Merged Image

The above image is a digitally modified merging of two of my watercolours.

Mal Steps Out

Today's posting, STEPPING OUT, can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'

Springs Spring

Four in a row of crisp, bright, sun-kissed days, makes for a little miracle in how I feel. Although I did not arouse myself, from fitful slumbers, until the morning was well under way, by 10.30am, a fair covering mantle of frost still lay on the lawn.

The garden is a hive of avian activity, blackbirds, house sparrows and starlings are all to be seen in abundance. Our resident robin puts in an appearance too, whilst a trio of blue tits visit the feeders. A dunnock joins the blackbirds at the ground feeder but, the blackbirds today seem torn between a need for food and flirtatious play. Spring is truly on its way.

At the top end of the garden, blackbirds wade and wallow in the dead leaf strewn waterlogged plastic sledge, more utilized in its desuetude than ever in its glory days of sledging purpose. The patio pond is covered in a thin ice crust but, barely a patch of ice touches the garden pond. Repeated frost-filled nights give me little hope for the frogspawn’s survival. Mind you, when a spawn is successful in the main pond, the goldfish never seem to tire of the fast food it supplies.

After a slow lumbering emergence into the day, I soon feel revitalized as I watch all this activity in the garden. My usual muscular niggles are hardly in evidence, it’s great to feel really alive. After lunch, I step out for a little stroll. Today, the walking stick serves more as a propulsion aid, rather than its customary supporting role, as I take a brisk walk around the block. The course I take is completed in twenty minutes, on a route which more usually takes me thirty.

Rather than wait for any anticipated backlash, I’ve told myself that I’ll free my mind of that possibility. Problem is, on a psychological level, it may be healthier to be prepared for any post-exercise malaise, rather than be caught by it unawares. Denial by positivity may not be the best approach. On second thoughts, I’ll just settle stoically for whatever befalls.

One swallow may not make a summer but, today, I do have a new spring in my step.

Without Comment!

“All but a handful of conservative evangelicals - the sort who have been calling him a heretic and demanding his resignation ever since he was appointed five years ago - greeted his arrival with prolonged and sympathetic applause. Whether it was a standing ovation is a moot point since the synod customarily rises to its feet on his arrival anyway.

One of the unnoticed ironies of the row is that the archbishop has been most vociferously criticised by precisely those within his flock who normally demand the harshest punishment against those with whom they disagree.” [my emphasis]

Williams, sharia and a mea culpa ... of sorts
http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2008/feb/12/religion.islam1

Light through a shattered screen

Our experience of the world is always screened through our own subjectivity. This being the case, the past few days found a minimal expectation of enjoyment from these quarters. So, I should be miserable … right? I have been surprised at how satisfying I’m finding life today, despite my low reserves of physical and emotional stamina.

Last evening, my overall mood was being pinned down under a barrage of frustration and, I found myself on the verge of succumbing to despair. There’s no particular incident that can be pinpointed as causing this ‘low’, just an overwhelming sense of falling victim to my own lack of energy, low concentration, the sense of interminable exhaustion. The perpetual nagging aches, which I thought I’d learned to accept, seemed to impose themselves like a cloud in front of anything I hoped to enjoy. Surf the net, and surf again; nothing held my interest. Truth be told, successive days of drowse-laden discomfort tempted me into the realms of self-pity. That way one starts to feed on themselves, so there are even less reserves of energy to draw upon.

When it comes to energy, there’s one thing of which I’m certain; it’s a force that I’m more able to recognize by its absence. Today, by the grace of the gods, I’ve recovered from the despondency, despite starting off in a totally shattered state. By the time I’d emerged from the duvet-realm, my beloved had already been out to a coffee morning at the local chapel and, this dressing gowned zombie managed to greet her on her return. At this point, I was able to help her with finalizing the preparations for the children’s address at the service she’ll be taking tomorrow. This modest polishing of my halo boosted my lazy limbs as I headed towards the shower; my beloved provided the necessary supervisory attention, for me to undergo this experience.

Refreshed by this, I was able to contemplate a little journey with ma belle chauffeuse to the garden centre at Otley, where we were able to replenish our stocks of wild bird feed etc. Helen managed to find some bags of polished pebbles, for use in the service tomorrow, before we visited the pet shop/aquaria section. We were totally captivated by a selection of Hermann’s Tortoises, tiny creatures a mere three to four months old, in a vivarium just inside the door. We enquired about their care requirements, and estimated the price for a properly equipped vivarium, in which they would spend substantial amounts of their time until they were 5 years old. The problem was going to be whether we had sufficient space to house them and, unfortunately, the answer seems to be in the negative as it would entail us having to move out our large aquarium, or the TV and video. I was quite fancying having my toes nipped, as we let them out for a bit of free range roaming in the sitting room.

Anyway, the time spent observing them, and sundry reptiles, served to brighten my outlook on life. It’s nice to find positivity restored, even though my spectacles have lenses that are cloudy and shattered, rather than rose-tinted. Life can be truly wonderful, warts and all, and I rejoice in this day the Lord has made.

Aged Poet - New Product

DAZZLED DILEMMA, a freshly minted poem, can be found on 'Archive Mined and Freshly Spun'

Truly Alive

Retire to the duvet realm shortly after 10.00pm, re-emerge shortly after 9.00am, a remarkably early hour for yours truly. Dressing gown bedecked, switch on the PC for a little idle surfing, feeling rather washed out and jaded. Somehow the time just scurries by, surprising in an era of idleness. Contemplate taking a shower but, uncertain as to whether I can cope with the effort, return to the desktop and continue to get nowhere slowly. By this time a serious debate with oneself occurs, the topic is the pros and cons of showering.

