Stroke Survivor

Slam Dunk.

2012-02-13T12:09:00.005Z

It's just +4.4 °C outside, and my mate Mr. T. and one of daughters is downsizing to a smaller council house, from a four to a two bedroom.

His oldest daughter is travelling every day to get the new place ship-shape, and of course there's no gas or electricity, so she's dressed like an Inuit stripping layers of wall-paper with copius buckets of hot water we provide. I think she's bonkers. But way to go, girl.

I'm really pleased for him as he and his younger daughter (she has learning difficulties) have rattled around a house far too big for them to cope with, physically and financially for far too long. It's really great to see a family pull together.

~~~~

Since Mr. T. has is moving less than two mins away, I'm wondering if I'll be allowed out unaccompanied to visit, sans wheels? I'm not going to hold my breath.

He's a real darts fanatic, and he "needs a mug to hammer". Should be intriguing. A bloke with two very Wobbly Knees versus a Bloke With a Stroke.

It has a certain comedic value, don't'y'know? Do you think I should tell him that I was a team captain some years ago? Nah. Perhaps not? Shhhh! :)

Double Grrrr!

2012-02-12T15:24:00.008Z

I'm chuffin' furious.

A local smack head is claiming they have information that I have been obtaining pain killers on the black market. Total and absolute cobblers. I unfortunately heard through a neighbour.

I'm diabetic. I don't have to pay for prescriptions. I don't have to pay for painkillers, or anything else.

One phone call, and they're delivered, free of charge. But they won't know that.

Looks like my doppelgänger has struck again. It's beginning to look like a police matter.

Addendum. Right that's that sorted. Not that I'm expecting any result in a hurry, but I was surprised how helpful they were, and they were straight about how much they could do and potential pitfalls. Fair enough. Much happier :)

Oh heck.

2012-02-10T13:12:00.002Z

In helluva lot of pain over the last couple or three weeks. I hope our visitors haven't taken offence that I've been washed out and asleep, when I can get it, on the couch.

Pain is a warning signal that something is a bit out of sorts. I wish I could turn the alarm off. Man, it's bad, and then some. It's really annoying that it's on my left - non-stroked -side. I could really do without it. It's been three weeks now.

It isn't so much the pain. It's the way, if this makes any sense, it fogs your mind and gets in the way of thinking straight. I know what I want to do, but it's the pain is so overpowering. sheesh.

In case you're wondering why I haven't fetched some painkillers from the docs? Because they are likely to be morphines. I'd rather have the pain than be stoned out of my tiny mind.

Owzer.

2012-02-05T20:53:00.002Z

I'd forgotten how much a couple of knackered ribs felt.

I'd also forgotten it also gives you earache. I'll let you work that one out.

Long, long ago, aside from various chest operations, I developed an uncanny knack of falling from high places. Cliffs, walls, ravines. A lot of them quite notable. Mam Tor comes to mind. That one broke two ribs and both wrists too.

Free climbing? Mountaineering? Heck no. Fell running. Here's a map, a compass, those are your way-points lad, see later. On the Mam Tor occasion, I was chatting to a couple of nice german lads, and as they turned away one of their rucksacks hit me in the back. You don't feel a thing until much later.

I, out of gratitude later, applied to join Edale Rescue. "Nah lad" explained a soft Scottish brough. "Y'jinxed" :)

I once managed to fall from the head of a lion in Trafalgar Square. Don't do it. Gives you heck of a headache. Wrong turn maybe?

Those who know me now knows I'm terrified of heights. It's called extreme aversion therapy......

A quick share...

2012-02-03T11:20:00.004Z

My feeling is, and has been for sometime that the drastic welfare reforms have largely slipped under the public radar.

Anyways, I won't waffle on. Please take a look at this. Death of Decency

Mystery solved.

2012-01-29T15:47:00.004Z

It's somewhat embarrassing.

The knackered rib was caused by.......

A wide screen tv. "Dray" said yon Bear, cleaning the tv stand "Have you moved the tv?"

Do I look like Arnold whatsisname? Heck I do. It's big, flat and weighs a ton. Mr. Potato man more like.

But there, in the dust (ahem!) were signs the swivel stand had moved at least 4 inches. The TV is at the side of a door. Suspicious, She had me stand at the side, and sure enough, the top corner of the television matched exactly where the rib is.

I wobble. That's not a complaint. Fact of our life. Sometimes, walking down a corridor - I have a 15 foot hallway - it's just easier to bounce off the walls on the way down. It looks like I bounced a bit too soon, and crunched.

We haven't worked out yet how the heck I didn't feel it at the time, or how no-one noticed.

Bear is now Sherlock Bear :)

Do what?

2012-01-28T16:32:00.005Z

Well, now. There's a puzzle.

I went out last night. Just next door.

Bless 'er, lass next door came around to help The Bear, help me womble around. Must have been a real picture. I'm just under six feet tall, and there I was with a couple of ladies just over five foot tall under each arm.

It was uneventful. I spent most of the time trying to work out how the heck they'd hidden the wires to their wall mounted wide screen TV (I know, I'm a sad geeky git)

I didn't fell too good after an hour, so they lugged me back again. I woke up in absolute agony during the night with terrible chest pains. I know enough about anatomy to realise it was a skeletal muscular problem rather than something inside, as it where.

A quick examination by Bear showed that one of my ribs one the left side (non stroked) is definitely not where it should be.

The only way that can happen is from a fall or a massive bump. But due to my meds, I bruise very easily, but there was not a one. I was with someone the whole time, and they swear I didn't bang into something or fall. I do the fall bit sometimes.

Anyway's, yours truly is taking the minimum codeine meds to keep the pain down - that stuff can knock your block if if you aren't careful - until I can get it sorted. Mind you, fairly certain I'll be told to get some R & R.

But chuffin' 'eck, it dun 'alf 'urt. Can barely shift. Grumble, moan, grumble....

Odious

2012-01-26T13:48:00.002Z

I'm sorry, but the Sun 'newspaper' has removed the original article from it's site. Can't think why.....

http://politicalscrapbook.net/2012/01/rod-liddle-disabled-the-sun/

So this chap advocates committing Benefit fraud? Let 'im. I also wish him luck in the Job Centre queue when he's finished his sentence.

/end sarcasm.

Distasteful. Then some.

The Curious Case....

2012-01-26T10:54:00.005Z

That Numpty of a Woofler has taken to grabbing my sleeve and pulling me until I leave my chair and sit with him on the settee, whereas he promptly goes to sleep. He may be only 3 stone, but he's a determined little bugger.

Now my favourite Dragon 'hoody' has a chewed cuff. Sulk.

~~~~
The Curious Case.......

Of another me. As if one wasn't enough :)

It has to be remembered that I never, ever go anywhere unaccompanied. Never. So it isn't me being absent-minded.

I'd turn up for diabetic podiatry appointments at town centre clinic, to find I'd already been, or phoned up to cancel. They took some convincing I hadn't. So they'd make me another appointment, only for it to happen again. And Again. Always the phone cancellations.

We all got fed up in the end. They stopped asking me to go. After a few months, they moved podiatry services to our local surgery, and I was invited to attend. So we turned up, making darn sure I had the letter. Guess what? Yup.

That left them scratching their heads. More, they confirmed my name, and Bears, and thatshe'd been with me. Grudgingly they admitted that 'perhaps' there'd been a mix up.

