thoughts on evolution

Whilst watching 'Wild Wales' (BBC2) I couldn't help but note how wonderful nature is, in all its variety. The thought then suddenly struck me that nature also contains Tory cabinet ministers. Being a forgiving kind of chap, I prepared myself to acknowledge the possibility that lower life forms may evolve at a much slower rate!

And today it's dermatology

I seem to be a quite regular client of the NHS these days, what with visits to A&E, overnight stays in hospital, various appointments with my GP, visits from the physio to administer acupuncture. What a privilege it is to have this wonderful service; one can only trust that the service will be protected / preserved from the worst ravages the ConDems hope to commit upon it.

Just 12 days ago my GP referred me to the Dermatology clinic which I visited this afternoon. The consultant immediately diagnosed a rodent ulcer (basal cell carcinoma) and is arranging for it to be excised, under local anaesthetic, sometime in the next four weeks. Meanwhile he has prescribed a steroidal cream to be applied to an inflamed area on my back surrounding the ulcer. I find it truly impressive the speed at which arrangements are falling in to place; the National Health Service, freely available to all, and so easily taken for granted, is a gem to be cherished and protected.

Mal's Picturebox and identity crisis!

I've just posted a few snapshots, taken in the garden this afternoon, on 'Mal's Picturebox' . I've been unable to identify the wildflower in the picture below and would be grateful if anyone could help. There is no basal rosette to this flower.

click on image to view larger copy

swift setback

The comfort referred to in the previous post proved rather short-lived; last night was one of the most discomfortingly restless experienced since last weeks night in hospital. My chest felt as if it was being sharply knuckle punched from the inside followed by a numb dull bruised sensation; these sensations, alongside a sense of fragile hollowness, discomforted me for many nocturnal hours. At other times, and alongside this, an invisible band seemed to be applied tourniquet fashion around my upper abdominal region; pillows were frequently re-arranged in a somewhat futile attempt at finding a more comfortable posture.

A visit to the GP was in order this morning and, it was decided to double my dose of lansoprazole as she felt that much of the discomfort could be acid related. As she examined the abdominal region she was somewhat surprised by how excruciatingly tender much of that locale seemed to be. Anyway, I have to go back and see her in a couple of weeks to see if any further investigations may be in order. It has also been arranged for me to visit the skin clinic as a particular warty growth on my back has turned angry and needs to be checked out; basically, it seems, I'm just falling apart.

On the positive side, an additional dose of lansoprazole taken late-afternoon helped some of the afternoons more excruciating symptoms subside - even the sense of giddy wooziness has gone into hibernation!

still snacking after all these years

Difficult to know whether I'm recovering, and what I'm recovering from; I'm certainly feeling a little more comfortable than I was at the beginning of the week! Muscles in chest, shoulder and lower limbs still feel rather achily tender but, definitely more comfortable than they were at the weekend. I'm really feeling relaxed after this afternoon's acupuncture session, though not in any spaced-out sense and, actually enjoyed a bit of grocery shopping with ma belle before we dined this evening.

Doesn't the word "dined" sound rather glamorous, much more romantic than "had something to eat"? Actually it was a very lazy re-heat job, a Waitrose Indian meal for two - chicken jalfrezi, chicken makhani, aloo sag, naan bread and pilau rice. Although I often devise my own curry dishes, I rarely bother to make more than one variety (usually a hybrid one) of curry at any particular time, the extra variety in these lazy banquets is a rather enticing experience - like a super snack! Much as I enjoy cooking and occasionally - emotional stamina permitting - dining out, at heart I'm much more of a snacker than a substantial meal type of guy.

Now doesn't that all sound somewhat boring - even that's just the kind of guy I am!

Mammon - a poem

tetchiness abounds

Chest and shoulder muscles are really playing up, the pectoralis major more achingly griping than the deltoids and, as the day goes on I become increasingly tetchy. The heat of the day certainly doesn't help, 28 centigrade at present, as I've never been a hot weather person. Currently we're sat in the back room, curtains drawn, revelling in the cooler air current proferred by an oscillating fan. It's quite strange really, this coolly refreshing synthetic breeze serves to keep me reasonably alert, whilst aching muscles, minor digestive problems, and a muzzy head, keep reminding me of the need to rest.

I've just been trying, to little avail, to catch up with received e-mails but the least distraction from what should be a minimal concentration endeavour makes me feel quite stressed. 'Tis better just to float - wish I could be as laid back as a lot of people think I am - but, for some reason I just tend to keep swimming against the tide!

Attempting to relax is such a wearying business, leaves one without sufficient stamina to simply be. 

I know the garden is the place I should be, the place where I am truly me but, prevailing temperatures militate against my participation in such enjoyable diversions.

surrounded by lights - kept in the dark

It's truly amazing how much, or how little seeming like so much, has happened in the past week. After the gardening exertions of the previous week, everything seemed to be going so well, not even a hint of post-exertional kick back. Sunday morning, woke up and robotically began to apply dermatological cream to my lower limbs when a snapping twinge locked my back mid-rub. Yep, I'm always aware that my back's rather vulnerable, herniated disc and all, but it always takes me by excruciating surprise when it un-elastically responds to the meagre stretches that I've imposed on it.

I swiftly sought the assistance of the old faithful walking stick, for additional support, as I headed downstairs. Extra doses of tramadol were required for the next few days, an essential supplement to the efficacious application of ibuprofen gel. Care had to be taken not to remain seated, for too long, in any particular position, not even on a supportive high back chair, in order to avoid a painful lock down.

Wednesday evening things took a slightly more dramatic turn, around 9.20pm, having spent the evening listening to the radio and catching up with the latter stages of that day's epic Wimbledon set, I was feeling quite shattered. Decided to have a cup of Decaff just before going to bed, took a sip and suddenly felt sick. Simultaneously it felt like a vice was closing in on my chest, right from top of ribcage down to the floaters. A sharp bruised sensation made it difficult to catch my breath and,of course, the more frightening the experience became the more difficult it was to get my breath. I turned simultaneously clammy and totally drained of colour. The paramedics took ecg's and simple prick test to check my blood sugar level; ecg's seemed fine but they could sense my general discomfort and thought I should be checked out at the hospital.

Arrived at A&E just before 10.00pm, had my blood pressure taken a few times and further ecg's. The duty doctor consulted further and decided that I should be admitted for observation. Eventually a bed was found in the acute ward and I was transferred there just after 2.00am, and they  immediately strapped me up to a monitor and told me to get some rest; now that was a tall order, within five minutes blood pressure and temperature were being taken again. By 3.00am the house doctor, from cardiology, came to examine me and told me that I would have further blood samples taken at 9.00am and, if the test was OK (meaning negative) I could go home. Shortly after this visit I was asked whether I'd mind changing to a different bed, an offer I greeted with enthusiasm as the one I was in was most uncomfortable. Around 6.30am, had a visit from the cardio consultant (along with one or two acolytes) and he informed me that he would want a further ecg taken after the blood sample and muttered something about a treadmill test. The noise, lights, and being kept in the dark about what exactly was going on were certainly not at all conducive to restfulness.