By 11.30am, I succumb to the lure of the shower. Sheer luxury as I sit in the shower; I rub my face almost gleefully, watch the water flow over my weary limbs, the warmth seems to alleviate the pesky muscular aches and pains with which I share my daily journeying. This is bliss, it almost feels like something I should feel guilty about; it takes quite some time before I even contemplate the washing process, it’s almost as if in these moments time has stood still and I’ve entered some kind of sublime ecstatic state. I start to count my breaths, a kind of reassurance that it’s not quite simply a dream; all is calmness!

There once was a time, which I find hard to believe, when showering was a straightforward mundane routine, neither pain or pleasure. Next, there was a period when I could only take a shower when my beloved was there to support me, an omnipresent giddiness / light-headedness made the shower a most insecure place for me. Things became somewhat easier once my beloved obtained a shower seat; once that was in situ, the task became far less troublesome, although for long enough it still proved a chore. I still found that by the time I emerged from the soaking, and towelled myself dry, a half-hours rest (minimum) was required before I could consider getting dressed.

Anyway, that’s the past and this is now. I’m still basking in the afterglow of that serious pampering, provided by the shower unit. The muscular and joint pains are returning but, I am still able to revel in observing the sun blessed blue skies. Today I am truly alive.

New on 'Mal's Factory'

TWO NEW POEMS (First Drafts), or they may even be jottings towards a single poem, can be found on 'Mal's Factory'.

A True Thanksgiving

Sometimes a very basic foodstuff can seem extra exciting; in this instance I’m referring to a simple baked potato, served with stew and a few garden peas, as the main course at a community meal at the local Methodist chapel last evening. I really must find out who supplied the potatoes, and what variety they were; the nicest baked potato I’ve tasted in several years.

This particular chapel no longer serves as a place of worship, having been closed in the course of circuit re-organization, but its former congregation, who were forced to disperse to other churches in the broader vicinity, still meet together for coffee mornings and the occasional communal meal. There is a very strong sense of fellowship at these gatherings and, any proceeds raised from the events, less expenses, go to a worthwhile cause either locally or abroad. Although it was not the church that I attended, the warmth of welcome received was a real treat.

Much as I appreciated the symbols of the communion service, in times when I was more able to regularly attend worship, I couldn’t help but feel that this was a true eucharist.

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A later posting for today, A QUESTION OF IMBALANCE, can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'

Mal's Skywatching

This mornings posting, WEATHER WATCH, can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'

Bring Me Sunshine

The sun shines, and all seems much better with the world; a bright day has such an amazing effect on one’s sense of well (or even not-so-well) being, it’s only a pity that it has little effect on the multitude of socio-political ills that afflict the majority of humankind.

Just looking out onto the garden gains new vibrancy; each year I’m amazed and encouraged as the first shoots thrust their way into daylight, preparing for spring. (see my poem First Rite on this theme)

Shuffle my way up to the garden pond, look in disgust at the floating debris, think about netting it off but, I’m all too aware that once I make that effort I’ll be too tempted to start on a more widespread cleaning. The piscine inhabitants wouldn’t be too happy about that, this early in the year, so it’s just as well my energy reserves are not exactly fighting for release.

For the moment, I make do with topping up the bird-feeders, pace about a little to give my leg muscles a little stretch, before returning to the house for a nice cuppa (or three) of Earl Grey.

It’s remarkable how much easier it is, on a bright day, to count ones blessings. At a time when I’d lost contact with many of my friends, as my ability to socialize declined, I was able to make contact with others in cyber space, and most importantly able to offer help and encouragement to some of these people.

As my love for my wife grows daily, and that’s starting from a remarkably high plateau, I am so fortunate to have that love reciprocated. Being able to pop down to Open Church, for a cup of Fairtrade coffee and a natter, still seems like a bit of a luxury and, I can only be grateful that I can comfortably manage the walk down there and not be overwhelmed by any background noise. It’s simple things like that, which I would have taken for granted a few years ago, that I have now learnt to appreciate; even the fact that I have a roof over my head, food in the larder and, water on tap provides cause for rejoicing.

Even on a dull, wet day, I am aware of the many blessings (though sometimes it takes a bit of coaxing to bring them to the fore) but, as the sun continues to shine my gratitude is somehow amplified.

A PAIN IN THE ....

It’s only when I sit a certain way. Correction; it’s sometimes when I’m sitting still, at other times when I shuffle my bum to the back of the chair. Truth be told, it’s worse when I lean forward, to put something down, from a seated position except, when I stand up and reach for something it’s sometimes even more of a pain. Come to think of it, it could be when I take a sudden step forward; at least that’s when it causes my leg to fold on me and I lose my balance.

Who am I trying to kid; all I really need is plenty of fresh distractions, that way my awareness of it would simply dissipate.

A few minutes ago, whilst standing by the kitchen door, it suddenly attacked again! A searing pain shoots through my thigh but, unlike sciatica, there’s no apparent reference back or forwards from the hips or spine, nor is there any downwards extension through to the calf muscles. All is (apparently) encapsulated within the rear of the thigh. The physio suspects that it’s a nerve problem.

Pain-killers hardly touch it, but then, how would I know if they were being effective? It’s the brutally spasmodic, crippling, lightning flash that’s the real pain; there have actually been periods today, of almost 20 minutes duration, when I’ve not been startled by it. Meantime, a manageable dull bruising throb is much easier to ignore than the staccato stabbing.

My diagnosis is that “it’s a real pain!”

If only it wasn’t such a discomforting thought, I could add that “at least it keeps me on my toes!”

New on Mal's Factory

I've just posted a freshly woven poem, WINDBLOWN, on 'Mal's Factory'

Today's posting on Mal's Murmurings

The Force of Circumstance can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'

Random Ramblings on Time and Perspective

Strange, the tricks of light and perspective; the history of art has a lot to answer for. I’m stood by the backdoor and, a good three hundred or more metres away, there are giants working on the roof trusses of a house under construction. I see these figures, each around 5’10” to 6’0” in height, at much the same height as they would appear if they were standing next to me. Were I to paint, or draw, the scene I’m witnessing, it would be expected that these figures would appear quite miniscule, positioned well on the way towards the vanishing point. Why, for the sake of convention am I expected to diminish their stature; our observation is always subjective, we always interpret the scene laid out before us so, why did anyone ever to take the trouble to lay down rules as to the way we are to portray it? Is it supposed to bring some sort of objectivity to the interpreted world?