A few weeks on, yet another letter. This time, we phoned up to confirm first. Only to discover that the visiting podiatrist had "refused to attend for THAT patient". So that was the end of that.

In the end we compromised. The diabetic nurse, who knows me well, volunteered to do the work at my six monthly appointment. Time rolled on for our yearly influenza injection. We arrived only to find we'd both just had it. We rolled up our sleeves to show the GP. More head scratching.

Later, I had a practice nurse appointment. Browsing the computer screen, I noticed the phrase 'substance abuse'. Pardon? "Sorry sir, that's locked, I can't remove it. It's obviously there for a reason".

I wasn't having that. Once home Bear phoned another nurse at the surgery, and I fired off a quick email. Within 24 hours we were told we were right to question it, and after a thorough review of my records, it had been removed. Kind of them.

Next job was to go in to ask our GP to sign a form. We were gobstruck to be told "Ok, since you're determined, I will this time, but as I told you and your wife a couple of days ago, this is a waste of your time and mine!" We explained, bluntly, we had no idea what the hell he was on about. He looked at the written record. Looked at the screen. Looked puzzled. Scribbled something on the written record.

"You were here a couple of days ago?" Nope "Diabetic, right?" Yup. And Stroke. And TIA's. "Stroke?" Yup. "Stroke?" Can't you tell? "You have some id?" We did. He signed, asking me to come in for some blood tests, and attend a practice nurse appointment a week later.

We made a point of getting that appointment with a nurse we'd known for many years.

Ten days later...

"This is very odd Dray. Your blood tests are way out of wack. Super large platelets, liver function tests up the spout, kidney function is....well...." "We usually only see this kind of result with long term, er....." Lemme guess. 'Substance Abuse'? "Yes. But it just doesn't happen overnight. There's a long history. You don't have a history. May I take some more samples? See you in a week?"

A week later. "Clear. Everything's clear. It never happened. That is very, very strange. I'll have to get back to you"

They never have.

I've discovered that I've not received hospital outpatient and phsyio appointments, going back years. They were cancelled by phone anyway. It was only through my contacts with other stroke survivors over the net that I've found I've only had 10% of the physiotherapy, rehab and social services help I should have had because of cancelled hospital appointments. Worse, my written records contain lots of "failed to attend or cancelled" letters from hospitals :(

I have an appointment due. Guess who's just fired off an email to the Practice Manager explaining our very strong suspicion that there is another couple using that surgery with the same names, and that when we attend, they should ask us for id and our patient id numbers, even though the appointment is just for me.

That's the polite version of what I think.

I've pointed out I rarely use my very common first christian name, and experienced nurses at the surgery use a nickname. Wish me luck.

Cross eyed.

2012-01-25T10:34:00.002Z

07:20, Wheelie Manor.

"Someone's opened this bread. Why's someone opened this bread? Dray, this bread's been opened. What did they do that for? Did you open it? You wouldn't do it, would you? Came in here to use it, and it's already done. How weird is that? You won't have done, you don't do toast. That still right? No, you don't. How odd. Is Tots up yet? No, she's not done it.

You alright? you've gone a funny colour. Sure you're ok? Are you laughing at me? Why are you laughing? What have I done now?......"

Good morning world.

Can they?

2012-01-23T13:48:00.003Z

"Oh, ho." Bear muttered, looking up from her keyboard.

We have two cats - oh, aright then, three if you count Sparkle, who refuses to go home.

One dog, and we were dog-sitting my daughters woofler. Our next door neighbour has four cats.

That's helluva lotta cats. We don't see them much, cats being cats, and never, ever together, cat society being as it is.

The males and females tend to avoid each other, the older ones only just put up the the young 'uns, and the Young Guns are out-gunned by the ladies.

I looked up from the notes I was jotting down. "Oh ho!" indeed.

Lined up in front of me were the three cats, sat side by side. Behind them, equally upright, heads to one side, ears perked were the two dogs. Staring at me intently.

"Look" said The Bear. I was.

On the front windowsill, three of next-doors cats were pacing, occasionally stretching towards a window I normally keep ajar, meowing. On the rear windowsill, (we live in a 'sunshine house') neighbour cat number four seemed to doing gymnastics.

As I glanced around, it disappeared only to join its compadré's at the front.

Four Cats, sat in a line, on the windowsill, staring intently.

Three cats, at my feet, in a line, staring intently.

Two dogs behind them...... well, you get the picture.

"Hitchcock" said Bear. "Really?" I said slowly and carefully "I was thinking more Steven King or James Herbert"

I stared back at, well, at least in my experience, a remarkable display of cross species cooperation. "Dray, it's you. And it's creepy"

"Errr... wassup guys?" I offered. Nothing. Not a sausage. I was wondering whether to put on a silly hat and twist some party balloons or something (don't ask, I'm not saying). I turned my head towards the window, mesmerized, followed by 6 sets of eyes. Back again.

Five minutes later, five whole minutes, Bear reached a decision. "Sod it. Scat you lot. Now will you let me make that Doctors appointment?"

One by one, they melted away, except for old-girl cat Sniff, who jumped on knee, purring and rubbing her whiskers against my beard.

Oh, come on? They can't be serious?

Can they?

2012-01-22T15:20:00.005Z

Often wondered why people bother God on His day of rest. Which day that is depends on your religion of course. I empathise.

On Sundays the phone never stops, at least one of the kids who've left home visits, and my teenage girl 'don't call me Tots' invariably has a girlfriend across - and invariably their depressed.

Mind you, this weekends one's mum has OCD, so, fair enough I guess.

~~~~

The Wheelie has had a couple of what Bear says are fits.

I remember bits of the first one. Have you ever been in an earthquake? or stood close to the edge of a train platform when a high speed train goes past? That deep vibration that you can feel in your bones. I was more worried that I couldn't breath. Bit essential that.

The second I know nothing about.

However, it's not illness. Nor is it unexpected. A stroke is brain damage - there's no nice way of putting it. Somewhere along the line if the ol' brain gets scrambled, then there's a risk of epilepsy, because epilepsy is a random electrical storm.

More chuffin' Doctors appointments and tablets I guess. Sigh :(

Feet up, answer some emails, and contemplate my options I guess.

By the way, it appears Google Blogger doesn't work correctly using Google Chrome. Interesting.

Take care

2012-01-19T10:59:00.003Z

Oooh, my goodness.

Have you ever wanted grab someone and give them a good shaking, or a slap around the noggin'?

Being a Strokie, and fairly obvious one, (there are infinite degrees of Strokie) peeps tend to be a little more open about their health probs when we chat.

Luckily, I'm not behind the barn door in being blunt. Well, lucky in that it's a while since I was last punched in the gob. I know! Me of all people! Terrible, 'innit? Where was I? Oh, yeh. Slappers.

I know a bloke who's suffered from Gout all his life. Not his fault, genetic quirk. In his 60's, had it since a kid. Gout is a build up of Uric Acid crystals in the body, specifically in the joints. The crystals erode the joints, causing terrible pain and a lot of mobility problems.

It's made worse, much worse, by alcohol. In the 1600 & 1700's it was known as Port disease, because upper class gentlemen who consumed large amounts of Port had the problem.

Knowing all this, the chap insists on bunging his system full of powerful pain killers so he can make the half-mile walk to the pub. Notwithstanding what the heck the mix of potent morphine based drugs and alcohol is doing to him. Can I tell him? Can I heck.

And yup, he gets Higher rate Mobility DLA.....

