Category Archives: France

Wednesday 18th December 2024 – IT’S REALLY HARD …

… to believe that this time next week we’ll all be sitting around stuffing ourselves with mince pies and turkey.

Well, you might but you can rule out the turkey from my point of view and if I don’t find any motivation from somewhere very soon, I won’t be eating any mince pies either. I don’t think that I’ve ever felt less like Christmas than I do this year.

At least the Christmas cake is something worth eating. I opened the oven door this afternoon and the whole building was overwhelmed with the smell of fresh-baked spices, and my faithful cleaner had something to say about it. So at least there will be something for Christmas.

As regular readers of this rubbish will recall, I’ve told the nurse not to bother calling on Christmas Day. I’m going to have a lie-in and savour the day at my ease.

That is, unless the lie-in was anything like this morning’s.

Last night wasn’t all that late going to bed – about 23:30 or something like that, and once in bed I was asleep quite quickly.

And there I lay, without moving a muscle or anything else until all of 06:45 when for some unaccountable reason I sat up bolt-upright, wide awake. I’ve no idea at all what disturbed me, but whatever it was, it must have been pretty good.

Just as I was deciding whether or not to leave my stinking pit, BILLY COTTON made up my mind for me, bellowing his raucous rattle loud enough to awaken the dead.

Once I’d managed to stagger to my feet I wandered off into the bathroom to sort myself out and then into the kitchen for a drink to wash down my medication.

Back in here afterwards I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night but to my surprise there was nothing on it at all. It must have been a deep sleep

However, do not be downhearted because when I awoke this morning I was actually away on my travels and I remember everything so clearly too, even now. What I remember was that we were in some kind of derelict, run-down city and we were going to a party. We were four of us, and three were going in one car with some members of someone’s family, not mine, I was going in another car with another group of people. We were waiting in this street for this taxi to arrive. There was me, a friend of mine and a girl, and the friend of mine was dating her. We were waiting in this street for a car to come to pick us up. We saw something that was of interest a little further down the street so we wandered off down there. We went past an Indian restaurant where there was a waiter outside trying to entice us in. For some reason the prices were hanging from an awning above the door. We couldn’t reach it or see it so we carried on walking a little further and then a little further. We came to a T-junction with an Insurance Company across the street. It didn’t look like an Insurance Company – it was several shops. Then I happened to look up and I could see the name of the Insurance Company in a window so it was obviously in the offices that were above the shops. We went over there, past another Indian Restaurant where there was another waiter outside trying to cajole us in. Again, the prices were out of reach so we couldn’t see them. This girl remembered something about one of the addresses in this street so she went over to have a look at the numbers so we followed her. The number that she wanted was 200-and-something but we were in the 120s or something. We had a look, and it was a run-down street with all kinds of old terraced houses of all different styles. We turned round and slowly began to walk back. Suddenly this girl took off like a rocket to run down to the far end of the street where we’d been waiting at first. The guy, he asked “what’s the matter with her?”. I didn’t have a clue. She hadn’t said a word but she just took off. The thought went through my mind that maybe she’d seen the car in the distance that had come to pick us up. I was totally unable to run and having trouble walking so there was no way that I could run after her so I really had no idea what was going to happen next. And it was right at this point that I sat up bolt-upright

And if anyone wants to know where this took place, it was in Stoke on Trent, on one of the side streets off Campbell Road near the old football ground. I can see it quite clearly in my head even now. However who the people were, I have no idea about them either but the girl was dressed all in red, a red tee-shirt and red shorts. It was a totally bizarre dream.

Isabelle the Nurse didn’t stop here long this morning. She admired the decorations again, oiled and greased my legs, fitted my compression socks and then cleared off. In and out in just a couple of minutes.

After she’d left I made breakfast and carried on reading the report of this excavation.

They are slowly coming round to the idea that the farm and its buildings were demolished with purpose, rather than being a random act of wanton and gratuitous destruction. Non-reusable material seems to have been put carefully into a ditch rather then being left scattered around, and there is no trace of anything lying around on the surface that might have been useful.

In one of the cellars though, it’s a different story. There, they have found a rather large grinding wheel of the type that would be used in a mill for grinding corn. It’s hand-powered, so that was probably a task undertaken by slaves.

Slaves would have been plentiful back in those days. There were no such things as prisoner-of-war camps and a victorious army would have a pile of useless mouths on its hands. Anyone important would be ransomed, sometimes making his captor a very rich man indeed. But if there was no-one to ransom you or you weren’t wealthy, then if you were lucky you’d be sold into slavery by your captor. If you were unlucky, you would be slaughtered.

And believe it or not, there were also people who gave themselves voluntarily into slavery. In a society were there was no welfare, if your crops failed, you and your family would starve to death. However, a slave-owner had the obligation to feed, clothe and house his slaves which, let’s face it, wasn’t much less than the life of an early medieval peasant anyway. So if the alternative was to starve to death, then slavery was an option that some people considered.

Back in here I had a few things that I wanted to do and that took me up until lunchtime. The after lunch my cleaner came round to do her stuff.

One of her tasks, according to this Association thing that has taken me in charge, is to help me with my grande toilette. We interpreted that as being the shower and so every Wednesday is shower day.

It was beautiful in there again today and I really enjoyed every minute of it. I didn’t really want to climb back out.

Still, back in here I began to find the music for the next radio programme and by the time I was ready to knock off for tea, not only had I found what I wanted but it had been remixed, paired off, segued and some of the notes had been written.

There had been a big interruption too. There was the afternoon hot chocolate break and then I made some dough for the naan bread for the next few weeks. But we’ve hit a tragedy, and that is that the soya yoghurt has frozen in the fridge and when it does that, it all separates out. I must order some more if I can.

Nevertheless, my leftover curry tonight was another good one, and the naan was cooked to perfection. Things are looking up around here and will be even better when I’m downstairs. Pretty much like only five months to go and then I can install myself in my own place. Won’t that be good?

So tomorrow I’m at the Dialysis Clinic and what I’ll do will be to prepare my order for LeClerc. I may as well make some good use of the time that I’m there

But the cleaner, when she came up, brought me a pile of post that had accumulated in my mailbox downstairs.
There were a couple of bills that needed paying so I had a close look at them, because I like to try to keep on top of things like that.
One of them concerns my taxe foncière from my current département of La Manche
"Please connect to the internet at the following address and make a bank transfer by electronic means"
The other is from from the Crewe Municipal Council where I used to live years ago.
"Please take the enclosed stone tablet, chisel your bank account details in block hieroglyphics thereupon and send it by native bearer to the Council’s Accounts Cave, situate …."

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Tuesday 17th December – MY CHRISTMAS CAKE …

… is absolutely belting. A corner of it bubbled over the mould and broke off so I had to sample it. And if the rest of it is as good as that small part tasted, I shall be more than happy. It really does make a difference mixing the ingredients in the big mixer.

Something else that went very well was last night, going to bed not too late. It was 23:30 and I’d had something of a struggle to keep awake, so I didn’t feel like staying up and idling around. I hit the hay instead.

Not that I could go to sleep though. I spent a good age tossing and turning before I finally dropped off to sleep.

When the alarm went off at 07:00, I was already sitting at my desk working.

It was at something like 05:20 when I awoke this morning. I remember looking at my watch. It seems to be a frequent occurrence following these dialysis sessions, for some reason that I don’t know. I’m not going to tell the doctor at the Dialysis Clinic though because he would probably prescribe some Doliprane.

By 06:00 I’d given up the ghost. Tired of tossing and turning about I arose from the Dead and went into the bathroom for a good clean up.

Into the kitchen for the first instalment of the medication, remembering to take the medication that I can only take on non-dialysis days. If you’re confused about my medication, don’t worry. So am I.

Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. There was a cricket match and we were playing the Australians. I was batting but down at the bowler’s end. They had a change of bowler, a slow right-arm off-spinner. After he’d bowled two or three balls the batsman took up a new guard so the bowler who was bowling around the wicket decided that he’d go over the wicket. As he ran in, he bent his arm in a really funny way and broke off his run near the wicket, went back to his mark and started again. I thought that this was the most strange and amazing arm action that I’d ever seen so I appealed, thinking that he was more like throwing the ball than bowling, with the aim that they’d examine his action and give a decision. Instead, the Australian skipper took him off and put a fast bowler off. He skittled the tail out for a mere 50 runs, leaving a very low total for his batsmen to try to make. I was questioned as to why I’d allowed this to happen because of my appeal. I replied that it was important to everyone to make sure that this guy’s action was correct and that was all that my intention was, to have his action examined.

There were many times that I felt that I was walking around with a sign “THE BUCK STOPS HERE” suspended over my head. I seemed to be blamed for just about everything that ever happened, even when I was nowhere near the event concerned. I remember my friend’s daughter in Florida chatting to me on the internet once, saying "it’s not fair! Every time I do something wrong my little brother tells my mom and I get yelled at. But if he does something wrong and I tell my mom she yells at me for not watching him!".
"I know, Tina. It was exactly the same with me, and still is even today"

Later on I was at another folk festival where some group performed a famous folk song very slowly with plenty of taste and dignity. It sounded extremely good and I enjoyed listening to it. Then another group took the stage when the other group had hardly left it when they climbed on. They started off with the same number but played it at a much different tempo and changed a few of the words. It became a rowdy, boisterous pub-rocker song but I do have to say that it was in bad taste but it was played immediately as they were still leaving and secondly, because it was made with additional musicians who didn’t belong to the group and were just friends of the leader. Their aim was just to have a good bash at this and it was so disappointing in a way

One of my pet hates is these “special guests” and “orchestras” at concerts accompanying musicians and creating a sound that the musicians themselves are not able to reproduce. I know that I’m in a very tiny minority in this respect but nevertheless I do hate in when we’re in the middle of a thumping good concert and “now we’d like to introduce you to our special guest”.

And then I was with Zero’s father last night. I can’t remember what we were doing but we were talking about different things etc. We ended up watching a film. Suddenly, the ‘phone went and he answered it. He said that we had to go back to his house because his wife and Zero were going out somewhere. We went, and although we set out in the car we ended up walking part of the way down this muddy track that descended into a complete and utter swamp. We were talking about vehicles because I’d been to the local scrapyard and had seen a diesel engine so I’d measured it and found that it would fit into my van. It was a 3.5 diesel from some company or other. I told him that when I change the engine I might even fit that engine in because it would fit. He thought that it was an excellent choice of engine. We began to discuss other engines that we thought might go in. I’d measured a few and found that they would be the correct length. He asked me how come I knew that they would fit so I told him that I’d been down to the scrapyard. I said that in my opinion scrapyards these days are really sad, nothing at all like it used to be when you could roam around for ages over acres of abandoned cars. He replied that people don’t just scrap cars like they used to. Nowadays everyone waits until there is just about one month’s tax left on their car and then sell it. I replied that they must be ending up in the scrapyard after that one month. He answered that the only thing he knew was that his friend bought a big 3.5 Rover for £3500. All he knew was that when his friend came to sell it he asked him (Zero’s father) if he wanted to buy it to which he answered “no” so that was the last that he heard of it. Of course this dream ended a long time before I reached the house to see Zero

Back in that dream later on, I know that it had been Zero’s birthday recently so when the first part of the dream ended I began to think of things that I had around the house or apartment that I could pick up and take with me to give to her but that was how strange this dream was.

In the past I used to have hours of endless fun roaming around scrapyards, bringing back all kinds of useful bits and pieces. Opel Corsa fuseboxes made good control panels for solar arrays, Renault Clio clocks made good timers, loads of different things over the years. And if you were ever short of money you’d go armed with a screwdriver and a couple of spanners, take out the back seats and you’d be surprised at how much money you could collect in a really short time that had fallen out of people’s pockets over the years.

But can you believe it? Not once, but twice I was on my way to see Zero but both times I failed to arrive. As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … there is definitely something working in my subconscious that is preventing me from ending up with one of these lovely girls in my arms. We’ve seen it happen so many times now that something or other has gone wrong or someone, usually a member of my family, has come along to put the spanner in the works

As for Zero herself, it’s been years since I saw her and I wonder what she’s doing now. Of course, I have an image in my head of how I think she would be now. And so no-one was more surprised than me when a girl, the exact image of how I imagined Zero to be at the time, walked into a coffee bar in Brussels one afternoon where I was sitting. I was so taken aback that I dropped my coffee cup.

Isabelle the Nurse was late this morning. It’s no surprise, because I have heard of several people who are refusing to have their blood tests and so on done by her oppo and they are all waiting for her to come back on duty.

While she was here, I told her about my appointments in January and she told me that she’d make a note.

After she left I made my breakfast and carried on reading this archaeological report on the excavation of this Gallo-Roman farm near Chartres.

It’s really quite interesting because not only am I learning a lot about the farm, I’m learning a lot of new vocabulary too, and that’s no bad things. There’s a lot that I don’t know in the realm of architecture and building and the easiest way to learn it is to pore over a document like this.

The farm itself is but a few miles from Chartres and the current way of thinking so far is that it was abandoned after Chartres lost its role as a regional capital to the city of Orleans in about 330AD and many people moved from Chartres to Orleans, leading to a decrease in the demand for food in Chartres.

Back in here I finished off my Welsh homework and sent it off. I had it back a short while later marked “brilliant. Keep on going!” which was very nice of my tutor.

Meanwhile, I was making my Christmas cake. It was so complicated and took so long that it didn’t go into the oven until 12:30

Mixing it in the food processor was definitely an improvement on last year. It did a really good job. And lining the cake tin with baking paper seemed to work too.

Just over four hours on a low heat it took to bake and it definitely looks and tastes the part. I have been warned about opening the mould while it’s still warm so I left it in the oven to slowly cool down and the mould won’t be opened until the morning.