I suppose there is a degree of importance to quantifying time and space, to enable us to more easily modify our environment for the sake of efficiency in our daily routines but, it has got me wondering about whether art comes under the category of work or play.

Mind you, I’m not wondering all that seriously, it’s more a case of letting ideas fly off the top of my head (and being bald, I suppose it makes for a smooth take-off as these random thoughts take flight).

Suddenly, I find time has become a greater issue than space, as I await the arrival of the workmen who are going to be renovating our downstairs loo; as I wait each minute seems like a quarter of an hour and, once the appointed time for their arrival has passed the moments seem to stretch out even further. It’s strange how the waiting process plays havoc with temporal values! Where once patience was a virtue I could uphold to a considerable degree, the past few years have swung the pendulum the other way; patience is now a quality which seems to belong to a dim and distant past life. Somehow, whilst anticipating an impending event, I find it impossible to apply my mind to any other task; it only seems possible to concentrate on one thing at a time and, even then, the quality of concentration ain’t what it used to be.

At least these random jottings have helped the time pass more quickly and, I’m relieved to hear the doorbell ring. Meantime, I’ll get on with a little bit more net surfing, before my physio arrives to administer the magic needles once more.

Reclaiming KING

People usually focus on the historic "I Have a Dream" speech, but it's the work King was doing at the end of his life that deserves more attention.

Read the article:

Reclaiming King : Beyond "I Have A Dream"

http://www.alternet.org/stories/74337/

transformations elsewhere

Mal's murmuring persona bears witness to some TRANSFORMATIONS

BEST FRIENDS

A generalized sluggishness pervades my being, marginally more so than is my norm. Yesterday, the day being somewhat brighter than of late, decided to take a modestly longer walk than I usually manage, in the (misguided) belief that it may alleviate the droningly throbbing pain in the left thigh. I almost overdid the exercise and, found myself struggling as we tackled the homeward bound section. At least it proffered no more than the usual degree of tiredness and discomfort by way of reward; I suppose that’s progress of some kind.

Although you may find it difficult to believe, I don’t really like moaning on about my assorted aches and pains, it’s quite simply that they are my most constant companions; I feel the same obligation to report upon them as I would were I to boast about or describe the achievements of best friends. [Yes, I admit it; best friends can at times be a pain too!]

Trouble with the aches and pains is, they never seem to know when one needs time to be on their own. There are times when I would appreciate the absence of their company!

Mal's Cold Feet

Mal has been Murmuring again, this time about The Chef's Cold Feet. Why not visit 'Mal's Murmurings' to see what's cooking!

Quite Simply Breathtaking

Just as well I received the CUPPA THERAPY boost to my morale yesterday; otherwise, I would be feeling quite morose this morning. Last night’s bed rest was intermittently disrupted by intense discomfort in the lower limbs; a dully throbbing sense of bruised hollowness affected both limbs but, more emphatically on the left hand side. I felt less comfortable than I had in the previous position, no matter which way I turned, nor how slowly, within minutes of each move. This, combined with a vengeful return of the night sweats, ensured that any bout of sleep would prove less than refreshing.

At 9.40am, my light slumber was disturbed by a thunderous hammering at the door accompanied by a seemingly panic stricken sustained ringing of the bell. By the time I’d groggily disbanded the duvet, and donned my dressing gown, two large boxes were resting at the side of the door and the delivery man, from Argos, was carrying another couple of parcels. He asked me to sign for them but, I questioned whether he’d come to the right address; the outcome was that he was on the right road but at the wrong number. Our house number is clearly displayed adjacent to the door! I dread to think what I’d have said were the benefits of yesterday’s therapy still not apparent on the emotional front.

Having dragged myself back upstairs, decided it was perhaps time to get dressed and confront the day head on. Seated on the edge of the bed, I carefully placed one leg into the top of my trousers when the spine, or quite probably the muscles attached thereto, decided to deliver a short sharp shock. Now that’s what I call a breathtaking experience! A few painkillers, and a generous Ibuprofen rub later, I have returned to my more comfortably familiar sense of dis-ease.

Fortunately, I have no immediate need to venture far from my comfortably supportive armchair.

Therapeutic Cuppa

This morning Malcolm submitted himself to some CUPPA THERAPY. Why not read of the results on 'Mal's Murmurings'.

Normal Service will be resumed

It really feels good to see ma belle back more to her normal self; the fact that she was able to taste the chicken paprika I’d prepared for Sunday dinner is just an added bonus. Sadly, she had to miss her surgery’s belated Christmas dinner on Friday night but, she should be well enough to return to work tomorrow, although she will forgo her Bible Study group in the evening.

This morning she took the service at Killinghall chapel and, perhaps three short talks (as it was a family service) took less toll on the congested vocal cords than the usual sermon. What she missed most was not being able to sing along with the hymns as she realized that would only start off a bout of coughing. I don’t mean to say her singing’s that bad, that the congregation would try to drown it out, but rather that laughing and singing are two activities destined to activate her own coughs and splutters.

The rest of the day has been spent in relative idleness as I’ve struggled to keep my eyes open, and my head in non-giddy mode. Just sitting beside, or opposite, my beloved makes me feel so content, as well as relieved that her recovery is well under way. It’s difficult to understand how I ever managed a life without her

Jaded Guilt

A rather jaded Mal has just posted 'The Guilt Game' on his Murmurings.

Self Pity?

I currently seem to be sinking into the kind of morose, self-pitying frames of reference that used to be the result of excessive alcohol consumption. Perhaps the cause is the teetotalism that I’ve been practising these past few days; there’s just no winning in these situations.