~~~~

There's a chap who has incontinence probs. He's diabetic and one of the effects of diabetes is one gets thirsty. A lot. More, if I may be blunt, you pee a lot. Not because you drink a lot because you're thirsty. The tablets and/or insulin don't relieve that. Well, not much.

Diabetes damages your body, if it's not controlled properly. But what you drink is important. You don't drink 2-4 litres of a soft drink such as Cola a day. Low sugar soft drinks are just that. Low. No extra sugar simply means 'we don't add anything more than the ingredients we include in the first place - we formulated it after all'.

Diet drinks use artificial sweeteners, such as Aspartame and/or Phenylalanine. In small amounts, no problems. But if you drink over a litre a day you are going to get diarrhoea, big time, because they have a laxative effect.

You don't drink 2 to 4 litres a time.

Trust Yourself.

2012-01-17T13:52:00.004Z

I'm the data guy. I have an innate ability - that is, I don't have to work hard at it - that if you throw random facts or figures at me, I can find relationships in them, or disprove connections, and do it without prejudice or opinion. I see trends, if you like. An idiot savant ability.

That works whether it's a spreadsheet, formula's or social interactions.

It's family thing - that is, it's there in some degree in my siblings. I have sister who never forgets a shopping receipt. She's very handy to have around if you want a bargain or you're redecorating or renovating.

Boring? Heck no. I get a real kick out of it. I've done the DJ bit. Or stood in front of a church congregation, or a political rally, and understood the interactions between individuals, groups and disparate combinations of those in front of me, and been able to tailor to fit. In a flash.

I've read climate change data and been able to correctly infer missing data later discovered. Glanced at peoples financial circumstances and found ways to improve it. A quick look at a companies reports and been able to suggest a new and more profitable direction.

That's what I do. I've even been called 'psychic'. Rubbish.

Having listened recently to some stories of woe, I've been thinking that peeps allow worries and concerns to get in their way. If you can do what you do with confidence, and take the knocks when you get it wrong?

Go for it. Trust yourself.

2012-01-15T16:10:00.003Z

I'm exhausted. Walking the walk may not have been as good a thing to do as I hoped it would.

The theory is to push the body, work hard at it, and somehow train bits that don't work to get some get up and go in them. Way I feel at the moment? Bad theory. I'm a determined little bugger at the best of times. But I can hardly shift after the last little jaunt.

I was a bit embarrassed to stagger out of bed last evening to find a roomful of teens and other visitors. With the greatest respect to my more religious ' beat the body' mates, Nah. Forget it. It's rubbish.

I don't claim ESA (employment and support allowance) but even if you don't, you may find this

interesting

Gud'en

2012-01-14T15:09:00.003Z

Heck, I'm knackered.

I've been up since Stupid O'Clock doing the tidy up and recycle thing. My lot don't do tidy. Or recycle.

I even did the walk thing last night too. Dina wanna. But being pig headed I thought it was worth a shot.

It took about 40 mins there, and 40 back, so that's what? Hour 20? Not complaining. I was very proud of myself. Lots of stops to rest. However, I proved to myself I can do it. Tell you what tho. I'm not rushing to do it again. No way. I have bits that hurt I didn't I didn't know could.

Spare a thought for the Bear, who's at least a foot shorter than me. She propped me up under my right arm, in freezing rain (-4 C) joking it was 'Wheelie Weather' with the woofler on her other arm in a journey that would normally take her 30 mins there and back.

I've gotta gud'un there, haven't I?

Keh?

2012-01-13T10:00:00.006Z

Someone called me a "weirdo magnet" the other day.

And bang on cue, I've had a phone call. I said "Y'ellow?" A voice said :-

"Don't you dare say a word. My psychotherapist says nothing will change unless I talk to you. Well, DUH! where's the sense in that? I mean, if I could get resolution talking you, I wouldn't need therapy would I?"

Click! Brrrr...

I have absolutely no bloomin' idea who it was. Interesting logic though.

But I'll tell you what. If you're going to get a wrong number, get a good 'un.......

~~~~

More later.....

Pah.

2012-01-12T08:58:00.007Z

Someone sent me this link this morning. Probably thought it would annoy the heck out of me.

It did, but perhaps not quite for the reasons they expected :)

Article 4, Section 2 of the Human Rights Act, which states: ‘No one shall be required to perform forced or compulsory labour' was implemented to prevent slavery.

That covers a wide field - whether being forced by unlicensed gang masters to work for starvation food levels in squalid accommodation, or being a nanny or house keeper working in service in the same conditions, often under violence or the threat of violence, through to forced prostitution.

The example in the link is a misuse of the Act. I can't see anything wrong with keeping in the habit of working. I don't care what the job is. It's a job, paid or not. Two weeks? It's a drop in the ocean. If the young lady wants tough, she should try keeping to the very high standards of Mc Donald's. It's called a work ethic. One does what one does to eat and pay for the basics.

My point is that if you should do what you have to do to maintain an income if you are physically able. State benefits are a short term cushion, not a 'right'. There's no room for intellectual snobbery.

Kitchen Chemistry.

2012-01-08T15:34:00.005Z

Oh dear. Or rather, Oh No Not Again.

Bloke came round to do the annual gas appliance check. He noticed Bear was on Facebook. Bear spends a lot of time online.

"Huh!" He grumbled. "Facebook. I said to my lass, are you going to spend any longer on there?"

"She looked me straight in the eye and said, with a perfectly straight face, 'You make me come off Facebook and I'm divorcing you'. I think she meant it too! What's that about after 35 years of marriage?"

Bear opened her mouth, and caught the warning glance from me that only married couples recognise. And went back to Facebook.

Last years gas check man said almost the same thing. Interesting.

~~~~

Poor Mr T. a few doors away isn't very well. Cough, sore throat, can barely talk. As usual, he can't get a doctors appointment for a week.

I've a rep around here for knocking together combo's of common herbs and/or spices to relieve the symptoms for next to nothing. I guess my free is a lot cheaper than the same stuff you can pick up for a couple of quid at the chemist. But for some people around here two or three quid is a lot of money.

Besides. I enjoy doing it. I've given Mr. T. some good fashioned table salt to gargle with ( 1 Tsp to a pint of warm water ) Ok, it's not very nice. But it works.

Meanwhile, he was looking for some of my sore throat mix. It's nothing more complex than cloves, ginger, aniseed and a few other old fashioned bit's and bobs. That's going to take me overnight to make. Then I had a brainwave.

I make my own toffee, fudge and other sweets for presents. Why not try and make a 'medicated' sweet?

So that's what Mr. T. is getting tomorrow.

Statutory warning. Most commercial products are derivatives of what great, great grandma used to make. The active ingredient of gaviston or alka salza for instance, is tiny amounts sodium bicarbonate. Kitchen Chemistry. An alkali neutralises excess stomach acid.

Anything used in excess can be dangerous, and a lot of very old medicines are downright lethal. So don't google them. I'm not into homoeopathy. I think it's a load of cobblers. But a common sense, back to basics approach to common, kitchen cupboard herbs and spices in small amounts can relieve the symptoms. I doubt very much it will be a cure.

I can help make Mr. T. feel better until his doctors appointment. But in the end, he'll probably need an antibiotic.

What Ho...?

2012-01-05T13:41:00.003Z

And, by golly...

