A Traveller's Tale

 As the names Sheffield & Leeds appeared on the motorway signs I felt able to breathe freely once more. There really is no other place on earth quite like God’s own county and, having just travelled up from deepest Hertfordshire, the thought of soon being able to set foot once again on Yorkshire’s sacred ground proved truly heart-warming! To be totally honest, the ‘heart-warming’ was probably in response to the prospect of arriving home on the third day. Although born a “man of Kent”, and having inhabited points North, South, East & West of England, I am proud to be a Northerner and born-again Yorkshire man.

Our outbound journey, on Thursday, was not without its little hiccups as (what should have been) a three and a half hour journey turned into a more tortuous five hours of intermittent frustration. I’m not a good traveller at the best of times and this was most certainly not the best!

We received a most friendly welcome when we finally arrived at the Red Lion Hotel, in Radlett. The purpose of our venture southwards was to attend the wedding of one of Helen’s nieces; the wedding service was being held at St Paul’s Church in St Albans and the reception at Shenley Cricket Centre, the Church approximately seven miles and the reception venue just over one mile from the hotel we’d booked into.

The meal we had in the hotel’s restaurant was really excellent, at the time I thought it almost made the journey worthwhile. A most obliging waitress came back with the recipe for the sauce served with our main course as I’d been so enthusiastic about it and, she also printed out the route to be taken from the hotel to St Pauls.

After a most restless night, I managed to make it down for breakfast even though sundry muscular and joint pains had begun to kick in. The rest of the morning was spent lying down, attempting to get some rest before we set off for the wedding. Come the time we were due for departure to St Albans I knew there was no way I’d be able to cope with neither the journey to nor the ceremony itself.

My attempts to rest and relax whilst ma belle had headed off to the wedding were thwarted by the blaring/beeping of car horns (by the aggressive southern motorists as they approached the mini-roundabout in close proximity to the hotel). By this time a pounding headache and a disorientating spinning sensation, closely akin to that experienced when I suffered with labyrinthitis, joined the by now familiar aches and pains searing through my limbs whilst the ribcage was feeling rather bruised.

I should add that by this time I’d begun to be overwhelmed by a sense of despairing self-pity, after all this same Friday was also my birthday and here I was in an alien land feeling quite alone and desolate. When my beloved returned from the wedding service I reluctantly agreed to take a taxi to the reception. That decision proved totally disastrous as I was unable to cope with the babble of conversation and (joyous?) laughter – a total sensory overload. Within fifteen minutes we were in a taxi back to the hotel.

Later in the evening I felt almost ready to eat so, Helen and I ventured down through the bar to the restaurant only to be informed that the restaurant was closed (due to the extra bar business where the televised soccer seemed to be a major attraction and shortage of staff). I muttered to ma belle, “typical, it’s just not my f…ing day; it’s the most f…ing wretched birthday I’ve ever experienced, a bloody nightmare”.

Suddenly a degree of sanity overwhelmed me; I went to the Hotel Reception Desk to make an official complaint that we, as paying guests, had not been informed that the restaurant would be closed on a Friday evening. A few minutes later we were taken to the restaurant where a waitress took our order and the chef came to check whether and when we needed anything. This is what I consider service beyond the call of duty. I’d mentioned to the waitress that part of the reason I couldn’t cope with the noisy environment (of the bar) was because of my moderate M.E. As we finished our desserts the waitress volunteered that we could exit the restaurant via the kitchen, thus avoiding the bustling activity of the bar.

Although I didn’t manage to attend either the ceremony or the reception, for which we’d made the journey down, it was a delight to experience such real hospitality proffered by the Red Lion, Radlett, Herts.

Our return journey, on Saturday morning, passed without a hitch – the exact reverse of the route we’d intended to take on the outward journey – and we reached home in just three and a quarter hours. Recuperation from the adventure may take quite some time but, it’s slightly easier to cope with sundry ailments when at home in familiar territory.

plus ca change

One soon tires of broadcasting their bad health news, hence the paucity of postings over recent days; I await some positive bright notes with which to intersperse my ailing prose.

In so many ways I feel blessed, adoring and being adored by ma belle, having the wherewithal to keep reasonably warm regardless of what the elements have in store and, constantly being charmed and uplifted by the variety of avian visitors to the garden. What a privilege it is living relatively close to a town centre whilst, from my fireside chair, I can observe a gliding circling red kite, a charm of goldfinches embracing the nyjer seed feeders, and a bullfinch refreshing itself at the birdbath. Flurries of sparrows bound to and fro from shrubbery to feeders, as blackbirds turn over leaf-mould, amidst the reluctantly thawing residue of last weekends snow fall, at the far end of the garden.

Aches and pains in the lower limbs have been less frequent visitors during recent weeks but, those in armpit and upper arm still manage to unnerve me with their accompanying symptoms of nausea and griping crushing sensation in shoulders and rib-cage.

Having finished my large dose of antibiotics to sort out a little diverticular infection, a week last Monday, I was somewhat disappointed when the griping spasms and far too regular explosive evacuations once again took control earlier this week - a type of hyperactivity that drastically interferes with any more normal (socializing) activity. I'm just hoping that a combination of mebeverine and loperamide will enable a swift resolution.