From then on, the cake will be cooling in the fridge ready for marzipanning and icing.

My loyal cleaner turned up with the marzipan and icing sugar, bless her, so it’s all systems go. If anyone has a good recipe for Christmas cake icing, let me know.

I’m waiting now for my next LeClerc order because there are a couple of rolls of puff pastry in there. I’m going to make some mince pies at the weekend. So if LeClerc run out of pastry before my order comes, it will be mince pies in ordinary home-made pastry.

After lunch I rang up Paris and told them about the arrangements that I’ve made for my visit.

In fact, I only made it as far as "at the Dialysis Clinic they were doing their planning for January and it seems that Doctor — hasn’t been in touch with them yet …"
And the secretary interrupted me with an "ohh mince!!"

So now I’ve briefed her on the plans, I hope that she remembers this time to contact them and to send me the summons so that I can sort out the taxis.

The rest of the afternoon has been spent dealing with the radio programme that I started on Friday. All of the text is now written but I’m going to review it because it’s like the one that will be broadcast on 3rd January – it’s so complicated that it needs to be read over and amended several times before I’ll be happy with it..

Tea tonight was a taco roll with stuffing, rice and veg followed by ginger cake and soya dessert. Lovely as usual, and there’s plenty of stuffing left over for the leftover curry tomorrow. I need to make some naan dough too. Can’t do without my naan bread.

So tomorrow it’s shower day, washing day and a good cleaning day, ready to see Emilie the Cute Consultant on Thursday if I’m lucky

But while we’re on the subject of cricket … "well, one of us is" – ed … never mind “Johnno and Aggers” and the ‘leg over’ story, my favourite surely has to be the Australian cricketer whose name I forget who came back to the pavilion halfway through the match
He was interviewed by a radio commentator who asked him "how were you out?"
"I was caught having a slash outside the off stump" he replied, not realising that British and Australian slang are two totally different beasts.

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Monday 16th December 2024 – JUST FOR A CHANGE …

… the session at the Dialysis Centre this afternoon was almost totally painless. I don’t understand that at all

Added to that, I was lucky enough to have had a visit from Emilie the Cute Consultant. She came to see how I was and if I needed anything. Anything medical, that is.

Mind you, whatever rift we have had hasn’t healed quite yet because our chat was quickly business and she didn’t say “goodbye” as she left. It’s fair to say that she doesn’t love me any more, and that’s sad, especially after our cosy chats in the Summer with her perched on the edge of my bed, spending hours discussing nothing in particular.

What else that doesn’t happen any more is me being in bed at a reasonable time. Once more, it was long after midnight when I crawled into my stinking pit but as I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … much as I would like to be in bed before 23:00, I’ve given up rushing and am now taking things easy. I’ll go to bed at whatever time I happen to finish.

Once in bed though, it didn’t take long to go to sleep and there I stayed, dead to the World, until the alarm went off at 07:00.

BILLY COTTON’S DULCET TONES aroused me from my slumbers and I staggered off into the bathroom to prepare myself for the ordeal

As well as a good wash, I had a shave and then washed my undies ready for Wednesday when I hope to have another shower and make myself all nice and clean. These showers are not very convenient only once per week. When I have the apartment downstairs and the shower is all nicely installed, I’ll be having a shower every Dialysis morning, and probably a few more besides

Back in here I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. To my surprise and disappointment, there was nothing on there this morning but I have vague memories of being a singer/songwriter being at some kind of concert, or going to play at some kind of concert. We had to arrive at a certain time and camping was very sauvage in a field. When I arrived there was already a mobile home with someone and a tent from someone else. There were some restrictions on what you can play – you couldn’t play anything that anyone else was going to play etc. That’s really all that I remember of that.

Pretty much similar to what happens at the Harvest Jazz and Blues Festival in Fredericton. Camping is on the National Park out by the reservoir and although the pitches are pretty well set out, it’s still quite wild camping and every now and again a deer or a raccoon scurries across your path.

But not as wild as that camping ground in Upstate Maine where I stayed one night, where everyone was told to make sure that all their food is kept well inside their vehicle as the bears that roam through the place at night will otherwise steal it. As the Park Ranger explained to me, "there’s a considerable overlap of intelligence between the smartest of bears and the dumbest of tourists, and we have them both here"

In the wild of course, you’d throw a rope over a branch, tie your sack of provisions to one end of the rope and then pull the sack up aloft, out of reach of the bear.

It’s certainly though a case of “disappointment” that there’s nothing on the dictaphone. Something else that I’ve said before … "and also on many occasions too" – ed … is that the only excitement that I have these days is what goes on during the night.

The nurse was early again and didn’t say much. He’s probably still smarting from yesterday. He was in and out in five minutes, which suits me fine, and then I could carry on with something more exciting.

Like making my breakfast and reading my book. It’s the story of the accidental discovery of a Roman … "Gallo-Roman! GRRRR!" – ed … building on a field, which led to an archaeological investigation that uncovered a farm dating from the 1st Century BC to the 4th Century AD

At the moment they are digging down and have uncovered a cellar with the steps that go down to it

The site isn’t as rich in artefacts as any site in the UK. That’s mainly because there never was the dramatic rupture of private life of the inhabitants as there was in the UK with the arrival of the Saxons, then the Danes, then the Normans.

Anyone abandoning the site in France generally had time to pack up and take his possessions with him, or if not, come back and fetch them when the emergency was over. In the UK, the arrival of the barbarians led to wholesale destruction and massacre, with nothing left worth taking and no-one left alive to take it anyway.

It’s the difference between “orderly evacuation of a site” and “panic-stricken flight”.

Back in here I carried on with my Welsh homework, but it wasn’t finished when my cleaner came to fit my anaesthetic patches. I’m leaving early today to go to the hospital.

The taxi came, driven by a very taciturn driver, and what he lacked in conversation he made up with speed and we had one of the quickest trips that I have ever had down to Avranches.

He pushed me in a wheelchair to the X-Ray Department and there he left me, although he may as well have waited because I was in and out before he’d probably had time to find his way out of the building.

Armed with some pretty impressive photos of my foot, I waited for the next taxi to arrive, and a very pleasant woman took me over the road to the Dialysis Centre.

For a change I didn’t have to wait long to be seen, and the plugging in was almost totally painless. I had the usual crash out once the machine started and then everything went OK.

As I said earlier, Emilie the Cute Consultant came to see me but our conversation was on a professional level. The two of us, and Anaïs who seemed to be the nurses’ shift leader, had a chat about my forthcoming trip to Paris and they could indeed, exceptionally, fit me in on the Wednesday morning beforehand.

That’s quite inconvenient, but it can’t be helped, I suppose. And I thought that I’d better arrange it and tell Paris what I’d done rather than leave it to them and find that they have forgotten to do it.

As for reading matter, I came across a book about infamous Cheshire personalities. And to my surprise, I’m not in it. But the author is an unashamed and unrepentant fan of that politician who was called A LIAR AND A CHEAT by the Grauniad and never ever went through with his promise to them for libel, something that led many people to wonder what might come out in evidence if he actually did take the paper to Court, and why might he be afraid of it so doing.

He champions several other Cheshire people who were caught up in various allegations of sleaze and dishonesty, and one thing that all these people had in common was that they were all members of the Conservative Party when he wrote his book.

Most of them have by today though been found even too extreme for even the current batch of Tory politicians and have been pushed out to the Fascists where they belong. But I digress. These pages aren’t about politics.

When the time came I was uncoupled, and clutching the Christmas present that the Dialysis Centre gave to each one of us, I headed out to the taxi that was already waiting.

The run back home was quick and I was soon back in the warmth of my lovely apartment.

Tea tonight was a delicious stuffed pepper with pasta in tomato sauce, followed by ginger cake and soya dessert.

Tomorrow there’s no Welsh lesson, but I have homework to finish and then I’m baking my Christmas cake. I can’t believe how quickly Christmas has come. It has taken me by surprise and I’m nothing like ready. But this evening I installed my strings of lights in the windows here and they look quite nice, seen from the street.

Before I go to bed, on the subject of professional behaviour, at the hospital today I overheard two doctors conversing
"Didn’t I see you last night" said one "in the company of Madame X, the notorious local prostitute?"
"I’m afraid that you did" replied the other. "But you needn’t worry. It was for purely professional reasons"
"I don’t doubt you for a moment" answered the first. "The question simply is, were the reasons concerned with your profession or hers?"

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Sunday 15th December 2024 – WHEN THE ALARM …

… went off at 08:00 this morning I was already up and about.

That’s the kind of thing that totally defeats the purpose of having a lie in. I mean – it wasn’t as if I was in bed early either. It was about 00:30 when I finally crawled into bed after dictating the radio notes, so with a later start on Sunday it meant 7:30 hours of sleep in principle, but I didn’t even have that

There wasn’t even much to dictate in the way of radio notes either. Just the notes for one programme so it shouldn’t have taken me that long but these days, prevarication seems to be the way forward. I keep meaning to see some professional about the problems that I have with prevarication but I might do that another side.

So once I was in bed, that was that until all of … errr … 07:15 when I awoke, and couldn’t go back to sleep. After a while I thought that there’s no point in wasting time lying here doing nothing when there is so much that I ought to be doing so I rose up and left the bed.

After having a good wash and scrub up I came back in here to listen to the dictaphone but I didn’t get very far when the nurse came. He forgot to ring on the doorbell from downstairs so he took me somewhat by surprise.

We had “words” again this morning. His very first question was "did you sleep well?"

He knows full well that I don’t because he asks it almost every single day and I always tell him that being a very light sleeper I don’t ever sleep well, so I expressed my discontent with his question, to which he took umbrage.

After he left I had my medication and then made breakfast. Taking it over to the dining room table, I could sit and read ISAAC WELD’S BOOK which, regrettably, I have now finished. And I do have to say that his books would be certainly in my Top 10.

He’s now about to leave New York, and boards his ship "without a sigh, and without entertaining the slightest wish to revisit it."

While he was in Bethlehem he was lucky (if that’s correct) to be invited to visit the Women and Girls’ Home. He makes quite a few interesting observations including "Pink ribands are said to be worn as a badge by those who are inclined to marry; however, I observed that all the unmarried women wore them, not excepting those whose age and features seemed to have excluded them from every chance of becoming the votaries of Hymen" … "he means ‘Hypersons’" – ed …

He notes that Long Island is mainly inhabited by the Dutch (New York was a Dutch colony, “New Amsterdam” until the British took it in 1664) who "have inherited all the coldness, reserve, and covetousness of their ancestors".

He continues by saying that "If you do but ask any simple question relative to the neighbouring country, they will eye you with suspicion and evidently strive to disengage themselves from you; widely different from the Anglo-Americans, whose inquisitiveness in similar circumstances would lead them to a thousand impertinent and troublesome enquiries, in order to discover what your business was in that place, and how they could possibly take any advantage of it."

So having learned more from this one book than any thousand others, I’ve now begun to read the report of the investigation of a Gallo-Roman (not Roman) farm near Chartres. And it’s nothing like as interesting as Isaac Weld’s book, which is a shame. And it’s in French too, so there’s not much point in posting any interesting quotes.

Back in here I listened to the dictaphone. We were on an island in the Western Pacific or was it the Eastern Pacific. The Japanese had suddenly declared war and there were all kinds of attacks taking place. We were on this island when the Japanese were beginning to take a foothold on it. The decision was taken to retreat onto an island off the shore of this island where we could be collected and then decide how best to act. We thought that a headlong flight out of the area would mean that we wouldn’t be back for many years. We had to put up some kind of defence. Gradually everyone began to retreat to this island where they were armed, given weapons etc. I was one of the last to leave. As I went downstairs there was one of the boys at the bottom of the stairs. He was telling me to go out of the stairs and to the left. However there was something going on to the right so I went out to the right. He absolutely had an explosion. When I came to the end of the path there was a boy playing on the beach, a small boy. I wondered about what he was doing. However this other boy came down after me and began to give me a huge lecture about not following his commands, everything like that. I told him that he’d better cheer up a little because I was quite able to go down this path and look at what was going on. I thought that he was behaving like the Japanese, just as he happened to say to me that he thought that I was. Having assured myself that it wasn’t a Japanese patrol that was landing, I went off in the other direction. I eventually ended up in the town from where the ferry over to the other island was sailing. There were all kinds of things happening here. I had to walk through the town and all the action. Then I heard one of my colleagues from work being called over the public address system about the lights on his car. I thought that this is the last thing about which anyone needs to worry at the moment, isn’t it? I gradually made my way down towards the docks where I could catch the ferry over to the island where we could all sit and have a think and start again.

Not that there’s much chance of the Japanese attacking these days. Any conflict in the Pacific Islands is likely to come in that area disputed by China, Vietnam, Indonesia and the Philippines, which, I suppose, is the North Pacific. I’m not sure either why one of the boys from school, about whom I have hardly thought in the last 50-odd years, should suddenly appear.

Apart from that, retreating onto a small island is hardly a sound military strategy, unless we are hoping to be evacuated.

There was some thing during the night between someone of a family that was quite well-known, whether he was a military officer or something. While he was searching around in the old libraries he came across a Latin phrase. He thought that this phrase was something really wonderful so he wrote to the College of Heralds to see whether it had been registered as someone’s slogan. On finding that it hadn’t, he announced that he was going to adopt it for his family’s slogan henceforth. He’d have a think about finding some Coat of Arms or other that might be appropriate

It’s a little-known fact that my family has its own slogan nihil expectore in omnibus which means, roughly translated “wait for nothing at all”, although some wag suggested that it means “no spitting on the public transport”

And then a young girl just walked into my room and tucked something under my pillow. She said “that’s the volume for your dream to awaken you”. I looked at her, and couldn’t understand exactly what she meant by that, but she turned on her heel and walked out of the room and left me. I wondered if that was a sign that I was late, that I’d missed the alarm and needed to set the alarm louder to awaken me in te future but I really couldn’t understand that

It’s hardly surprising, is it? I can still in fact see her hand even now sliding something under my pillow so it was something along the same lines as the phantom alarms that we have. But there’s definitely nothing under the pillow.