There's been a long running and expensive battle to get my son's American wife and little daughter across - though my grand daughter has duel nationality.

Bear, being Bear, has single-mindedly devoted a great deal of time and effort to helping out our lad on the technical side, with a lot of help from some very experienced people, (she ain't called the Bear 'cos she's cute and cuddly - usually) while he's been working hard throwing a great deal of money at it.

The visa has been refused. I'm not at liberty to say why. However, there is a small window of opportunity through the appeals process, so it's fingers crossed.

Bear and Son are both frazzled by the whole process. It hasn't helped that Bear has been at the receiving end of an internet Troll on immigration forums. Her instinct is to fight back - however, the golden rule is Don't Feed The Trolls.

Don't get these unpleasant pratts who hide behind keyboards.

Meanwhile, we've all been hit by an unpleasant virus causing chest infections and 'flu like symptoms, followed by a Ginourmous fuel bill, thanks to an increase of over 20%. Marvellous.

Pah. It's only money.... Meanwhile, I am, as usual, ever the optimist. I've always taken a long term view. You stumble, you fall, say "Hello floor", get up and trundle on. I'm quite an expert at that. Stability, consistency, common sense and security. That's the role of a family man, right? :)

2011-12-31T15:43:00.001Z

Soz the formatting on the post below is a load of...It's this new blogger thing. I can't get back to the old blogger interface. Any tips?

2011-12-31T14:00:00.002Z

I've just been reading in the Telegraph about an evangelical christian american footballer who prays before being called on pitch.

Anyone who knows me well, will be aware I've an atheist brother, a church leader brother, another few who couldn't care less, and many, many years ago I did a stint in church leadership myself.

Though to be honest for me it was an interest in the practical, rather than in religious side....I'll let you work that one out :)

The correspondent in the Telegraph points out the footballers second rate team seems to on the up, and dares to imply it may be a result of prayer. Is prayer important?

I'd say yes. I suppose most people have a fixed idea, probably ingrained in childhood, that prayer is a communication with someone, or a group, that is greater than themselves. I'm ok with that. My church elder brother will tell you it's part of his faith that allows him to know he's loved. My atheist bro' will tell you it's a load of old cobblers.

Prayer, at it's basic is a bonding experience between people with a common goal. I'd say that for an individual, no matter if you have faith or not(faith, to quote Paul of Tarsus, is belief in that yet unseen) is important because it allows a reaffirmation of what you DO believe. In a nutshell, do it because you can, if only for the reason that you affirm a belief in your goals.

Faith in those things yet unseen. Why deny yourself the privilege?

Darn it. This bloke with a stroke was bought some jeans with button-up fly's jeans for Christmas. Really nice they are too. I have a weakness on the right side. Not totally bloom'n useless. Just much weaker. Have you ever tried to undo Jean buttons one handed when you REALLY got to go? Darn it. Right. I'm working hard on doing the out thing. I've done it twice over christmas with Bear, and I don't, can't shift, afterwards for days. But I'm pushing, and pushing, and only ended on my arse a couple of times. Pffft. Wish me luck.

Birchinlee

2011-12-30T15:27:00.003Z

The Bears family originate from Birchinlee.

Birchinlee, otherwise known as 'Tin Town' was a temporary village built of corrugated iron in the early 1900's for a workforce brought in from Wales to build the Ladybower Dam.

It had everything a village would need. A pub, a company shop, homes and a post office. The outline of some the homes and streets can still be seen, though most of it is under 61,000,000,000 gallons of water.

It's documented in a number of books published in 1983 and 2001 by a chap called Brian Robinson.

Conditions were harsh, and death was frequent because it was hard, dangerous work.

To us, that time line is very well documented (scrap books, photos, news reports)

It's kind of nice to know that my kids and missus have a historic link to the survivors of a period when people worked hard.

Or Died.

I was astonished to find that though you can pick up a used copy in the UK on Amazon for a tenner, that UK hardback copies are going for £50-£70, and someone in Florida, US of A is asking nearly £98 - and their all used!

I'm very proud to be associated (indirectly) with that history.

Chuff Chuff

2011-12-21T15:09:00.005Z

Bit of a tribute to my Dad who died a few years ago aged 60.

Pops always made an effort at Christmas. He bought me my first train set. Now, this was back in the days when a skilled worker earned £15 a week.

The train was a puffer. I've not seen anything like it since. It was a skilfully crafted little beastie. On the surface, it wasn't complicated. It looked like a steam train, but it seemed entirely electrical.

But it had a little trick up it's sleeve, that he demonstrated with glee. He let it run around the track he'd set up overnight. It was Christmas morning, and I came down to see this amazing little train running around the tree.

It was 5 am, The lights on the tree lit up the darkened room, and as I poked my little head around the door, dad was there in his pyjamas, planting little home made buildings within the track, around the tree.

Then the magic happened. He dropped a few drops of oil into the funnel, and it made this amazing 'chuff' noise, and puffs of smoke blew smoke rings into the air.

The image of him raising his head and grinning, with his pipe tucked into his teeth,will always be with me. Mice Won Pops, as he used to say :)

Yo the lads.

2011-12-20T18:18:00.004Z

Here we go.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_mwHf3--uWA&feature=related

I'm tired, otherwise I'd embed it. Take a look until I do :)

Dray

Oh, B....

2011-12-20T11:27:00.002Z

Stupid dog and it's stupid ball.

Grab the ball, throw it down the hall. Plonks it on my lap. Throw the ball, plonks it on my lap.

Some time later. Throw the.... right, you ball-o-holic, that's it, no, you're not having it. No. No. Shut it, no.

Next second, half a ton of mad woofler slams into my chest, knocking pens, papers, cups keyboard and me for six. I staggered up, hauled myself into my chair, and sat dazed amongst the chaos.

I'm sure the chuff was laughing. Looks at me with big brown eyes, lifts his paw. Drops the ball on my lap.... Bonkers....

Balls? I'll give him Balls. Bear sticks her head around the kitchen door "What's the racket? Who's made this mess? And why are you shouting 'Vets!' at poor Sigma?"

Thinking of which. "Dray?" Yes dearest "Y'know that Duck I got cheap from Asda?" Yes dear? "Well, It's defrosted" Cool. "Very funny. Not. I'm trying to clean it."

Uhuh? "I've got it in a bowl of water. Every time I push it down into the water, the damn thing pops back up again"

See what I have to put up with? No wonder I'm grey.

Four You.

2011-12-13T11:52:00.005Z

Opened my eyes an looked at the bedside clock.

04:50.

No chance, I thought. Not this morning. Rolled over, went back to sleep. Being a 'lucid dreamer' all my life, I was glad to get back into the deep snow and howling winds and finish tinkering with a few loose boards on the hut we've spent the last few months building.

Stamping the snow off my boots on the step, I unwrapped and threw my cloak onto hook behind the door. As usual, a pan of tea simmered on the glowing pot bellied stove, glancing briefly at my forever-faceless friend snoring gently on the bottom bunk on my left. I was glad of their company.

Imagine having 'Hagrid' from Harry Potter around, but forever seeing the back of his head. The stove is often lit and welcoming, and often, as I trudge across the rickety frozen bridge as I approach the little cabin, I can catch he/she/it methodically chopping wood, or clearing the snow from the door.

Never a word. But always, there's tea, or a hearty soup on the stove.