Truth be told, self-pity is barely part of my vocabulary these days; I tend to cope reasonably well with the slings and arrows that ME/CFS ensures my flesh is heir to, I don’t really have much choice in the matter. Ever since Julie, at the Chronic Fatigue Unit, grounded me in the principles of pacing, I’ve managed to avoid the worst excesses of my former ‘boom and bust’ circle of activity/inactivity and, for that I’m extremely grateful.

What I’m finding difficult to cope with is the viral attack that my beloved currently has to cope with. I was already at a fairly low ebb, stamina-wise, before I started to apply myself to my nursemaid duties and, what really startles me, despite my youthful training as a student nurse, is that I’m finding it really difficult to cope with Helen being poorly. She is my life, my raison d’etre and, I just want to do more for her but feel quite helpless into the bargain. The self-pity is more rooted in this sense of helplessness, rather than the everyday reality of coping with me.

Q and E mirrored on Mal's Murmurings

A sequel, titled Mirror, Mirror ..., to the preceding two or three posts can be found on Mal's Murmurings.

Quasimodo and Esmeralda

The past few days have witnessed a hobbling Quasimodo climbing up into the tower to look after an ailing Esmeralda. Crookbacked and crablike I’ve ventured up the stairs, trying to tempt my beloved with a few hot drinks and the occasional poached meal. My Esmeralda’s complexion seems to keep ringing the changes between flushed and drained, as she shivers whilst simultaneously burning up. I actually find it quite disturbing when ma belle is reluctant to take on board either fluids or solids, yet at times she’s even finding it difficult to quaff sufficient water to aid the swallowing and absorbing of the paracetamol. In more normal times I suspect that the reservoirs must have difficulty in providing the copious volumes of liquid consumed by my good lady.

On the positive side, although I’ve not ventured outside of these four walls, I’m getting plenty of exercise – against my backs resistance and legs reluctance – as I tread the stairs. My beloved keeps saying that she shouldn’t feel so rotten because it’s only a virus; meantime, I keep thinking a virus is only a bug that the medicos fail to understand and are unable to deal with!

Spasmodic doses of co-codamol, together with rubs of ibuprofen gel, seem to keep the worst of my back pain in check, though neither supplies an adequate counter to the occasional locking of the spine.

La Rue des Invalides

Have you ever tried walking down the High Street whilst attempting to clasp a tennis ball between your upper thighs? That’s exactly what it felt like as I ventured out to the local bakery this morning and, I could have done with a pair of reversible knee joints to hasten my errand. Any attempt to modestly stride out seemed to return the back muscles to the state of spasm which started yesterday afternoon. A combination of Co-codamol and externally applied Ibuprofen gel helped me to get a reasonable night’s sleep but, getting dressed this morning seemed a terribly arduous process.

Our homestead feels like a regular maison des invalides, as my beloved has had to return home from work with sundry flu-like ailments, a general feeling of nausea now accompanying the chest infection which has been honking its presence for the past few days. The nurse, at the practise where Helen works, thought it a bit odd that ma belle should need to wear an overcoat in the office, a classic case of burning up and feeling cold. When ma belle is off her food there’s definitely something wrong and, this morning she’s even finding it difficult to drink – that pervasive sense of nausea has much to answer for.

Meantime, my younger (step-) daughter, who lives just around the corner from us, has been and still is struggling against a host of virulent bugs. Perhaps a quarantine order needs to be applied in these parts. Ironically enough, the town which we are privileged to inhabit was once a celebrated Health Spa! Still, I suppose that means it’s used to having a lot of old crocks in residence.

BODY TALK

There’s something simultaneously amusing and disconcerting about an erratic body thermostat. Recent days have seen a return of both excessive night sweats and diurnal frozen extremities – oh that the power of reason could overcome these apparently irrational somatic dispositions!

Elsewhere on the health front, the antibiotics prescribed for an intimate abscess (on the dark side of the moon) has also served to clear up a painful tenderness in glands in the neck and under the chin; that’s what I call getting to the top and bottom of the problem. I’m so familiar with tenderly swollen glands, a traditional component of my ailments, that one so easily overlooks the probability of infection.

Thursday afternoon saw a welcome visit from Helen A, physiotherapist and acupuncture practitioner, and after quite a break from this treatment, I once more welcomed the wonderful drowsy zonked-out aftermath of being a pin-cushion.

This afternoon, shortly after lunch, it was the turn of my lower back muscles to go into painful spasm, moderately alleviated by a dose of Co-codamol but, at least it has turned my attention away from the omnipresent hollow ache in the left armpit (frequently accompanied by a gnawing numbness in the arm and wrist) and the self-locking right knee joint.

The rest of the day is set to pass with me seated on a comfortably supportive upright armchair beside a warmly glowing fire; a necessary luxury.

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PS 7.15pm A further posting,on a somewhat different topic, PLAYING BY THE RULES, can be found on' Mal's Murmurings'

No Contest

The greatest privilege of the Christmas period, apart from celebration of the Christ child, has been the opportunity to luxuriate in my beloveds presence 24 hours a day for the past ten days! Tomorrow, I’ll be back to my solitary existence, through the daylight hours, as Helen returns to the world of paid employment.

Of course, New Years day being a public holiday, I will once again be blessed with her presence on Tuesday and, that will provide another opportunity to demonstrate that it’s impossible to have too much of a good thing!

For the past few days, ma belle amoureuse has had the opportunity to catch up on some much needed rest, but one has to admit she can’t manage my (exhaustion imposed) twelve hours bed rest per diem!

There are some things in which there’s quite simply no competition.

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P.S. A posting for 26 December, CELEBRATING CHRISTMAS, can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'.