After the dictaphone we had a footfest. I hadn’t realised that Stranraer had played a midweek game so I had two matches to watch.

The first was away in Edinburgh against Spartans, and Edinburgh seems to be a happy hunting ground for Stranraer because after beating Edinburgh City the other week, they beat Spartans 3-1

That was actually the best that I have ever seen Stranraer play, so it gave some hope for the weekend’s game, the return match against Edinburgh City but they couldn’t build on the success. Once more, they played well but so did Edinburgh City. Neither team managed to break the other down and it finished 0-0.

After lunch I started to edit the radio notes and by the time I finished work it was all complete, 11th track and all. So that’s another hour’s worth to add to the collection.

There were several interruptions, which was why it took so long. The first was for the hot chocolate of course, and then there was bread to make and bake.

The pizza too required attention. I’d taken the last of the frozen dough out of the freezer earlier in the day so I had to knead it, roll it and assemble it.

When the bread came out of the oven the pizza went in and I had another candidate for “best pizza ever”.

So now I’m off to bed ready for the morning, hoping that someone interesting will come to see me during the night.

But talking of Isaac Weld leaving New York … "well, one of us is" – ed … before he left he went into a branch of that chain of places that a British judge agreed “exploit children”, are “culpably responsible for animal cruelty”, “pay low wages” and “pretended to a positive nutritional benefit which their food (high in fat & salt etc) did not match”
And with his quarter-pounder he ordered a beer
"You can’t buy a beer in here" said the burger-flipper
"What?" he exclaimed. "You mean that you’re sober when you eat this mess?"

0

Saturday 14th December 2024 – SO HERE I AM …

… late again. Not even going to be in bed before midnight at this rate.

But there was so much exciting stuff on the internet this evening, and we are at the stage where there is only one club from te Welsh Premier League through to the next round of the Cup, and they had a struggle too.

There’s one more team that is playing their match tomorrow and I don’t think that they are in any danger, but you never know. There have been some crazy results this last round or two.

No danger of me being in bed before 23:00 last night either. I’ve given up rushing, stressing myself out, and all for no good purpose too. I’ve decided that I’ll take it easy, enjoy myself and if I have to sleep during the dialysis sessions, then so what? It’s not as it I do much else while I’m there.

So late again last night into bed, and asleep quite quickly too. For a change, nothing disturbed me and I slept right through until 07:00 without moving a muscle.

When the alarm went off I struggled to my feet and went into the bathroom for a good wash, a scrub up, a shave (not that Emilie the Cute Consultant will be there) and to hand-wash some clothes. I have to keep on top of how the wardrobe is doing, seeing as there isn’t very much in it.

Into the kitchen was next for my drink and medication, and remember to take the “Sunlight” medication too. Apparently the doctor thinks that I ought to get out more often, a sentiment that I’m sure is shared by every one of you.

There was time to check the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. And to my surprise, there was something in it.

I’d gone to Burma and was living there for a few months. I’d met a young girl and fallen in love with her. After a while I discovered that there was a way by which people could sponsor young people in Third-World countries like Burma. It involved the filling on of a form. I applied for a form and it told me that I needed some kind of form from the Burmese. I went off to my Burmese local council and spoke to a woman there. She found a form for me and told me basically how I should fill it in. She very carefully asked me if our relationship was any more than that of sponsor/guardian to which I hedged my bets rather, although I was sure that she picked up on the fact that there was something going on. She warned me about the consequences if anything like that were to be discovered. She had to find a chair for me to sit upon while I filled in this form. She wandered off and came back with a chair. Then she found that she didn’t have a chair herself upon which to sit. This was starting to become complicated. She asked about my intentions. I told her that I was embarrassed about how we in the West were so rich and had so much going on in our favour yet we deliberately wanted to shut out the Third World from participating in our success. I carried on in that kind of vein for a few minutes. She sympathised, and blamed everything on the EU. I told her that it isn’t really the EU’s fault. It’s the individual countries that are pushing for tighter border controls and cut down on aid to poorer nations, very much forcing the EU’s hand. Anyway, we continued this discussion for quite a while and drifted away from our original purpose which was me sponsoring a Burmese girl.

This is in fact one of the most interesting dreams that I have had and there is a lot of mileage in it, and not just because of my sentiments either.

For a start, it’s not just in the Third World that this lack of resources and assistance is going on. In 2002 I passed through a Navajo Reservation and in 2019 through a Sioux Reservation in the USA and in 2018 and 2019 I was amongst the Inuit in Canada and Danish-controlled Greenland. As well as that, I have on several occasions passed through the Innu lands at Sheshatshiu and the Mikma’q Reservations at Burnt Church in Canada. How these developed nations treat their own ethnic minorities brings shame and disgrace upon them. And I’ve seen desperate poverty that you cannot imagine amongst the poorer people, both black and white, in South-Eastern USA. When I passed through these places, it filled me with shame and embarrassment too.

But falling in love with girls from Burma reminds me of the Burmese girl whom I met in Brussels. Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that I had a strange e-mail years ago telling me this sad story of how the writer had struggled through the jungles of Burma into Thailand where she escaped and arrived in Brussels on an aeroplane and how she desperately needed papers. If it looks like a rat, walks like a rat and smells like a rat then it’s a rat and I smelled it all right, but my curiosity, which has always been my downfall, was ignited. I wanted to know how she’d obtained my e-mall address and why she thought that I might be able to help her. So we met, and the first thing that I noticed were her clothes – beautifully tailored denim jeans and jacket. Then her hair – perfectly coiffured. This is no fleeing refugee. So once she was in my car I drove her to a little spot that I know where I can check that no-one is following us, because I’m not as stupid as I look, and then took her to a park where we walked and she talked.

And what a yarn she spun me.

But to me, she was well-worth the effort because she really was beautiful. Nevertheless, I was sure that she was trying to entice me into some kind of indiscretion just as I was trying to entice her into my bed. After all, you don’t get something for nothing, as she would find out if she carried on trying. Eventually, after much binding in the marsh, she admitted that she did after all have a passport with her in Belgium, which I had guessed all along, and so I was by now even more curious to find out what was her game. But once she realised that I wasn’t even going to begin to discuss anything without her staying the night at my place, all contact ceased.

In the end I suspected that this was something to do with work. We mixed with all kinds of different company at work and in my official car, and knew all kinds of information that would have been of interest to many people, so it wouldn’t be unnatural for the Service to want to know how easily we might impart this information to people who had no right to know it. But some of us aren’t as green as we look

This dream intrigued me so much that I had a look on the internet at a certain couple of sites and to my surprise she is there, with her full career history, although there’s a gap of four or five years between when she finished her studies – in London, would you believe – and started work in Belgium, which covered the period about which we’re talking. Seriously, I have half a mind to write to her to say “hello” and remind her of our meetings. And how I wish that I could be there to see her reaction when she receives the message.

It’s interesting that the EU figures in this dream too. A great many people blame “the EU” for many things that happen in the World but in fact “the EU” is nothing more than the Civil Service of the member countries and makes no decisions of its own that aren’t provided for in the various treaties signed by the member states or agreed by the Ministers of the member States at the various meetings. And even then, some countries have a veto or can negotiate an opt-out. I have seen with my own eyes Ministers from certain countries (one in particular, of course) vote in favour of a measure that they know is going to be unpopular back home, don’t negotiate an opt-out or a veto, and then when it’s applied and the population is restless, blame “the EU” for the issue. The hypocrisy of many of these politicians is astounding.

That wasn’t all that was on the dictaphone either, but you don’t want to know the rest, especially if you are eating your meal right now.

Meanwhile, back at the ran … errr … apartment, the nurse didn’t stay long today. He asked the usual banal, meaningless questions and then cleared off quite quickly

With him being early, I was early making my breakfast so I had plenty of time to sit and read ISAAC WELD’S BOOK.

He’s taken to a canoe with his friends, but they’ve been upset in some rapids, so they’ve gone to seek help at a local farmhouse.."The people here were extremely civil; they assisted us in making fresh paddles in lieu of those which we had lost the night before; and for the trifle which we gave them above what they asked us for our breakfasts they were very thankful, a most unusual circumstance in the United States.".

The last few words of that quotation really made me laugh

So having equipped himself and his party with new oars, they set out again and arrive in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania where, disembarking from their canoes on the banks of the Susquehanna River, they fell in with a community of Moravian farmers. He’s astonished to find that the children of the community don’t live at home but go to a boarding school. Then on leaving, live in communal houses, one for each sex.

And the editor of Aunt Judy’s magazine would be quite at home here in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, I’ll tell you that. Weld tells us that "the young persons of different sexes have but very little intercourse with each other; they never enter each other’s houses, and at church they are obliged to sit separate". I’m just surprised that they have any at all.

Marriage amongst the Moravian young people is interesting too. When a young man in the Men’s Home catches a glimpse of a girl in the Girl’s Home and likes what he sees, "it is only in consequence of his having seen her at a distance perhaps, that a bachelor is induced to propose for a young woman in marriage, and he is not permitted to offer his proposals in person to the object of his choice, but merely through the medium of the superintendant of the female house. If from the report of the elders and wardens of the society it appears to the superintendant that he is able to maintain a wife, she then acquaints her protegee with the offer, and should she consent, they are married immediately, but if she do not, the superintendant selects another female from the house, whom she imagines would be suitable to the young man, and on his approval of her they are as quickly married. Hasty as these marriages are they are never known to be attended with unhappiness; for being taught from their earliest ¡infancy to keep those passions under control"

Judging by the number of divorces and so on in the World today, it’s as good a proposition with as much chance of permanent success as any other. But I’d love to see how I would be able to keep my own “passions under control”.

Back in here I had things of my own to do and was so engrossed in doing them that my cleaner took me by surprise yet again. She fitted my patches and then I had a long wait for the taxi while this new system of controls continues to create havoc.

At the Dialysis Centre I was last to arrive so of course I was last connected. And the two girls managed it with much less pain than usual.

That meant that I could have a sleep, so I duly profited. And why not too?

But I still found time to read my Welsh and to tidy up and re-sort some of the books that I have downloaded in the past.

When it was time to go I was uncoupled, compressed and then shown the door where I had to wait a few minutes for the taxi. We were two passengers coming, so we were two passengers going, and I arrived quite late back here.

There was only just enough time to grab a quick baked potato and salad before the football started – Connah’s Quay of the Premier League who won the Cup last year, against Yr Wyddgrug of the Second tier.

It was an exciting match, but it was clear that Connah’s Quay had much more skill than their opponents. That meant nothing because you can have all the possession you like and it makes no difference if you can’t score.

Yr Wyddgrug had a few chances too and should have done much better with one or two of them, but it was Connah’s Quay who scored the decisive goal, in a goalmouth scramble. But I do have to say that if the referee were to have seen the goal again from the camera behind the goal, as we did, it would have been an indirect free-kick to Yr Wyddgrug for offside.

So now, much later than intended, I’m going to dictate my radio notes and go to bed.

But this dream – and in particular my commentary – reminds me of an incident when a cowboy riding across the desert in the USA came across a young girl who, by way of being tortured by the Apache, had been buried up to her neck in an ant-hill
"Ohh do dig me out, please" she pleaded. "I implore you!"
"If I do" said the cowboy, licking his lips "what’s in it for me?"
"Why" said the girl. "Ants, of course."

0

Friday 13th December 2024 – IT’S FRIDAY THE THIRTEENTH …

… today and so far nothing disastrous has happened. Mind you, there’s still three hours yet to pull defeat from the jaws of victory so I’m not relaxing yet. But as soon as I finish these notes I’ll be scrambling off to bed, pulling the quilt tightly around me and praying that the ceiling doesn’t drop down on my head

That was what I should have done last night – scrambled off to bed as soon as I’d finished my notes but the new reformed me, desperate to chisel out of my busy schedule some private time for myself, stayed up for a while and loitered around cyberspace until … errr … let’s just say “some time later” than 23:00.

Once in bed though, I had another sound sleep all the way through to … errr … 06:05, when I note from the dictaphone that I was awakened by a phantom alarm call. How many of those have we had just recently?

Having said that, when Billy Cotton let forth his RAUCOUS RATTLE I was fast asleep and it was something of a struggle to make it to my feet before the second alarm sounded.

In the bathroom I had a good scrub up and then went into the kitchen for a drink and to sort out the medication. I really wonder how long I’ll have to keep up all of this. Mind you, bet that I’ll order a further pile of medication in mid-January,, only to have my prescription amended when I’m in Paris on the 23rd

Back in here I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out what went on during the night. I’ve told you about the phantom alarm, but there was other stuff too. When I was in bed I was dreaming that Steve Knightley came along and began to play COUSIN JACK and began to give a talk on how the song was made, how the song was formed etc. I was asleep me room down a corridor in some old Victorian building. I had to get up, make sure that my shorts were on but I couldn’t find my socks anywhere in the room and I had a really good look for them and couldn’t see them at all

Then I dreamed that a load of folk musicians like “A Show of Hands” and a few others came to awaken me and make me leave the bed. When they turned up in my room I had just awoken so I wasn’t exactly asleep but I wasn’t really awake either. Then they had this huge discussion about should they search me for searching the lyrics to one of the songs that they’d play. They all had something of a discussion about it. In the end one stepped forward and ripped off my blouse and found that I was actually wearing the shorts with this particular music written on it. So again another chat ensued, during which I escaped out of the centre where I’d been sleeping. Of course, they didn’t notice until after I’d gone, when they began to have a guilty chat amongst themselves

All this probably has some relation to the famous comment of Kim Howells, who said in 2001 that "listening to three Somerset folk singers sounds like hell". At the time, he was a Junior Minister in the UK’s Ministry of Culture

Steve Knightley replied by singing that his"idea of urban sprawl is a pub where no-one sings at all"

The nurse was early again today, and decided once more that I don’t need any more plasters on my leg. But I’m not going to file them under CS quite yet. I’ll speak to Isabelle the Nurse and make sure that she agrees.