I pulled the ladle from the rich dark brew into a obligatory white tin cup with a boy-blue trim? Mind you, that's as bad as asking why it's always night here. One of life's little mysteries that aren't, in any circumstances, meant to be solved, eh?

I glanced at the ornate golden chained pocket watch in my waist coat pocket. It said

04:50

A well thumbed Jane Eyre from under the three-tier bunk on the right, piping hot tea in fingerless gloves, and warm floorboards under a numb bum, while the wind howled outside and icy snow crackles against diminutive windows, in a loved warm glow.

I turned the page. "Where the Northern Ocean, in vast swirls, boils around naked melancholy isles...."

Snap. Oh, bugger. The clock said

04:50.

Not going to win, Dray old chap. Sigh. I sat on the edge of the bed for a min to get my head together. It's always a bit of a jolt leaving 'that' world for this.

Dressing gown on, wobbled into the bathroom, cleans tooth, grumbling because some chuff had left the bathroom light and fan on. Monkey swung downstairs. "Dray, is that you?" Yes Dear. You'd be so lucky. Humph. Hit the kitchen, filled the kettle, lit the gas, glanced at the clock on the cooker.

The clock said

04:50.

Wombled into living room. An all-arms-and-legs. Tots had fallen asleep on the couch, kicked her quilt off, and left the Tv on all night. Sky news. Blimey. Not Hanah Mantana then. Wow! I glanced at the bottom left of the frozen screen. Bloom'n Sky box. The clock said.

04:50

Chucked the quilt over her, untangled her arms and legs and tucked her in, gently. No mean feat. The kettle howled on the cooker, so a PG in a cup, popped in a sweetener, and frowned at the cooker clock. It said

04:50

A deep dark brew in hand, in the obligatory dribble proof cup, with a Tots snoring quietly with her back to me. The wind is rattling the bamboo 'Welcome' chimes in the garden, and there's bright Moon through the back window. I'm glad of the company.

It's 04:51.

Racism

2011-12-09T17:43:00.004Z

I try to be very tolerant of other peoples views, particularly if I know them well.

I had a friend who was kind, considerate, highly intelligent, a little shy and all in all a lovely chap. I'd known him for 10 years.

We were watching a BBC news report about a hospital fire abroad. Apparently the staff abandoned the patients and fled, and many were killed. No problem, he said. That's 89 less. Rate they breed, they'll soon replace them, he said. There's too many of them anyway, he said.

I wasn't shocked. Heard all that crap before. I've explained quietly and firmly I will not tolerate racism in any way, shape or form. I didn't want, nor will I accept an explanation or excuse. He's gone. End of.

Catchya laters

Crazy

2011-12-09T12:02:00.003Z

Ahhh, I feel better after that :) Had an email from a Stroked friend saying "git your ass over here" (to the stroke association forums). Yes miss. Followed 15 mins later by another email "heck, I sometimes forget that you're THAT blunt Yorkshireman!".

Apparently, that's a Good Thing. This time. So I'm insufferably pleased with myself today :)

~~~~

May I recommend by the way, one of those email notifying programs that sit in your system tray (on Windows) and pop a little message up when one of your email accounts receives a mail? There are plenty of free ones about. The downside is that you have to set up account details for each account within the program - I have a number of email accounts for different purposes.

I eventually settled for one called Pop-Peeper, because it has minimal resource usage. I can reply, delete, mark as read and unread across all accounts, including web mail, in one interface. But most of all, I now know very quickly when I have mail. Darn. I've no excuse to delay any more :)

~~~~

I've had a strange conversation with someone about Job Centres. They were telling me all their trials and tribulations about the horrors of 'signing on'. It sounds pretty awful. "I'll look it up for you" I offered. "Look it up? Surely you know?"

Sure I do, but only through what others have told me that I've looked up for others, and having kids that have. My knowledge is second hand.

Truth is, I've never 'signed on' in my life. Never had to. My closest brush with employment services was at sometime in the early 1980's when I was visited by two terribly nice young chaps while I was between jobs for a little while, who employment services sent round to find out why I HADN'T claimed benefits.

I bet that doesn't happen nowadays... :)

Didn't need to. I had sufficient for my needs. They left, leaving me with the knowledge that one was a Sweet fan, and the other a Bowie fan. Nice chaps.

The truth is, I'm not allowed in a Job Centre, even if I wanted to. It's a little known fact that you are not, according to JC Plus, allowed to use their services, and they are not allowed to offer you help unless you claim Job Seekers Allowance.

What's wrong with that?

Consider some scenarios. You are in a job, but aren't happy with it. You want to look for another job. Nope. JCP are closed to you. You're on your own.

You're about to made redundant. The sensible option is to start looking for work before you are. Nope.

You've been a housewife, the kids have grown up, you want to work. Nope.

You are self employed. Business has been slow. You need to work temporary part or full time to pay the bills. No.

Not unless you claim (un)employment benefits, and whether you get can it depends on your savings and other circumstances. Assuming you do, you have to follow a strict, regimented routine of when you can use the services.

But the bottom line is there are many obstacles to being recognised as 'unemployed'. One way of keeping the unemployment figures down.

Just plain daft if you ask me. I thought their Job was to help people find work?

Five Fingers of Steel

2011-12-08T12:11:00.003Z

Slowly, but surely, I'm being drawn into the disability activist scene. Which is vaguely amusing as I don't consider myself disabled, tho' the world and it's mother disagrees.

Sharing my experience of Stroke is one thing, but activism is a different kettle of fish. The politics for one is a total turn off, but unavoidable. Darn it. But some things catch your attention nonetheless.

I'm a regular helper-outer on the Stroke Association. People who ask questions and share their experience there are often some of the most vulnerable. It is brain damage, after all, to be blunt.

Now then, I have some experience of marketing, product placement and people management, and other forms of evangelism. But nothing gets my goat more than when someone pushes products means and methods on people who are vulnerable.

"Use this machine or do this that or another, and you like me will walk 4 miles" Hope the department and work and pensions don't read that.

"Exercise will gets bits working again". Bugger off. Lets get this straight. Stroke affects limbs. They cramp, curl up, often become paralysed to various degrees, because the arm, leg, breathing and digestive system other bits of the body are in a complex symbiosis.

BUT. And this is what the uninformed miss. A stroke is a control centre malfunction. It isn't the body part that's the problem. The bit that runs it is. You can shove a shed load of devices and exercises at a stroke knackered limb.

The best you can do is, over months and often over years is Train The Brain, to some extent. Which is a bit more complex and requires on hell of a lot more application than a professional weight lifter.

Meanwhile, if you can get hold of a short story by a world renowned sci-fi writer, Isaac Asimov, called "Five Fingers Of Steel", I recommend you read it.

Kindness

2011-12-07T11:00:00.002Z

A widower neighbour is on a very low income, and an 18 year old daughter with learning difficulties - except when it comes to spending money. He nips in now and again for company. Over the last couple of weeks, after he's left there's been a can of soup on the kitchen side.

Not your cheap stuff either. We've put them in the cupboard thinking he'd forgotten them. But every time one of us mentioned them, he's blushed, shrugged and looked at his feet and muttered "Yeh, well 'ah" under his breath and left without them.

Last night The Bear took him to one side after catching him popping another one - in the cupboard this time. "Right Mr. T', what's all this with the soups?" she said, being as blunt as only The Bear can be.