On Christmas Day In The Morning

Well, Christmas Day certainly started with a bang, as Beth tumbled down the bottom half of the stairs. Our traditional champagne and smoked trout breakfast has been put on hold. Following the tumble, Beth took a few tentative steps, said she was OK and, as if to prove the point, immediately crumbled (well more like rigidified) into unconsciousness. A few minutes of unresponsiveness later, a groggy emergence made our beloved daughter into a legless wonder, so there she was resting against the hall wall, swaddled in blankets and, compared to her pallor Jacob Marley’s ghost is the figure of absolute health and vitality.

Helen had a swift bite to eat before running Beth down to casualty to get checked out. Unfortunately, ma belle was unable to wait with her as she had to get down to Wesley to lead off the Christmas Morning service. One and a half hours later, Beth has been safely returned to the fold – thank God for Christmas Taxi service, though God help us with the charges for same.

Meantime, we hear on the grapevine that Sina ( Beth’s ex-partners son) is enjoying his Christmas in Birmingham with a full-blown case of Food poisoning. The day can only improve, can’t it?

Look Elsewhere

Today's posting, A Light in the Darkness, can be found on 'Mals Murmurings'.

A Change of Venue

What a topsy-turvy world I’m living in; yesterday the attention was focussed on an abscess in the lower part of my body, early this evening the focus shifts up to a point above the torso. All of a sudden a large blood blister erupts onto the scene; actually, I wish the eruption had climaxed rather than remain the swollen possibility of such action. That would certainly have eased the discomfort.

This intruder has made its home well back on the roof of my mouth. Applying ‘anbesol’ (anaesthetic & antiseptic solution) to this discomforting blob is, to say the least, a tricky business. Life is certainly never dull around these parts!

A Little More Consultation, A Little Less Action

Soundtrack: music from ‘Jaws’, it pounds through my brain. He rolls on the latex gloves, applies lubricating gel and slowly approaches. He’d already done the abdominal pressure test but now, it’s down to the real investigation. Almost before the investigation begins, a pre-existent painful area seems to be crying out for attention but, all I can do is lay on my side and think of England. Thankfully, the investigation is not too prolonged; this could never be my idea of a good afternoon out!

Anyway it seems like an abscess has been the cause of the problem and, the GP swiftly prescribes a 7 day course of antibiotics and a hydrocortisone laced ointment to apply to the affected area and arranges for a follow up consultation.

So, that was the late-afternoon highlight of my day; it certainly woke me up. This morning I’d really struggled to remove myself from the duvet lair; a struggle still reflected in my sense of jadedness through to mid-afternoon. Last evening I attended a Christmas Party, with my beloved and Beth, at the Acorn Centre where ma belle is a volunteer assistant; a bit of socializing that I managed to cope with far better than I’d have anticipated but, I still have a price to pay.

Update

Today's blog posting, Setbacks and Restoration, can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'.

A VIRGIN FAILS to provide a service

Sunday 16 December

ISP’s, who’d have ‘em; on the other hand, how would we manage without ‘em? Yesterday the connections were very slow, today zilch! So I phone the Virgin Media service status line, thankfully a Freephone number, only to discover that the “connections are slow” in all our adjacent postal areas, as well as here, but “our engineers are aware of the problem and are in the process of repairing it!” I’m rather suspicious; if they’re only aware that connections are slow, rather than non-existent, are they really on the ball at all?

It’s quite a while since we had a major problem with NTL / Virgin Media (remembering the company before it became a Virgin) but, it still makes for a very frustrating time. The web has been a major lifeline for me, via various forums, blogs and networking sites I’ve managed to retain a ‘virtual’ social life, much richer than the ‘real’ one which is rather limited owing to health restraints.

Trouble is, one hears of nightmare scenarios with many different ISPs so, is it really worth jumping out of the current frying pan?

Monday 17 December

Still no internet connection, good old reliable Virgin Media, so by 1.30pm decide to check once more with lack of service line; at least this time the recorded voice is rather more honest and states that this area is suffering from a “loss of service” and, their engineers are aware of the issue.

That’s little consolation, what I want is for them to do something about it! As Karl Marx said all those years ago, “Philosophers have interpreted the world, our task is to change it” but now, our ISP having failed to change failure into function, we’re back to a more metaphysical problem, namely ‘creatio ex nihilo’. Is it really possible that this company (the beloved Virgin Media) can get their fingers out and create a service out of a vacuum? Their apologies for the inconvenience are insufficient; we pay real money for their product and expect to receive that product in exchange for that cash. A service industry that fails to deliver deserves to go to the wall.

We will certainly be considering a change of ISP!

At this season, when all around us churches proclaim a Virgin birth, I feel that another miracle is required in which a Virgin starts to provide a decent service.

3.50pm – I offer up my prayer of thanksgiving. A Virgin conceived a way to restore our internet connection. The age of miracles has not yet passed.

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A further posting for today, Of Leon ...and other problems, can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'.

A Patronizing Post

An eventful day, by the standards of yours truly; having roused myself into a state of semi-alertness, after a mere 10 ½ hours bed rest, I girded up my loins to venture into town. At least ma belle chauffeuse found a reasonably convenient parking spot before we ambled our way down to the Christmas Fayre at Wesley Chapel. It was really heart-warming to find that many of the stalls were making funds for worthwhile causes, Save The Children, Traidcraft, Palestinian handicrafts and, even a stall selling hand-made greetings cards for which the proceeds were going to support work in Nigeria. I’m not really one for buying at Christmas Fayres but, as I’m certainly in favour of supporting these causes, I set aside my usual reservations.

As we made our way back through town it was good to see a Ladies Morris Team dancing outside of the shopping centre, a really festive touch, as well as one or two talented buskers. So frequently the combination of the words talent and busker can seem paradoxical.

After lunch, my beloved suggest we patronize one of the local clothes shops so, I duly intended to say, “What brave souls you are, struggling on in the local community, boldly standing your ground against e-commerce and out of town retail parks!”, but then I thought that this would be too patronizing. Deep down, I had suspected that my beloved meant to make a purchase at this local shop; oh the ambiguities of the word patronize. Ma belle’s attention was swiftly drawn to an outfit that had caught her eye when it formed part of the window display a few weeks ago. The problem of finding a present for the lady who is privileged to be my spouse was resolved in one fell swoop.