Blood samples were taken just after 9.00am and, a further ecg done at around 10.15am, the rest of the time was spent hanging around not knowing exactly what was going on. I'd got out of bed to have a little breakfast but, felt unable to note everything about the environment, or my fellow inmates, my vision being minorly impaired as I didn't have my spectacles with me. My sandal clad feet, and ankles, were getting extremely cold and I had no socks with me to warm them up at all. Come lunchtime, the food was absolutely disgusting - I'd settled for the salmon & dill potato bake in which the miniscule flakes of salmon looked like the scatterings of an infants overfull mouth bonded together with what looked like and had slightly less flavour than wallpaper paste.

Visitors had been arriving but, no sign of ma belle, I thought I'd be heading home at any moment. All this anticipation of imminent reprieve became increasingly frustrating as it failed to materialize. When ma belle arrived, at 3.30pm, she was already aware that my reprieve wouldn't be until the afternoon as she had contacted the ward (twice) earlier in the day, although I hadn't been informed of this. In fact, I only discovered that the blood test was negative after pursuing my own line of enquiry; strange how the staff had plenty of time to chat to each other but no time to communicate necessary information to the patient. Once it was known that the blood test was negative they were able to release me from the monitor leads.

Suddenly. whilst ma belle was visiting, they informed me that I was being transferred to another ward which came as something of a shock, as I was still anticipating an imminent leap into freedom. By this time I was getting ultra-tetchy, bothered by the lights, noises (on and off stage), and the general sense of being left in the dark; to placate me an annoying light was switched off and I enquired about discharging myself from the hospital. The staff on this ward were really helpful and chased up the coronary unit to speed up my treadmill test; rather than waiting for a porter to take me down (five minutes later) I was accompanied by one of the staff from the ward. I'd determined to exert myself to the nth degree on this test, although well aware there would be some slightly delayed post-exertional consequences, as I would risk anything to gain my freedom from this internment!

By 5.30pm, Thursday, I was on my way home, leaving it to the hospital to forward my discharge papers to my GP rather than incur any further stir craziness by waiting for same to be prepared. The post-exertional effects had really begun to hit home by Friday evening, followed by a very restless night with sharp aching pains being felt in chest, shoulder and leg muscles, along with my old familiar foe of intense discomfort in the armpits. The general feeling is one of a rather disconcerting fragility, a generalized discomfort; this post-exertional-malaise, unwelcome as it may be, is easier to deal with in the free world than it would be within those formidable clinical walls.

Growing Pains

Transplanting weeds / wildflowers (delete according to preferential term) can be a time consuming business but, fortunately, I have an OH to do the uplifting, from an inappropriate location, whilst I occupy myself with the re-planting. Not everyone welcomes the growth of weeds / wildflowers the way we do in this household, many would have difficulty in appreciating our excitement at finally having a healthy nettle patch developing in the wildlife friendly area of the garden! The rapid growth of the teasels is really something to behold and, I can just imagine the local goldfinches eager anticipation of their reaching fruition.

It's difficult to believe the amount of cultivation required to ensure the right kind of poor, reasonably well-drained, soil in what could all too frequently be a partially waterlogged area. It then took quite a while to develop the knack of disturbing the soil (in this meadow-type area) just sufficiently to encourage wildflower growth. Mind you, even the more traditionally cultivated areas of the garden contains somewhat random groupings of flag iris, even intruding on the lawn, whilst crocosmia merges with fuschia and rose of sharon in one bed whilst, elsewhere, other varieties of crocosmia happily rubs shoulders with rosemary, sage, and thistles

The mini, patio, and fish ponds all proffer a rich variety of aquatic and marginal plant growth, a rich habitat for insects and frogs. Red-veined docks, originally a minor introduction to the pond marginal range, have established themselves in various areas of the garden. The increasing number of avian visitors is a real treat; amazing how rapidly news of our feeding stations, and abundance of insects,  has travelled via the feathery grapevine. As I write, sparrows are rapidly flitting between the lantern feeder and their fledglings lined up, in eager anticipation, on an adjacent fence. The rain, which temporarily dissuades me from venturing out, is certainly no deterrent to these enthusiastic juveniles.

Just being and observing is a great source of contentment for yours truly!

Feeding & Squabbling

just thought I'd like to share my latest avian observations!

A non-participatory event

I'm just re-posting this from my first, and probably last, posting on my blog on The Labour Parties Membersnet - so far I am not impressed.

Having been a party activist, serving on GMC's in different constituencies in the 1960's & 70's, I gradually became disillusioned by its middle-classwards drift, and work taking me to live in a staunchly Tory constituency, (which amazingly changed to LibDems for a couple of terms), there seemed little point in bothering with the local party. [Incidentally, Phil Willis, our LibDem MP attended & supported local anti Iraq war meetings whilst Blairs poodles followed the mighty Dubya into the illegal war.]

The neo-Thatcherite tendencies of the Blairite ascendancy gave me little hope that anything worthwhile could be acheived by a New Labour government. Perhaps it's a sign of my mellowing with age but, as the last election drew closer I began to see how much we risked losing at the hands of the Tories. I also had to acknowledge that Gordon Brown was the person best equipped to deal with the fallout from the global capitalist crisis.

After a couple of decades I decided to rejoin, although health problems (being an M.E.sufferer) could well prevent me being much of a grassroots activist.

Having duly received my membership card I noticed there was something called Membersnet; my first thought was "great, I'll be able to follow, and probably join in, some interesting discussions!" but that's when the problems started.
Under the membersnet header "Discuss", thought I would like to see what discussions are going on. Under each sub-header I clicked I'm greeted with the following message:


Sorry

But you are not allowed to view or participate in this group.

The group may be private and therefore require an invitation to join.


I'm just loving the open-ness and sharing of this party that I've rejoined (after a membership lapse of a couple of decades). Wonderful encouragement of participation!

Website Update

I've just added a new gallery MORE VISITORS  to our New Luv4Sinners Website.

Israel and a quandary of faith - thinking aloud

There are times when I wish that I'd never been grasped by the good news proclaimed by (and of) Jesus of Nazareth, the Christ of faith. I am ashamed, far too frequently, of the bigotry and intolerance shown by his followers, the unhealthy obsession with sex, as well as the historically imperialist ambitions of Christendom. The self congratulatory indulgence of being saved, of what Jesus has done for "me"(the emphasis being more on the me than the Saviour), I find rather nauseating at times. For me the central message is one of justice and fairness, the bringing in of the Kingdom (although I'd prefer it to be a republic), to be fought for and attained through non-violent means.

Yes I have known, and know, the joyful knowledge of being accepted and loved just as I am; I have experienced the gifts of the spirit, even the trivial glossolalia, though I could argue the case for this being self-delusion. I have been blessed, in spite of struggles, with many God-incidences (events which have felt far more purposeful than mere co-incidence) which have turned my life around, but not without a cost to myself.

The weekend events, of Israeli piracy in international waters, have brought to the fore much of my unease with having any kind of attachment to Jesus's Dad. Wasn't the heavenly Father of Jesus the self-same YHWH who led the Hebrew people to the bloodthirsty conquest of Palestinian lands those thousands of years back? I have a suspicion that the theology of Israel only began as a justification for the rapaciousness of this section of Abraham's children. The God who is given the credit for their liberation from captivity in Egypt is the same one who guided and condoned their theft of the lands which subsequently became Israel and Judah. No doubt it is the same Yahweh who condones their barbaric acts today.

Was the Father to whom Jesus prayed that self-same YHWH; had YHWH had a change of heart?

