Reprieve

My days are enriched, my mind stimulated and, new worlds are opened up. After several years deprived of this luxury, it's impossible to overstate my gratitude for the return of this ability. No matter how frequently I'd tried, the effort was always a step too far, emotional and physical stamina were both quite markedly lacking; the necessary concentration span was far beyond my grasp.

For the present, I've been released from an irksome captivity; once again the pure delight of settling down to read, and be captivated by, a novel is a realized possibility!

Chilcot Domesticated

A man lives in a block of flats. The block of flats is in a neighborhood where many of the people don't share your particular values.

The man harms some of his neighbours. He refuses to comply with your set of values.

You blow up the neighbourhood!

Is your action lawful?

Ground Feeders

A Question Of Judgement

As I listen to reports of the proceedings of the Chilcot inquiry, I'm overwhelmed by a sense of frustration combined with infuriation. Today we heard from Jack Straw, who evidently always argued that we must observe necessary procedures to ensure the war's legality, in the full realization that to aim for regime change would not meet this criterion.

He acknowledged the paucity of good intelligence information but, eventually made a (mis)judgement, rather than finding proof, in favour of the bogus WMD claims and agreed to go to war in partnership with the USA, whose intention was always that of regime change. In my way of thinking, there's nothing honourable in colluding with international criminals. Whilst his expression of regret for lives lost seemed sincere, I doubt if he ever believed that wars could be fought without the loss of life!

Transitions

Yesterday, a (temporary?) reprieve from a snow-laden garden brought out my latent - albeit limited - energy reserve as I manfully retrieved a spade from its hibernation; the wheelbarrow was also rescued from its angled reclination as I set to work. The task I set myself was to transfer some of the contents of the compost bin onto the garden's flowerbeds. Fortunately, I had the good sense to limit this exertion to two barrow loads; my state of being, this morning, confirmed that any further exercise could have proved disastrous. Shattered-ness has been retained at a degree only marginally greater than is my norm. Pacing is all!

Meanwhile, a slightly more passive pursuit has been the commencement of a project to transfer some of my vinyl and audio cassette collection to mp3 format. For far too long these musical and dramatic artefacts have been squirrelled away in sundry, non too easily accessed, hidey holes. I must own up to my preference for the sound spectrum derived from vinyl rather than CD but, unfortunately the turntable that obtains the best performance is also the most temperamental! For the vinyl transfer I'm using this hand-built turntable via a USB powered and connected phono pre-amp; for the cassette transfer a USB connected tape2pc deck suffices.

The transfer operation has more to do with potential ease of access, to the performances, than the overall sound quality; it has certainly taken me long enough to embark on this mission and, I'm hoping not to be too disappointed with the result! First transfers have come out better than I'd anticipated but, there's still a long way to go!

New on Mal's Factory

A new poem, SNOW TREK, can be found on 'Mal's Factory' - MAL's FACTORY - Poetry & Prose Poems: Snow Trek http://bit.ly/8zS3c8

Communal Bathing

The Faith of Meteorologists

If only I had the faith of a meteorologist, I could move mountains; that's what I call blind faith.

Forecast heavy snowfall fails to materialize, predicted intensification of sub zero temperatures result in our first recent experience of temperatures at or above zero centigrade.

It comes as something of a surprise that they continue to present us with their forecasts, undaunted by their apparent inaccuracies.

This certainly is faith in the purest sense, bearing little relation to their falsified beliefs.

More on Mal's Picturebox

http://malspicture.blogspot.com/2010/01/when-icicles-hang-by-wall.html

Customer Dis-service from a bailed-out bank

Today, my beloved decided to check a current account online to ensure that a payment (due to go out on the 4th January) had been made. This check seems necessary since late last year one such payment failed to go out on time, to our cost. Quite strangely, this bank always finds it impossible to make an online payment with the same immediacy that another bank, used by yours truly, can always manage. On checking the account it was only possible to display transactions since yesterday, along with a message stating that the account had been RENEWED. No word of warning was issued, by the bank, that any kind of limitation was imminent but, evidently after 2500 transactions all transaction details are archived, and it is then impossible to access them online. It seems, according to a telephone conversation with one of the bank's staff, that it would be impossible for them to simply archive the bulk of the older transactions (e.g. more than three months old) but they have to clear them all. It also seems beyond their ability to notify the customer that the banks arbitrarily imposed limit is nigh. Methinks that their IT team should be sacked and replaced.