After he left, I made breakfast and carried on reading ISAAC WELD’S BOOK.

He’s finally made it onto dry land at what was then Buffalo Creek but which is today the city of Buffalo. He and his friends have engaged native American guides to conduct them through the forest towards New York.

His observations are remarkable though. He comments that "the varied hues of the woods at this season of the year, in America, can hardly be imagined by those who never have had an opportunity of observing them ; and indeed, as others have often remarked before, were a painter to attempt to colour a picture from them, it would be condemned in Europe as totally different from any thing that ever existed in nature"

Those are comments with which I concur wholeheartedly. As regular readers of this rubbish will recall, it’s always been my habit until recently to go across the Atlantic at the end of August and stay there for several months, as the autumns and early winters there are fantastic and the colours of the leaves are unforgettable

Talking about several treeless plains that he encounters on his way back from the Lakes to New York he notes that "very different opinions have been entertained respecting the deficiency of trees on these extensive tracts of land, in the midst of a country that abounds so generally with wood. Some have attributed it to the poverty of the soil; whilst others have maintained, that the plains were formerly covered with trees, as well as other parts of the country, but that the trees have either been destroyed by fire, or by buffaloes, beavers, and other animals … It appears to me, however, that there is more weight in the opinion of those, who ascribe the deficiency of trees on the plains to the unfriendliness of the soil … Dutch farmers, who have made repeated trials of the soil, find that it will not produce wheat or any other grain, and, in short, nothing that is at all profitable except coarse grass. I make no doubt but that whenever a similar trial comes to be made of the soil of the plain to the westward, it will be found equally incapable of producing any thing but what it does at present."

After the Native Americans were expelled from their land on the Plains in the States of Oklahoma and Kansas, those Plains were settled by farmers who ruthlessly and relentlessly ploughed up everything and planted as much as they could on what was perceived to be the fertile plains of the Mid-West. This led to the legendary “Dust Bowls” in the 1930s and the flight of tens of thousands of impoverished “Okies” to California and Chicago.

Regular readers of this rubbish will recall accompanying me in 2002 to THE HIGH PLAINS OF WYOMING – the Plains taken from the Native Americans after “Wounded Knee” in 1894 and farmed extensively, making millionaires out of people like “Judge Garth” of the “Virginian” fame, who had millions of head of cattle roaming around up there. And when we went for a look, we found nothing but a dust bowl and abandoned shacks where farmers had fled from the land that they had destroyed.

He’s also still going on about the preoccupation of the European Americans with money and profit. He notes that "we were particularly struck with the prospect from a large, and indeed very handsome house in its kind belonging to a Major Wadsworth, built on one of these hills. The Genesee River, bordered with the richest woods imaginable, might be seen from it for many miles,, meandering through a fertile country, and beyond the flats on each side of the river, appeared several ranges of blue hills rising up one behind another in a most fanciful manner, the whole together forming a most beautiful landscape. Here, however, in the true American taste, the greatest pains were taking to diminish, and, indeed, to shut out all the beauties of the prospect. Every tree in the neighbourhood of the house was felled to the ground; instead of a neat lawn, for which the ground seemed to be singularly well disposed, a wheat held was laid down in front of it; and at the bottom of the slope, at the distance of two hundred yards from the house, a town was building by the major, which, when completed, would effectually screen from the dwelling house every sight of the river and mountains. The Americans, as I before observed, seem to be totally dead to the beauties of nature, and only to admire a spot of ground as it appears to be more or less calculated to enrich the occupier by its produce."

There’s no doubt that some of his prophecies were remarkably and surprisingly accurate

All throughout the day I’ve been working on my next radio project. This has involved speaking, would you believe, to one of the artists who was on the stage performing at the first Glastonbury Festival back in 1970 and who very kindly sent me a rare recording of himself and his friends performing one of their numbers. I also managed to track down a copy of the very first ever song performed at the very first Glastonbury Festival.

However, that’s not true. It’s a little-known fact that there was a series of Glastonbury Festivals between 1914 and 1925 but when it was revealed that the organiser was a paid-up card-carrying member of the Communist Party who debased the Nativity with a crude joke, his festivals were quickly brushed under the carpet.

There were interruptions for lunch, for my cleaner and for my hot chocolate break, but most importantly, I’ve selected all of the music that I need, tracked it down, downloaded it, edited it, paired it, segued the pairs and written about half of the notes. That’s what I call a good day’s work.

Tea was vegan nuggets with chips and vegan salad, delicious as always, especially when followed by home-made ginger cake and soya dessert. I am lucky.

So now I’m going to bed, and probably dream of folk singers again as I now have Lindisfarne round on the playlist.

But going back to Kim Howells, it reminds me of the French schoolboy who was asked "can you list the factors that separate modern Homo Sapiens from the Palaeolithic Humanoid Stone Age culture?"
The little boy puts his hand up and says "please Sir – it’s la Manche – the English Channel"

0

Thursday 12th December 2024 – IT SEEMS TO BE ..

… confirmed that the X-Ray that I’m going to suffer on Monday is in fact on my right foot. I was handed the summons and it definitely says pied droit so there we are.

But having said that, I’m not sure if it is in fact my foot. I know that that sounds strange but I had a colleague once who lost a leg in the war and he still had severe pains in the foot that he no longer had.

In the end, in his case, it turned out to be a trapped nerve and that what makes me suspect that I have something similar going on.

Rosemary came up with a good idea the other day too, and that is that your foot is controlled by the same nerves that control other parts of your body, and it might be something to do with the other part of the body rather than the foot.

Intrigued by this, I had a look to see what I could find, and some reflexologist has posted a map of the foot and which regions of the foot, he thinks, are related to other parts of the body

So I found about one hundred maps of the foot, and about one hundred different plans. So if the reflexologists can’t agree, what chance do I have?

But seriously, if it’s not one thing which me at the moment, it’s another and I’ve no idea when it’s going to end, if it ever will. I seem to be fighting a losing battle.

Going to bed before 23:00 is also a losing battle. I’d finished everything quite early but once more, I was side-tracked by a concert that came round on the playlist so I stopped up to listen to it. And one thing inevitably leads to another, and once you start, you’ll be surprised at how many other things there are.

Once in bed though, I slept the Sleep of the Dead all the way round to about 06:55 this morning. And just as I was wondering what time it might be, BILLY COTTON told me.

In the bathroom I had a good scrub and even a shave to make myself look pretty, and then went into the kitchen to make a drink and take my medication, remembering not to take the medicine that I’m not supposed to take on Dialysis Day.

Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. There was a new female nurse starting to work in a castle. Her job was to look after this tribe of Europeans who were settled near her. She had to go out to inspect the health of one of the leaders of the people, some young guy who was big and powerful. He hadn’t met this girl before. Quite naturally he became attracted to her while she was busy trying to do her job. He was asking her all sorts of questions such as “how long have you worked there? Where did you come from originally?” all of this. She was aware of what he was trying to do and was also very careful not to give any sign of any particular encouragement because that could only lead to complications amongst tribal people like this but she wondered how long it would be before some kind of approach is made.

Some nurse once told me that on average she received about one proposal per patient per week. Proposals of marriage were quite frequent too. It became quite an art to side-step them. I’ve also heard that someone from some medical establishment that I’ve visited (and shall remain nameless for the purpose of this discussion) whose job it is to make home visits to the elderly and infirm has had more than just proposals, which only goes to show that these people aren’t as elderly and infirm as they pretend to be.

Later on, I was back in work again. It was a Thursday and I was finishing at 16:00 because I was driving to Munich in my old Mercedes to go to my birthday party which was on the Saturday. As I was going to be away for a couple of weeks I tidied out my drawers, made sure that there were only about half a dozen files in there that needed work, and everything was all ready with about an hour to go. So I found the “post out” pile and decided to review that. I was reviewing the “post out” and came across a letter where the typing had typed over several lines twice. I took it back to the colleague who had dictated it and explained to her that it couldn’t go out like that. Could she retype it? But the boss was there chatting to her so I had to wait until after he left. When I finished explaining to this girl I walked back to my desk. The boss came up to me and said “I hear that you’re on the move tonight”. I explained to him that I was off to Munich in the old Merc. He said “you should have a good time”. I replied “I know, because it’s not where you are or what you are doing, it’s who you are with that counts”.

It’s quite a change for me to dream that I’ve finished my work. When I was going through that series of dreams about work, it was always about retiring spontaneously leaving a huge pile of work behind. And as for my old Merc, that’s festering down the field back on the farm along with a Ford Cortina and an old diesel Transit for company. The final sentiments of that dream are sentiments with which I concur wholeheartedly. That’s why I’m happiest on my own. Not even Percy Penguin could change that, and how she tried!

The nurse came early again and having ordered twelve boxes of plasters that he wanted, he’s now decided that I don’t need any at all. Judging by the piles of unused medication around here, the Social Security would save a lot of money if they were to dispense it in smaller amounts.

After he left I made my breakfast, and carried on reading ISAAC WELD’S BOOK.

He’s now left the First-Nation and Native American encampments, and his final words on that subject are not too encouraging. "The filthiness and wretchedness of their smoky habitations, the nauseousness of their common food to a person not even of a delicate palate, and their general uncleanliness, would be sufficient, I think, to deter any one from going to live amongst them from choice, supposing even that no other reasons operated against his doing so. I had fully determined in my own mind, when I first came to America, not to leave the continent without spending a considerable time amongst them, in the interior parts of the country, in order to have an opportunity of observing their native manners and customs in their utmost purity ; but the samples I have seen of them during my stay in this part of the country, although it has given me a most favourable opinion of the Indians themselves,, has induced me to relinquish my purpose. Content therefore with what I have seen myself, and with what I have heard from others, if chance should not bring me again into their way in prosecuting my journey into the settled parts of the States, I shall take no further pains to cultivate a more intimate acquaintance with them."

Having said that, however, he’ll probably change his opinion somewhat for on his departure down the Great Lakes, his ship was driven onto the rocks by a storm and he came within an ace of being shipwrecked. Luckily the wind changed round just as the ship was about to break up, so that they could steer it down from the rocks

There’s no doubt that he’s having some serious adventures on his travels.

Back in here I had things to do and was so engrossed that I hadn’t noticed the arrival of my faithful cleaner who had come to fit my anaesthetic patches

After she’d done that, I collected my plastic bottle and waited for the taxi.

It was one of my favourite drivers today. She helped me down past the broken handrail and outside into the car, and then we shot off to pick up our other passenger who comes with us on Thursdays and Saturdays.

The drive down to Avranches was rapid but uneventful, and for a change, I wasn’t last into the ward. In actual fact, I was connected quite early but it was still just as painful as it usually is.

However I went to the bathroom on the way in and on the way out of the smallest room, struggling to open the door, someone outside opened it for me. And it was none other than Emilie the Cute Consultant. Had she known that it was me, she probably would have leaned against it to keep it closed.

According to the nurse who connected me, the doctor wants to discuss the follow-up to the examination that I had the other day in the hospital. However, no-one came to see me. If Emilie the Cute Consultant is the one on duty, she’ll probably leave off talking to me and send an oppo on Saturday.

No-one interrupted me at all today. I could sleep for half an hour (which I seem to be doing every time the machine starts up now), revise my Welsh and carry on with my LeClerc order. In fact I was so engrossed in that that I was taken unawares by the end of the cycle.

Uncoupling me was painful but straightforward, I only had to wait five minutes for the taxi, and it was a quick drive home. Once more, we had another passenger in the back whom I didn’t notice at all until she said “hello”. It’s a good job that I didn’t commit any indiscretion when I climbed in.

Back here my faithful cleaner was waiting and she watched as I climbed up to the lift. I’m going up in the lift from the first half-landing and then coming back down on foot as I can’t do the second flight of stairs with this handrail hanging off.

Tea tonight was steamed veg and vegan sausage in a cheese sauce, all of which was cooked to perfection and was delicious, especially now that I have some cauliflower, broccoli and sprouts. The ginger cake and soya dessert were delicious too. My meals may not be exciting but they really are delicious.

Right now though, I’m off to bed. Tomorrow there ‘s nothing of any importance except the cleaner and in the evening, Connah’s Quay Nomads v Mold Alexandra in the Welsh Cup

But Isaac Weld is still struggling with his ship in the storm. All the masts have been torn away so the ship is powerless.
The captain comes on deck with a pile of planks and says "I’m going to give out two planks to each passenger and you’ll have to do your best to row to the nearest port"
Isaac Weld turns to one of his friends and says "this is going to be quite an oar deal"

0

Wednesday 11th December 2024 – I HAVE BEEN …

… a busy boy again today and accomplished quite a great deal of stuff. So it’s hardly surprising that I’m feeling pretty much whacked right now.

Not that it’ll make much difference as I have a great deal to do tomorrow and Friday, and maybe even Saturday morning too. It’s all go here!

What I need is another early night like the one that I had last night where I was in bed a good few minutes before 23:00, and when I can do that, things are looking up.