As I said at the beginning, an essential part of my being grasped by the good news is an attachment to non-violence but, my all too human heart would not be totally saddened by the overthrow of the Israeli nation state, which was, after all, established through acts of terrorism from 1939 onwards.

Of Monkeys and Organ Grinders

It has really been quite embarassing to hear Nick Clegg, at the weekend, and Vince Cable today (on Radio 4) attempting to justify their support for policies which, throughout the campaign, they so vociferously opposed.

Interesting that the BBC should choose to interview the monkeys, rather than the organ grinders, as the cuts are announced. It's no real surprise though, to see that these opportunists are already being set up as fall guys by their parliamentary marriage bed partners!

The Visitor

The door opens and, with ungainly gaited glide, the visitor zeroes in on a chair right next to mine; a harbinger of claustrophobia in what, until this moment, had been an airy space.

I feel his breath on the back of my neck, perceive a penetrating gaze absorbing all that appears on my laptop's screen. An intense sense of dis-ease crushes me, I find myself almost gasping for breath.

It's rare that just a few minutes can seem like endless hours but, today, this was the case. I had no desire to rudely scream and exorcise the presence from our dwelling place, for here is history, albeit a quite tenuous family tie.

I vacate the room and head for the garden, an opportunity to breathe freely once again. Fortunately ma belle senses my un-ease, coping remarkably well with her own, relieves me of the need to endure this painful companionability for a moment more than necessary.

When one's stamina levels are already low, entertaining can prove a stress too far.

Dunnock - singing in the wind

The Birth of ConDemNation

In spite of the past extended weekend of depressing parliamentary goings on, the total lack of principle on behalf of the LibDems, I've just about managed to keep myself buoyant. A Tory by any other name is still a Tory no matter what colours they wore to deceive the electorate into casting a vote for them. No amount of adjusting / reforming the electoral system will compensate for the lack of principle and integrity so in evidence amongst politicians. The words uttered during the campaign all prove meaningless.



Clouds of gloom kept falling around us as we struggled to get on with life. We had a most enjoyable visit from my brother and his wife, from Saturday until Wednesday, accompanied by some enticing wining and dining experiences. The weather militated somewhat against venturing far afield, though I must admit that suited me fine. Visits out were to Brio's Italian Restaurant, Cafe Culture, the garden centre at Otley and the local nature reserve.


At home, the fermented grape juice enjoyed ranged through, Deutz Marlborough Cuvee Brut NV, Bergsig Gewurtztraminer 2009, Alma Andina Torrontes 2009, Ungsteiner Kobnert Spatlese Pinot Noir 2007, and our customary Champagne region fizz accompaniment to a viewing of 'High Society'.


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


Although I had many areas of disagreement with the Labour government, not least of which were the illegal war in Iraq and Blair's neo-Thatcherite tendencies, I cannot fail to acknowledge the great number of social advances (at home) made during their spell in office and, Gordon Brown's commitment to combatting global poverty, as well as the way he set about dealing with the aftermath of the global capitalist crisis.


I felt rather nauseous as the newly crowned Cameron acknowledged that we had become a more open and compassionate society during the past decade; I remember far too well his tirades before and during the campaign, against the "broken society" which he attempted to lay at Brown's door. In fact most of the broken-ness is a long lingering result of the selfish asocial Thatcher years. My fear is that the Cameron - Clegg United Public Schoolboy Front are set to undo much of the good that has been acheived since 1997.


After more than a couple of decades outside of the Labour Party I have finally rejoined them!

Cameron's Disappointment

Regardless of the persuasive powers of the Tory biased media, their darling Cameron has not acheived a sweeping majority. That is the good news. A large Tory majority would have proved totally disastrous to our hopes of recovery, a point of view held by many significant economists which much of the media attempted to ignore. As all the bile was heaped upon Brown, the fact that the UK debt is smaller, as a percentage of GDP, than that of Germany, Japan and the USA, was totally overlooked by mainstream media. I am pleased that Labour's performance in the polls has not been anything like as disastrous as the Tory media hoped; perhaps some intelligent voters recognized that Brown had dealt effectively with the crisis faced by the banks (as a result of the global economic crisis). It's hard to believe that just a few short months ago a Tory landslide seemed inevitable.

As a lifelong committed socialist, and Labour activist throughout the sixties and seventies, I had never had much truck with Blairite New Labour but, for all their fairly large scale adoption of Thatcherite economics, new Labour did have a compassionate heart - at least at a domestic level. I have also admired Gordon Brown's commitment to international development against global poverty but, totally disagreed with Blair's Tory supported illegal war with Iraq.

Seemingly since the beginning of time, prior to 1997, our constituency had been totally neglected by its (Tory) MP  but, since then, we have been extremely well represented and served by Phil Willis (LibDem). Phil stood down at this election and, tragically, the seat has been lost to the Tories. The election of the UK's first Green party MP is a cause for rejoicing, albeit at the cost of another seat for Labour.

Even with the whole hearted support of the wealth accumulators, stock market gamblers, and their media mouthpieces, the Tories have failed to obtain an overall majority; far more votes have been cast against them than for them. Perhaps this really is the time for some kind of electoral reform to more equitably represent the will of the people.

New photo on Mal's Picturebox

Just posted a new photo of a blue-tit on 'Mal's Picturebox'

A Special Privilege

No need to go out bird-watching when the garden is receiving so many avian visitors. Apart from the regular starlings, tree sparrows, dunnocks, blackbirds, wood pigeons, blue tits and collared doves, we are now receiving frequent visits from goldfinches, greenfinches and, today, a bullfinch which posed for us, in full clear view, within a few feet of our living room window.

Just a couple of days ago, a willow warbler perched itself within a few feet of me, whilst I sat in the arbour seat, and treated me to its wonderful liquid song. As I sit tapping this out, a couple of great tits are at one of the feeders whilst a blue tit is utilizing one of the bird baths, a male blackbird at the groundfeeder gives a brief burst of song and a female arrives at the same feeder. Meanwhile, another couple of blue tits gorge themseves whilst hanging precariously from the fat ball feeder.

I just feel so fortunate to have all this activity on my doorstep. I'm almost anticipating the (frequently observed) red kite to glide over at low altitude to complete the picture. If Malcolm can't venture far to observe nature, nature will come to him!

freshly erupted

Just posted a brand new, spontaneously erupted, poem 'MAMMON' on 'Mal's Factory'.

Murdoch's Tory Machine

You know that Murdoch's Tory Machine were getting desperate about the impending elections close call. After all, when Murdoch first decided to back Cameron and co they were much further ahead in the polls; Murdoch's call marked the beginning of a fall in support for his chosen runner.

An obviously impartial decision was made to broadcast what should have been an off-air remark by Gordon Brown, thus transforming a private off-the cuff remark into a nationally broadcast insult. So now the truth was out, Brown is merely human, unlike their airbrushed Etonian hero; ha-ha the gleeful Murdoch giggled, we've got him now.

I'll let you in to a little secret, I have no time for the Tories, and Cameron is no different to the socially divisive Thatcher. Regardless of the state of the economy, their policy has always been to protect privilege and, I have no doubt that will continue to be their policy. The bankers and the stock-market gamblers, responsible for the economic collapse, will continue to cast their votes for the Tories as they impose increasing hardship upon the real working people.

Mal's Picturebox

I have recently posted more photos on 'Mal's Picturebox'.

Asocial Democracy

As the prospect of a Cameron government, ably supported by Nick Clegg's LibDems, looms ever larger - my sense of despondency grows deeper.