As a result, the only way we can check transactions before the renewal date is by telephone, where one is asked for a security number which we do not possess as we do not normally make telephone transactions. Admittedly we still do receive a 'paper' statement, a necessity for us to keep a check on our multifarious transactions.

Mal's Winter Wonderland

Just posted four randomly (un)selected snapshots of our garden under a mantle of snow on 'MAL's PICTUREBOX'

bonus normality

Today could best be described as bonus normality. My beloved seems to be steadily on the mend and, she even managed a few hours free from the duvet's confines, the bonus being that we could just sit together, hold hands, listen to some radio comedy and plays (courtesy BBC Radio7 & Radio2) and then, earlier this evening catch up with the episode of "Wallander" which I'd recorded last evening.

Helen's "holiday" seemed more like a reality when we could share our daytime living space on a Monday (not since the distant Bank Holiday Monday of 28 December 2009 had this been possible) when normally she would have been at work.

All that remains on display of the Christmas decorations are three nativity cribs, scattered around the house, plus our permanent reminder of the situation in the Holy Land today, a nativity scene from which the would be visitors are barred from access by a tall dividing wall.

Update - In(ter)dependence

The snow squalls seem perfectly fitting for the season and, the outlook from the back room proves quite enchanting. Fortunately, as there's no need for us to venture out, we are able to greet and appreciate the snowscape with a degree of enthusiasm. The process of dismantling the festive decorations is now under way and, I'm pleased to report that the holidays passed by most enjoyably without any hint of over indulgence on our part. As usual, fluctuating manifestations of M.E. helped to assure that moderation in terms of food & alcohol consumed was essential and, any attempt to extend one's usual waking hours was carefully avoided. Exhaustion would have taken a far greater toll had I not paid such close attention to body listening!

Having diligently prepared sermon, lessons and hymns, for a service at Starbeck Chapel this Sunday evening, my health-wise below par belle is now unfortunately confined to bed, having spent last night feverishly alternating between burning-up and shivering. It seems like the sore throat and subsequent sniffles that began last Monday has now managed to come to fruition. As is her nature, she feels guilt at not being able to take the service this evening, a guilt (almost) for being ill. Although she managed to get into work all last week, now as she begins a "holiday" week, the stamina to utilize the time to the full is totally lacking. She even expresses guilt at my having to run around after her and, as I tell her how inappropriate that response is, it drives home the message of how guilt-ridden I've been about my health since succumbing to M.E. in 2003. The guilt is not so much at being ill but rather for the (imagined?) intolerable burden it places on those closest to one.

Having spent a part, albeit brief, of last evening slaving over a hot wok to produce a couple of casserole dishes of beef meatball, yellow & red peppers and mushroom Madras variant curry, the intended dinner for today & Monday, a couple of poached eggs on toast was all my beloved could manage come Sunday lunchtime. I made do with a goodly potion of Madras served with a few chapatis, the effort of preparing my special saffron rice seeming a task too much for one helping! Apart from keeping Helen plied with a regular assortment of hot beverages, in the hope of flushing the bugs out, I'm feeling quite lost and helpless. It's amazing how lost one feels, left entirely to their own devices when, life's greatest pleasure is quite simply being in the company of one's beloved partner.

No matter how self-sufficient one may like to be, in my case contentedly resigned to frequently unattached bachelordom until my mid-fifties, my mind, body and spirit cries out for that completeness found only in close proximity to the one who truly is my other half.