"That chuffin' husband of yours. We all know around here he's always flaking out. Seen him do it! I've seen you 'plate him up' and put it in the fridge. Thought he might take the hint and actually bloomin' well Eat Something!" Exit one acutely embarrassed Mr. T.

We've since discovered his wife (who died of breast cancer a few years ago) was a Type One diabetic.

His assessment of why I 'flake out' is a bit squewiff, but. Oh. My. The kindness of strangers.

Excellent article in The Guardian today. All I can say is? Indeed. Thanks to @BendyGirl for tweeting that.

Twisted Santas.

2011-12-05T11:30:00.004Z

Nice relaxing morning looking up some knee length Steampunk boots. Well, it was relaxing until I saw how much they'd gone up in price. Then I went quite, quite pale.

Between you and I, I have no problems paying for the right product. But she who glares does, and Steampunk ain't her style. Particularly as a lot of online searches throw up shops that also sell, ahem, 'ladies and gentlemen's toys'.

I suspect the Bear also believes I should behave myself at my age, and stop drooling over knee length shiny black boots with floor to ceiling even-shinier buckles. She mutters strange incantations like 'haircut', 'new glasses' or even 'Bill'. Can you believe it? Bill!

Haircut indeed. That's like visiting Santa's Grotto, and finding out he's actually a dapper, clean shaven 11- stoner, wearing a grey suit, a diamond check yellow and grey jersey, and a yellow tie.

Who hands out healthy eating leaflets.

Mind you. I often wonder why I get satsumas, sultanas and walnuts in my Christmas Tights. Mmm. Walnuts.

By the way. People who wear glasses all the time?

How you do "The Glint Of Disapproval?" It's an impressive ability. I use reading glasses. I managed to work out the looking-over-the-top bit, with impressive effect, but the Glint?

A slight twist of the neck, a tilt of the head, a raised eyebrow, and there it is. The briefest flash of light, and bingo. Roberts y'mothers brother.

Do you practice in front of a mirror for hours? Is it a genetic ability? So many questions, so much to learn.

I have to say though, when you change to contact lenses, it just looks, well, nah. No, please.

It's looks like you need an Osteopath, urgent like.

Right. Boots. Dribble. I'm off.

Cathya Laters x :)

Man thing.

2011-12-03T15:13:00.003Z

I'm having a few 'Aww, sweet' moments.

14 year old daughter was, until a few mins ago, jigging around the front-room/living room/lounge (y'takes y'choices depending on y'posh ness) to some tune in her head. No earphones. I checked.

That's my girl. Better out of your head than in :)

Meanwhile, Sigma the Dog is curled up on our bed - Sorry, Bears Bed, in Bears Bedroom (Don't ask me, I dunno) with his Mini Mate, Smudge The Cat.

Smudge is about 3 years old, and a really tiny scrapper. He's got scratches on his nose, and bits missing from his ear. The vet says he'll never get any bigger.

They wanted to remove his essentials, but I said no. He's cat, and Cat do things their way. I wouldn't want him any other way. Remove his 'bits' and he'll lose his drive and his catness. Not having that. Well, I wouldn't like it.

But there he is, all 2 pounds of him, cuddled up with Siggy the 4 stone Woofler on Bears Bed (tm) Chuckle! Men, eh?

I officially became furious tonight. I was angry beyond belief. It wouldn't be fair to say who with, or what about. Lets just say it was about an unfairness. I haven't done that for years and years.

It was like Boom! Trouble is, with a voice like mine, half the street heard me blow. Oops. No regrets though. (smile!)

Follow the Bear

2011-12-03T03:14:00.004Z

As much as I 'take the mick' out of my Bear (Anne is her personal) it should be noted, that she's a very hard working Angel of the highest degree. She's my lover, she's my carer, who's stuck with me through hell, high water and stroke. I wouldn't swap her for the world.

She was a bit subdued yesterday. Again. I managed to get out of her (it's called "nagging") that she noticed I'd dropped off in my wheels. My wheels double as my computer chair.

Side note. People who use wheelchairs vary in their ability to walk. A common misconception is that wheelchair users have no mobility whatsoever. It's true of many. Others, like me, it's a matter of degree. I can walk. Just not very far, and when I do, with a bod to lean on. Aka, The Bear.

She decided I should go to bed. Now, keep in mind she's 5' tall. Roughly a foot shorter than me.

She tried to lift me out of my chair. And succeeded. By some quirk, I overbalanced, hit the floor, and she landed on top of me. All I know is I woke up in bed.

But here's the rub. I have no memory of the event whatsoever. Apparently, over the last few days, it's happened twice. I dunno. No memory of it. But Bear's been fretting on the QT.

I feel ok. Just a bit out of step. I'm prone to little strokes, that I recover, in part, quite quickly.

I was up at 05:30 - 06:00 and chirpy as usual, totally unaware. Docs I guess soon.

Ummm. If you do the prayer thing - I'd appreciate it. Cheers

Heh Heh ! :)

2011-11-30T19:48:00.004Z

Bear went off to visit a mate who recently moved about 5 miles away to Walkley.

Neither of them are big drinkers, but because Bear wanted to chill, she treated herself to a couple of Fosters. While she was there, she was offered "a couple more"

Well ah. She phoned to ask whether Tots and I were ok, (bless) so I said sure, bring me a can back.

So she nipped into a Morrisons on the way back. They refused to serve her a can. The checkout lass said she'd had too much already! That's a new one :) All they let her buy was a packet of tic-tacs. Apparently, because she smelt of beer.

Back home, Bear is negotiating with the Immigration authorities, acting as a liaison between my lad and the American Embassy about his American missus, and his missus, and seems perfectly lucid to me.

For the record, I think Morrisons policy is a good one. Bit strict though, isn't it?

Perhaps she should have bought the tic-tacs before she went :)

Funny though.

I'm off to watch my Wheeler Dealers :)

Pickled

2011-11-30T15:12:00.005Z

Well that's Hissing Sid on, the pressure cooker. Managed to get round to doing the Christmas Pud, in the nick of time. And the mince pie filling. Not a lot of difference.

By golly (am I allowed to say 'golly'?) that thing is terrifying. Both the Pud and the pressure cooker.

I once lived in a concrete box known as a 'tower block', and though admittedly an older model, I managed to blow the safety valve through the concrete ceiling into the kitchen of the neighbours above.