The anarchy of the banks and stockmarkets, gambling with peoples lives, this is the moving force behind our whole political system. The Tories, defenders of inherited wealth and tax avoidance, are their front-line supporters. The press, undemocratically supported by their advertisers, attempt to persuade you to support their propietors political interest. When, as a consumer or productive employee, were you ever asked whether the profits derived from your endeavours, and purchases, should be utilized to uphold the Tory press and indeed the self-same party by more direct, and even occasionally dubious means? The politicians are merely the mouthpiece, and innefective monitors, of the City's abusers. The true wealth creators, the working class, are overlooked by these fearless defenders of the pin-striped parasites.

In my younger (political) activist days the greatest scorn we could pour upon any prospective candidate was that they were "careerist"; these days the word careerist seems to be umbilically linked with the title politician. All the major parties vie to see who can do the most to maintain the status quo. Yes they'll offer a minor tweak here a deceptive twist there but all they can do is proffer a band-aid to their victims when what the whole system needs is major surgery. The prospect looms of a VAT increase whoever attains power, as if they don't realize that this will hit the most impoverished members of society the hardest!

Of Gardens Tweets and Banana Curry

A marked improvement in the weather has resulted in me spending much more time in the garden; a lot of necessary tidying up alongside new plantings and transplantings have been a component part of these open-air hours. Gardening aside, even more of the time has been spent simply observing avian, piscine and amphibian activity as well as watching flowers (both cultivated and natural varieties) grow. The gardening activity has in no small part been encouraged by the presence of ma belle amoureuse who has taken a few days leave (from her employment).These prolonged escapes, from the more cloistered hearth and home, account in part for the recent paucity of blog postings.

On top of these modest exertions I've even managed a few moderately brisk strolls around the neighbourhood; so far, much to my delight, I've even managed to avoid any relapse! After my familiar 10 - 11 hours of bedrest, having taken painkillers to deal with the routine painful spasms in the lower limbs whilst still abed, the days have passed quite smoothly.

I've always managed to squeeze in some time on the PC, on at least a daily basis, primarily to check e-mails and, follow through any links from those people that I follow on Twitter. Amazing how time consuming this latter activity can be but, I even manage to do a bit of tweeting of my own.

As ma belle has not been at work, it has made a pleasant change to do some cooking at lunchtime rather than in the evening. I even managed to devise a Banana & Green Pepper Curry on one of these occasions which turned out much better than I could have imagined.

The recipe (two servings) was roughly as follows:

3 large bananas, 1 medium sized onion, 1 medium sized green pepper, coriander powder (3 heaped teaspoons), cumin powder (1 level teaspoon), turmeric (l heaped teaspoon), tikka spices (1 heaped teaspoon), mixed herbs (1 level teaspoon), West Indian hot pepper sauce & extra virgin olive oil ( 2 tablespoons). Penne Pasta (7 oz)

Having peeled and sliced the bananas I added a generous dollop of hot pepper sauce (a kind of lazy marinade), left it to stand for ten minutes.

I preheated the spices in a frying pan, to release the aromas, before adding the olive oil and swiftly sauteed the onion (sliced into rings). After a couple of minutes throw in the sliced green pepper stirring all the time. Finally threw in the sliced banana and simmered for about seven minutes.

This unusual curry was served on a bed of wholegrain penne pasta.

Following that experimental cook, which we both thoroughly enjoyed, today we settled for a simple meal of yellowfin tuna steaks, served with new potatoes, broccoli, leeks and french beans.

As time is so pressing for us OAPs - I must apologize for this abrupt conclusion!

 

Avian Spectacular

As I stroll up the garden, the hedgerows vibrate with chatter from the thronging sparrows; I inadvertently disturb the starlings squabble as they take flight from their feeding station. And suddenly, I'm on alert, a coarse croaking crow cawed duet greets my ears. One can't fail to note a hint of aggression in their strident guttural call.

The lure of the ear swiftly draws the eyes attention to an impressive aerial display; my pulse races as I observe the avian activity. The corvines frantically pursue and dive-bomb an inquisitive red kite; the kite responds to their somewhat frenetic activity with a couple of (almost relaxed) beats of its wings as it seeks and rides an appropriate thermal, gaining altitude in an apparently effortless glide. I almost hear it mutter, "you had enough then!" to the exhausted crows.

Minutes later, my pulse continues to race with the excitement of the display. I feel truly blessed to have been an observer, on my own doorstep, of such a breathtaking spectacle.

*************
This morning, I posted some photos, Garden Flora - Up Close, on Mal's Picturebox.

Pessimism & Despondency - The Cameron Prospect

No matter what the polls say, promises of a hung parliament etc., I approach the forthcoming election with an intense sense of foreboding. Cameron in power is the essence of nightmares, a period of social divisiveness that will make the evils of the Thatcher years seem like a picnic. It was the Tories who destroyed our industrial base,  who doubled VAT thus penalizing the poorest in society, and who started the whole process of demutualizing and deregulation that led to the current economic crisis. It is the Tories who are most eager to cut back public spending whilst at the same time pumping more resources into our Offence Forces.

Sadly, elements of Thatcherite philosophy seem to run deep in the veins of Labour, Liberal Democrat and Conservative leaders. All represent the interests of the middle and, in the case of the Tories, upper-middle classes. All pretend to proffer freedom of choice yet none of them offer to repeal Thatcher's anti Trade Union legislation, which denies a meaningful voice to the working class. In the end, my primary consideration before casting a vote is, who will best protect the interests of the weakest in society, both at home and overseas? All of them uphold a disreputable capitalist system, whilst attempting to ignore it's inherent contradictions, but perhaps a few of their representatives sincerely believe it is possible to redeem it!

At least the Lib Dems didn't support the Iraq war, which to me is the strongest point in their favour and, they even have the best potential Chancellor in Vince Cable, unlikely as the prospect of that coming to fruition is! Ultimately, my vote has to be cast whatever way helps to keep the Tories out of office. Fortunately our constituency has been very well represented by Phil Willis (Lib Dem), who is standing down this time, and whose successor as parliamentary candidate, Claire Kelley, has worked closely alongside Phil for a number of years. Until Phil took office a couple of elections ago, our constituency had always been solidly Tory and was noticeably unrepresented / underrepresented by our elected Tory poodle in parliament.

********
P.S. the recovery, albeit fragile, is on it's way - don't let the Tories wreck it:

BBC News - UK economy set to outpace most G7 peers, says OECD

news.bbc.co.uk

The UK economy is forecast to outstrip its G7 peers in the second quarter of this year, says the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development.

Easter Greetings

Spring Is Here

A couple of days ago, I posted four new photos ("rite of spring") on Mal's Picturebox. The frogs they would a-wooing go!

Now

Sometimes it's as if memories are more tangible than present reality. The memories I refer to, are those dating back to a time when socializing, travel, sensory overload could all be taken in my stride; the days when I could go to a concert, a gig, the theatre, cinema etc just on a whim, without first having to steel myself for the ordeal. I'm never sure whether clinging to these memories has any positive value as, they simply serve to throw into the spotlight my current more restricted existence. I suspect it's best to simply live in the present, maximise the opportunities afforded by spending time in the garden, dipping into a book as and when the necessary emotional stamina and concentration is available, listening to a CD, watching a DVD and, especially any time spent in the company of my beloved.

