a strange tale, told almost in the manner of a police report, of a how a young woman comes to murder a harassing journalist.
THE AGE OF REASON, by Jean-Paul Sartre. Last year I read spellbound his debut novel "Nausea" and thought I should look at his magnum opus, his "Roads to Freedom" trilogy. My effort has been well rewarded: this first part is superb, dark, dangerous and sexy. Like the author himself, apparently...

FILMS

THE CRUSADES (1935) d- Cecil B de Mille. De Mille loved the big canvas, and to him, spectacle was always more important than historical accuracy- never more so than here, where he paints the story as having Saladin fall for Richard's wife- wah?
JULIET OF THE SPIRITS (1964) d- Federico Fellini. Fellini's wild, hallucinatory ride through the weird, psychic world of his heroine, once again played by his own wife, Guilietta Massini. Quite marvellous.
VENGEANCE IS MINE (1965) d- Imamura Shohai. Based on a real case of a psychopathic murderer in post war Japan, it is authentic-looking and strong, though perhaps a little bleak- but that's Japanese cinema for you...
THE INNOCENTS (1976) d- Luchino Visconti. Visconti's last film, a sumptuously produced tale of adultery set among Italy's fin de siecle glitterati. It looks quite stunning from first frame to last.
PRECIOUS (2009) w-d- Lee Daniels. A disturbing and powerful tale of an abused girl in New York. The domestic scenes are extremely well drawn, if the scenes at school are less convincing. Above all, a tremendous acting performance from the lead, Gabourly Sidibe, but also from Mo'nique, who plays her sadistic, but also damaged, mother.
THE BIG NIGHT (1951)d-Joseph Losey. J Drew Barrymore sees his father humiliated and vows revenge. It threatens to be classy, but the script lets it down badly.
ADVENTURELAND d- Greg Matola. Yet another one of those "coming of age" movies so beloved of Hollywood; this one made me think (because of Kristin Stewart) of "Twilight without the vampires"- sorry about that guys...
DISTRICT 13 ULTIMATUM (2009) d- Patrick Allessandrini. The first one was terrific fun, full of energy and excitement and these qualities are very much maintained in this new offering. You guys rock!

good bank holiday mumday

I am thinking of writing a story centred around a plane crash that occurred not far from here in 1950. I got the idea from a patient who was one of the first on the scene in his capacity as a fireman.

So today, under brilliant blue skies, as it was on the day of the crash as it happens, we visited the field where it came down 60 years ago, just to taste the atmosphere, if any. It seemed untroubled, the field now occupied only by a few of what looked like traveller's horses. After a brandy and dry ginger in a local pub we also checked out an ancient healing well nearby (my favoutite wells are ones you can immerse yourself in, but this one had a padlocked gate)

Later in the afternoon I talked to my mum on the phone, who seemed, apart from her failing memory of course, almost miraculously restored from yesterday. What a difference a day makes!

weepy sunday

Today my wife, her dad and I go out to the coast to have lunch with my mum and also my older brother who has come up from Kent for the weekend. But when I arrive she is sipping at some tomato soup reluctantly and looks grey and weak. She can't possibly come with us. So the 4 of us make a hasty exit and have our meal in a nearby restaurant. Over the course of the meal we discuss what is to be done about mum, who has been "feeling sick for a month" and allegedly lost a stone in weight. I say "we discuss", though my F in law is in no position to contribute meaningfully. He actually seems to fall asleep briefly 2 or 3 times while in the course of eating his meal.

Back home I insist to my mum that she tells her own doctor about these developments, and she says "But I don't look too bad, do I?"
"Mum, you look terrible"
At this she bursts into floods of tears. I have to bring the others in to confirm, one by one, that she doesn't look at all well. Not the F in law, though. He fell asleep while holding his cup of coffee and dropped the whole thing in his lap. Fortunately it was only tepid by the time the incident took place.