Didn't make me popular. When they eventually demolished that block, they over estimated the amount of explosives needed. Huh. Should have checked with me first.

~~~~

It's kinda traditional around here that neighbours expect at least one jar of home made pickled onions as a gift.

Quandary. Normally, I'd get Bear to pick up tiny (about 1" to 1 & 1/2" across) onions from a local shop or supermarket. Not available.

I like to time it so on Christmas day they have been left to mature for at least 2 months. Not this year.

Just in time, I've hit on a solution. Cheat. Find the smallest onions she can get, and peel them to maybe 2". The 'peel' can be frozen in containers to be used in meals.

Heat Malt Vinegar with my (secret) spices until the liquid is reduced by a third. Allow to cool.

Here's the real cheating bit. Tiny Silverskin onions, that are very popular, have always been economically unavailable. I'm sure my neighbours forgive me for filling in the gaps between the bigger onions by sticking in a couple of tablespoons of shop bought.

Stick them into sterilised jars, and turn upside down once a day. Done in two weeks, last up to 6 months. Unless you like them softish (bleh!). They will, if you don't mind them softening, last a couple of years.

It would seem retailers have realised that while people are making their own, they aren't selling theirs.......

Shrek.

2011-11-26T11:39:00.004Z

Just as I'm getting used to being called 'Gandad' - no, that's not a spelling error - my grand kids are still at the 'whasat & that & that' and 'ow, bum' speech stage.

Just as I'm getting used to that, I'm reminded I'm a father of a teenage girl. Around my living room, or lounge, if one is posh, I found at 05:30 this morning three grumeaux de femelles adolescentes .

Tots, which she is most definitely not, I'm quite used to being just kinda there (or not). A skinny critter all elbows and gangly legs that breaks into impromptu gyrations - I believe it's called 'dancing' - to some tune only in her head,

That, and some frenzied wallet-emptying ritual that occurs between IT and The Bear once week.

Oh, and that, and waking up on the couch wondering why the world had suddenly become pink and frilly, only to discover some joker(s) had strapped a bra around my head, turning me into a human fly fashion statement.

But another two? Blimey. I knew they bred eventually, but not that fast? One hand flapped around half heartedly from under a quilt in the general direction of a make-up bag when I walked in, which I obligingly passed, only to see it grabbed followed by, er....?

Ladies don't snore. It's true because The Bear says so. So it was well, um, something else?

I have a very vague memory of teenage girls, having another one who's now a twenty something, and I remember bumping into a couple or three some 40 years ago.

I remember them being annoying. Do they all create landfill in lounges?

Gotta go. It's gone one, and there was a mass stirring, followed by stares of collective horror in my direction, a mass grabbing of make-up and stampede to the bathroom.

I believe it's called a "Shriek of teens".......

Stars

2011-11-21T14:28:00.004Z

Sigh. Polar Bear wanted to spray my dried Rowan Berries silver for decorations in Wheelie Manor.

Huh, like we don't have enough trimmings available around here. Look, I said. It's not time yet. It's not like I work hard enough this time of year. But she isn't having it.

"Sweetheart" she said. Oh, ho, ho, I thought. That's my chocolates stopped. "Sweetheart. I don't want to distract you" Oh, yeah? "But" But? "But the increase in VAT, supermarket prices rising, everyone being skint, national debt and the public sector pension messing about? Where's that going to leave you?"

Three tree's instead of one. Putting a little a way for little things for the kids, bright and colourful. Lots of lights and stars, and a lot of magic. Fun and laughter and love, and everything that's playful.

I agree Bear. And it starts now.

That time of year again

2011-11-19T15:30:00.005Z

The Bear wants to cut my grey hair. Like she does. It's too long and flowin' apparently. She wants me to trim my beard to a goatee.

I can see my feet most of the year. This time of the year I don't want to. It's just not on.

"Look" says she "You aren't hip (hip?) any more. Do you need all those suits in the wardrobe?" It's time you put your feet up she says. You're getting on a bit now. Let Son'o'mine do it now?

Getttin' on a bit, Gettin' on a bit? Have you any idea how long I've had those suits ? Darn right I need them. Besides, the pizzas, he's too skinny is son'o'ours.

Not gonna happen. A man needs a change of suit now and again. Red and black just doesn't mix. Green trees and snow with lights is my thing.

Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen and Sigma the dog need feeding, catchya laters peeps.

Weebles Wobble but....

2011-11-18T11:40:00.004Z

Did the 'out' thing again last night.

Bear decided I was accompanying her to the shop, and she wasn't taking no for answer. Come to think of it, she rarely takes 'no' for an answer. Can't say I'd really noticed before.

Anyway's, she was unanimous in that.

Of course, it took three times longer than if she had gone alone because of the wobble stops, but it turned out to be quite fun. I had these ruffty tuffty young Yorkshiremen giving me big hugs, shouting "Go Grandad!", and offering to give me a 'leg and a wing' lift up the hill.

Lots of jokes about whatever I was on, they wanted some, and some really interesting chats why a couple of them were 'on tag', and their views of the British legal system (they, ahum, aren't too keen).

Good lads. Well, I know, 'bad lads', but I've watched a few progress from being 10 year old little twonkers kicking the heck out my garden fence and 'egging' my windows, moving on to being bored teenagers hanging around the beer-off smelling of strange herbal substances.

Then they'll disappear for a few months, re-appear with plastic contraptions strapped to their ankles, get a Legal driving licence, find a nice girl, settle down with a job, and become fine, upstanding members of the community. Two were on leave from the Army. "Yeah, y'right" one told me. "It was either that or the nick Gramps. No regrets" :)

I went to the shop and I survived. Well pleased.

Huh. 'Gramps' indeed! :)

Apples

2011-11-17T13:00:00.006Z

....Which oddly enough was the name of the first blog I used to write.

That had to go west after er.... too many years, because of a prolonged and concerted attack by some British Evangelic Christians who objected to some of my religious views. One in particular. I never referred to any faith community by name.

However, people see the concept of faith communities as their church, whatever their beliefs. Fair enough? I'd think so. However, despite the giant strides made in recent years of interfaith tolerance, the same tolerance often does not extend, in my experience, to those that wear the label 'Christian'.

Behind the vociferous bull I used to get, there was one simple message. This is what my church has taught me. Therefore it is what I believe. Mention the word 'religion' and it is assumed that 'church' or religion means Christian, Christian means their church, and anything outside their experience means an attack on Christianity as they perceive it, and therefore anything different to their perception is an attack on people of faith.

Bullshit. Any-ways. No wonder there are so many bloomin' wars.:)

Apples is alive and well, in it's paper form since issue #1 in 1983.

This little Santa has lots of little helpers, and should you come across a rather weird looking dubrie drawing pinned on your noticeboard, blame some bloke called Wheelie. From St. Paul's in London to the Shetlands, and I'm told it has even turned up in the States.

Semi nony-mouse non-profit publishing. Who'd a thought it? I'm thinking of going PDF too, with the next issue, due about December 13th, if there's enough on line interest.

Bless you.

Addendum.

Including Mosques, Spiritualist, Mormon, Synagogues, Evangelical, Anglican, Higher Anglican, Catholic, Seventh Day Adventists and more. It's good for people to talk.

Apples is based on the Spanish tradition of protest leaflets, and is supported by anonymous toner donations. Spanish protest leaflets? Google is your friend on that one :)

Kerching

2011-11-14T09:25:00.007Z

Favourite quote of the week.

“Build a man a fire, and he'll be warm for a day. Set a man on fire, and he'll be warm for the rest of his life.”

Sir Terry Pratchett.

~~~~

For someone who hates making phone calls and gets out even less, I seem to spend an inordinate amount of time with a smart phone in my top pocket.

Note to shirt makers. Please offer a choice of left or right shirt pockets. Trying to dig a phone out of a left hand pocket with ones left hand leads to a Norman Wisdom sketch. Thank you.

The Bear hates my phone. Much prefers her 5 year old. Her excuse was that hers "has proper buttons".

It's slowly snuck up on me that it's a little more than that. "Oh, Dray, can you.. on your calendar, and set a reminder for...." or

"When is?..." and "Make a note for me Dray, I'm expecting a call at....from....and by the way, to be on the safe side, I've given them your number too as I'm out of credit"

That last one is a Bearism. I've tried to explain you don't need credit to receive calls, but? Ah well.

Now then.