Today we went over to the garden centre at Otley, and I thoroughly enjoyed the journey, approx 15 - 20 mins either way, just about my ideal distance these days. A couple of garden vouchers, that we'd received for our wedding anniversary, went towards a pair of good quality shears, and although  tempted by many items, I only yielded to the temptation to buy a couple of alpine / perennial plants to refresh a rather outworn display in one of the stone planters. Inspired by the excursion, I got down to the necessary transplanting operation within a couple of minutes of arriving back home. Meanwhile ma belle set about a little more tidying up of one of the garden borders.

As we worked, a blackbird provided a beautifully mellifluous background melody; what more could one ask for! Yet there was more. My attention was constantly drawn to the pond, where the piscine inhabitants seemed to gleam in the newly clarified water, the underwater filter having been re-installed (by yours truly) a couple of days ago. Come to think of it, there's nothing more real than now! What's more, ignoring troublesome afflictions, I've never known a time of more contentment.

bipartisan politics!

On one side we have the Labour Party, funded to a considerable extent from the voluntary contributions paid by trade unionists. Opposing them we have the Tories, the Conservative Party, primarily funded by the bosses which, indirectly, means the involuntary contribution of those who are in the bosses workforce or paying customers of the boss. I don't believe that the workforce or the customers, who make the profits for the bosses, have ever been balloted to see if they would like the fruit of their efforts to be used to payroll the Tories.

The Labour party when in government, contrary to what the Tories would have us believe, not infrequently sides with the bosses against the unions. Somehow, presumably for historical reasons, the unions remain their loyal paymasters. These paymasters get short shrift.

The Conservatives retain total loyalty to their paymasters, the bosses, and given the chance do everything in their power to emasculate the unions. Sadly, Labour never seems to have any intention to repeal the Tories anti trade union legislation. The Conservatives, as their name suggests, are there to maintain the status quo, whereas Labour do at least attempt to rectify some of the gross inequalities in society.

Labour, under the Blairite banner of 'New Labour', inherited (and pursued further) Tory Thatcherite economic policies, which on a global scale led to the financial collapse.

The Tories now ask us to believe that under the banner of 'change' they can rectify the problems. Conservative = Change, a paradox if ever there was one!

Too tired to relax

After a couple of almost sleepless nights I have now managed, with the aid of pre-emptive painkillers, to get two successive relatively comfortable sleep enriched nights. Perhaps the "enriched" word is putting it a bit strong, even though theoretically it should prove a blessing.

Although that should have compensated for the preceding sleep-deprived nights, exhaustion seems to be the persistent companion to my waking hours. Ten minutes of magazine or web browsing, in fact anything other than idle inattentiveness, induces a state of heavily lidded eyes, and the consequent decision; do I allow myself to drift off into full snooze mode or do I resist the bodies apparent yearning?

I know that if I allow myself to catnap it will outstay its welcome, then there's a fair chance it will interfere with the later attempt to get a decent nights sleep. If I resist, I'll spend the next half-hour or more in a kind of shuddering wakefulness; it's so strange that the very flesh which so frequently overheats in cooler conditions now seems to shiver whilst the ambient temperature is considerably warmer.

Somehow, it seems as if tiredness militates against relaxation!

an unsought for exercise in sleep-deprivation

Well, I did manage to catch nearly an hours kip between 10.30pm and 2.30am, followed by briefly intermittent snatches of zzzzz before 4.00am. From that time onwards I lay abed, struggling to turn myself over now and again, accompanied by a selection of sounds emanating from the bedside radio. At approximately ten minute intervals, I found myself checking the clock assuming at least one and a half hours had passed. It seemed like a productive training course for anyone wishing to take up the post of full-time insomniac.

Whenever I moved the position of my arms, attempted to clear the mucus from my throat, or even tried some breathing exercises to aid relaxation, I was acutely reminded of the pain in my ribs. Between 7.30 and 10.15am, I almost caught myself napping, on one or two occasions, before becoming finally able to cast off the delusion that sleep was imminent.

By mid-afternoon, following a relaxing visit to Cafe Culture, sleep deprivation caught up with me. Stiff neck, bloated tum, wearily aching limbs (both upper and lower variety) and a general inability to cope with any sensory information whatsoever, eventually yielded to a relaxing snooze. I somehow suspect that it was my bodies unsubtle way of informing me that, in spite of my advancing years, I really do require more than three hours sleep in any 48 hour period. But, if that is the case, why is it currently so reluctant to grant me that luxury?

A Pain In The ...

Last night, as I sat relaxing with my beloved, I was suddenly struck by a sharply acute pain in the lower part of my chest on the right hand side. The pain was still there an hour later, although by this stage somewhat intermittently and feeling rather like a sharp bruise. it was certainly a quite unfamiliar sensation and I couldn't put it down to indigestion but, I'd have been far more worried had it been on the left side of the chest.

Checked my pulse and, that was fine and, unusually for me when I'm in any marked degree of discomfort, or even without that prompt, there was no hint of pallor. So far, so good but my beloved was quite concerned (I had to admit to her that I was too) so, I contacted the out of hours doctor who recommended I should take some of my usual pain-killers (tramadol) and, if I felt any worse at all he would come out to visit me. That provided a welcome degree of re-assurance but, he did also suggest I made an appointment with my own G.P.

There followed a night of intermittently discomforted sleep; although I've learned to cope with my regular aches and pain, any change, to the old familiar dis-ease, plays havoc with my already erratic sleep pattern. I made an appointment with my G.P., although it was a locum I actually saw, for this afternoon. As the day went on, I found at times that the action of swallowing, and even moving in certain ways, renewed the pains intensity.

The first thing the doctor asked was whether I had any pain in my legs, I had to laugh as I explained that I'd not noticed any change to their regular discomfort. She felt around the calf muscle, checking for any hint of DVT and whether a clot had travelled to my lungs. She thoroughly examined me, checking blood pressure, listening to my heart and lungs and, quite expertly (albeit inadvertently) applying light pressure to the most tender area of the rib cage. When I tried to breathe deeply, as she listened to my lungs, the pain recurred with an excruciating sharpness. The diagnosis turned out to be something to do with the intercostal muscles and, I'd already begun to wonder whether my pondly exertions (at the weekend) had maybe put a strain on the muscle. I readily admit that lifting out the planters, from the pond's murky depths, wasn't one of the easiest gardening chores.

On the positive side, somewhat like the herniated disc last year, it makes a change to have a specific pain whose cause is definable, alongside those sundry aches and discomforts the flesh is so regularly heir to!

Malcolm Evison - "Squirrel In The Rain"

Spring Cleaning

I've spent a fair bit of time in the garden this week and have finally got around to vacuuming out some of the sludgy sediment from the pond. Initial efforts were somewhat thwarted by obstacles on the pond floor. Unfortunately, until the time is right to re-install the pump and underwater filter, the water lacks sufficient clarity to be able to see where such obstacles are situated.

As the pond vac restarted, following discharge of the previous cylinder load, I became puzzled as to why the suction wasn't working, as the motor was uttering its reassuring purr of strength. Having switched off the power, I duly removed the suction nozzle and sundry extension tubes but, all were clear. Next task was to disconnect the coiled suction hose from the cylinder where I observed a dark gelatinous mass at the top, almost as if a giant slug had taken up residence there. A vigorous shake of the hose revealed all, as a full grown frog, encased in mud, slowly unfolded itself. A few minutes later it took its first tentative hop back towards the pond.