All in all, I was relieved to get back on my sofa again and watch some more Buffy.

the benefits of primary water

Up early this morning to take our annual plunge in "the boy's pool", a beautiful little plunge pool high in the cascade of waterfalls that mark the high waters of the river Tawe in the heart of the Brecon Beacons. As usual it was a powerful, enriching moment as the waters closed, if only briefly, over one's head. The power of conquering that person within who just wants to be comfortable all day long, of showing him the merit of ordeal over coziness. Some of the guilt and other negative feelings I have built up are washed away in the rush of frigid, but dazzling water. And the feeling as you clamber out of the pool and handed a towel is quite indescribably wonderful.

Afterwards, we scatter a handful of "Jellie Bellie" brand jellybeans around the pool. They were a favourite of his; almost an obsession sometimes. I call out in a loud voice:

"Hey, son! Enjoy these!"

Some people believe there is something special about spring water, before it has joined a larger system and been "corrupted" by mixing with water that has already been altered by its contact with civilisation. They call it "primary water". Perhaps there is some inneffable quality in its purity that renders it beneficial to human health, physically, and perhaps spritually too. Pretty far out stuff, huh?. Well it is a very early Sunday morning.
By the way, apologies for the tardiness of my posting today.

dark day bright

So. Four years on from that terrible day when we found our boy sitting comfortably in his armchair, watching BBC 2 but dead, very dead; moreover, as it was plain to see, for several days. We had visited in the previous days, but on seeing his bike not there had assumed he wasn't in. Later we discovered his bike, which despite my warnings to him had been left unlocked, and had been stolen. Then began the horror: the screaming, the wailing and weeping, the despair and the emptiness. He was gone, my only son, my only genetic link to the future, the boy I hardly knew but so desperately wanted to. A future where that was possible had been so cruelly snatched from my grasp.

4 years on the feelings have moderated, as they must. But the sense of despair and emptiness remains, a daily companion to each and every day. My life is not destroyed, but has been seriously handicapped, like losing a limb or a lung, or both. I am diminished in my spirit, my inner self. I go on, because I will not voluntarily give up the gift of life, but it now seems a rather shallow gift, like a last minute present secured at an airport shop, not really something to be treasured by the recipient; more to be tucked away in a cupboard and forgotten.

These days I am getting better at "faking it"; putting over the atmosphere that I am OK, that I am coping, even that I am enjoying life. Sometimes I fake it so well I even persuade myself that it isn't too bad: drugs and alcohol help, as do reading, writing, good music or cinema. Oh yes, and juggling. So don't worry too much: compared with an awful lot of people I know, I really am OK. I am the walking wounded, but they are still allowed to join the battle, aren't they?

slightly better day; worse tomorrow

The 2nd day of my "staycation", but I still go into the surgery to work on one of the hated audits, this time on whether we are treating our arthritics optimally. Turns out, we could do better. Also I finally found my new password, but was still unable to save any new material. I'll have to go into work again tomorrow and have my partner explain it to me. Fortunately, she's a patient sort of girl.

Tomorrow will be the 4th anniversary of my son's death. On Saturday we will go up into the high mountains and bathe in a plunge-pool in his memory. I'll feel better after that, but tomorrow is going to be a tough day. I intend to fill it with academic work, juggling, reading and Buffy. Wish me luck...

buffy saves the day

I should have been entering data on my appraisal database today, but was unable, frustratingly, to get in. They may have changed the system somehow; I'm not sure.

So I got on with other projects, but eventually took solace in my stacked series of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. My brother and his wife recommended it to me originally, some years ago, though I passed on it at the time. Their suggestion was in itself a bit surprising, as usually they were more at home with an art house movie or a spot of baroque music. However, having watched 4 episodes today, I'm beginning to see what they mean. It's sexy, sparky, quite well written and really rather fun. You go, Buffy!

vomity cat

My wife was out of the house by 7 this morning to get to work early, while I was looking forward to a relaxed couple of hours au lit before going for my sandblasting session at the dental hygienist's. One of my cats came upstairs to join me for his customary morning stroke, but then vomited copiously all over the (fairly fresh)duvet cover. Jumping off the bed, he then reprised his performance on the carpet. In a flash I leaped out of bed, removed the cover and, having scraped off the solid material (completely unaltered pouch as far as I could discern)put it straight into the wash. Then back upstairs to clean the carpet. Then I hung the duvet on the line, which in the very brisk breezes predominating today, was dry in 2 hours and ready to put back on the bed.