After each of these forays, it was really good to slump back into a comfortable supporting armchair! Not for some time, has so much been accomplished, by this stoical wimp, within such a relatively short time span.

Come late afternoon, it was time to metaphorically don my chef’s hat and make preparations for tomorrow’s dinner. Firstly I sliced some chicken breast fillets, onions and peppers, and prepared an olive oil based paste of coriander, paprika, cumin, turmeric, and garlic in the bottom of the wok. Once this was sizzling threw in the onion rings, to be followed by the sliced peppers and chicken. A few sliced mushrooms were thrown into the mix for good measure. After a bit of vigorous stirring, decided to mix a miso solution (my beloved having just excavated a jar of miso in the course of a very belated spring clean); this, with a generous sprinkling of dried basil added, was duly poured into the wok and left to simmer.

The contents of the wok have now been dispersed into two casserole dishes, ready to be popped into the oven on Sunday and Monday respectively. And now, I’m lost in wonder, love and praise as I watch Helen prepare a posting for her Bright Light blog.

A Gold Medal Award

Grey days with wind-lashed rain beating its presence on the windowpane; the outlook is grim. Pick up a book to browse, turn on the radio and, all too soon I become restless. For these past dew days, the assemblage of familiar numbing pains and nagging aches are all that have prevented me from sleeping the time away.

Thoughts of an impending journey, a mere two and a bit hours of chauffeuse driven motoring, fill me with a sense of doom; even at the best of times I’m not too fond of travelling but, in my current state of dis-ease, the prospect is even more worrying.

The arrival at any destination always seems long overdue but, the sense of relief is overshadowed by the prospect of the return journey. The arrival back home is always the best part of the experience when, once more, my breathing permits itself to return to a more normal pattern.

By writing this down I hoped to disclose the irrationality of my dread but, instead, it only serves to reaffirm that nature never intended me to be a nomad. These days, the prospect of any journey of more than a few miles duration requires several pre-emptive visits to the loo; a somewhat spastic colon and a non-retentive bladder are never ideal travelling companions.

This doesn’t just sound like self-pity, it is the genuine article. Any minor deviation from my normal home-centric regime seems like the most perverse obstacle course has been placed in my path. I award myself the gold-medal for wimpishness, no-one is more entitled to such a prize.

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Mal's Murmurings talks about PRIVILEGE

The Nation's Supreme Athlete

I’ve just got down to wondering, just how much I have been kidding myself that I’m so much better. I am indeed grateful that I’m not so tetchy, that I get down to Open Church for coffee and a chat at least once or twice a week, being able to enjoy taking a shower .... indeed, the list is endless of all the things I’m grateful for!

The down side is the amount of bed-rest I seem to require these days, intermittently persistent numb throbbing aches from armpit, through elbow to wrist and, after a modest walk, in hips, thighs and calves. Some days, today being a case in point, even combing my hair, putting on spectacles and wrist watch seemed like an effort too far! Washed-out isn’t quite the word, it’s more a case of being in a permanent state of pre-wash – one knows that something’s to follow but, just has to close one’s eyes in the hope that it will just go away.

I like to look on the positive side of things and, find myself so frustrated that this condition isn’t all in the mind, as certain idiots inevitably declare ME/CFS etc. to be; if it was, and all that was required was a bit of correct thinking, I would now be the nation’s supreme athlete (in spite of the fact that I hate sports)!

Moonstruck

Tonight I See The Moon; 'Mal's Murmurings' will tell you more about it.

Gratitude

Yet another murky grey day imposes its presence and, I can only be grateful that I feel so much brighter than the day looks. I’m even starting to feel quite alert today, a pleasant surprise indeed when compared to many recent days. Managing to summon up the courage to take a shower seems, in itself, to be a great morale booster; just a few years ago I could accept showering as part of the normal daily routine but, never did it seem such a luxuriant experience as it does these days. Ever since we installed a seat in the shower unit, an antidote to the not infrequent episodes of disequilibrium I’d been experiencing, the experience has been so much more enjoyable.

Today, I even managed to towel myself dry and get dressed without requiring a period of rest between the two activities. Know what, it feels really good! The preceding ten or eleven hours of bed-rest, on this occasion, had proved unusually refreshing. I just have so much to be thankful for; the tenderness of the glands under the chin has subsided, that in the armpits has eased considerably and, the muscular pains in the lower limbs are desisting from their usual attention seeking behaviour. All-in-all, a really positive start to the day; I rejoice, and am glad, in this day the Lord has made.

Microcosmic Capitalism shares Macrosmic Lies

Notices plastered on the windows of WEETONS Grocery Store, in Harrogate, proudly proclaim free delivery, anywhere in the UK, on our Hampers this weekend only. Small print was there none so, we happily trundled through their portals to purchase two of the cardboard packed ‘Weetons Harrogate Hamper’.

Although I felt the £30 each was rather extortionate, free delivery down South would make it seem more reasonable. When we get to the counter we’re asked, “Do you want to take them with you?” Of course we didn’t, we wanted to take advantage of their free delivery offer. “But we don’t deliver the cardboard boxed ones!”

The offer really meant that if you bought at least their £60 hampers this weekend, free delivery would be included. So, we’d ventured out in inclement weather, to shop at this overpriced grocery store, all as a result of deceptive advertising. I checked the notices again, on our way out, nothing to suggest that their overpriced cheapest hampers were excluded from the free delivery offer.

You’d think, by the time I was into my seventh decade, that the wisdom acquired in the years of my youth to never trust a capitalist would have been too well ingrained for me to feel cheated on this occasion; it isn’t, I do!

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P.S. We didn't make a purchase!!!!!!!!!!!!!