I hadn't realized quite how strong the machines suction power was!

Today I donned arm length waterproof gloves and fished around to unearth some of these obstructive items, micromesh planters full of slimy aquatic compost but little sign of plant growth, planters full of oxygenating elodea and, old drainage pipes which serve as useful hidey holes for the ponds piscine inhabitants should predatory herons venture past the marginal reeds.

Obstacles removed I was able to use a freely sweeping action with the pond vacs nozzle, before restoring drainage pipe and elodea to their rightful place. 

Mal Murmurs once more

My latest posting, UNTANGLING, can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'

A Primary Focus

Work, recreation, stimulation and inspiration; I am truly blessed in having my primary focus for all these activities right on my doorstep.

I've just spent another couple of hours intermittent labour in the garden, this morning. There was a time when most of the pruning and trimming back  of plants and shrubs was a late autumn pre-occupation but, increasingly, since making the garden a much more wildlife friendly environment, many of these tasks have been transferred to this part of the year. The priority, now that the harshest weather has passed (hopefully), is to trim the hedges and shrubs before the nesting season gets into full swing. As I amble around, I can always spot another task to be performed and, it requires a conscious effort on my part to remember priorities.

Just a couple of years back many of these tasks would have remained unfulfilled, without the endeavours of my beloved, so it's with an immense sense of gratitude that I perform these chores, a sure sign that I am continuing, a few setbacks aside, in my remission from the most disabling aspects of my condition. Even 30% of my previous activity levels is a plateau I could have hardly dreamt of such a short while ago.

As I got down to pruning and lopping an overgrown hedge, a Robin determinedly accompanied me in my endeavours; whichever way I turned my avian friend was bobbing around. Needless to say, when I decided to reach for my camera the bird was nowhere to be seen; perhaps he's a little camera shy! Elsewhere in the garden, alongside an abundant squabble of starlings, blue tits, coal tits, blackbirds, house sparrows and dunnocks were taking advantage of the garden's various feeders.

I've got to be honest, I'd deluded myself into thinking (even in pre-illness days) that a wildlife area would require less maintenance than a more formal garden; it's a marvellous resource, even though my assumption was totally incorrect. When it comes to the more 'tame' borders of the garden, intrusive ground elder aside, the greatest scourge is the neighbourhood's 'domestic' cats; domestic they may be in terms of being someones household pets but they are a menace when it comes to scratching up bulbs and plants (but not in their own backyard). Electronic cat scarers prove ineffectual, pepper washes away far too quickly and, at times, I even begin to question the value of a few strategically placed thorn & briar branches. A spray of water is certainly effective, as is a loud "hiss" but, unfortunately 24 hour vigilance is impractical! Frustrations aside, I wouldn't swap the garden for anything; it proves a source of inspiration for both my painting and writing, as well as being a more general aid to relaxation.

As I sit and scribble down these notes, a red kite is circling low over the garden; I open the back door and, the variegated pattern of birdsong lifts my spirits. I rejoice and am glad in this day the Lord has made.

Who knows why the axe falls (this particular way)? - an impromptu rant

Seems like the Director-General of the BBC is determined to get rid of 6 Music and the Asian Network but, I'm still trying to get my head around the logic of these cuts. For a start, the cost of running 6 Music could all be covered by a couple of years of the kind of salary that the Beeb (over)paid certain self-important presenters. Perhaps some of these could be made to work for rather less obscene salaries.

If the argument is that they've to leave some leeway for the commercial stations then, it's strange that they decide to cut stations that are nowhere duplicated by the standard commercial station fare. Of course, if the BBC were to cut its more populist programmes that would provide fodder for those who've always resented the beeb, "just look, this poptastic commercial station is getting more listeners than R1/R2, why should we license payers be providing this less popular service?" At the same time, I suspect that most of the moguls (and would be moguls) in the commercial broadcasting field are only in favour of the kind of competition that leaves the public service broadcasters hands tied; they're all for competition as long as it's on their own terms! 

One can't help feeling that much of the "mainstream" music output is little more than a promotional audio for the giant corporations of the music industry. Who decides to plug such and such "record of the week" or "album of the week"?

There is a suggestion that some of the "best" of 6  Music's output can be slotted into the Radio 2 schedule; is this a way of saying that there's a fair bit of dross to be cut out of Radio 2? What about Radio 3, after all Classic FM produces a (very) diluted version of much of it's music output, no suggestion of cutting that station though. I listen frequently to Radio 2, Radio 3, Radio 4, occasionally to 6 Music and Radio 7, so I've no particular axe to grind, I also frequently watch BBC2, BBC4, BBC1 and occasionally BBC3 and, I feel that an argument could be made for merging much of the output of BBC4 & BBC2 and even parts of BBC3 & BBC1 but, somehow television seems to be something of a sacred cow.

Come to think of it, much of the non-music output of Radio 3 would be equally at home on Radio 4 but, somehow, their demographic is of a social standing that the beeb's hierarchs are afraid of upsetting. Most of the musical output of Radios 1 & 2 is difficult to distinguish from that emanating from a plethora of commercial stations but, 6 Music rings the changes; there's a message here, "if you don't conform you're for the chop", a definite air of conservatism.

A Little Thermostatic Maladjustment

The night sweats seem to have returned with a vengeance; the suddenness with which the perspiration seeps from pores on head and torso always takes me by surprise. It makes little or no difference whether the bedroom is heated or unheated, the experience seems totally unrelated to the ambient temperature. I automatically throw off the bedclothes and, quite frequently, feel compelled to remove my pyjama jacket as it only serves to intensify the spasmodic gnawing discomfort emanating from the armpits.


Strangely, this thermostatic symptom bears little relation to my general state of well-(or otherwise)-being at the time of it's occurrence.

Ringing The Changes and Staying The Same

Although my beloved has had the whole week off work, the primary benefit has been quite simply enjoying each other's company for rather longer periods than her usual work routine permits. Watching the occasional light-hearted DVD, whilst still abed in the morning, has helped make ma belle's time-off seem more like a holiday. For all we'd love to change the world, in terms of social justice and the far too prevalent inequalities, and have both been activists in the political arena, our own needs are quite simple and we thoroughly enjoy the privilege of being able to spend time together in our home and garden.

My stamina level isn't particularly brilliant at the moment and, an increased tenderness of glands beneath the chin and in the armpits, alongside aching spasmodically painful limbs, has done little to alleviate this far too familiar situation. Our only two expeditions of the week have been a visit to the garden centre at Otley and, yesterday, a visit to the local tax office to sort out my anomalous tax situation, paying tax on a small pension even though my total income is more than two grand below my personal allowance (the allowance having increased when I attained full senior citizen status last June).

The taxation problem seems to have arisen as the companies paying two minute pensions are allocated to different regional tax offices. Evidently the code duly allocated to one of the pension providers had never been issued! Hopefully, after the valiant efforts of the tax office staff in Harrogate, this problem has now been resolved! Late morning, we made a preliminary visit to the office and were able to arrange an appointment for the same afternoon. This allowed time for us to go back home, where I quickly concocted a spicy chicken risotto for our lunch before the appointed hour. It feels like quite an achievement to have made and kept this appointment as, ever since succumbing to M.E. back in 2003, pre-arranged appointments in town have contributed to panic attacks on top of other excruciating ailments. I even managed to enjoy a grocery shop at Waitrose before returning home!

