Dis-Concentration

My ability to concentrate is currently somewhat erratic; this has been an intermittently recurring problem during the past six or seven years. Exhaustion affects one mentally as well as physically but, it also appears to be unrelated to any exertion, or lack of same, on my part. Having had considerable periods of remission, from the more disabling aspects of my illness, has resulted in an increased level of frustration when stamina levels take a dive; this sense of frustration, in it's turn, seems to militate further against my reserves of concentration.

Quite remarkably, alongside this frustration I'm feeling reasonably content with my situation, when I'm able to hold back on tetchiness! I feel blessed in having such a loving and caring family, a comfortable home, good food and drink; what more could I wish for? Although the question's rhetorical, it would be wonderful if I could reduce my bed-rest requirement without feeling shattered mid-way through the remaining hours of (what I would like to be) active life.

Prompt Attention

A thumbs-up for the NHS in RE-ASSURANCE, today's posting on 'Mal's Murmurings'.

Normal Out Of Kilter Wellness

I'm woken with a start; on this occasion the doorbell seems to have gained some decibels. My head spins giddily. I try again to lift myself but my torso's having none of it. A heavy thump; it's obvious whatever was to be delivered has now been duly deposited. Amazing how wide the letter box jaws can extend; my head falls back those elevated few inches onto the pillow. Look at the clock, the digital display reads 10.30. It certainly doesn't seem like twelve hours since I retired to the bedchamber. I have scarcely a memory of my beloved departing for work, even though she never goes out without a kiss and a cuddle but, that will have been three hours ago.

Ma belle is blessed with the gift of sound sleep, as opposed to my fitful variety. It requires a definite effort of will power to remove myself from the duvet realm and, in response my lower limbs refuse to obey me, as if some alloy of lead and jelly holds back my attempt at free movement. The leaden jelly feels sharply bruised alongside their hollow emptiness. My ears ache and pop, my eyelids resist the attempt to keep open but the show must go on.

I manage to put on shirt, pants and slacks before the effort exhausts me; I almost feel sorry for myself as I lay back on the bed.Trouble is, with any chronic illness, it's hard to tell whether this is simply part of my normal out of kilter wellness or am I unwell. Generally, I'm enjoying a pretty good remission from some of the most disabling aspects of M.E. although far from regaining my former levels of comfortable healthiness.

I'm now a little puzzled about why I bothered getting dressed as I cross the landing to the bathroom, put on the wall heater and ready myself for a shower; that's when a fresh bout of nauseous giddiness kicks in as my lower limbs go into a kind of spasm. Steady myself against the sink, switch off the heater and cancel my plans to take a shower. Sans shower I feel grimily burdened but, I realize a general sense of disorientation wouldn't be a good shower companion.

Hopefully the painkillers will soon kick in against the spasmodic discomfort in torso and limbs, apart from that, it's just another normal day and there's a life to be lived. Good morning rainfall, I'm coming down to visit you!

Summer Memories

I've just posted a couple more photos on 'Mal's Picturebox' - a reminder of Summer days!

Mal's Madeleine Moment

It really is proving quite refreshing to listen to some dirtily muddy recordings, 1964 vintage, by The Downliners Sect, ex the live EP 'Nite in Gt. Newport Street', now included amongst the bonus tracks on a re-issue of their first album 'The Sect'.

The sound really was quite muddy, when listening to them in the low-ceilinged basement 'Studio 51' (aka Ken Colyer's Jazz Club). Back in those days I used to go and listen to the New Orleans style jazz at the same venue. Nostalgia just ain't what it used to be. In those days I had the stamina and enthusiasm to haunt various venues purveying R&B, modern jazz, trad et al. The handiest venue, five minutes walk from my then residence, was 'Klooks Kleek' at 'The Railway' in West Hampstead where the not infrequent highlight was The Graham Bond Organization - Bond (organ), Dick Heckstall-Smith (sax), Jack Bruce (bass), Ginger Baker (drums). I have special memories of an occasion when Phil Seaman - a modern jazz drummer, one of Ginger Baker's influences I suspect - turned up. At other times, Long John Baldry's Hoochie-Coochie Men were the guests, apart from Baldry a young Rod Stewart also provided vocals. Rod's version of 'Stormy Monday' was quite simply sensational.