An Act of Exorcism

For Mal's view of 'The X-Factor goes Disco' visit Mal's Murmurings.

Intelligence Gathering

Between 2005 and 2006 the FBI sifted through San Francisco area grocery stores customer data, trusting that a spike in sales of Middle Eastern foods would disclose a network of Iranian terrorists.
See 'Falafel! ' (NYT Opinion). The comments on this particular item prove enlightening.

Makes you think!

Mal Murmurs towards the positive

Although starting from greyness, yours truly has decided to Accentuate the Positive on 'Mal's Murmurings'.

Balancing Expectations

Whilst it’s always good to live in hope, there always comes a time of need when one has to lower these expectations. I’m currently fumbling at the keyboard, fighting the resistance of the aluminium cored wrist supports, which theoretically permit unrestricted digital freedom. Oh, if only!

As I’ve said before, on several occasions, this year has seen great improvements in my sense of well-being, taking my first holiday break away from home in several years, managing a bit of socializing and even some pottering around in the garden. The past couple of weeks have found a more marked re-asserting of the sundry aches and pains the flesh is heir too. A sharp bruised sensation, emanating from the armpit, spreading down the left inner arm and, leading to a nagging perpetual ache in the elbow, is just one of the symptoms.

Ever since some earlier bouts of tendonitis and sciatica in the lower limbs, hardly a day has gone by when I haven’t experienced a degree of discomfort and, my power of concentration is fluctuating wildly. Yesterday, for the first time in a while, a sense of disequilibrium occurred, requiring the attendance of my long-suffering beloved whilst I showered and, manifesting itself in stumbling about when reaching (without overstretching) for various utensils.

On the positive side, I still managed to do an hours pottering about in the garden and, in the afternoon managed to devise and prepare a garlic chicken casserole for Sunday lunch.

My bed-rest requirement still fluctuates somewhat and, all too frequent vivid dreams do little to contribute to any sense of refreshment from the sleep time. Although progress, on the health front, can be painfully slow, it is impossible not to feel a sense of gratitude for what I am able to achieve. That’s where the balance of expectation comes into play; I have learned, over the years, that having too high an expectation has lead to an intensified sense of frustration (especially when the target is unattainable). Pushing ones-self leads to some rather agonizing setbacks yet, it’s almost as if I am now able to appreciate the good days more, as the setbacks served to remind me of how low a base I started the journey from.

Accounting For My Time

Until yesterdays brief posting, I’d been feeling rather guilty about the paucity of recent blog posts. It’s not been a case of having nothing to say but rather not having the time to say it; other activities decided to prioritize themselves.

So, what has been happening? Not a lot but, far too much. My pacing has at times managed to go awry; it still catches me unawares when a couple of hours pottering around in the garden results in the following couple of days being plagued with an achingly painful fatigue, a kind of hollow bruised feeling encapsulating my whole being.

A recent visit to the doctor found my GP, half jokingly, asking my other half why she doesn’t stop me! It’s rather as if the hare asked the tortoise to slow down. Problem is, there’s no telling when an adrenaline high is going to push one beyond the parameters of their proper pacing and, frequently it will be at such a time that my beloved’s out at work. When one attains or achieves a certain goal, they feel so chuffed about it that they begin to feel indefatigable.

Following that particular visit to the surgery I was sent up to the hospital for a full battery of blood tests from which only one reading (an adjunct to the ‘normal’ thyroid function test) showed anything abnormal but, not alarmingly so. The locum doctor (with whom I’d discussed the results) said, “just as you’ve seen a little progress this year, in managing the ME/CFS, perhaps you’ll see an equivalent improvement over the next three and a half years”!

It’s a slow journey but, I continue to live in hope.

*****

Apart from the aforementioned work in the garden, the primary consumer of my time has been of the computing variety; re-vamping websites, setting up an online print store and attempting (eventually successful) to troubleshoot sundry laptop problems. As an older laptop is now totally defunct, I decided to install its XP Pro OS onto another machine, hitherto running XP Home, which led to me having to re-install devices and drivers prior to replacing various software programmes. This exercise even had me starting my day earlier than has been the norm; the excitement and uncertainties encountered during the overall operation fought off the brains desire to rest, the mind buzzing overtime when I should have been sleeping.

Subsequent days saw my customary 10 ½ hours of bed rest extended to at least 12 hours, choice didn’t enter the equation!

*****

Model helicopter flying, and repairing, has only occupied a small amount of my time; my reserves of concentration are not sufficient to permit more than the occasional brief practise episode.

A surprise ‘phone call, shortly before I was due to emerge from my duvet lair last Friday, led to a rather thorough investigation of matters, religious, theological and philosophical, as well as personal, in what for me was a prolonged telephonic dialogue (approximately 1 hour duration). The excitement, of this somewhat exploratory conversation, somehow pushed my tiredness onto the backburner only to return with a vengeance later in the day.

By the evening, my mind was once more buzzing, theological ideas spewing forth like there was no tomorrow. Ideas for a little theological exposition abound, it’s quite simply (!) a question of organizing my time and stamina reserves; don’t hold your breath though, a little preliminary work involves clarifying the confusion between/about ‘values’ and ‘truth’ and the anachronistic approach of biblical literalists.

If Only ... nature (sca)red in tooth and claw

The proud feline hunter scampers away like a real scaredy-cat; obviously the tables have been turned.

A few minutes earlier, I had been watching a perky grey squirrel foraging for food, in a tussock of grass, in close proximity to one of our pole mounted bird feeders. I'm always quite amused how charmingly these rodents pick up their food, scrupulously examining their paw held feast in some kind of quality control exercise, before the consuming moment. As the squirrel became aware of my presence, he firstly sidled away before darting off between the end of the shed and the greenhouse. At this stage, its exact location couldn't be determined from my vantage point but, a sudden yelp disclosed our neighbourhood ginger marmalade Persian, running for her life.