And the cat? Seemed fine; certainly ate his lunch with enthusiasm and failed to see it again.

And my teeth? My wife's verdict: she couldn't tell the difference. What's the point? I wonder...

it's all about risk

Recently my partner gave me the tip of showing people their 10 year forecast of cardiovascular risk. The computer uses data of age, BMI (Body Mass Index), drinking and smoking habit, cholesterol level and of course blood pressure. It crunches the numbers and comes up with a percentage risk of a "cardiovascular event" (stroke or heart attack) occurring in the next 10 years. A patient this afternoon, an old friend and, as it happens, with similar indices to myself except that he is 3 years younger. His score came in at 19%
"A little bit too high, wouldn't you say?" I offered.
"Yes, I think so too" was his response.

We spent the next 15 minutes working out how he can get the figure down to 10%. What I'll do about my own (which is 22%, mainly due to my heavy smoking) is another matter entirely...

psych psych psych

I saw my shrink on Friday; I have had a regular 2-monthly appointment with him since my boy died. He is an ex-military man (though it doesn't show, I have to say)whose PhD was on the subject of post traumatic stress, on which he is now considered a world authority. But he is also invariably warm and kind. He is not particularly sophisticated intellectually though, and I sometimes think he is slightly in awe of my more rounded cultural background.

I wasn't sure what to say to him this time; after all, you can't really go to your psychiatrist and say you're fine, can you? But I found something to offer him: a dream I had recently which disturbed me more for its aftermath than the dream itself.

In my dream my boy was still alive, around the age of 17. It is mid-afternoon, and I have discovered him in his bedroom, still lying in bed. I take a pop at him for his laziness and fecklessness.
"You're just wasting your life like this" I tell him.
"You lie in bed all day then go out and get rat-arsed with your low-life friends all night. What sort of a life is that?"
Then my wife, who is also present, gets into her own stride and tells him what she thinks of him in no uncertain terms, at which point he flies into a rage and begins screaming abuse at her.
"I don't care what you say" he yells. "You're not even my proper mum!"
At which point she bursts into tears and runs from the room. Then I wake up.
My very first waking thought is of utter horror: how can I go on like this? This is unendurable! Then I realize it was a dream, and next, to my absolute mortification I am aware that I am actually relieved he is dead. For though dreams are supposed to be divorced from reality, this one had a terrible atmosphere of authenticity about it. For several days afterward, I am gripped in a stark, unremitting stranglehold of guilt. But my shrink comes through, giving me permisson to have these feelings. I sometimes think that all counselling and psychotherapy is nothing more than giving people permission to feel the things they do, and I leave the session feeling much improved, which, I guess, is the object of the exercise.

saturday whinge

Yesterday evening, just as I was arriving home from the shrink's, a passing car pulled up quickly in front of me as I was about to cross the road, and came to a halt squarely in the middle of the road. It was one of my patients who lives nearby.

"Hiya, doc. How are ya you doing? Look, there was something I just wanted to ask you"

I gestured both ways, indicating that traffic had now, fairly patiently as it happened, built up in both directions.
"I'll pull in over here", she said and sped over to a parking place just up the road.
I joined her at the kerbside and leaned over to her window.
"So, what's up?"
"Well it's about me HRT. I was wondering--"
At this point I shrugged my shoulders, raised my hands out wide on both sides, palms upward, and then let out a sound out like this:
"Phmeh"
She started again, but a little more quickly this time, I repeated the gesture.
"Oh, and wait, I think I might have got something in my eye"
I was on this one in a flash.
"Phmeh"
"What's the problem, doc? It's just people talking in the street"
"No it isn't" I replied, and walked away. Then I sensed she was watching me to see which house I was going to enter, so I walked down the street the wrong way until I could see that she had gone.