Last night, for some reason or other I was finished by 22:20 and even hanging around for a while didn’t make it too late. I was asleep quite quickly too, with the hatches battened down until the morning. I don’t think that I moved at all

At some point during the night there was a young girl who was living on her own and having attendants, rather like the juvenile Queen of a country somewhere. I don’t remember very much and I can’t have gone very far into this dream when the alarm went off. However it was another one that could have been extremely interesting and it was a shame that it finished so abruptly.

It took me a while to gather up my wits – I can’t believe that they spread out so far so quickly – and when the room stopped spinning round I could stand up and head to the bathroom.

After the bathroom I headed off to the kitchen for my morning drink and pile of medication, which doesn’t seem to be shrinking any

Back in here I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out what happened during the night. I was back in the early modern era. I was in bed and trying to rise up but every time I tried to dress something came along to interrupt me, like a visitor or something like that so I had to dive back into bed as they came. This happened two or three times with someone like that coming along and me having to dive back into bed

Later on I was out walking with someone last night (so I’d obviously managed to finally leave the bed) and we’d walked miles. We’d been in the hills and had slowly started to come down out of the hills, just following a map. We hadn’t really all that much idea of the terrain at all or of the route except that which the map showed us. There was a path shown on the map so we followed it as best as we could. We didn’t meet anyone at all until we’d come down quite low when we saw some people wandering around. They took a track which led down into the valley. I asked my friend if that was ours. He replied “no, it’s the next one”. Then we had to think of a way to cross the motorway. We looked down and there was a motorway along the floor of the valley. We pushed on and when we were a little further down we saw a path that branched off from our farm track or cart track and this went straight down to the valley. There was a fence and then a footbridge over the motorway. We thought “we’re obviously not the first people to have come this way and to have found the utility of there being a bridge across the motorway here”. This bridge took us to the railway station which was on the other side of the motorway. We said to ourselves “well, when we arrive in town we’ll deserve a really fine meal. We’ll have a right slap-up nosh at tea-time after all our exertions”.

There was also something somewhere about going back to the family (as if that is ever likely to happen), wondering how long it’s going to be before they actually notice that I’m walking without using my crutches and things are all back to normal but I don’t know where that fits in at all

My long-term ambition, whether it’s feasible or not, is to recover the use of my legs and walk again. No-one seems to be able to work out what’s happening to my legs, or if they have, they haven’t told me. But every six months, as regularly as clockwork, they change the medication in the hope that they stumble on something that works, and who knows? One day they might!

The nurse was early again today. Of course, he doesn’t have any blood tests or injections to do. His poor oppo has been loaded with all of that and so she runs about half an hour behind.

The first thing that he did was to grab hold of my bread with his fingers, so he departed quite quickly with a flea in his ear. I couldn’t believe that he did that and he won’t do that again and walk out of here unaided.

After he left, I made breakfast and carried on reading ISAAC WELD’S BOOK

He’s still shacked up with the First-Nation people, observing their habits. He notes that "It is a very singular and remarkable circumstance, that notwithstanding the striking similarity which we find in the persons, manners, customs, dispositions, and religion of the different tribes of Indians from one end of the continent of North America to the other, a similarity so great as hardly to leave a doubt on the mind but that they must all have had the same origin, the languages of the different tribes should yet be so materially different. No two tribes speak exactly the same language; and the languages of many of those who live at no great distance asunder, vary, so much, that they cannot make themselves at all understood to each other."

That’s something that I could readily understand. When I was in the Arctic I tried to learn some Inuktitut but it wasn’t really helpful because the Inuit in one bay would speak one language, you’d go 100 miles into the next community and they would speak a different form, and then a third further on, and then a fourth and so on. I was always one bay behind.

It was quite astonishing really that even in the 21st Century there has been so little mixing of the different Inuit communities up there in the Arctic. But I suppose that with the rapid warming of the climate, so evident up there in the North, it’s even less easy to move around than it was, as the ice doesn’t freeze over so much.

Once my leisurely breakfast was over, I came in here and began work. And by the time that I’d finished for the evening, I’d bashed out all of the text for the next radio programme, ready to dictate on Saturday night for editing and finishing on Sunday. That was some work, I’ll tell you.

There were several interruptions too. A friend of mine from school who now lives in the Orkneys wanted to test whether or not he’d configured an on-line video program correctly so we’d agreed that he could use me as his test bed.

Sure enough, he’d done what he needed to do and we had a really nice video chat, seeing each other for the first time for about 45 years. It’s really nice to see and talk to old friends, and new technology makes it oh! so easy.

Lunch was next – a slice of flapjack and some fruit, with water to wash down the midday medication.

My faithful cleaner turned up too, of course, to do her stuff. And that included helping me to have a shower. That was lovely of course and I can’t wait to be downstairs in my own place with a proper walk-in shower where I can shower whenever I like

After she left I went one better than Dave Crosby, presumably because it’s getting kind-of long. I could have said it was in my way. But I’m not giving in an inch to fear, because I promised myself this year I feel like I owe it to someone

And then Rosemary rang for a chat. And we’re definitely losing our touch. That chat was just 46 minutes long. More like a nod and wave across the street rather than a chat.

As far as the Christmas cake goes, I tried to explain to my cleaner what sugar I needed to make the icing for my cake, and Rosemary helped me out too. So hopefully, next week I’ll end up with what I need. It’s really awkward when I’m not able to go out and about.

Tea tonight was a leftover curry and naan bread. And for once, the naan was deliciously cooked to perfection. I think that after all these years I’ve finally cracked the method of cooking them. You fry them, of course, but on a low heat, neither too low or too high. And don’t over-fry them

The ginger cake and soya dessert were lovely too.

So now I’ll loiter around for a short while before going to bed. I might even read some more of Isaac Weld.

He talks about religion and the conversion of various tribes to Christianity but notes that "some of the tribes have much less devotion than others; the Shawnese, a warlike daring nation, have but very little fear of evil spirits, and consequently have scarcely any religion amongst them. None of this nation, that I could learn, have ever been converted to Christianity"

Missionaries have been sent among the Shawnee and, commenting on another vice of the First-Nation and Native American people, "great pains have been taken, both by the French and English missionaries, to represent to them the infamy of torturing their prisoners;"

However, even the missionaries were not spared this. Amongst the Shawnee the first missionaries who went there ended up in the cooking pot hung over the fire.
The Shawnee performed a ceremony of dancing around the fire and the pot to celebrate the arrival of their next meal, but every few minutes one of the Shawnee would break off to slap the missionary across the face.
After a while the chief called him over and shouted "Stop that! We don’t humiliate our captives in that way!"
"But chief!" exclaimed the brave
"What’s the matter?"
"It’s that missionary!" said the brave. "Every time your back is turned he starts to eat the potatoes!"

0

Tuesday 10th December 2024 – I THINK THAT …

… I must have an araignée au plafond, the way that things are turning out.

There I was, early this morning, thinking that I have sufficient supplies to postpone my next LeClerc delivery until the next weekend.

Then I realised that there would only be a handful of days from then until Christmas.

And then I was thinking “Jeezus H Goddam Bleeding Chri…..estttt” – I have Christmas Cake and Mince Pies to make and I haven’t even begun to think about the Christmas Cake yet, and there’s only two weeks to go!

Yes, I’ve not had my usual reminder, have I? And you know what my memory and my awareness is like!

And it was early this morning too, because when the alarm went off at 07:00, I was already up and about, sitting at my desk working.

Just for a change last night, I was in bed before 23:00. Only just, it has to be said, but even so it’s still worth noting. and I was so tired that I fell asleep almost instantly.

Nothing whatever disturbed me and I slept right the way through until all of … errr … 05:20 when something outside awoke me. No idea what it was but I couldn’t go back to sleep so round about 06:20 I gave it up as a bad job and left the bed.

In the bathroom I had a good wash and scrub up and then went into the kitchen for a drink and to take my medicine

Back in here I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. I was back driving taxis around Crewe again last night. It was a wet, rainy winter night and we were quite busy. I had two girls driving on the shift with me. I was running around quite well. I went to pick up a fare at one of the clubs. There was a meeting there just turning out and there were loads of people there. One couple were friends of mine and they asked me if I could sort them a taxi. I radioed into base and arranged for someone to go to pick them up. I carried on driving, and at one stage someone paid me £5:00 so I had that on top of the pile with a piece of paper over it. I carried on driving through the night and came back home again when the shift was finished. The two girls were in there cashing up. I noticed from the sheets that the passengers who had asked me to find them someone had not only been picked up by one of these girls but a return journey back home had taken place too. I thought that that was a pretty good trip. We were just sorting through a few things and it turned out that some young boy from the hospital had not been entered into the sheets. He’d started today and as a result someone was really late going for him and really late picking him up. It ended up with the police coming round to find out about what was going on. They had three particular complaints with which to deal about this. Of course I had to try to think about how this might have happened and what we were going to do about it for the future

These days I seem to be spending a lot of time driving taxis during the night. The last time I actually drove one for real was in 1989 but then in Brussels I spent until 2004 driving my boss around in a limousine. Early retirement at 50 was offered and as I couldn’t see myself driving a C15 around Brussels delivering the office mail (we were taken out of the front line at 50) I took what was on offer and headed off for pastures new. Even so, I still find it hard to understand why I seem to spend so much of my sleeping hours behind the wheel of a taxi.

Plenty of time before the nurse arrives so I spent it working on my Jersey page but I didn’t go very far because he was early today

There were the usual patronising remarks that really irritate me but he was soon gone and I could go to prepare my breakfast.

And to read ISAAC WELD’S BOOK too.

He’s continuing his stay with the First-Nation people and is pouring out his thoughtful observations, many of which have yet to come into the common consciousness of some people even today.

He tells us inter alia that "Le P. Charlevoix observes, that the Indians seem to him to possess many personal advantages over us; their senses, in particular, he thinks much finer than ours"

He also says that "the Indians have most retentive memories ; they will preserve to their deaths a recollection of any place they have once passed through; they never forget a face that they have attentively observed but for a few seconds ; at the end of many years they will repeat every sentence of the speeches that have been delivered by different individuals in a public assembly; and has any speech been made in the council house of the nation, particularly deserving of remembrance, it will be handed down with the utmost accuracy from one generation to another, though perfectly ignorant of the use of hieroglyphicks and letters"

On the subject of their memory and power of recall he tells us "A party of Indians that were passing on to some of the seaports on the Atlantic … were observed, ail on a sudden to quit the straight road by which they were proceeding, and without asking any questions to strike through the woods in a direct line to one of these graves, which lay at the distance of some miles from the road. Now very near a century must have passed over since the part of Virginia, in which this grave was situated had been inhabited by Indians; and these Indian travellers, who went to visit it by themselves, had, unquestionably, never been in that part of the country before; they must have found their way to it simply from the description of its situation that had been handed down to them by tradition."

This part of the book is probably the most interesting, not only because if talks so much about the lifestyle and behaviour of the First-Nation and Native American people, but also because he pulls no punches in his criticism of the Europeans who have corrupted the morals of the native people.

Back in here I revised my Welsh and then went to the lesson. Today, it was rather like the curate’s egg – “good and bad in parts”.

After lunch I decided that it was time for direct action.

First thing that I did was to make some dough for bread as I have now run out

Second, and most important thing, was to check the supplies for making my Christmas Cake.

Having decided that I have almost everything, I sorted out all of the dried fruit and put it in to soak. Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that in the Bulk Barn in Fredericton two years ago I found some brandy essence and rum essence. It’s not available here as everyone uses the real stuff, so I loaded up and brought it back in my suitcase. I made a marinade with some of it, mixed with vanilla and orange essence and water, poured it over the fruit, mixed it in and it’s now in the fridge soaking.

Next Tuesday I’ll have to bake my cake. Last year I left my dried fruit marinating for a month, so I wonder if a week is going to be good enough

As for marzipan and icing sugar, I shall have to rely on my faithful cleaner at the shops next Tuesday morning. What a state to be in, hey?

My dough rose really well today, which was good news, and it cooked well in the air fryer. What I’m doing now is baking it just halfway and then turning it over for the other half. That seems to do the trick. All I need to do is to work out how to turn a cake over in mid-bake.

After the hot chocolate I came back in here and chose the music for the next radio programme, paired it off and segued it. Tomorrow I’ll write the notes for it, but I have a lot going on so I’ll see where I fetch up.

On the subject of my moaning about this stabbing pain, I’ve been summoned next Monday to the Imagerie Department of the hospital. No idea what they are going to X-Ray but I hope that it’s for this foot. It’s not unlikely that they may find something that is the cause of these mobility issues that I have. Wouldn’t that be nice?

Another thing that I have done is to address an e-mail to the agents of this building, about the defective handrail outside my door. After all, I don’t want to go head-over-heels down the stairs and me casser à la margoulette

Tea tonight was a lovely taco roll with rice and veg, followed by vegan ginger cake and soya dessert. Yet another simple but delicious meal. I definitely eat quite well around here.

So now I’m off to bed ready for a good start tomorrow, fighting fit and full of beans – I don’t think.