It's really strange that all the endeavours of our PIR sonic cat scarers, (supposedly) cat repellent plants, and strategically placed briars had failed to deter this particular member of the feline race, as we sought to protect the nesting birds, a little rodent so swiftly carried out the act of expulsion from the garden. A real David and Goliath parable this, as the rodent puts our feline neighbourhood predator to flight.

Next to the late lamented Sapphire, this particular moggy is one of the most endearing in our general vicinity; trouble is it's impossible to train them to know their boundaries! If only it were possible to teach them that our ponds piscine inhabitants, and the birds nest boxes were off limits, our pleasure would be complete.

P.S. I had also posted this on my Hirsute Antiquity blog where someone left the comment:

.. I don't know why but i hate squirrels.. :(

to this my hasty impromptu response reads as follows:

They can be darned destructive little critters, their scavenging exploits can certainly reek havoc. Although they're rodents, somehow with their long bushy tails they have a more cosy image than their thin tailed relatives. The grey squirrel, originally imported from North America, is now predominant and they swiftly decimated the indigenous red squirrel population.

In some ways I find them more welcome than other North American invasions such as our near neighbour, Menwith Hill spy and star wars station, ironically called RAF Menwith Hill although it's run in the utmost secrecy by the US of A. I'm always surprised to find that some American acquaintances who work there appear almost normally human. Just like the grey squirrels seem cute!

What's Going On?

By early to mid-evening I’m feeling decidedly battered and shattered, an aching hollow void seems to have hit the very core of my being. Somewhere along the line my ‘pacing’ seems to have gone awry, it doesn’t seem to require any marked over exertion on my part; these days, I’m constantly amazed by how much I used to cram into my day.

Just thinking about former activity levels makes me feel rather giddy so, where do I place the blame for my current functional disarray? Of course my normal routine was somewhat disturbed by dining at a slightly later hour, as my beloved and I were invited over to Janet’s (Helens sister) house for Dinner, or should that read Supper (I’m not too good on these social niceties), last evening. Much as I enjoyed the meal, and the company, it was succeeded by a rather disrupted nights sleep, in spite of which I managed to retrieve myself from the duvets enticements at a reasonably early hour.

I even managed to venture down to Open Church for a little natter over a cup of Fair Trade coffee and, on my return home got down to a bit more work modifying one of my web sites. In fact, the creation of some new web pages, and modifying the meta-tags etc. seems to have been a major preoccupation during the past few days. I’ve also set up a little showcase for some of my paintings on Imagekind.com – you’re welcome to browse and see the options for different size prints, mounts and frames, though it’s not compulsory!

Actually, the process of tapping out these few lines has made me realize that I’ve not been totally idle these past few days and, I’ve now yielded to the temptation to fill the inner void with a nice bottle of Chilean oak-aged Chardonnay. So my beloved and I are about to settle down in front of a hot cathode ray tube for an episode of Rebus (ITV1).

A Question of Moral Authority

PARLIAMENTARY GOBBLEDEGOOK – THE QUESTION OF MORAL AUTHORITY


So, David Cameron (Conservative – leader of the opposition) accuses Gordon Brown (Labour – Prime Minister) of lacking any political or moral authority.

The main points for arriving at this conclusion seem to be that

i) GB failed to call an election, which DC thought he may have a chance of winning (political authority)
ii) GB stole, and put into practise, Tory (Conservatives) policies.(moral authority)

As far as I can see, this means he lacks political and moral authority because

a) He wouldn’t give the Tories an early chance to ruin the country
or
b) He lacks moral authority because he practises Tory policies.

This would seem to be a very strange accusation. Presumably, DC believes he occupies the moral high ground because politics is simply a means to further his career; obviously he doesn’t believe his own policies would be good for the country, otherwise he would applaud the PM for implementing them, feeling flattered that the PM should consider them worthy of theft! He fails to recognize that GB saved the country the expense of an unnecessary election which would have simply been about which "window-dresser" gains the prize.

Since the advent of Blairite Thatcherism we’ve been stuck with two Tory parties to choose from. I can only assume that all aspiring candidates should choose their party on the basis of whom they believe will best advance their political career. (Stuff the country – what about my job!)


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A further blog posting for today, K...K...K...K...Katie, can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'

Mechanical Breaks

Saturday morning was a time to break the relative silence of the garden with a bit of mechanical intrusion. Both strimmer and hedge trimmer, which share a common electrical lead, fortunately making it impossible to wield both simultaneously, were brought out of hibernation, the more efficiently to perform the decapitation of meadow grass, trees and hedgerows. Actually decapitation is not quite the right word, rather a productive mutilation.

Only later were the loppers brought into action, as I started to prune back some of the topmost prolific growth on the largest of our fruit trees. To my own surprise, and that of my beloved, I had actually started this travail at a time, 10.00am, when I would normally still be ensconced in the duvet lair.

It’s always something of a mystery that, the cutting back of vegetative growth should in fact enable stronger and fuller growth the following season. A couple of hours of exertion and perspiration later, I decided (to my wife’s relief) that it wouldn’t be very wise to attempt more. Even that couple of hours, I was later to discover, was sufficient to cause a (relievedly) minor setback; this “pacing” game is never as easy to manage as one would suppose. I so frequently make the mistake of comparing my current stamina output with that of a few short years ago. I’ve got to admit that the exertion initially makes me feel good, and I do so enjoy looking after the garden, but I never like the repercussions.

When one has spent a considerable amount of time in a numbingly aching fatigued state, it makes a pleasant change to be able to blame a particular bout of activity for some of the more extremely painful exhaustion. Fortunately my bounce-back time seems more efficient these days; the pacing is working after all!

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This budding remote control helicopter pilot continues to make progress, replacement propeller blades being less frequently required. Training is temporarily on hold as I await the delivery of a couple of tail-frame assemblies, the current one being fractured in four places. It’s amazing how many obstacles one has to try and avoid within the confines of ones garden.