I thought this a quite shamelessly cynical encroachment on my privacy. And I think my (very justifiable) show of disdain was another example in a growing trend as I approach my retirement. Lately, I have told one or two people more or less what I think of them, so I should be careful to show some restraint, even at this late stage. This is risk taking behaviour, a little step more and it becomes reckless. The next step is dangerous. I will be careful, I promise...

humid = bad?

"Weather warnings" for heavy and persistent rain were predicted for our region today, but in the event it remained dry until lunchtime and has precipitated only fitfully from then on. But all day it has been very warm and humid; really rather pleasant actually. Some people, a lot of weather forecasters among them, might disagree with this sentiment, but for my money this has been a good summer's day.

My wife had a shock today. Her father failed to recognise her for the first time in her life. It had to happen some time, presumably, but I was astonished nonetheless. Then it dawned on us both: she had been to the hairdresser's that morning and had had a lot of length taken off it. When your brain's slowly turning to mush that's all it takes, apparently...

OPH rage

I am called to see an elderly man at a nearby OPH. The story is that his scrotum is swollen and infected "with pus everywhere". When I examine him I find his scrotum is indeed enlarged, but this is a long term problem which is reviewed regularly by the hospital people who indeed saw him only last week and, moreover, were completely relaxed about. As for infection, there is so sign of any that I can discern.

I go outside and find the manager who is on a fag break.
"When I arrived you told me you were our practice's biggest fans. Well, I have to tell you the feeling isn't reciprocated. This is the second time in just a few weeks you have called our practice unnecessarily, and that isn't good enough"
"OK, that's fine"
"You call that fine? Well, this must be a new definition of the word "fine" I was not previously aware of. It isn't fine. No, I'll tell you what it is: It's sub-optimal management.

And with that I stalked off, seething with rage and determined to cut them off if they persist in this "call the doctor on the slightest pretext" policy. There are plenty of other practices in the city they can register their clients with if needs be. I've had enough.

alcohol fume

Blog followers may recall that I swapped my baby clinics so I would avoid the one next week which I would have to have done without my nurse's assistance. Today's clinic was remarkably quiet and notable only for the appearance of one of my troupe of alcoholic patients.

He turns up, interestingly, in an ambulance, which he had called earlier. He had refused to let them take him to hospital, but somehow had persuaded them to bring him to my surgery. He is preceded by the ambulance man, who tells me that he had told them he had earlier called a taxi to take him to the local offy to secure his booze supply! When the man himself plumped himself down in the patient's chair I can tell you I was not best pleased with his performance that day, and told him so in no uncertain terms.
"What were you expecting me to do for you today" was a question I asked him repeatedly, but got no coherent answer- hardly surprising in view of his state of almost terminal intoxication.
"OK then doc, could you at least give me your arm while I get up? I'm not too perky on my pins at the moment"
"No, I'm sorry, I can't help you there, I'm afraid. I've got a bad back myself and I don't want to risk it"
He did, however manage to struggle to his feet by his own efforts and get to the waiting room where I did do him the small favour of summoning a taxi on his behalf -though not paying for it; that would be a bridge too far.

computer glitch

I arrive at work today to be told that I cannot use my room, because the engineer fitting our new telephone system drilled through my computer cable, so I had to use another room. This works, but is distinctly suboptimal for obvious reasons. I take everything I think I need from upstairs, but throughout the afternoon I have to send for things I have forgotten to bring with me.

COMMENT

People aren't forking out for the Pakistan flood disaster anything like as much as was hoped or expected. Why so? Is it something to do with Cameron suggesting the Pakistani leadership is friends with the Taliban behind closed doors? Or is it "donation burnout"? Or is it the fact that as most of the crucial road bridges have been washed away, it is virtually impossible for aid to get to where it is needed, even if the donations were there?