At other times I'd venture down to the 'Flamingo' to hear, on different occasions, Georgie Fame's Blue Flames, Zoot Money's Big Roll Band and Chris Farlowe & the Thunderbirds. Whenever I wasn't engaged in my political and social-activism I just had to be out somewhere; I didn't like my own company much in those days and, despite having friends scattered around various parts of North London, I had never in my life experienced such loneliness as I did after my move from the sticks to The Smoke.

Suddenly, all this stuff comes pouring out just from listening to a few CD tracks. I wouldn't want to change anything in my life, highs or lows; life is just too precious to have time for regrets.

When I think back, it's quite amazing how puritanical the various left-wing political sects, with whom I was affiliated, were; in fact it's surprising that my disagreements were generally on points of dogma rather than my somewhat beat lifestyle!

Frustration Rules

A generalized sense of shatteredness has replaced much of the familiarly painful discomfort of the past few years yet, simultaneously, the tetchiness of my achingly disoriented days has returned with a vengeance. I suppose that, on one level, I feel rather guilty about not doing more with my time; after all, I have periods of a few hours on most days now when I feel totally alert but, even many of my e-mails remain either unread or superficially browsed through and my best intentions remain just that, intentions.

At least when pain was being experienced at excruciating levels I felt that was genuine reason for not getting off my backside and committing myself to some positive action or endeavour, manifest in either literary or painterly output. Currently, I find myself exhausted when I go to bed (at a time I once would have considered early), restless through a goodly portion of the night and, spasmodically sleeping through a goodly part of the morning, once I've discovered a suitably comfortable posture. It's rather strange being neither a night-owl nor an early riser; where once a few hours bed rest ensured an adequate energy resource, many hours of rest don't seem to leave me with much of an energy reserve at all.

Before anyone jumps in with a solution, I must emphasize that whenever I forego my lying-in period a totally mind-numbing, muscle bruising, fatigue overwhelms me before the day is out. Any self-enforced increase of exercise seems to have an intensely negative rebound effect on subsequent days.

Frustration rules!

Like a circle in a spiral

Once upon a time one picked up a telephone and rang through to the surgery to order a repeat prescription but, sadly those days are gone. Once upon another time, my local pharmacy did the job for me but, on almost every other occasion, something went wrong (at the pharmacies collection and delivery end I suspect – having had no such problem when I changed to the next system for placing repeat requests) and it took an increasing period of time before the prescription was fulfilled.

Next came a great boon; after faffing about on line for initial registration, it became conveniently possible to order a repeat prescription online. No problems with that system until, this morning, when I was greeted with a different signing on screen. The system has evidently been changed to improve efficiency. Unfortunately the new system requires a “user name” which has not yet been allocated. I duly rang the surgery who informed me that a) you will not be able to use the system this week and, b) you will be receiving a letter (via snail mail) in a few days informing you about the new system!

It would have been helpful if we had been informed that the system was going to be inaccessible, thus allowing us to place the repeat prescription request in advance! Do I take two bus journeys, each way, to drop in a repeat prescription request or, do I give the local pharmacy another try? Perhaps I’ll wait until ma belle chauffeuse is available and drop in the repeat prescription form that day; this latter approach could save a lot of additional frustration.

Chef's Hat and Gardening Cap

After last Sunday’s disappointing meal, which featured celery and elastic band fed pork (at least the toughness and lack of flavour suggested that was the diet on which the distantly deceased had been fed) today’s lunch was a total success and, once more I’m fittingly proud of my chefly accomplishments!

As yet, I’ve not given a name to this rather special casserole but, a little experimentation definitely paid off. First off I diced a few chicken breasts and treated them to a marinade of garlic, coriander, cumin and hot pepper sauce – being cautiously generous with the latter ingredient. Onions, green and yellow peppers, mushrooms, tinned tomatoes and pickled beetroot, together with a little chicken gravy made up the final dish and, although I say it myself, great was the rejoicing over it. Not only did it tantalize and tingle the taste buds but, simultaneously cleared the sinuses. My special spiced crispy roast potatoes (crunchy externals with fluffily melting interior), broccoli, Brussels sprouts, carrots and French beans proved a perfect accompaniment. Compliments to my beloved vegetable chef, for the purchase and preparation of those ingredients.