HAPPY NEW YEAR

By malcolme at 2009-12-31

Mal's Christmas Message

As Christmas Day approaches, I've been revelling (as listener rather than participant) in lots of Christmas carols and other Christmas music whilst preparing for the big day. As a Christian, my central focus is upon the Christ child who grew up to challenge the secular and spiritual authorities of his day, proclaiming a discipline of selflessness, compassion, peace and humility. Although his spirit is still alive, it is all too frequently portrayed in a way which is both nauseatingly pious and uncharitable!


At times. it seems quite difficult to reconcile the wining and dining, which is an integral part of our Christmas celebrations, with the commemoration of the birth of a child in quite humble circumstances in an occupied Middle Eastern country but, I still manage to enjoy the celebrations. As I write, the large (11lb) chicken is roasting in the oven, a mixture of butter, garlic, pepper and chilli having been inserted beneath the skin. I've also been busily preparing both standard and gluten-free sausagemeat (with a liberal administering of onion, mustard and parsley) stuffing. Portions of chicken will then be placed in the steamer, along with sundry vegetables on the day itself. Ma belle has prepared the vegetables and the potatoes ready for par-boiling by yours truly, in a special herb and spice infused liquid, prior to roasting in due course.


I've also been diligently filling the sundry feeders for our gardens avian visitors, having first having scraped away the feeder's snow overcoats and, enjoyed a little walk with my beloved around a few blocks of the neighbourhood.


Beth, my elder step-daughter, together with her partner Mahmood, and his son Sina, will be joining us for Christmas Day dinner whilst Cathy and Ken (her partner) will be spending a couple of days in Barcelona. Of course Cathy will be coming round for her Christmas Dinner on Monday, with Ken calling around later to imbibe a few glasses of fermented grape juice. It's rather nice to be able to stretch out the festivities in this way. We are so fortunate to be able to celebrate in this way, whilst being all too guiltily aware of all those millions throughout the globe who struggle for subsistence.


My Christmas wish, as always, is for PEACE, HOPE and JOY, and a far more equitable distribution of the earths resources!

Christmas Calling

Christmas approaches and, a few lights and decorations adorn the interior of our house. Small nativity cribs, in the hall and dining room, remind us of the Christ in Christmas and, more potently, the nativity scene in our living room displays potential visitors barred, by a tall wall, from gaining access to the stable, telling of the situation that exists in that part of the Middle East today. The transformative event is centered on a small child born of humble parentage, not in a palace or in the fortresses of the occupying imperial power but rather in second rate guest accomodation.

Even the wise men expected something different, after all the seats of real power are always quite prestigiously situated. They stumble on their way but, meanwhile, the good news had already been broadcast to the sheperds and, they were the first to come to the Christ child. The men from the seats of learning are beaten to the post by these herdsmen. Values are turned on their head.

Sadly, it wouldn't be long before the wise and learned, serving the purposes of their earthly rulers, would distort this message, placing the Christ at the service of secular power rather than serving Him. A message of love and hope to the poor and humble becomes a religion of fear and subservience to ones earthly masters.

The child, born in humble circumstance, grew up to challenge the politics of greed, hatred and idolatory. Where he put the will of his heavenly father first, after his death and resurrection, he became the tool of the powerful who saw themselves as being God's representatives on earth.

Those who seek to follow the way of Jesus, who take up their cross, are likely to find little favour with either religious or secular authority. They will be tempted, at every turn, to betray their calling in order to obtain advancement in their place of work, told to be realists and not idealists. The call of Jesus is not for what he can do for me, but rather a challenge to us to serve our fellow men in the cause of justice and dignity.

As long as we stand by, and aquiesce, in the violence and injustice of our world we are kicking and bruising that child born in a troubled Middle East two millenia ago. I, myself, am a weak and wayward follower but, in Him I have my hope.

A Sense of Betrayal

Yesterday morning, when my beloved was returning from a coffee morning she met two acquaintances who used to attend the church where we met. This church, in Harrogate, is a thriving CofE evangelical outpost, well attended by its middle class constituency, many of whom travel from their own parish, and across others, to attend because of the bold proclamation of the "good news". Doubtless others attend to help ensure a place at the highly regarded CofE secondary school in the (not too distant) vicinity.