I think it might have something to do with the fact that people are catching on to the grim reality that only a tiny percentage of aid actually reaches the people who are most in need of it, because the vast majority gets hived off by corrupt officials and other criminal elements. This has been shown most dramatically in Haiti, where there was a huge response from the international community, but 8 months later, hardly any has reached the shattered population of that awful, tragic country.

vengeance is mine

I've done it. After nearly 2 months of careful consideration, I have written to the man in Ulster who insulted my wife. Just to refresh the memory, we turned up at the house next door to our B and B by mistake. Upon asking the occupant if we had arrived at "Shola Cottage" (for that was its name)my wife was fixed with a look of utter contempt and asked:
"Does this look like a cottage to you?" And with that the turned his back on us and walked back into his house.
True, it was quite a large house, though the "cottage" itself turned out to be a large, 8 room house on 2 floors. Later on I discovered that Mr Rude was in fact a GP.
So today, I wrote him a letter, one doctor to another. I took him to task for his arrogance and reminded him that doctors have a duty to treat members of the public with respect. Finally, I offered him some advice (and here I quote):
"1. Put less food in your mouth [he was enormously fat]
2. Moderate the less pleasant aspects of your personality when dealing with the public"

Revenge, I say, is best served after long and careful thought...

a walk in the sun

Conditions being better today, though remaining very humid, we set out for what I call my "2 hills walk", about 9K with a total ascent of about 300 metres. This only entails a 20 mile drive, as opposed to the 90-odd we would have driven yesterday, so it is a greener option. But we have resolved to do that walk for real in the next few weeks.

On our return home I find my neighbour has cut our (shared) front lawn. I was beginning to get a little worried about this as I have cut it 3 times this year to his none, and I was thinking of confronting him with these facts and saying something like "3 to nothing: that's a bit unequal, isn't it?" and see what he would have to say about it. I am rather relieved I don't have to, I must say.

weather foils travel plans

Today we were fixed for a long walk in the mountains to find a remote standing stone, but this morning the skies were heavily overcast and it was raining fitfully in very humid conditions. We are both equipped with wet weather gear since our holiday in the Lake District demanded we be suitably equipped. But to be truthful we didn't really feel like it.

So I did a 20 minute juggling practice session instead and followed that with a mini-workout with my hand weights, before getting on with my reading, while meanwhile my wife went shopping.

Then my mum rang to say she had fainted and was now terribly dizzy following a doubtless manic session of tidying prior to the expected visit of a favourite niece. My first instinct on hearing a report like this, which I do quite often, is to say something like:
"Look mum, if you can't hack it by yourself you'll have to go and live in an old people's home"
But I forbore from this rather unsympathetic, if realistic comment. Instead I told her to take a stemetil (a powerful anti nausea drug which she has in the house) and go and lie down for a couple of hours. And indeed, a couple of hours later she rang again to say she was now feeling fine and was about to drive to the local Sainsbos for some supplies. What a wind-up!

bovver gulls part deux

I reported recently how seagulls in our street had taken to mobbing passers-by and indeed any moving thing that they viewed as a potential threat to their young. Now they appear implicated in a new development: raiding the black bags put out on rubbish collection day. For some weeks I had noticed that some time in the night before rubbish collection, someone, or something, had ripped open dozens of bags up and down the street, strewing the rotting contents over the pavements. I had assumed it was one, or perhaps a group of indigent denizens of our community, perhaps illegal immigrants on their last reserves. I might have had some sympathy with their plight, but their selfishness in leaving such an appalling mess every week overcame that emotion with ease: how could anyone be so selfish, or indeed so desperate, as to behave in such a way?

Then earlier this week my wife provided the answer: it was the gulls, moving from one bin-bag to the next, expertly slicing them open to inspect the contents, and extremely resistant to any attempt at shooing them away. Well, now we know.