The day's activities caught up with me later in the evening, as lower limbs painfully refused to be fully co-operative; a vice like griping pain, seemingly emanating from thigh and shin bones rather than the muscle, made traversing the room seem more akin to attempting to skip the light-fantastic at the 72nd hour of a dance marathon. Having emerged from my duvet cocoon at around 11.00am, by 10.00pm my head was exhaustedly floating, leadenly anchored, in a mercury bath. My beloved concernedly assisted my passage to the bedroom where I swiftly collapsed into sleep mode.

A relatively comfortable emergence, into this new day, has been assisted, in no small part, by the efficacious administration of tramadol hydrochloride to alleviate the griping spasms in limbs and torso. By the time I'd managed to remove myself from bed, and attained a degree of verticality, my beloved had already headed off to her volunteer duties at the Acorn Centre.

Anniversary Celebrations

Yesterday morning I was wide awake before 6.00AM, not just a little restless interlude, that had already occurred between 2.30 and 4.00AM. Like a young child on Christmas Day morning, my mind was buzzing with excitement, after all it's the dawn of a big day, our tenth wedding anniversary. Perhaps the fact that I'd spent much of the previous evening setting up my beloved's new laptop, my anniversary gift, and knowing that I still had one or two new programmes to install, had made my mind ultra-active. So frequently an active mind resists the ailing bodies need for sleep.

Anyway, back to 6.00AM; just what does one do when they're bright eyed (albeit none bushy tailed), bursting with an unfamiliar emotional energy whilst all too well aware that the limbs and torso are still screaming out for rest? Decided to pick up Diarmid MacCullough's 'A History of Christianity' for a little light reading but, a 1000+ page hardback tome proved difficult to handle from a semi-recumbent posture. Whilst the text proved exciting, wrists and thumbs were achingly struggling with the handling of the book. A couple of hours later, we decided to catch up with the previous night's episode of 'Material Girl, an episode full of romantic dilemmas, as we snuggled together au lit.

Come lunchtime we ventured down to 'Brio' Italian restaurant where I was pleased to see that my favourite item, a Linguine Marinara, was on the menu. The light sauce, a combination of of fish stock, tomato and chilli, was just perfect. My beloved settled for a fillet of sea bass with a generous vegetable accompaniment. Unfortunately, the house white was a disappointment, my  nose and palate couldn't quite determine whether it came from a bottle that had been opened a little too long or stored beyond its best by date; it was still drinkable but quite dull, unlike what I'd enjoyed on previous visits. Desserts proved most satisfactory, ma belle settling for a dark chocolate mousse whilst I had the creme brulee.

Come early evening, the early start to my day paid me back with a vengeance as I felt shattered in both mind and body. Ninety minutes rest served to re-vitalize me a little and it wasn't too long before I was ready to open a bottle of fizz, Champagne Etienne Dumont NV. I was pleased that when we acquired the bottle, a few months ago, when it was on an half-price offer; it definitely wasn't worth any more than the price we'd paid, extremely average. Still it was the intent that mattered, imbibing the bubbles whilst watching  a dvd of 'De-Lovely', we're both quite ardent devotees of Cole Porter songs.

This morning, my body clock still appeared to be in a state of confusion; this time I was quite wide awake by 4.00AM. At least I had the good sense to remain au lit for a sufficient period of rest. An unexpected surge of energy found me out in the garden before noon, secateurs in hand, for a mini tidying up exercise. An hour of this endeavour found my body crying out for a break and, after a brief seated respite, we headed out to Cafe Culture where we both enjoyed a light lunch of spiced chicken breast with mango chutney, served in naan bread, with a side salad and Thai yoghurt. The celebration of our anniversary continues as we bask in the pleasure of each other's company.

Not So Bad After All

Those halcyon days, when I was once again able to luxuriate in the habit of novel devouring, have swiftly fled. Faltering attempts to resume the third novel, that I'd begun to read, came to nought, in fact I seem to have tumbled back to square one. The suffiency of emotional stamina has once again bade me farewell; I'd like to think that it was quite simply a case of this latest book not being of sufficient character to proffer the necessary stimulation but, it's more likely related to my current state of discomforted exhaustion. Certainly my sleep patterns have become disruptively erratic and, the sleep that I do manage to grab seems to be of a curiously unrefreshing nature. An unsettling tenderness of areas under the chin and in my armpits ensures a constant need to shuffle my position and, that's not at all conducive to the reading habit.



I still seem to be recovering from the aftermath of events of 6 February. Although it felt great to have coped with a considerably extended (compared to my recent years norm) period of socializing, it definitely seems that there's a re-active price to be paid. A current inability to apply myself to the sustained pursuit of any task, major or minor, is to say the least frustrating. I feel rather like one of those people who persistently parade around the workplace armed only with a clipboard, in the pretence that they're being productive. Going through the motions, without any application, that just about sums it up.


To dispel any suggestion of self-pity, that the preceding paragraphs may have suggested, I have to say that I am blessed with the ability, periods of intense frustration notwithstanding, to wallow in the simple pleasure of "being". To observe the antics of the birds in the garden, to sit and hold hands with my beloved, to enjoy the imbibing of a glass or two of wine, and simply to be a minute part of an awesome universe; those are rewards in and of themselves.

Waitrose to Bastiani

Saturday morning, a fleeting visit to Waitrose, where references to Valentine's day were imposible to avoid, was in order. In one of the aisles we met Jane, the wife of Shaun who is the minister of Helen's church; jane mentioned that Shaun had pointed out that the date was also the feast of St. Methodius (albeit only in the Roman Catholic church). The reference to Methodius intrigued me so, on returning home, I went online to find out a little more about Methodius and, the first image I was greeted with was the celebrated icon of Cyril and Methodius holding the Glagolitic scroll.

 Mind you, this is something of a diversion from the main topic of this posting but, it was the starting point for a little process of rediscovery. As I viewed the icon, I wondered if I could possibly find a reproduction of a painting which has gently haunted me for several years. The painting I had always thought to be attributed to Giovanni Bellini but, on referencing the artist and the collection in which this picture could be found I was delighted to discover an illustration ( http://nicepaintings.org/works/85156) of this wonderful painting attributed to Lazzaro Bastiani (who had evidently worked, at times, with both Giovanni and Gentile Bellini).

I first became fully aware of this painting, of the Madonna and Child, in the days when I occasionally attended exhibition previews and Open House at the beginning of the season for Harewood House. Those who attended these openings with me invariably knew that, regardless of the purported preview I was attending, they would be likely to find me enraptured by this painting. The image is very simple and direct, a flush-cheeked teenage mother cloaked and hooded in a dark blue garment holding a child, apparently somewhere between two and four years of age. The mother has a rather dolorous expression, her eyes conveying a deep sense of foreboding, a touching vulnerabilty. Her hands have a somewhat tentative gentle hold on the robustly healthy child, almost as if they yield to the knowledge that all too quickly she'll have to let him go his own way. The infant in this painting is definitely a child, rather than the miniature adult so frequently portrayed in paintings of this period.

I've saved a copy of the image to my computer, cropping it from the elaborate frame, and printed a small copy from which I find it difficult to avert my gaze. As someone whose primary area of art historical interest is American and British painting of the mid-twentieth century, it seems rather strange that this simple image could hold me in such thrall.