Thankfully, I’d prepared the casseroles last evening, utilizing my favourite lidded wok for the purpose; had I left it until this morning, things would have had to be rushed as I remained entangled in the duvet lair until long after my beloved had set off to church. I did, however, manage to find the time to pot up four varieties of fragrant hostas before lunch. Eventually they’ll be planted out in the moisture retaining area of the garden.

This afternoon, stamina permitting, I hope to clear an area of well-drained sunshine (subject to availability) fed garden in order to plant a few Echinaceas. Even if I don’t get around to it, at least the intention was there.

I rejoice and am glad in this day the Lord has made.

Mind Warps

Sometimes the mind just wanders. A time when one should, by rights, be fast asleep is the oddest of hours to embark on these travels.

Thoughts of how the media exploits the grief of others for political ends, ignoring the fact that helicopters had arived within the "golden hour"; political manipulation by the unfree press which, at our expense, promotes causes to which one may be diametrically opposed. There are more things under the Sun than are dreamt of in their philosophy! When was the last poll of consumers taken, to find out in which direction the advertising budget of the supply chain should be spent.

I've been suffering from a frequently recurring image of a capitalist ship, navigated by neo-Thatcherite helmsmen, crashing upon the rocks. A brain-washed populace screams out for the party that spawned the helmsmen's grasping idol to come to the rescue. It's no longer a case of better the devil you know but rather, bring back The Devil Incarnate!

This couldn't happen in reality; could it?

Freshly Minted

A newly manufactured poem, SHADOW LIGHT, can be found in 'Mal's Factory'

Listening To Mahler - a poem in six movements

Re-privatisation Of High Street Banks

The Lib Dems Treasury spokesman Vince Cable welcomed more competition in the banking sector but said there should be no urgency to the sales.

"We need to be careful that when these split-ups occur, the prime cuts are not offered to private investors and the scraps left to taxpayers," he said.

ex: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/business/8336286.stm

If Cable's desire is to be met it will be totally different to any other privatisation ever witnessed in the U.K.!

Casual Listening

As my beloved chauffered me home, from making a bulk purchase of wild bird food, Radio 4 twittered away as an accompaniment to our journey. One item was about taboos surrounding organ donation, the following item concerned the ubiquity of flip-flops from some kind of anthropological / sociological perspective.

From the latter item, I gathered that flip-flops go back to the beginning of time. A wonderful image of Dinosaurs wearing flip-flops immediately sprang to mind, even though (judging by context) the speaker obviously considered that time only began when the pyramids were constructed!

From the chatter about organ donation I gathered that almost all of our prejudices and taboos can be traced back to a certain Anne Sesstry. At least that should remove a lot of the burden from Eve!

28 October 2009

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a freshly minted poem, GARDENING IN AUTUMN, can be found on 'Mal's Factory'.

A Shudder Of Shyness

I don't know quite how to explain this, or even try to understand but, is it some kind of weird prejudice or simply my innate shyness ( of which many of my acquaintances are completely unaware)?

There's a local cafe which I love to visit, both on my own and with my beloved. Beverages and food served are of an excellent standard and, the environment is spaciously friendly so, what's the problem? The cafe has started advertising, via handbills, to the effect, "Over 60 but young at heart, join us for a chat etc;". For an extremely reasonable inclusive price, you're supplied with tea or coffee, home made scones, jam and cream, on a Monday from 2.30p.m. I love the idea and so, I decided to amble along there this afternoon. Looking through the window I spotted a cosy gathering of this particular client group but, something inside me said, "they're all oldies, no connection with you". Next, I took a little walk around the block and, on my return, glanced through the window again, paused for a few moments before heading off home.

I don't think it's ageism, after all I'm one of the golden oldies myself and, I certainly have friends that are most probably older than any of those in attendance and, a number of others considerably younger. Had any one of these people been on their own, I'd quite happily have sat down and had a chat with them but, this looked like an organized group and I'm not instictively a joiner. That may sound strange for someone who has been a member of all kinds of campaigning groups,left-wing political parties and sectlets, jazz clubs, literary groups and church house groups, in some cases to the extent of running them myself!

Perhaps it's some kind of timidity; my body quite simply resisted the urge to enter. I don't like barging in to what superficially looked like a closed circle; this could just be a case where my camoflauged shyness overcame a more gregarious veneer.

Time Change

TIME CHANGE


Turning back the clock
I think of Canute -
powerless

in spite of expectations.
One hour gained
at the beginning of the day

come evening
swiftly
taken away.