COMMENT

Speaking of selfish behaviour, how about the latest breed of copper thieves? Recently, my wife's return from London on the train was delayed for over 2 hours because someone had made away with all the copper wiring from a vital switching station at West Drayton. Numerous other train journeys that afternoon were also affected, delaying thousands of hapless travellers.

Yesterday we learned that a delightful little bronze stature by Goscombe John, which had been standing unmolested in a city centre park for over 100 years, had been hacked off at the ankles and carried away to the smelters. Thus a piece of art that had given pleasure to thousands for over a century was reduced to ingots in minutes, for the sake of perhaps £400. This is a sickening crime, a slap in the face for a whole city. Do the thieves care about that? Do they fuck.

This of course is all about the rapidly spiralling value of copper, as world demand for its use in electronic equipment outstrips the rate of production. Think about that the next time you go into town and buy your ipad or wide screen TV...

rude doc post script

Today I spoke to my staff about what happened yesterday, and I am given more detail on the family in question and their behaviour prior to my arrival. It seems the 2 year old boy was given free rein to wander about upstairs, moving furniture, going ino the secretary's room (strictly off limits to patients) and other general mayhem he caused. Thus my remark to dad, which clearly implied he was not exerting suitable control of his child had hit home in a most unpleasant way, hence his annoyance at my simple statement of fact. No one likes to hear their inadequacy nailed in such a simple, yet emphatic way, and he couldn't cope with this. My PA's verdict was:
"Looks like they're good candidates for supernanny"

Actually I've often thought my own family would have benefited enormously from supernanny's intervention; indeed, so would most of the families I know. Parenting is by far the most difficult thing I have ever done; much harder than say, getting through medical school. In fact I often wonder if I had done a better job my lad might still be alive today, though my wife, and the recorded facts, would disagree. Still, I can't help thinking...

a very rude doctor

This morning I see a whole family together. While I am looking at the baby, dad watches the two-year old. He makes no move when the child begins to jump up and down on my weighing scales. I say to dad:
"Could you stop him doing that please? Those scales are very sensitive and cost a lot of money"

Now I should point out here that most parents will shoo their children away from the scales (which do seem to have a magnetic attraction for little ones)without any bidding from me, and 90% of those who are asked will immediately comply. But this father fixed me with a gaze of consummate hostility and said:
"You know, you're a very rude doctor"
"You think that's rude?" I asked, genuinely surprised, as I was happy there had been no edge in my voice when I made my request. But then I suddenly realized I didn't care how he answered me, and did not pay any attention to his response.

juggle city

Last night my wife informed me that she has already told the people at the SOS children's village in Bethlehem that I WILL be performing for them when we go over in October. I have already put in about 3 hours of practice in July, and this morning I renewed my efforts with another 20 minute session. I shall keep it simple: a handful of 3 ball tricks including my personal favourite, the head-catch, followed by a quick demonstration of 4 balls and then finish off with the famous "eating an apple" trick (if indeed they do have apples there)- which always goes down well and has the additional virtue of being fairly easy.

I will have to dispense with my normal patter, however, as my Arabic is non existent beyond "mish moushkala" which means "no problem", "shukran" (thank you), "La shukran" (no thanks)and "yalla" which means "let's go!"
I need hardly add that with the odd exception, no one there speaks any English. But then juggling is a language which transcends all cultural barriers, so perhaps I'll be OK in the event.

pedant's corner

Good news everyone! I found my GPS, lurking under a pile of clothes on the "pile of clothes chair" in my bedroom. And I can also report that my wife was gracious in the face of my stupidity.