When I say thriving I refer to bums on seats, house groups, womens groups, children and youth groups, regular Alpha courses and all the usual trimmings. The couple, who met and spoke to my wife this morning, told of their loss of faith. This loss of faith was due in no small part to what I would consider a betrayal on the part of the church.

The lady of the couple had suffered some mental health problems and, during this time wasn't always able (or feeling like) attending worship. Prior to this health breakdown they'd not only been regular attenders for worship, members of a house group, they'd also been participants in the church's away weekends. Once the mental health affliction struck, there were no visits or enquiries as to her health or their absence from either cleric or lay members of the church, not even from members of the house group. My first thought was that maybe the people in that particular church are shamefully unable to cope with the stigma of mental illness but then, I began to wonder whether it would have been any different had the ailment been purely physical in nature. A sense of loneliness and isolation is frequently accompanies a mental health problem and, when your "friends", "brother and sisters in Christ", neglect you that can only add to a feeling of alienation.

It's one thing to preach the gospel and offer your symbolic and ritual support to sundry worthy causes but, when it comes to hands on practice what hope is there. If one cannot care for those within their own church family, what expectation is there that they will serve their fellow man in society at large.

As a Christian, I would be most relieved if I could think that this was a one off case of neglect but, sadly, from my own experience I know different. This is a church with which I was vitally affiliated throught the 1990's and into the noughties; at different times involved in house groups as both participant and leader / enabler, even assisting on the Alpha course. From summer of 2000 until my collapse with M.E. in late 2003 I was caretaker / steward for this church. Having kept going through sundry ailments, serving many unpaid hours beyond those for which I was salaried, a series of collapses led to my resignation. At this time only condemnation was experienced from the clergy, for "letting us down", with very little consideration for my well-being. I suspect that the hyperactive vicar was ill-equipped to cope with illness, outside of any glaringly physical manifestation.

My beloved continued to attend this very well attended church, on her own, when I was no longer able to make it, being housebound for considerable periods. Her experience was one of loneliness. No-one ever visited or even made any enquiries as to how I was coping!

*******************

This posting should be read in conjunction with Matthew 25 vv. 42 - 45

Ringing The Changes

It was really good to receive a 'phone call from my physio, this morning, having heard nothing since August. The call confirmed my suspicion that she'd had a relapse, being a fellow M.E. sufferer, and consequently been out of circulation since August. Fortunately, she has now returned to work for a few hours each week, even though those few hours are already proving quite exhausting but, with a bit of careful management, she hopes to return to her normal hours in the new year. I'm now looking forward to the next call when she'll be arranging a visit to apply the magic needles (I'm talking acupuncture here) to yours truly. The treatment I've received, by this means, has proved most efficacious both in terms of pain control and re-energizing.

My second 'phone call of the day was quite unwelcome. Having given a second chance (disregarding their somewhat inflated prices) to 'Pieroth', the wine merchant whose reps visit one at home for a wine tasting, and placed an order for a case which we received in the past week, they decided to give us a call today to try and sell us some more.

The reason we'd previously given up on them was the high number of unwelcome canvassing phone calls, a reason which we had explained to them on numerous occasions. This time there will be no further chances, they can keep their product and stuff it where the sun don't shine. When will they ever learn?

Double Talk?

On NBC’s “Meet the Press,” Obama's Defense Secretary, Robert M.Gates, said that under the plan, 100,000 American troops would be in Afghanistan in July 2011, and “some handful, or some small number, or whatever the conditions permit, will begin to withdraw at that time.” The intention, it now appears, is that the transfer of security responsibilities to Afghan forces would only be starting from that date.

This sounds, to me, like a different message than Obama's West Point address last Tuesday, when he said that his administration would “begin the transfer of our forces out of Afghanistan in July of 2011.”