Malcolm Evison
25 October 2009

Secular Prejudice or Spiritual Enlightenment

After reading an excellent post touching on the matter of disaffected Anglicans, 'Anglicans and Orthodoxy', on Steve Hayes Khanya blog, I couldn't help being saddened by the thought that the primary reason for so many sub-denominations and sects, within the church, is more to do with secular prejudice than spiritual enlightenment!

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on a totally different topic: my latest blog posting, 'Decline Of A Pub Bistro', appeared yesterday on 'Mal's Murmurings'.

Thinking Aloud

How I ever found time to go out to work is a mystery to me.

Time simply races by and, my best laid plans frequently fail to come to fruition owing to an insufficiency of waking hours in the day. No doubt some of this is due to my lack of stamina, not so drastically reduced as it was a few years ago but, stamina levels are nowhere near those I took for granted before succumbing to M.E. in 2003. Mind you, the M.E. put paid to my ability to work and, even prevented me from venturing more than a few yards from my own front door for a considerable period of time.

Reaching retirement age, and eligibility for the State Pension, seemed to produce an energy surge for me, elated by the experience of being free from the guilt that all incapacitated people are forced to feel when they have to resort to “benefits”. Politicians and media all paint a picture of tens of thousands of people in receipt of benefits being lazy scroungers but, the reality I experienced was one of enforced degradation in the way one was treated by the DWP and its medical agents; hard work at a time when ones physical and emotional stamina reserves are at an all time low, to say nothing of the excruciating pain and general dis-orientation.

Sorry I’m getting sidetracked, in any case that stamina surge, referred to at the beginning of the previous paragraph, didn’t last for long. Perhaps the initial mystery (opening sentence refers) only refers to people in less than prime health. I am extremely fortunate in that, shortly before becoming incapacitated, I’d had my arm twisted to go on t’internet. Being on-line proved a lifeline; unable to participate in the socializing, which had up that point been a mainstay of my being, I discovered the value of cyber friends who proved more loyal than some of the real world ones once my illness struck. Eventually, I found myself totally absorbed in this alternative world, barely a day could go by, physical and emotional stamina permitting, without at least a couple of hours “surfing”. Another advantage of surfing was the availability of bite size gobbets of information, on sundry topics, which fell within my concentration span; formerly an avid reader, the illness had taken away my ability to concentrate for any sustained period – measured in minutes rather than the previous hours.

Having once been an enthusiastic amateur photographer, the advent of affordable digital photography was another lifeline; no more worries about the cost of films and processing, I could now snap away to my hearts content both in the house and the garden and, swiftly edit the results. Hard copy prints were no longer of any great importance, the creativity was all.

Throughout this period, as stamina reserves fluctuatingly improved, I was able to allow the artistic muse back into my life and, on occasion was able to wrestle a new poem or painting into life. In more recent times, an increasing amount of time has been spent in the garden, generally pottering about and developing the wildlife garden end.

Painting, writing, photography, gardening, and even a bit of cooking, each makes its own demands on one’s time. I really don’t know how I ever found time to fit in any formal employment.

Watercolours - Mozartian

Watercolours - Mozartian

Malcolm [aka Hirsute Antiquity / aka Sinna Luvva] | MySpace Videos
a random selection of details from my watercolour paintings, hastily put together a few years ago and, recently re-discovered.

lack of progress report

Frightening how the shatteredness persists, it's rather like I've reverted to a stage I thought I'd overcome. Room-spinning, legs collapsing, griping sense of nausea and feeling as if my bones are bruised from the inside. Hope it's just a passing trend!

All I can say is, thank God for the garden; just spent a pleasant hour alternatingly sitting on bench at back of house, seats beside the pond and the arbour seat, shuffles between them ably supported by a stout walking stick!

Of gardens, vaccinations and shatteredness

The big question is, do I have the stamina to complete this blog? It's not as if there's any necessity or urgency about it but, the effort may just manage to keep me awake. All in all, it's been rather a busy week in the garden and, for much of the effort the results aren't going to be visible until next spring; actually, I'm just hoping that the results will be visible when that season arrives! The hope is that there'll be wonderful displays of scilla siberica, English bluebells, double daffodils and even, a little later on, three varieties of honeysuckle.