But while we’re on the subject of Native American memory and recall … "well, one of us is" – ed … Isaac Weld has first-hand experience of that.
At the start of his journey, he landed in Philadelphia where he was first informed of this ability, so he decided to put it to the test. He asked the first native American he met "what did you have for breakfast on the day that the Revolutionary War broke out 18 years ago?"
"Eggs" replied the Native American
So, suitably impressed, Weld set off on his marathon journey and for three years he travelled around the Continent of North America.
Back in Philadelphia three years later, he went to find his ship to go back to Ireland, and there standing on the quayside was a group of Native Americans.
Being friendly, Weld went up to them, raised his right hand in salute and said "how?" in greeting, like you do
One of the natives replied "scrambled"

0

Monday 9th December 2024 – THIS TOWN IS …

… slowly waking up to face the destruction that took place during the weekend. Winds gusting up to 160 kph, with an average 24-hour speed of 102 kph, have caused devastation and in a lovely, ironic turn of phrase, the local newspaper reports that "le chantier de la place de Gaulle ressemblait à un lendemain de carnaval. " – “the construction site in the Place de Gaulle looks like the day after the Carnival”

Apart from signs blown down onto cars, flower pots, slates and aerials everywhere and 16,000 houses that at one moment or another with their electricity cut off, there was the roof of a garden shed making a bid for freedom along one of the streets up here on the Pointe du Roc and we nearly collided with it on the way to dialysis.

Trains won’t be running for a few days as there are trees down everywhere and all kinds of damage to the railway installations.

"Malgré tout, " the local newspaper continues "d’intrépides randonneurs et joggers arpentaient le bord de mer dimanche matin, au risque de se faire heurter par un objet volant pas toujours identifié" – “despite everything, some brave walkers and joggers went to the edge of the sea for a look around on Sunday morning, risking being hit by ‘an unidentified flying object'”

By the time that I went to bed last night, late again as usual, the wind had died down somewhat. There was still quite a bit of noise but it didn’t bother me one bit. Once I was curled up, head and all, underneath the quilt, I didn’t feel a thing. It was totally painless.

When the alarm went off I was still miles away from everything and it was quite a haul to drag myself out of bed before the next alarm. But once I was up, I staggered off to the bathroom to make myself ready for the day.

Leaving the bathroom I went into the kitchen for my drink and medication, remembering not to take the medication that I’m not supposed to take on Dialysis Day.

As an aside, I can take my medication prior to the arrival of the nurse because all blood tests these days are done at the Dialysis Clinic and it doesn’t seem to matter a jot whether I have or haven’t eaten.

Back in here I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night, and to my disappointment the dictaphone was blank. That’s really sad because, as I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … the only excitement that I have these days is whatever goes on during the night.

When Isabelle the Nurse came we had a good chat about the storm and the damage. But she’s going off now for her week of rest to wrap Christmas presents. I don’t think that I have any to wrap.

After she left I made breakfast and carried on reading ISAAC WELD’S BOOK.

Weld is now firmly esconced with the First-Nation peoples and his remarks à propos the American settlers of European descent are becoming more and more warm. I should perhaps mention that “Native American” is the term preferred by those people who were happily settled in what is today the USA before the arrival of the white man. In Canada, the preferred term is “First-Nation”. And when I mention “European”, what I imply by that term is for people whose ethnic origin is predominantly European, even if some of their ancestors might have been on the shores of Massachusetts to greet the arrival of the Mayflower.

Anyway, Weld holds no punches back in his discussion of the American settlers of European descent . "A large portion of the back settlers, living upon the Indian frontiers, are, according to the best of my information, far greater savages than the Indians themselves. It is nothing uncommon, I’am told, to see hung up in their chimney corners, or nailed against the door of their habitations, similarly to the ears or brush of a fox, the scalps which they have themselves tom from the heads of the Indians whom they have shot; and in numberless publications in the United States, I have read accounts, of-their having flayed the Indians, and employed -their skins as they would have done those of a wild beast, for whatever purpose they could be applied to. An Indian is considered by them as nothing; better than a destructive ravenous wild beast, without reason, without a soul, that ought to be hunted down like a wolf wherever it makes its appearance,; and indeed, even amongst the bettermost sort of the inhabitants of the western country, the most illiberal notions are entertained respecting these unfortunate people, and arguments for their banishment, or rather extirpation, are adopted, equally contrary to justice and to humanity."

He goes on to say "O Americans ! shall we praise your justice and your love of liberty… ? Shall we commend your moderation, when we see ye eager to gain fresh possessions, whilst ye have yet millions of acres within your own territories unoccupied ? Shall we reverence your regard for the rights of human nature, when we see ye bent upon banishing the poor Indian from the land where rest the bones of his ancestors, to him more precious than your cold hearts can imagine; and when we see ye tyrannizing over the hapless African, because nature has stamped upon him a complexion different from your own?"

It’s probably just as well that he didn’t live to see such atrocities as Sand Creek and Wounded Knee, never mind the current treatment of the ethnic minorities in the USA.

Back in here I had things to do and then I did some of my Welsh homework. And I can’t believe how much I’ve forgotten from what I learned last Tuesday. I really wish that someone could do something about my teflon brain.

My cleaner came along as usual to fit my anaesthetic patches and then I had to wait an age for the taxi to arrive. Once more, we were three passengers, all going to different places in South-West Manche, and I had a nice little chat with the little old lady sitting with me in the back.

At the Dialysis Clinic I was last to arrive so I was last to be wired in, and for a change none of it hurt. That was a surprise. However, once the effect of the anaesthetic wore off, then I knew all about it.

While I was there, I read my Welsh and then started to read THE BOOK ON THIS FRENCH SERIAL KILLER.

It’s quite well-written, and draws on a lot of the evidence that was introduced at his trial. And it includes a lovely phrase that I shall remember and use at every possible opportunity – il a une araignée au plafond – “he has a spider on the ceiling”, meaning someone who doesn’t have both paddles in the water.

The doctor came to see me today too – the one who has little interest in his profession. And we went through the same performance about the pain in my foot that we have had on several previous occasions.

While he was with me I asked about the arrangement for my trip to Paris, but he’d lost interest a long time before that point. He doesn’t listen to anything anyone tells him – he just answers what he thinks that he hears and then wanders off out of earshot before you can correct him.

Of course, being stuck in a bed with a series of pipes and tubes plugged in, you can’t run after him and slosh him one. If you could, I’d be making sure that he understood what I was trying to tell him by using Morse Code by the medium of a wooden mallet on his skull.

Last in, and last plugged in, means also that I am last out. And so it was. And then I had to wait for an age until the taxi came. It was 19.05 by the time that I returned home to my faithful cleaner.

Tea tonight was a delicious stuffed pepper with pasta and veg followed by ginger cake and soya dessert. And now I’m off to bed, ready to Fight The Good Fight in my Welsh class tomorrow.

But the reason why the doctor is in such a bad mood is because he’s still smarting over being fired from the fertility clinic.
One of his patients came in and asked him "have my test results come back, doctor?"
"They have indeed" he replied "and I have some good news for you, Madame DuPont"
"It’s Mamzelle DuPont actually, doctor" she said
"In that case, Mamzelle Dupont" he replied "I have some bad news for you."

0

Sunday 8th December 2024 – THIS BLASTED STORM …

… Darragh or whatever it’s called is crazy. It’s only just now beginning to abate after one of the wildest weekends that I can remember.

This morning there was a report of 5,000 homes in this département alone having their electricity cut off, and I don’t suppose that the situation has improved any over the course of the day.

There have been no trains running this weekend and I imagine that they won’t restart for a couple of days while the track is inspected for damaged infrastructure and fallen trees

Reports this morning also mentioned gusts of wind at 153 kph – not quite the 203 kph of earlier in the year but it’s still impressive enough

One thing is for certain though – and that is that if the weather keeps on deteriorating like this, we aren’t ever going to be short of electricity. The wind turbines must have been going around like the clappers.

There was that much noise outside with the wind that I had to use some sound-proofing techniques when I wanted to dictate the radio notes last night. I’d waited until quite late when whatever traffic that there might have been had all gone to bed but coping with the wind was something else.

Once it was finished though, I could head for bed. Before midnight too, which meant that with a lie-in until 08:00 I was for once going to have a decent sleep

Sure enough, it was, too. I didn’t stir at all and neither was I disturbed. Whatever the wind was doing didn’t bother me, with my head tucked well down underneath the quilt

The alarm going off at 08:00 shook me from my slumbers and it was quite an effort to scramble to my feet before the next alarm.

After the bathroom I came back in here to listen to the dictaphone, and I was disappointed because there was hardly anything on it. When the alarm went off we were discussing ethnicity and particularly Native Americans, about how people were too busy trying to classify them into little boxes. Someone was doing some kind of ethnic review. He had five different boxes that had to be ticked. I thought that that was over-simplifying something far too much when it came down to the spirituality and individuality of these people.

This all relates to Isaac Weld and his observations as he travels around North America, and probably my eternal gripe about PhD students in Labrador too.

Isabelle the Nurse blew in this morning too, totally windswept in this hurricane that’s blowing. She’s just visited one of her clients who lives on the top floor of a large building in the town, and she told me about how that building is shaking and windows rattling.

After she left, I made breakfast and carried on reading ISAAC WELD’S BOOK.

He’s now in Detroit, or what passed for Detroit in the late Eighteen Century, and the thing that struck him the most was that "you see numberless old squaws leading about their daughters, ever ready to dispose of them, ‘pro tempore’, to the highest bidder." Of course, having studied Latin, I know what pro tempore means, and I’m sure that most of you can work out the meaning too. But once more, it tells me more about the morals of the Europeans in Detroit than it does about the native Americans

He’s also present at the annual distribution of presents to the First-Nations people by the British officials in Canada, across the river from Detroit. The officials are handing out "bales of thick blankets, of blue scarlet, and brown cloth, and of coarse figured cottons, together with large rolls of tobacco, guns,, flints, powder, balls, shot, case-knives, ivory and horn combs, looking-glasses, pipe-tomahawks, hatchets scissars, needles, vermilion in bags copper and iron pots and kettles,".

He goes on to say "Besides the presents, such as I have described, others of a different nature again, namely, provisions, were dealt out this year amongst certain tribes of the Indians that were encamped on the island of Bois Blanc, These were some of the tribes that had been at war with the people of the United States, whose villages, fields of corn, and stores of provisions had been totally destroyed during the contest by General Wayne, and who having been thereby bereft of every means of support, had come, as soon as peace was concluded, to beg for subsistence from their good friends the British.".

For a European living in the late Eighteenth Century, he shows a surprising amount of humanity. He talks quite considerably about the First-Nation people and the presents that they receive from the British, "presents of a less value even than what arc now distributed amongst them would perhaps be found sufficient to keep up that good understanding which now subsists between us; it could not, however, be deemed a very advisable measure to curtail them, as long as a possibility remained that the loss of their friendship might be incurred thereby; and, indeed, when we consider what a happy and numerous people the Indians were before Europeans intruded themselves into the territories allotted to them by nature; when we consider how many thousands have perished in battle, embroiled in our contests for power and dominion, and how many thousands more have perished by the use of the poisonous beverages which we have introduced amongst them; when we consider how many artificial wants have been raised in the minds of the few nations of them that yet remain,, and how sadly the morals of these nations have been corrupted by their intercourse with the whites; when we consider, finally that in the course of fifty years more no vestige even of these once virtuous and amiable people will probably be found in the whole of that extensive territory which lies between the Mississippi and the Atlantic and was formerly inhabited solely by them; instead of wishing to lessen the value or the number of the few trifles that we find are acceptable to them in their present state we ought rather to be desirous of contributing still more largely to their comfort and happiness."

He certainly hits the nail right on the head with his comment about "how many artificial wants have been raised in the minds of the few nations of them that yet remain". Is it any surprise to anyone that the more the Western World pounds on about how marvellous and wonderful our style of life is, that more and more people from the deprived areas of the World will want to flood here and take part in it? And how disappointed and what their reaction is going to be when they find out that the streets really aren’t paved with gold as they were promised?

Another comment that he made about the First-Nation and Native American people that impressed itself upon me was "yon must treat them as men that are your equals and in some measure even adopt their native manners. It was by such steps as these that the French when they had possession of Canada gained their favour in such a very eminent manner, and acquired so wonderful an ascendancy over them," and "The necessity of treating the Indians with respect and attention is strongly inculcated on the minds of the English settlers, and they endeavour to act accordingly; but still they cannot banish wholly from their minds, as the French do, the idea that the Indians are an inferior race of people to them"

As for the Americans, "to the conduct of the people of the States themselves alone, and to no other cause, is unquestionably to be attributed the continuance of the warfare between them and the Indians, after the definitive treaty of peace was signed. Instead of then taking the opportunity to reconcile the Indians, as they might easily have done by presents, and by treating them with kindness, they still continued hostile towards them ; they looked upon them, as indeed they still do, merely as wild beasts, that ought to be banished from the face of the earth,"

Even 200 years later, the Americans are still treating the First-Nation people as inferior beings and racism is, if anything even worse these days.

In case you haven’t already gathered, I am finding this book to be one of the most fascinating that I have ever read and I am in awe of Weld’s observations.

Back in here, later than usual, I made a start on my radio programme. And by the time I came to finish work, I’d completed it, right down to the final track and it is ready to go, some time in nine months’ time

There were the usual interruptions of course, lunch, the hot chocolate, making my pizza. And tonight I ended up with another candidate for one of the best pizzas that I have ever made.

Just recently I’ve been watching a French film about a serial killer who roamed the mountains of France at the end of the Nineteenth Century. It turns out to be based on a true story and there was a contemporary book written about it. Having had a look round I found a copy on my ARCHIVE SITE so that’s been added to this ever-increasing list of books to read.

So right now, I’m off to bed. I have my Welsh homework to start tomorrow morning and then I have another painful dialysis session tomorrow afternoon. How I hate those.

Before I go, Isaac Weld told a story of an incident that happened during the giving out of presents, a story that I feel obliged to repeat.
One First-Nation member went back to his teepee carrying a bright red blouse
"Where did you get that?" asked his neighbour
"from the Palefaces" said the First-Nationer. "I got it for the wife"
"Blimey!" said his neighbour. "That was a good trade."

0

Saturday 7th December 2024 – IT’S NOT THE …

… bells on her toes that matter. It’s the ring on her finger that counts.