ME and my body

Yesterday morning, right on time, received a 'phone call from my GP. "It's good news and bad news", he said, "first, the blood tests showed no abnormalities". A mixed blessing that, at least nothing sinister has been spotted but, I'm no wiser as to the cause of my current downturn in the health and stamina stakes. "The chest X-ray was clear", once again a sense of relief as I start wondering what the bad news is. "It seems as if the symptoms you're experiencing are part of your ongoing condition. If things don't improve or, get any worse, don't hesitate to contact me but, there's nothing I can offer you at the moment".

The problem, and indeed danger, when suffering with a chronic neurological codition such as M.E., is that one tends to assume any extremely discomfortingly exhausting ailment they experience is simply part and parcel of the overall condition. One becomes so used to living with pain that their pain threshold is increased and, excruciating symptoms that would have previously been a cause for alarm are accepted as "normality". (This was very much the case around this time last year when, for far too long, I assumed that the extreme pain emanating from a herniated disc was yet another manifestation of my underlying condition).

Periods of remission are by no means unusual and, when these occur, the greatest danger then is to push oneself and, as a (sometimes belated) result find themselves once more painfully out of it. These are the times when I find concentration diminishing, tetchiness increasing and, that old (sadly familiar) enemy, sensory overload, recurring. The most frustrating thing of all is the impossibility of knowing if one is "ill", beyond the parameters of the resident disabling condition.

This Sporting Life

Whilst listening to the tragic story of a schoolboy who took his own life after years of bullying, in both physical and cyberspace manifestations, I couln't help notice a reference to the boy's dislike of / disinterest in sports. My thoughts initially turned to the bullies, loosely disguised as P.E. teachers, at one of the schools I attended. More generally, my mind wandered off in the direction of all the bullshit we hear in terms of sport being character building and teaching the value of co-operation and team building.

To me, the most noticeable characteristics of sportsmen are competitiveness, aggression and the bullying and taunting of those less able. For some of the smaller boys, at school, it seemed essential to develop a dual level of protection from bullying. Apart from cultivating a few tougher protective friends, it became necessary to learn the tricks of dirty fighting. A well aimed knee (or even foot) to the groin and an adept use of the head butt became an essential part of their armoury. Although dirty fighting was nothing to be proud of, it was in no way as disgusting as the behaviour of the bullish sporting dinosaurs.

Sporting activity may well build up confidence in those participants of appropriate physical stature but, simultaneously, it only serves to diminish this same attribute in those not physically equipped to handle the sports more rigorous aspects. The Loughborough school of bully-boy P.E. teachers, who forced one to do press-ups beyond their natural ability / strength, in the process deliberately showing them up in front of their peers, fully earned the contempt which I reserved for them. Unfortunately, many of the hearty sports lads seemed to inherit their pernicious perverted tendencies. Co-incidentally, I could never quite understand why these he-men felt an obligation to keep an eye on the boys in the showers!

Dis-ease and Pleasantries

Within an hour of my previous posting I was, once more, caught unawares in the health and wellness stakes. This time I was truly frightened. I was sat watching an entertaining DVD episode of Ally McBeal, with ma belle, when suddenly, my body seemed to be grasped in a vice, limbs and torso felt achingly crushed whilst my head felt like a bruise floating in a zero gravity chamber.

Eventually, having lifted myself from the chair, all I could manage was to stumble up the stairs and roll myself into bed. A triangular supporting pillow, on top of the other two pillows, was called for to find anything resembling a semi-comfortable posture. Even my familiar low energy reserve seemed to have drained away - an achingly nauseous void swapped places with my body. Had it not been for the frightening sense of dis-ease, I would have described the condition as numbness. Twelve hours later, I remove myself from the duvet lair and, to my surprise, I feel reasonably alert.

After a caffeine fix, chores to be done, I head off to the local post office and then to the bakery. As I walk along the road I meet up with a couple of acquaintances; to the first one, in response to the "how are you" question, I respond with the customary "fine", the expected pleasantry. The other enquirer receives a more honest response and, I then find myself wondering whether I'd correctly understood the nature and purpose of the enquiry!

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!