SPECIAL SUPPLEMENT

WHAT GRINDS MY GEARS IN THE SPEAKING OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE

I really have to get this off my chest. What follows is a series of examples of how even quite intelligent people mangle the language today.
1. "Sickth" The way people, especially sports commentators for some reason, pronounce "sixth". I swear the other day I heard someone on Eurosport pronounce "six" as "sick" I hope I misheard, though I fear I did not.
2. "To be honest" To be honest, this irritates me considerably. People put this in before the start of nearly every sentence, which then, when they do not, invites one to enquire whether their last statement was actually dishonest, because it didn't come with the prefix in question.
3. Unnecessary extra words. There are several examples of this, eg:
a) "the reasons why" Why add the why? To give a reason IS to say why in the first place.
b) Return back (or deliver back) the back is irrelevant. You return to a place or you go back there. Return back is not necessary.
c) I intend ON doing something. why the on? what's the point?
d) the patient self discharged himself, or the patient self harmed herself. I mean, this is a no brainer if I ever saw one, but I've heard many nurses and indeed doctors say this. Idiots!
e)Very unique. Unique means "the only one" Now tell me, how can you be "very the only one"? This is in such common use in America you could put it in your PhD thesis on English grammar and it wouldn't raise an eyebrow. Why not?
f) irregardless. A word that does not exist in the English language. I recently heard an eminent consultant use the "word" 3 times in the same lecture, and when I challenged him about his use of a "non word" afterwards he couldn't even remember saying it. Gah!

Thanks for your forbearance. I feel much better now.

sunday world of confusion

After arriving home from the party last night I continued to become a little more intoxicated. Now this morning, a little hung over, I cannot find my GPS. I ransacked the house (albeit in somewhat obfuscated state) and when I reached the point of looking in all the places I had already looked in a few minutes earlier, I accepted my folly and gave it up. I do know it's in the house, because I clearly remember playing with it late last night, so I am confident it will turn up. In the interim, I will have to continue using the maps I have relied on all my life, and which indeed I had to yesterday as well.

No, what I'm most concerned about is confessing my stupidity to my wife. As I write these words she is in mid-air, perhaps somewhere over eastern Europe on her way back to Heathrow. Hopefully her joy at returning home safely will outweigh her irritation with the idiocy of a berk like me.

fun run

Apologies for my late posting: it has been a long day. This morning, engaged in a gruelling run up to the Great Wen, there to pick up some cargo and see once again some very old and very dear friends. There they were, same as ever, radiating warmth and a soft, laid-back affection. It's a shame they live so far away. But quality people like these are rare.

On the way there, the GPS behaved itself perfectly until I reached the burbs; then its battery failed. Now I knew that the cigarette lighter had failed some years before; subject to the constant abuse it doubtless was, but I didn't realize that the housing itself had gone dead. I must get this fixed ASAP.

A good thing: my back seems to have gone away. Thank Christ.

impulse buy

In a reckless and unguarded moment yesterday, I went to Comet and secured myself a GPS (the latest Tomtom, if you must know, with the 5" screen; well, my vision does suck terribly these days, since my left sided cataract developed)

I'm not one of those technology nerds, so I did feel a bit intimidated to begin with, especially with my wife, who is much better at these things than I am, being away at the moment. But I have been able to choose a language, type of voice and my home address. Slightly worryingly, it seems to find it hard to locate any satellites: a message came up: "are you inside a house at present?" Of course I fucking am. Where do you expect me to be? Oh yes, in a car, stupid.

I'm off to London tomorrow, so I shall take it with me to run it through its paces, though just in case I'm also going to take my atlas and London A to Z. You can't be too careful...

technology malfuncrtion

At the dentist this afternoon, I am there for the third and final phase of giving me a new crown. But the goddamned thing resolutely refused to cement onto the tooth remnant.
"This is one of the worst mouldings I've seen in years" the dentist sighed, shaking his head. He then has to take new impressions, and once again I must go home with a perfectly serviceable, but still strictly temporary, filling. He was suitably embarrassed about the whole thing, which in truth was a bit of a cock-up.

Thinking quickly on the couch,I made use of the opportunity to confirm my belief in him by ordering some more cosmetic work, and beating him down on the price into the bargain.

slow burn baby

Baby clinic today, and for once it is blessedly quiet. I guess everybody is away on holiday, or at least found something more interesting to do than hang around in the doctor's surgery for hours on end.