It only seems like yesterday when I was bouncing a bonny, tiny baby on my knee as her mother wrestled with the controls of a GMC “Jimmy” through masses after masses of snowdrifts in the foothills of the Appalachians in Canada

amber taylor st fx ring saint francis xavier university antigonish nova scotia canada 2024That was in late December 2003, and here’s that bonny, tiny baby now, 21 years later on, proudly displaying her ring.

"One ring to rule them all
One ring to find them
One ring to bring them all
And in the darkness bind them"
it is not but it’s just as hard to find. The wearing of this ring signifies that the wearer has completed a degree course at Canada’s most prestigious (in my opinion) University, Saint Francis Xavier University in Antigonish, Nova Scotia

Our family isn’t all a load of tat as you may think, judging by what I have a tendency to write. As regular readers of this rubbish will recall, my maternal grandmother was one of Canada’s leading singers in the period 1915-1924. Even though her father (my great grandfather) re-enlisted in the Canadian Army after retirement, one of her distant cousins was SENTENCED TO DEATH IN WORLD WAR I as a conscientious objector (I have in my possession some of the letters that he wrote in prison).

And going even farther back, that distant side of the family is related in some way to Edward Kenealy, the barrister who defended the Tichborne claimant so vigorously that he was struck off.

It’s obviously that side of the family where all the brains are, because my great little niece (or is it my little great niece?) is now the second member of our family to qualify for her St.F-X ring.

So well done, Ammie. I’m proud of you!

Not so proud though of the time that I went to bed last night – or, rather, this morning. I’d finished quite early what I had to do last night but as usual, finishing work is one thing. Going to bed is quite something else. I hung around for quite some time trying to summon up the courage to pull myself out of my chair.

Once more though, once in bed it took an age to go to sleep but once I did, I was gone for good and the howling gale outside didn’t disturb me at all, which is surprising.

When the alarm went off it took quite a while for me to stagger to my feet and head to the bathroom, rounding up a pile of clothes on the way because, having changed the bedding yesterday, it’s washing day today.

After I’d had a good wash, I had a shave and then loaded up the washing machine. And believe it or not, there’s still a pile of stuff that wouldn’t fit in. This is becoming ridiculous.

Next port of call was the kitchen for a drink, and while I was at it, to take my medicine. And I was so distracted that I took the medication that I’m not supposed to take on Dialysis Day. Still, you can’t take it out once it’s gone in.

Back in here I listened to the dictaphone to find out what I’d been up to during the night. There was something strange going on at school. There was a group of us, boys and girls of all ages, who used to hang around together. I suspected that one of the girls was becoming rather too friendly with me – that is, rather more friendly than “just being friends”. I decided that I might encourage it a little and see where it goes but we were interrupted by the bell to go back to lessons. A little later on a few of us met again, including this particular girl. I happened to mention obliquely something along the lines of “girls who seem to find older boys at school more attractive” and “there seems to be one at least who might be tilting her cap towards me”. This girl replied “yes. I’ve noticed that, Eric” and she mentioned two girls, one of whom was a daughter of a friend of mine, and a second one. But the daughter of a friend of mine was even talking about obtaining a marriage certificate. I found that really hard to believe because I hadn’t really noticed anything. This discussion went on, more complicated, until it was time to go back to the lessons so I said to these girls and boys, and in particular to the one whom I mentioned earlier “I’ll see you all at lunch then”. She replied “don’t forget to go to talk to these two girls. One of them is in her Physics class”. I had a bottle of beer with me that I’d opened so I walked up to the Physics class. They were all crowded around a bunsen burner talking about something so I took a piece of kitchen roll, rolled it up tightly and used it as a stopper in this bottle. I smiled at this particular girl and that was when this dream ended.

Imagine that! There I was with the bird on my plate, just about to get my fork stuck in it, and “poof!”. It comes to a shuddering halt. As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … there is something going on in my subconscious that is preventing me from Getting The Girl. It seems to happen every time (with just one or two exceptions). So what does my subconscious know about my relationship with girls that it doesn’t want me to proceed any further than this point?

It’s interesting too that this is always the kind of thing that occurs when I’m an adolescent in my dreams. It’s true that my adolescence was not a happy one, for a variety of reasons, and a loyal and reliable girlfriend of the type who would have helped me weather the various storms would have been a very great comfort to me. But my subconscious is not letting me go down that route at all, and in any case, teenage girls like that are very rare birds indeed.

Then there was some kind of confrontation between a Jewish school and the local community. When it came to the end of term the kids had to be taken away by buses to another centre. They had all tried to arrange times with their parents but it was impossible. For a start, the E40 was always blocked on school chucking-out days so people would arrive home quand ils s’amusent – when they could. I was driving one of the buses with someone else and we had a police escort. We reached the school and handed the ticket to the teacher who was on the door. She directed us to the school theatre where a group of pupils were singing some kind of pseudo-religious song from the stage. It really was wonderful. After they finished I turned to my colleague and said “we aren’t allowed to applaud in a church, are we?”. He asked “you thought it was that good, did you?”. I replied “yes”. He said “quite frankly I have never ever heard it done better”

This second dream relates to a concert I’d been watching before going to bed. It was a concert from 2016 commemorating the 100th anniversary of the Battle of the Somme and was taking place in Exeter Cathedral. One of the tributes was from a well-known folk group who performed a musical tribute, a poem by my favourite poet A E Housman with music composed by George Butterworth who was killed at the Somme. And when they finished, everyone in the congregation applauded. And I remember thinking last night as I was watching that applause in a Cathedral shows some pretty bad taste

And the confrontation with the Jewish school presumably relates to something that I’d read, also yesterday evening, about a couple of obscure Jewish sects burning copies of the New Testament.

Isabelle the Nurse came early this morning and didn’t hang about. Not that I can blame her because this storm in increasing in velocity and it’s going to be much worse than this. But I’m glad that she wasn’t here for long, because it means that I can start making breakfast early.

And armed with breakfast, I can go to carry on reading ISAAC WELD’S BOOK.

Today, his book contains the longest footnote that I have ever read in a book. It spans four complete pages, and is a really good rant about the peevish relationship that the USA is trying to cultivate with Canada in an attempt to absorb it. He very presciently observes that "there is more reason to imagine that the Floridas, and the Spanish possessions to the east of the Mississippi, will be united therewith" than there is of Canada uniting with the USA, for the "people of Upper Canada are refugees, who were driven from the States by the persecution of the Republican party and though the thirteen years which have passed over have nearly extinguished every spark of resentment against the Americans in the breasts of the people of England, yet this is by no means the case in Upper Canada. It is there common to hear, even from the children of the refugees, the most gross invectives poured out against the people of the States and the people of the frontier states, in their turn, are as violent against the refugees and their posterity and, indeed, whilst Canada forms a part of the British empire, I am inclined, from what I have seen and heard in travelling through the country, to think that this spirit will not die away."

As well as that, I have had a fascinating lecture on how to build a blockhouse, if ever the need should arise.

After breakfast I sorted out the washing and hung up that which needed to hang. In my present state of health where I’m totally unsteady on my feet, that was a rather complicated issue but I managed in the end. Mind you, in this weather it will take an age to dry.

My faithful cleaner fitted my anaesthetic patches for me and then I had to wait around for the taxi. When he arrived I was hustled out into the gale-force wind and staggered as best as I could to the car. The waves on the water were magnificent in this weather, I noticed as we passed by. What wouldn’t I have given to have gone for a walk?

We picked up our second passenger and then headed for Avranches. Strangely, away from the coast, the wind was much less.

In the clinic there were very few of us today. Maybe the wind was keeping the others at home. Julie the Cook fitted my connections today. The first was absolutely painless. I felt nothing at all. But the next one was different and hurt throughout the session.

Once more, I drifted off for a few minutes at the start and once I’d recovered I revised my Welsh and then read some more of Hakluyt. He’s repeating the legend of “King Arthur” and his presumed voyages to subdue the Norsemen, basically copied from Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia Regum Britanniae. That’s quite a shame, but he had no other sources to use and didn’t have the archaeological knowledge or access to papers in the Danish Royal Library that we have today.

No-one bothered me at all today and I was out quite early. I had a chatty driver bringing me home and she brought me through the town to see the Christmas lights, which was nice of her.

Coming home was one thing – coming to the building was something else. My cleaner was there waiting, and even with two women hanging on to me, I was almost blown over twice. I’ve never known a storm like this one.

To add insult to injury, the handrail fell off the wall so I had enormous difficulty coming upstairs.

Tea tonight was a baked potato with breaded quorn fillet and vegan salad followed by ginger cake and soya dessert. So now I’ll dictate my radio notes and then go to bed for a nice lie-in.

Yesterday though, we left Isaac Weld hunting on the shore of Lake Erie. This morning the wind had changed direction so the captain called him up on his mobile ‘phone
"Where are you now, Isaac?" asked the Captain. "What are you doing?"
"I’m hunting bear on the shores of Lake Erie" said Isaac
"Well, put your clothes back on and come back to the ship. The wind has changed direction and we are ready to sail"

0

Friday 6th December 2024 – HERE I WAS …

… working on the next radio programme and running aground, sitting here talking to myself as I often do "for I was talking aloud to myself. A habit of the old: they choose the wisest person present to speak to" as Gandalf said in “Lord Of The Rings”, and asking myself "what am I doing next?"

And having a sudden flash of inspiration "I should be doing Miss Bush". I meant actually editing and remixing a track of hers, but yes, chance would be a fine thing, wouldn’t it?

So guess who has been a busy boy today?

Much better than last night when I was very late going to bed yet again.

The problem was that after all of my exertions during the day, I was too tired to pick myself up out of my comfortable chair and stagger the couple of feet into my nice fresh bed. Nevertheless, when I did finally manage it, it might have taken a while to go to sleep but once I’d gone, not even Jenny Agutter could have lured me back out again.

When the alarm went off at 07:00 I was still flat out and dead to the World, and it was quite a struggle to rise to my feet before the second alarm.

Surprisingly, this morning I had a thirst that you could have photographed so after I’d had a good wash and scrub up I went into the kitchen and had my morning drink of half a pint of fruit juice with all of my medication. Three different lots of it are powders that are poured into the drink.

And if you think that that is bad, every second Saturday it’s four powders that go into it. As well as all of the regular pills and potions that I have to take every day. I’m surprised that I don’t rattle when I walk.

Back in here I had a listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. I was at the hospital during the night. It was in Avranches but in North America. I recall some of the Native American tribes loitering around, which made it dangerous for people to go off wandering around on their own during the evening but I can’t remember any more about this except that it was definitely the Avranches that we know and the hospital that we know and the hills that we know,

It’s not easy to confuse the rock on which Avranches sits, and the hills around it, with anywhere else in the World. So I must have been right about the location

Later on I was driving with someone to the East Midlands Airport. He was driving. We were having a rather large animated discussion, so much so that where the road veered off slightly to the left he carried straight on down this old farm track. In the middle of this big, animated discussion he said “I don’t think much of this road going to the airport. Do you?”. We paid no attention, bouncing along more and more, until we suddenly burst through the airfield fence, right across the hardstanding and came to a desperate stop right at one of the terminals. There was a quick announcement that ‘plane number so-and-so from somewhere else was in and so people began to queue up at the front door and the back door to come in. I opened the door and these people climbed in so I opened the front door and more people climbed in. I thought “for a four-seater car, we’re having a lot of people come aboard”. They were all having a moan about our style of arrival and hoped that the style of the departure wouldn’t be worse. I told them to wait and see what they were going to have …fell asleep here … so I said “thank you” because I was attached up this tree by a harness and lowered myself to the ground. I climbed into the car as well and we made ready to leave.

Whatever went on while I had fallen asleep in the middle of that dream must have been really exciting and I’m sorry that I missed it. East Midlands Airport is just about the only airport in the UK that I’ve never visited, strange as it may seem. However, what I saw in my dream was more like the old set-up at Charleroi years ago.

When Isabelle the Nurse came round she asked me how things went so I told her about the patches. She told me that it was my fault, which I readily agreed. But in all honesty, what do I know about the affair?

After she left I had breakfast and then carried on reading ISAAC WELD’S BOOK. And I do feel sorry for him and his friends.

They had scrambled down the steep slope to the bank of the river to go to approach the falls, and to fortify them for the return journey, had hidden a flask of brandy and a couple of glasses amongst the rocks.

They sent a servant to fetch it because "wet from head to foot and greatly fatigued, there certainly was not one amongst us that appeared, at the moment, desirous of getting the brandy, in order to pour out a libation to the tutelary deities of the cataract;". However, their hopes were dashed "for the messenger returned in a few minutes with the woeful intelligence that the brandy and goblets had been stolen"

And "Perched on the rocks, at a little distance from us, sat a pair of the river nymphs, not ” nymphs with sedged crowns and ever harmless looks not temperate nymphs,” but a pair of squat sturdy old wenches, that with close bonnets and tucked up petticoats had crawled down the cliff, and were busied with long rods in angling for fish. Their noisy clack plainly indicated- that they had been well pleased with the brandy, and that we ought not to entertain any hopes of recovering the spoil; we e’en slaked our thirst, therefore, with a draught from the wholesome flood,"

Right now, I’ve left him hunting for bear along the shore of Lake Erie, and I’ve just had a lecture on dressing the hides of bear and deer. That might have come in handy that day when I encountered Rupert on his way to a picnic up in the Mealy Mountains of Labrador.

After I’d finished, I came in here and began to finish selecting the rest of the music for the next radio programme. And having done that, I sat down, paired it off and segued it, and then in a mad fit of enthusiasm wrote out all of the notes for it too, ready to dictate on Saturday night.