A Rather Special Day

Yesterday was my busiest day in, literally, years but there was a very special occasion to celebrate. Helen's sister Janet, whose husband died five years ago, was getting married to Graham. We were well aware of a marked change in Janet's demeanour for a considerable time before we were informed that she was "seeing someone"; whoever the someone was had to be special, rarely does one notice such a marked transformation in a person that one knows reasonably well!

A blessing for their marriage was held at St Wilfreds Church, in Harrogate, which we were pleased (although in my case somewhat apprehensively) to attend. Unfortunately, the temperature in the centre of the church was somewhat akin to a butchers cold store and, I was quite prepared to leave the venue before the service had even started. Fortunately a lady, who I assume was one of the church wardens, pointed out a radiator far from where the main congregational gathering was seated; it took some time before my uncontrollable shivering sttled down. It's the first time that I've worn a wooly hat inside a place of Christian worship and, I wondered whether it might be mistaken for a skullcap as worn by members of another Abrahamic faith, or perhaps I could have been an over-zealous Quaker (of a bygone age) who quite simply refused to doff his hat!

At least we did have a good sing in the final hymn, Love Divine; no matter what state my faith is in, I just can't help but to be stirred by Charles Wesley's hymnody. It was a terrific sense of relief to find that the venue for the reception, The Yorkshire Hotel, was more than adequately heated. Having spent the best part of an hour at the church, I still managed a further three and a half hours at the reception before succumbing to an overwhelming exhaustion, leaving just before the Ceilidh was about to begin. The speeches were among the most entertaining it has been my pleasure to endure. Fatiguing discomfort aside, it was wonderful to have been able to share in the celebration of this special event.

*******************
A poem, SOMETIMES (for Janet & Graham), can be found on 'Mal's Factory' 

 

Malcolm Evison - Two Recent Poems

Get The Drift

A dull grey day greets my belated emergence from the duvet lair, a quick look out confirms it's damp as well. As the day goes by, the drizzly rain changes to sleet and a few properly formed snow flakes emerge from the squally gloom; obviously a day to sit by the fireside!

Early afternoon and my physio arrives; a little chat over a cup of hot beverage precedes the acupuncture therapy, melodic strains emanating from Radio 3 create a suitably relaxed environment. I lie back, breathe slowly and deeply as she ascertains the appropriate points for the needles insertion. As I relax, I feel a warmly gentle golden glow radiating through my limbs, allow myself to drift with the background music. Mere idleness transformed into a bissful relaxation.

Much Ado About Nothing

A day of hollowness; an aching void replaces any kind of fulfillment. A sense of frustration started yesterday when I set up a recording using PDC (possible only with analogue transmissions - no such luxury afforded when digital is the only option), only to discover that the BBC, in it's wisdom, had interposed an additional programme advert into the schedule resulting in the 34 second advert being all that was recorded; a confusion of signals!  Today I set off a recording of a classic movie, direct to DVD, only to let the recording overrun by twenty minutes which proved quite irritating. At least I have the recording of the film, albeit rapidly followed by far too many minutes of some Aussie soap.

Any regular reader of my blogs will be well aware of my antipathy to sport but, this morning, I made an exception to that rule to watch Murray vs Federer. I was swiftly hooked on the match even though my mind, or perhaps my soul, was telling me that I was just wasting time. This sense of squandering precious hours was not subject to any probable outcome of the match, it's quite simply that observing grown-up people chasing a ball around is a time-waster, nearly as much so as participating in the sport. Had I been listening to music, watching a film, reading, or even just browsing a reference book, no such thoughts of wasting time would occur. That privilege is apparently reserved for sport alone. This sense of vacancy almost distracts me from the sundry aches, pains and general discomfort my flesh is all too frequently heir to.

Earlier this afternoon, Radio 2 provided background accompaniment to our lunchtime dining experience; on several occasions EP, the programmes presenter, told us that a song was performed by "the late ..." but, I very much doubt it! Adam Faith, Jean Simmons etc. may well have recorded the songs whilst they were alive, prior to attaining the status of "the late", but, I couldn't help being haunted by the vision of a medium channeling the voice of some ectoplasmic projection onto the acetate. The deceased, in my experience, very rarely if ever, perform songs in or out of the studio. 

In an attempt to overcome this negativity of absence, encouraged by my beloved, we go out for a walk. As we pass the local pharmacy, my attention is caught by a notice proclaiming "Chlamydia Often Has No Symptoms"; if I was feeling in the best of health that could prove worrying, I have no symptoms therefore I may have got that disease. Truth be told, I have symptoms of all sorts of possible conditions so, I'm hardly likely to have that one. Honestly, I don't know who the message is aimed at but, in small letters the notice says "ask the pharmacist for a confidential test"; I just imagine thousands of people, not knowing what chlamydia is, popping in to the chemist for a confidential test because they have no symptoms. The least they could do is incorporate a few words saying that it could be contracted through unprotected sex!

And The Point Is ...

Well, for a start the point is on the pictured needle attached to a syringe. The text reads,"smoking is addictive don't start". The message is on the back of the cigarette pack. Before you see the message you must have first purchased the cigarettes. I suspect that purchasing cigarettes is the act of one who already smokes. When you get the packet, the lid is flicked open from the front so, there's no need to look at, let alone read, the said packets backside. If the intention is to stop people smoking why not just ban the sale of cigarettes and, forsake the enormous revenue raised thereby for both manufacturer and exchequer?

Governments and health authorities must be seen to be spreading the right message but, placing the adverts on the coffin nail packs themselves, does seem like an exercise in futility. The smoker is already paying a financial penalty, to maintain their habit, which theoretically should prove a sufficient deterrent.

As a smoker, whose first indulgence in the pernicious weed occurred at a pre-teen age even though Iwas brought up in a non-smoking strictly tee-total household. I also accept that it can lead to health problems, especially as an irritant to a latent condition but the constant reminders of this fact have little effect. On several occassions I had thrown off the habit, only tobe lured back by the constant refernces to it on national no smoking days. I am also aware of the addictive properties of caffeine, my most recent return to the nicotine habit having been a direct result of an attempted ban on caffeine consumption by my physician.

In earlier times, I indulged (at times quite heavily so) in the partaking of purportedly addictive substances which were not legally available.I failed to become addicted; these illicit substances turned out, in my case, to be a passing fad.

The question is, would their free availability over the counter have encouraged me to further pursue the habit, bearing in mind that they were already relatively easy to obtain? If their illegal status was a deterrent to my continued use, then it's time that the government outlawed cigarettes on the same principle!

There could, of course, be an ethical principle at stake; if land is used to grow a cash crop (tobacco) where food crops would be more appropriate and, if the producer is not being paid a fair price for his commodity, this for me would be a more compelling consideration should I, once again, attempt to discard the habit.

A Matter of Routine

I've just been reading the most recent posting, from The Oxcliffe Fox, referring to the reticence of the English when it comes to making complaints (Something un-English). It occurred to me that the customary courteous enquiry, of restaurant staff, "Is everything alright for you sir/madam", suggests a lack of confidence in the quality of the commodity they supply.

Perhaps it would be better if a placard was posted on the wall stating, " If you tell us what was wrong with the meal we served, we will attempt to rectify our mistake the next time you visit!", thus avoiding the probable embarrassment of an ill-prepared waiter / waitress having to cope with any answer other than a formal assent to their question.