Giving the MMR jab to one 13 month old, there were no tears per se, but the little cherub fixed me with such a look of hurt and outrage I felt genuinely ashamed of my inhuman brutality. Sorry baby!

I gave mum my usual spiel at such moments: that the baby clinic is the most emotionally wearing of all the clinics I do, but also the one I walk away from with the biggest sense of satisfaction at a job well done; that I have made a real difference in the lives of these children by protecting them from a range of horrible, killing diseases, diseases that until late into the last century cut terrible swathes through the population, but are now next to vanished. For instance, in 1988, the year that immunisation against meningitis type C was introduced, there were several hundred cases in Britain and scores died. 15 years later: zero cases, zero deaths.

bloody back again

My back has gone again, in a slightly different way from last time, when the stiffness and pain lodged over my right sacro-iliac joint. This time it is slightly less severe and more centrally placed. I'm reluctant to use the angel with the magic hands again so soon, as I don't wish to use up all my favours, so I'll just wait and suffer in silence. Who wants to know anyway? Not my wife, who is off to Palestine again tomorrow for 5 days. Maybe fact a) is linked to fact b) Hmm...

COMMENT

The president of Pakistan, stung by our PM's outrageous telling of the truth last week, has come back with his own unpalatable statement of reality. The western coalition, he says, is losing the war in Afghanistan. This, he tells us, is to do with the fact that the Taliban has time on its side, and that its greatest asset is patience. You tell it like it is, man...

request(s) denied

Today a young woman from Poland arranges some travel immunisations, and follows this up with a request for a tube of anaesthetic cream to alleviate the pain of the injections. This I baulk at; we do thousands of injections every year, and the patients all seem to manage well enough without it, so I'm afraid this lady will have to as well.

Later a young man phones to say he has just witnessed another man dive from the roof of a multi-storey car park. The man did not die immediately, and our man stayed with him until the ambulance arrived. In the circumstances, could he have some diazepam?
Once again I refused to play, but I did talk to him for some 15 minutes on the telephone and suggested he come in tomorrow to see me. This, it appears, was acceptable.

Finally, just as I am leaving the office, a call comes from the ambulance service. A diabetic man has had a hypoglycaemic attack (low blood sugar). They have assessed him; he is OK, his sugar level is back to normal, but he refuses to go with them to hospital for further tests. Do I want to see him?. Thing is, we have seen this scenario acted out no less than 6 times in the last 2 months, and we are becoming convinced he is deliberately engineering these little crises. The fact that he refuses to go to hospital clinches the fact that there's something fishy about the whole situation. So do I wish to see him? No, I do not.

sunny sunday

After a number of heavy, humid and overcast days, and even though I regard even these as not entirely unsatisfactory, today is the perfect summer's day: bright, clear and warm. July failed to live up to the promise brought about by the previous glorious months, but still it wasn't that bad.

Yesterday we entertained one of my wife's friends from Bristol. 7 years ago we had been in my car together when she (the friend) became manically hysterical and I brought her down to earth with some well chosen, if rather cruel words. Later I heard she had been deeply wounded by my acid remarks. So this was to be a sort of "peace and reconciliation" type event, where we would both apologise for our behaviour on that fateful night. Soon after she arrived I got her on her own and conceded I had been out of order that night. I expected her then to reciprocate, but all she said was, "Yes, you were, but it's all right now"
I felt somehow cheated, but then I thought that this was more about my demonstrating my humility than whatever she did, so I let it pass. But it left an ongoing bitter taste in the mouth: she did not fulfil her part of the "deal"

ON A LIGHTER NOTE DEPT.

My wife was at work the other day, chatting over a coffee with colleagues when the discussion turned to holiday destinations. She said we were considering going to Budapest next year as a city-break. One of the secretaries thought carefully for a moment, then offered brightly:
"Budapest. Is that in Prague?"