Whatever had come over me?

There were several interruptions too. Lunch was one of them, and my cleaner coming was another. So not only is the place nice and clean, the medicine shelves are stacked up and full too. That will keep me going for the next few weeks.

Hot chocolate was another break too. That’s a nice mid-afternoon pause to give my braincells time to cool down.

Tea tonight was vegan salad, chips and falafel, followed by vegan ginger cake with butterscotch flavoured soya dessert.

So right now, I’m off to bed, ready to prepare myself for another painful session in the Dialysis Clinic tomorrow afternoon for my sins.

But the mystery of the Native American tribes in Avranches is easily explained. One member thereof wanted to be circumcised, so he was on his way with his friends and supporters to the private hospital there.
"One hundred Euros" said the cashier
"Ugh! Too much!" he replied
So he and his friends went down the hill to the public hospital
"One hundred Euros" said the cashier
"Ugh! Too much!" he replied
So having been frustrated, he took his tomahawk and did the job himself
Back in his wigwam later that night he showed his wife his handiwork
"What do you think?" he asked
"Ugh! Too much!" she replied.

0

Thursday 5th December 2024 – “THERE SEEMS TO BE …

… a series of scars …”

“That’s enough”, I replied. “I really don’t want to know any more”

“OK” said the doctor. “But there’s this series of scars …”

You can tell that I went for the scan on my implant this afternoon. And what is it that people don’t understand about me not wanting to know any more? It’s almost as if they go out of their way to make like difficult for me.

All in all, it was a long, tiring day today. Not helped by another late night again last night. I don’t even think that it was before midnight when I finally retired. It seemed to be long after that.

Once in bed I was asleep quite quickly and there I stayed until the alarm went off at 07:00. I was dealing with … "you mean ‘dreaming about’" – ed … the USA last night when the alarm went off, about someone who had acquired all of the land West of the Mississippi at a price that worked out at £00.005 per acre, which might sound cheap but he was obliged to undertake certain infrastructure works within the next five years. If he failed to do so the purchase would be voided. That’s as far as I went into this dream.

This is something else in ISAAC WELD’S BOOK. Land speculators, and the amount of money they make by doing it, is another one of his favourite subjects.

In the bathroom I had a good wash and scrub up but I forgot to have a shave. I shall look like The Old Man Of The Sea at this rate. Instead I went into the kitchen to make some breakfast. It’s going to be a long day.

While eating it I read some more of ISAAC WELD’S BOOK. He’s now reached the Niagara Falls – well, sort-of, because we are on the eleventh page of today’s journey and he’s still waxing lyrical about the effect that the noise and mist is having on him, and he’s not yet even seen the Falls as yet.

However, he does venture the opinion, and quite rightly so, that "the great falls of the river must originally have been situated at the spot where the waters are so abruptly contracted between the hills; and indeed it is highly probable that this was the case, for it is a fact well ascertained, that the falls have receded very considerably since they were first visited by Europeans, and that they are still receding every year"

Isabelle the Nurse turned up to deal with my legs and to fit the anaesthetic patches. To my surprise she didn’t know where the patches went and asked me. As if I know? So I hope that she fit them in the correct place.

The taxi turned up on time and, for some reason, it was the wheelchair transporter. I don’t know what I’d done to deserve that. It’s higher than the standard saloon cars so it’s easier to enter and exit.

The driver didn’t have much to say for himself and it was a quick drive down to the Dialysis Centre in comparative silence.

At the Centre we had a moment of hilarity. We have to weigh ourselves when we go in and hand the ticket from the machine to one of the nurses. When I handed mine to her she said “Look how much weight you have gained!” However, it turned out that one of the patients before me had forgotten to take his ticket and I had picked it up.

The nurses weren’t impressed with the positioning of the patches. However I suppose that it’s difficult when you don’t know. One pin went in quite easily and painlessly while the other one was much more of a painful struggle, although it actually worked today, the first time since I don’t know when.

The doctor came to see me, but he soon beat a hasty retreat when I tackled him about this scan that I had the other day. He really has no interest in his job, which is a shame.

For once, the machine behaved itself this morning and I wasn’t interrupted at all – not even for a coffee. I seemed to have missed the morning hand-out. Instead I revised my Welsh, listened to music and carried on reading Richard Hakluyt’s PRINCIPALL NAVIGATIONS.

Apart from the usual sycophancy towards his patron, the Earl of Nottingham with loads of lines such as "here by the way mo?t humbly crauing pardon, and alwayes ?ubmitting my poore opinion to your Lord?hips mo?t deep and percing in?ight, ", pages and pages of it, he has a delightful turn of phrase, such as " our Engli?h nation, at the fir?t ?etting foorth for their Northea?terne di?couery, were either altogether de?titute of ?uch cleare lights and inducements, or if they had any mnkling at all, it was as mi?ly as they found the Northren ?eas,"

As I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … I adore Hakluyt’s cynicism.

They eventually unplugged me and threw me out into a waiting taxi that took me across the road to the hospital. There I was unceremoniously pushed into a hospital wheelchair and pushed around the hospital until my driver found out where to take me.

There was quite a wait until they could see me, and then we had all of this performance with the doctor and the scanner. The doctor was not at all impressed that they’d sent me straight here from being dialysed.

Eventually they could let me go and I was then pushed by my taxi driver down to the waiting car and driven home.

My faithful cleaner was waiting for me and she watched as a very weary me hauled myself up the stairs into the apartment where at last I could sit down comfortably.

Having bashed out some dough for the next loaf, I came back in here to listen to the dictaphone. We were all in a hospital. There were people who came from many different countries in Europe. It seemed that the treatment wasn’t the same. Someone was astonished that the knock-out drops that they administered to people to make them pass out for operations etc were given to the people when they were awake. I said “there’s no point giving them to someone who’s asleep. If he’s asleep, he wouldn’t need them”. Someone else talked about things that took place in other parts of Europe with regard to the administering of anaesthetics. When I came to be discharged they handed me a huge pile of information, including some stuff on a tape. I asked what the tape was for. They said that it was because I’m someone who isn’t courageous enough to confront the issues of the illness that they are having to give me the information like this, first of all to make sure that I hear it and secondly so that I can pass it to anyone else who is going to make any kind of medical intervention on my behalf. Once again; other people in this ward were quite surprised that it was necessary to give me this kind of information. Why shouldn’t it be available to the general public?

My thinking about anaesthetics might sound logical, but I wouldn’t want anyone to test the theory on me. As for me not having the courage to know about what’s going on, you can make of that what you will.

Later on I was playing with Quicksilver last night. There was just me and Dean Freiberg … "David Freiberg" – ed …. The two of us were keeping the group alive. We went to the airport to see off Jefferson Airplane on some kind of tour circuit. They blockaded our car so we couldn’t leave. This went on for a while until in the end I said to Freiberg “would you like to go to play with Jefferson Airplane?”. After much prevarication he admitted that he did so I told him to go over to their car and join in, and I’ll sort something out. I went back home, worked on one or two songs and collected a few ideas together. They I was out one day and someone pointed out Don Airey to me, a British musician and his drummer. I went up to say “hello” and to ask them what they were doing in the States. They replied that they had come over to join a group but it had all fallen through. So seeing as we now had a keyboard player and bassist, I said “I have some ideas if you want to join in”. We ended up going to a motorway service café, one that I knew really well where the girl on the till was quite jovial and joking. She was reading a newspaper but when she saw the three of us walk in she immediately put her newspaper on the floor. I walked over and asked “what’s in the news today?” to which she laughed. She recognised Don Airey and said “oh he was in earlier. He broke a cup of coffee and offered to pay for the cup”. Someone said something like “well, he’s British, isn’t he? Not American. He would offer to pay for it”.

Actually David Freiberg did leave Quicksilver and later, play with Jefferson Airplane and Jefferson Starship. But what Don Airey, organist of Deep Purple, is doing in all of this, I really don’t know.

Tea wasn’t up to much tonight. I tried a plate of baked vegetables and butternut squash in the air fryer but it didn’t really work out, so we’ll dismiss this one as a failure. But at least the oven was nice and hot for the bread and made a lovely loaf. And my ginger cake was lovely too

So right now, I’m exhausted and I’m off to bed. It’s been a tough day today and I can’t wait to take to my lovely bed.

Anyway, Isaac Weld was on a boat with a Japanese tourist and their American guide, the boat drifting helplessly and out of control towards the Niagara Falls.
Suddenly, a genie appears. "I can only give you three wishes" he said. "That’s one each"
"I love my country!" shouted the American. "Give me a heavenly choir to sing ‘The Stars and Stripes’ before we go over"
"I love my country’s food" said the Japanese. "Give me a banquet of raw sushi, raw sea slug, sea urchin and pickled omelette"
"Do me a favour" said Isaac Weld to the genie. "For God’s sake kill me off before those other two wishes are granted"

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Wednesday 4th December 2024 – I HAD ANOTHER …

… chat with Rosemary this evening. Just a short one this time – only one hour and forty-eight minutes. We are definitely losing our touch these days.

But as a result, I am running horribly late tonight and I’m glad that it’s the Dialysis Centre tomorrow morning – for the simple fact that I can have a good sleep there if I’m tired.

It was also late when I went to bed last night, but there again that’s only to be expected these days. It wasn’t all that late when I finished everything, but I hung around for a while afterwards doing not very much at all.

When I was in bed it didn’t take long for me to go to sleep and once more, there I stayed until the alarm went off at 07:00. Mind you, I was awake a few minutes beforehand but not even if TOTGA, Zero or Castor (whatever happened to them?) were beckoning from the doorway would I be enticed from the warmth and comfort of my own wonderful bed

It was, as usual, a struggle to rise up when it was time to do so but I managed to beat the second alarm by a short head and once the bedroom stopped spinning round I could make my way into the bathroom.

After having had a good wash I came back in here to listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. I dreamed that I’d taken some sandwiches to bed with me. I’d been missing a meal here and there and my body was going totally out of synch. One night I was going to bed at about 23:00 and realised that I’d had no food so I made myself some sandwiches but I fell asleep. When I awoke I had an insatiable thirst so I began to look around for the sandwiches (…fell asleep here …) so when I awoke I was looking around for these sandwiches under the bed. Of course I realised then that I was actually in a dream and there were no sandwiches at all

Now that’s a novelty, isn’t it? Dreaming about food and especially bringing it to bed with me. But could you imagine leaving the sandwiches under the bed? It’s a good job that I fell asleep mid-search. But the sandwiches wouldn’t help me with my insatiable thirst.

Isabelle the Nurse was in a chatty mood this morning and had a lot to say for herself. We talked about economics and other exciting subjects this morning and I seem to be putting the World to rights with a lot of people these days.

After she left I made breakfast and carried on with ISAAC WELD’S BOOK.

Today he’s arrived at Kingston and has been escorted across the lake to the town of Niagara in a fleet of canoes with several traders. He’s still obsessed with the idea of Canada as the best country in the Empire and with the preoccupation of Americans with money, but he tells us that "the town of Niagara hitherto has been and is still the capital of the province of Upper Canada ; orders, however, had been issued, before our arrival there, for the removal of the seat of government from thence to Toronto which was deemed a more eligible spot for the meeting of the legislative bodies, as being farther removed from the frontiers of the United States. This projected change is by no means relished by the people at large, as Niagara is a much more convenient place of resort to most of them than Toronto; and as the governor who proposed the measure has been removed, it is imagined that it will not be put in execution."

Well, the less said about that prophecy of his, the better.

He did much better with something else that he mentioned in his book. "It is to be lamented that the Indian names, so grand and sonorous, should ever have been changed for others. Newark, Kingston, York, are poor substitutes for the original names of these respective places, Niagara, Cadaragui, Toronto." although he had to wait two hundred years for the beginning of the restoration of First-Nation place-names.

And while I’m in complete agreement with the process of the restoration of the first-Nation names, it is nevertheless confusing when I’m trying to follow the trail of the European explorers of the Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries, where the names that they gave in their memoirs to places that they visited have now been erased from the map

Today, I’ve been carrying on my hunt for music. I didn’t realise yesterday how much I didn’t have and seem to have fallen way short in my estimate. So much of the day has been spent tracking it down and then trying to identify it, because as I mentioned yesterday, the program that I use is mixing up the names of the tracks

My cleaner came in this afternoon to do her stuff and she changed all the bedding. That’s good because with having had a shower, there’s now a nice, clean me to go into a nice, clean bed.

The shower was wonderful and now it’s less that six months to go until I’ll be able to install a shower in the bathroom downstairs. Time is going quicker than I would have thought. But when I do have the shower installed, I’ll be having one every day – at least, at the beginning.

There will be a much-improved kitchen too if only I can arrange to have the kitchen units removed from the van and put in the apartment. I hope that the oven in there still works.

There was the usual interruption for the hot chocolate, and then another one with Rosemary, who rang just as I was preparing to stop work.

As a result, I has about an hour late going for tea tonight. It was, as usual, a leftover curry with rice, veg and naan bread. Spoiling myself yet again.

And the ginger cake was excellent. It tasted just as it should, and could even have been somewhat spicier

So now, much later than I intended, I’m off to bed. It’s the dialysis tomorrow morning and the X-ray in the afternoon. I wonder what they are going to find. There’s definitely something that’s not correct.

But while we’re on the subject of things being spoilt … "well, one of us is" – ed … the Headmaster of a local Primary School rang up Little Johnny’s mother and said "your son is spoilt"
"No he isn’t" said Little Johnny’s mother
"Yes he is" retorted the Headmaster
"No he isn’t" insisted Little Johnny’s mother
"Well, you come here" said the Headmaster "and see what the groundsman’s industrial lawnmower has done to him."

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