Of the bulbs and plants that arrived this week, 20 bluebells, 38 scilla, 24 double daffodils, and three honeysuckle plants are now in situ, some in the wildlife garden area, others in the borders. A large container, which I'd thought would take some of the remainder, collapsed in the process of clearing out it's old vegetative inhabitants, so an alternative will have to be found. On top of that lot, I'm still awaiting delivery of some fragrant hostas and a few echinaceas, so I'll have to restore stamina levels somehow. Mind you, I should acknowledge the endeavours of my beloved who did an excellent job of clearing out a wildly invasive patch of mint, before I got around to transferring some of the compost bins compost to that area of the garden.

This morning, Helen's invaluable chauffering service was called for to ferry me to the doctors for my flu and pneumonia jabs; whilst at the surgery, I declined the opportunity to be allocated a swine-flu jab as I have reservations regarding both ethics and its efficacy. Come to that, I have more than a few misgivings about the whole pharmaceutical industry despite having benefitted from some of their products.

I'm afraid that cooking is out of the question this evening so, it will be one of those rare occasions when Sunday lunch is actually prepared on the day. I'm a little too shattered to trust myself with a kitchen knife at the moment!

My Sort of Day on 'Mal's Murmurings'

My latest blog posting, MY SORT OF DAY, can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'

Juvenile Goldfinch: colours coming through

this little fellow allowed me to move in close - useful in the absence of expensive equipment to get the shots!

Video : Preening Time

sparrows in shrubbery immediately behind the arbour seat - which serves as an improvised hide.

just messin' abaht! : owd John Bradleum

The devil finds work ... etc. ... etc. .. so, I was just messin' abaht and out popped this song from Breathless Mal ... it's a traditional song that I performed, in a school concert at Topcliffe CofE school, back in 1954. This time, I couldn't remember all the right words but, I spontaneously overcame that little difficulty!

blackbird at ground feeder

captured this brief footage, whilst stood at the kitchen door, this morning.

New Poem on Mal's Factory

I've just posted a freshly minted poem, ACCORDION, on 'Mal's Factory'

Sparrow Talk

suburban garden archaeology + note on IE8 abberation

Seeds sprouting, seeds rotting, seeds stagnating: mould growing, mould receding, even mould mouldering; rotting seeds fermenting: tufts; of sundry grasses, sucking the life out of deeper embedded seeds, weeds devouring weeds, layer upon layer of short-span history. There's something seedy about all of these lawn borders, wherever the bird feeding stations have been placed and / or removed..

Left untended, it's as if we have the layers within years (or even months) that human archaeology requres centuries for.

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I'd already posted this on 'Mal's Murmurings' but thought I'd just add it here, in the hope that a new posting may resolve the problem with this particular blog's display in IE8 (whereby the Header 'False Dawn',on 27 September 2009, was followed by the text of my posting from 22August 2009 - originally headed 'Theme & Variations'. All other postings between 21 August 2009 and the present day failed to appear. When viewed in Firefox all the postings appear).

P.S. 7.36pm: Strangely this post appears in IE8 but, the aforementioned aberration persists. TO VIEW THIS PARTICULAR BLOG I RECOMMEND ANY BROWSER OTHER THAN INTERNET EXPLORER!

FALSE DAWN

Yesterday morning, bright sunshine greeted my emergence into day and, most unusually I was feeling wide awake long before 9.00AM; the general rule is that a state akin to wide awake is rarely [even half-heartedly] achieved by yours truly before 10.45AM! I even felt that my nights sleep had been of a refreshing variety, despite my having run two marathons in one day before getting lost in the centre of an unknown town, unable to find the loos. Dreams are certainly peculiar things!

How could I account for a good nights sleep, dream sequences notwithstanding ; the only aid I could think of was having partaken of an extra shot of macchiato at the Café Culture the preceding afternoon. Now there's a paradox!

Anyway, whatever the reason, this unusually early alertness continued throughout the morning, relatively pain and ache free [a most unusual ante meridian experience]. By late morning I was ready for a walk down to Waitrose with my beloved; the walk entails a 15 minute stretch along the Leeds Road before taking the tree-lined footpath across the stray, approx 7 minutes, and a further 5 minutes in the direction of the town centre. That's one helluva long exercise for me but, I managed it and, even enjoyed the walk back home.