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.

'Tis better to arrive ... than having journeyed

After all the apprehension regarding a forthcoming journey, the whole experience is now behind me but, not without having once more vowed that I’ll never embark on such a venture again. Truth be told, the outward journey went reasonably smoothly as we journeyed via A1, M1, M42, M40, M25 & A24 from our abode to that of my brother on the South coast. The only little panic attack I suffered was during a break at Oxford Services; it was just so bustling with other travellers that it caused a bit of sensory overload on my part. Breathing exercises duly performed, I was soon ready to move on.

Shortly after we arrived, at our hosts, a delicious lasagne was appreciatively devoured by hosts and visitors alike. Food and wine throughout the visit was much appreciated. Both Helen and I were ready to retire au lit, during our stay, at an earlier hour than is our norm; the sea air seemed to be laced with knockout drops.

Of necessity, for me, life and the events / activities therein has always to be taken at a leisurely pace; I am far too well aware of the deleterious effects of overdoing it. Although I managed to do more during our weeks stay than would normally be my monthly quota, I found it impossible not to feel guilty when I couldn’t readily jump at the opportunity for further outings or activities. At times like that a sense of helplessness / hopelessness becomes overwhelming, until my beloved reminds me that a couple of years ago I wouldn’t have even been able to contemplate taking a trip anywhere; even routine visits to the hospital proved daunting at that time!

Visits to Littlehampton, the Wildfowl and Wetlands Trust at Arundel, and the Istanbul restaurant in Worthing were all experiences to be savoured but, the real highlight of our stay was a visit, on the Saturday, from my (nearly) four year old great-niece, with her Mum and Dad in tow. Apart from the delightful antics of Ruby herself, it was a real pleasure to see Dave and Jan in action as the doting grandparents.

The first panic attack of the return journey home occurred before I’d even got into the car and then, three loo stops were required before we’d even arrived at the M25. To my surprise, the journey went smoothly as soon as the major motorway part of our route was underway. No matter how much one may have enjoyed their stay away, there’s nothing quite matches that feeling of exhilaration at arriving home. I appreciate home at any time but, each return there (from whatever locale) is just the greatest feeling imaginable. For me, familiarity breeds content!

Many Happy Returns

I make little secret of the fact that I’m not the best of travellers so, having just returned from a visit to Northampton, today is going to be a rather quiet celebration of my birthday. At the time the Beatles released “When I’m 64”, such a great age seemed almost unimaginable for this wreck of a twenty-something but, now I’m there, health problems notwithstanding I’m going through one of the happiest periods of my life. My only requirement for contentment is the presence of ma belle amoureuse, tending to the garden when stamina permits, and observing the flora and fauna hereabouts.

Sorry; that paragraph took off in a direction I hadn’t anticipated, even though every bit of it is true. Come to think of it, any direction my rambling takes is something of a surprise, not exactly stream-of –consciousness more rivulets-of-idleness. I don’t even know what I intended to say; just crossed my fingers and trusted in the keyboard to make it plain!

Let’s start at the very beginning, it’s a very good place to start; when you read you begin with A,B,C, when you write you begin with me, me, me … So, travelling is the cue. The reason for the visit to Northampton was, for my beloved to celebrate her sister Margaret’s 70^th birthday; the six siblings were to go out for a celebratory dinner on the Friday lunch time. Helen and myself don’t like the idea of being apart for even one night, so we decided that I would travel down with her, provided I could overcome my travel anxieties. Being a poor traveller, this necessitated a two night stay, arriving on the Thursday afternoon and returning home on Saturday morning.

Most of my time on the Friday was spent in our room, at The Innkeepers Lodge, resting and sleeping. I occasionally ventured out to amble around the pine tree surrounded grounds of the establishment and, grabbed a couple of starters in lieu of a main meal at the adjacent carvery. I’m grateful for the time spent sleeping, otherwise, it would have seemed an extremely long day whilst my beloved was out with her siblings. What kept me going was the thought of being back home around lunchtime the following day. Please note, it’s the arrival that matters not the journey.

The return journey went much more smoothly than we could possibly have anticipated but, nothing can match the joy of ones return to the homestead.

A highlight of the return journey was a sign, presumably referring to ongoing maintenance work, stating “DELAYS ARE LIKELY UNTIL AUTUMN 2010”; my God, I thought, I have difficulty coping with a ten minute hold-up (hyper-ventilating panic attacks etc.), I don’t think I can survive one for 2 ¼ years.

A little further along the motorway, a large poster in an adjacent field read, “PREPARE TO MEET YOUR GOD”. The way some people were driving, crossing lanes without signalling, cutting in without leaving an appropriate space between the other vehicles, it seemed quite ominous. If the intent was to proselytize, it was sufficiently distracting to ensure that potential converts may not survive long enough to repent or convert. Must admit, I appreciated it more as the work of a prankster with a sick sense of humour, rather than a wayside pulpit.

This posting also appears on Mal's Murmurings