All went well with the day until early evening, when an excruciating sense of despairing helplessness overwhelmed me, the sheer pointlessness of everything. The cause for that dramatic change; I'd started wondering how the hell I could get the tax people to sort out one of my pension providers who tax me on every penny even though, all other incomes having been taken into account, I have a further £3 ½ grand tax free allowance. I've never been averse to paying tax but, having completed endless forms, both prior and subsequent to attaining state pension age, no progress has been made on this front! [The pettiness of the issue is that the monthly payment is a mere £62 gross and I'm having £13 take away in tax each month – but when one feels shattered the whole issue takes on gargantuan proportions].

Even my preparation of the main course for Sunday lunch – always pre-prepared on Saturday evening – held no pleasure for me and, subsequent telly-gawping proved absolutely disastrous. The Vile Twins [that's not their stage name by the way] getting through the first stage of boot camp [we're talking X Factor here] made me quite apoplectic; if ever there was a case to be made for abortion, or even euthanasia, these twin contestants are it. Before their miraculous advance, I'd already declared that their advancement would sufficient to prove that there is no god, no evolution either for that matter!

A further cause of my general sense of irritating helplessness is the constant petty bitching experienced on all of the ME sites run by fellow ME sufferers; no wonder that no progress is being made. Doubtless the condition is a physical neurological one, of possibly viral origin, even though the vested interests of medical insurers and pharmacological industries are more than happy to support the psychologizers arguments.

Where my fellow sufferers find the stamina to continue with their virulent nit-picking squabbles is a mystery to me! I suspect that part of the problem is, by its extremely debilitating nature, this neurological ailment tends to breed a kind of re-active depression. Certainly, in my case, the onset of ME also found (or produced) a far more deep-rooted tetchiness than had been apparent as part my nature for the preceding decades.

Basically, I'm just a little pissed off and you, my dear readers, are the outflows recipients. This morning, my naggingly aching body, had to be forcibly removed from the duvet realm by a sheer effort of will. It seems like I'm almost back to normal.

Meanwhile on Mal's Factory

My most recent posting on my poetry weblog features a video - Twittering Garden, the occasion of which was a prompt for the poem Garden Paradox

MAL's FACTORY - Poetry & Prose Poems: Garden Paradox - Twittering Garden http://bit.ly/qAYvE

Hypocrisy Runs Riot - a little rant

Perhaps it’s the fact that I’ve not been feeling particularly well for the past few days or, it could quite simply be that I’ve rediscovered my sceptical roots; whatever is the case, the news has left me with little to rejoice about.

Superficially, the nuclear weapons non-proliferation agreement at the UN should be a cause for rejoicing but, as one who has constantly campaigned for unilateral disarmament, I find little to celebrate in the agreement. Hypocrisy runs riot.

We offer a meaningless reduction in our arsenal and, simultaneously, threaten further sanctions against Iran (though not by name) should it continue to develop these “weapons of mass destruction”. It seems so strange that our politicians, in defending our nuclear weapons, have always referred to them as a “deterrent” but, should anyone else want them they become weapons of mass destruction.

If they are a deterrent, we should urge every nation to stockpile them; if every nation has a deterrent then, surely, there’s even less chance of a war. But, of course, the argument goes on to wonder what would happen if tactical nuclear devices should fall into the hands of “terrorists”; mind you there’s rarely a mention of the terrorist state of Israel having these same weapons. However we look at it, the admission has been made that they offer no deterrence to terrorism, indeed – they pose perhaps an even greater terrorist threat.

We are constantly being told that “terrorism” is the biggest threat we face yet, we insist on maintaining and enhancing our useless nuclear defence systems at a cost of untold billions of pounds. The more nuclear devices that are in existence, the greater the chance of a terrorist getting hold of them. It may be Obama’s greatest dream to have a nuclear free-world, why not make a start by destroying the existing stockpiles; I have no time for dreamers when they could be doing something practical!

Another news item is the American military’s development of a vaccine against AIDS. It comes as no real surprise that the military are working on this; in fact I’ve always suspected that the disease began as a germ warfare experiment that somehow got out of control!

There’s currently a fuss about sexist ageism at the BBC and a call being made for some female newsreaders over the age of 50 to be employed. I’ve yet to see a newsreader that is severely facially disfigured, or who has a speech impediment; come to that, do we have any newsreaders who suffer visibly from a major physical handicap? Where are the calls for these people to be represented? It would be good to have a newsreader who doesn’t sound like a representative of (that mythical) middle-England for that matter!

All the male newsreaders appear to be compulsive tie-wearers; where is the outcry? Surely there should be demands for a member of the non tie-wearing culture to be permitted to perform this hallowed duty!

Gosh; I feel much better now.

juvenile goldfinch - my latest video

juvenile goldfinch

Mal's Turnaround

Today's blog posting, Food, Drink and Gardening - a little more upbeat than yesterday's post - can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'.

the impossible is slightly difficult

Some things are just so difficult to explain that one just goes on with life, as best one can, unable to share their "different" experience of "normal" everyday activities. Some chronic conditions, even in their relatively moderate forms, can have the most devastating impact in terms of isolation; the combination of pain, sensory-overload - both auditory and visual (and the accompanying agitation and frustration) as well as an excruciating fatigue (caused by unrefreshing sleep patterns) are quite simply impossible to explain to anyone who has not been there and, together, they conspire to prevent much normal socializing!

Even when the worst symptoms are in some kind of remission, my coping mechanism has hardly returned to it's pre-illness state. There are times when, on a social outing, one feels they are going to explode in response to the immediate environmental activity - be it talking, music, lighting, or quite simply the presence of too many other bodies - then comes the difficult task of making one's "excuse" to depart early from the event.

Frequently I notice concerts, gigs, exhibitions etc that I'd like to attend but, I feel unable to pre-book ( even in my current reasonably well phase) as I'm never sure whether I will have the necessary physical and/or emotional stamina to cope come the day! Even when there's no requirement to pre-book, if an admission fee is involved it always seems an incredibly extravagant outlay bearing in mind that, in all likelihood, I will be ready to leave (unable to stay the course) whilst the event is still in progress. At the recent farewell party for the local vicar, it was amazing to be able to sustain concentration for that part of the entertainment I managed to cope with. My recent visit to Liverpool was a different experience altogether when I wasn't "up to" attending any of the exhibitions I hoped to see, or even dining out at a restaurant in close proximity to the inn where we were staying.

I am blessed in obtaining so much satisfaction from spending time in the garden, watching the avian activity, taking photos and videos etc., playing about on the PC, painting and writing as and when urge and stamina are in sync. I've become, in the process a contented homebird! On many occasions I'm able to manage a short walk but, even that activity has its own little idiosyncracies. This afternoon I took a little walk, at a somewhat slower pace than my recent norm; as I tried to speed up it seemed as if the lower limbs hydraulics were in serious need of an oil change; each movement required a conscious effort, as if I was required to lift my feet from some kind of cloying quicksand. And that was on, what had earlier seemed, a "better" day.

I have no desire to be a Moaning Minnie, it's just that I wanted to try and share something of that which I deemed, at the outset, to be impossible.

The Young Visitor

juvenile goldfinch on Nyjer seed feeder
(click on image to view larger version)

This young visitor, to our garden, kindly allowed me to observe his/her feeding activity from a distance of two feet.

Mal's Mysteries

The Unfathomable Fantail Mystery ... can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'

a joyous experience

Today is another wonderful unique day. The question is, do I feel better because of my attitude or, is my attitude different because I'm feeling better? I suspect that without the latter it would be virtually impossible to activate the former; mind over matter can only go a small way. For more than 90% of the time my outlook is positive, it's only reality that gets in the way and causes me to stumble.

This morning I sat in the shower and positively wallowed in the experience. A short while later I decided to venture down to 'Open Church', for coffee and a chat and, guess what; as I walked down the road one leg moved in front of the other in a seemingly effortless manner. It's an amazing thing this walking business, enabling one to get from point A to point B whilst, simultaneously, breathing in the air!

Breathing, that's another little miracle, inhale a complex of elements and exhale those not required; it seems like you get rid of all the crap with the minimum of conscious input. The whole process of walking and breathing feels like something worthy of celebration rather than being taken for granted. Having experienced some days when the necessary effort of taking a deep breath becomes a rather irksome task and, the movement of lower limbs causes considerable discomfort, makes it much easier to appreciate how wonderful a state of (relatively) healthy normality really is.

Walking down the road, reciprocating smiles with unknown passers-by, can be such a joyous experience.