My calendar is on my computer. Which is synchronised with an online calendar. The phone is synchronised with both my computer and the online calendar. Naturally, it's all in sync with a backup calendar.

So all day I'm getting booped from the computers calender, bleeped from the email reminder from the Cloud calendar, and kerchinged from my mobile.

So, because she's out of credit, she leaves her phone on the mantelpiece. Her mobile rings. Before I can get to it, the land line rings as her mobile rings off. No probs, I'm getting these rapid changes of direction off to a tee. Heads down the hall, reaches for the land li....

Bugger. There goes my top pocket. "Yellow? No, No, she didn't take her mobile. Yep. No credit. Don't ask me, I'm a fella. What? No, I'm quite comfy down here thank you. I'll, er, yep, nope nope, nope."

"Waddya mean you'll send her a text? Hello? Hello?".

Bloop. "You have one new text message"

2011-11-13T20:22:00.003Z

I was going to blog something tonight, but I've been distracted by a combo of Jamie Oliver and a rather energetic Sigma the dog, who despite slicing his paw quite badly, on a bottle some inconsiderate twot smashed on the field, wants me to throw his ball around.

Roll on 9pm, when he'll take himself to bed, rip off his bandage again, and nibble at his stitches (again).

Bless him, I've told him vets in the morning, and he's just hid under my wheels behind my legs. Woop, there he goes. Off to bed.

Honestly, pets are worse than kids :)

Can't remember what I was going to say. Totally gone from my head.....

Don't you think it's kinda sad

2011-11-02T17:53:00.003Z

That peoples perceptions of the world is no greater than their own?

Busy day today, had lots of visitors. Bear is determined to get our grand daughter across from the states. I've paid over £1500.

A chap is equally determined his 21 year old daughter should have the party of her life for £250 he can't afford, despite being thousands behind in his rent. And admitting to me he's been on benefits for years (Yup, he should have been paying £7 a week) Oh, and the 250 savings he had he'd spent on a 'key meter' for his fuel.

To keep warm. :( And the other four.

Another has gone over their limit on their credit card and can't get "any more". And more.

It isn't that I can't help. I can point people in the right direction.

But I'm getting a bit sick of it. Genuine, good hearted people - meh, no sweat.

But, y'know, it brasses me of that the others will actually argue with me. I mean, Wot? I'm impartial, independent, experienced? Fer..reee?

It's knocking my duck off, I can tell you....

2011-11-01T11:44:00.003Z

I don't believe it.

I'm sat in brilliant sunshine, on the 1st November, listening some rather squeaky voiced lady protester being interviewed outside St. Pauls in London on Sky news.

Trying to do my Journal for for today - day 4115, if anyone's interested. While watching a face-off between a rather large Spider and a fly on my knee. Yup, you've read that right. On my knee.

Being one to ponder on life the universe and everything, I carefully looked around. It seems that while I was busy with yon Journal, and being annoyed at the squeaky nu-labour/liberal capitalist piglet, the Spideress (it's a she - you don't want to know how I know) had built a careful web between the ceiling, a monitor and my left shoulder.

I ain't gonna state the obvious. However, she had her lunch, but is sadly homeless. After lunch.

P.S. I'm fond of Spiders. I even recognise those whom I chuck out, who find their way back in again. I know, I know. I'm a very sad man. But hey, some people keep budgies - what's that all about? :)

~~~~

Came across a really funny blog you may like a look at. Warning. Some rude language. Clicky here at http://sleeptalkinman.blogspot.com

Irony

2011-10-31T14:38:00.004Z

Call me strange, but the oddest things give me a chuckle.

Fella down the road visited for a chat and to use our phone. I stood up to make him a cuppa.

Quick as a flash, he was on his feet, leaned over, holding me up with one hand while bending down and swivelling up my foot rests. They have these pegs on the back that once, before the dog chewed them, held sturdy straps meant to prevent my feet slipping off the footrests. Now, there's only the metal pegs.

Mr T was worried I'd catch my trousers on the pegs. True. I have done before.

Mr. T is 62, a widower with an 18 year old daughter. He's had a heredity gout problem since a teenager. He's had two replacement knee caps, and he's on higher rate Disability Living Allowance Mobility, Pension Credits, and he'll never work again. He'd just received a leaflet from the DWP (Department of Work and Pensions) explaining he could be entitled a Motability adapted car and the infamous Blue Badge.

It's £49 per week. That would pay for any car. Assuming he could raise the £2000 deposit, and a way of paying the extra two quid to bring it up to at least £52.

He gets around to the pub and walks his dogs, with difficulty. The bloke can't even afford a phone.

And there he is, trying to stop me, who's on Lower Rate Mobility DLA, from tripping over my wheel chair, bless him.

Crazy, ironic, and in an odd way, deeply funny. Guess you'd have to be me.

Fright Night

2011-10-30T16:23:00.006Z

The Family, lots of neighbours and all and sundry are off to "Fright Night"
in Sheffield city centre.

So I've had lots of ladies who oddly, don't seem to care that I'm in the room, stripping orf, swapping and changing costumes, plastering make up and littering my living room with my pet hate - carrier bags. And make up. Costumes, and more make up.

I've had a horrible and scarey thought. Am I 'A Certain Age' ?

Brrrrr.......

F.E.B.

2011-10-25T17:43:00.004+01:00

I'm a bit out of sorts at the moment. But, as the Merkins (Americans) say Meh!?

The family is out, the cat's on the router, and the dog is eating their biscuits. The Bear had a sudden urge for Sausage casserole - using 40% pork bangers. I wouldn't touch those with a very, very long pointy stick. Folks, read the labels. Ignore mono-sodium glutamate. It's natural. Used for hundreds of years in Chinese food.

Pork Rinds? That's deep waste fried in pig fat. That's ears, skin and nostrils by the way. Not in sosies folks. Over! Forty! Percent! Pork! is cool as an advert, not good for eating. Think okidoke, what's the other 60% ? Aha! see?

However, there is another way, that like I wos taught when I worked in my butchers, in my back yard (a shared back yard amongst three terraced houses) in the 60's. Yup I was twelve, helped out in the shop, and did his accounts.

Well ok, Pigs intestines as a sossie skin are hard to get hold of. Or cow. There's plenty of synthetic stuff available on the net who would like to separate you and your credit debit card details and sell your personal details.

Then There's sausage cakes/burgers/ and 'skinless' sausages.

Grab a few good handful's of minced beef, pork, or lamb. Cheaper the better, because you need a little fat. Like, 10%?

Grab a handful of stale breadcrumbs. Yessir, I know that's against Health and Safety. That someone might stick some bread going a bit hard in the fridge overnight and beat the wostsit out of it in a plastic bag? Good therapy.

Add a tablespoon of water. A handful of herbs. Fresh is better, but dried is cool. You might want to add - well, anything? Mustard? Grated apple? Throw in some salt and ground black pepper anyway. Yeee-up. even with the apple. I'd recommend nutmeg and coriander.

Get your fingers in there and get greasy. Don't, whatever you do, use a food processor. You'll end up with a messy, yucky, paste. It's disgusting.

Sod the government. Shape into what you want. A burger? A Sausage? Cook it in dripping. In a frying pan, and treat yourself to a full, English Breakfast.

Getting down...

2011-10-24T17:18:00.004+01:00

Whoowee..

I'm chilled now. I'm sorry I became irate. Bear and I spend a lot of time keeping track and advising people informally on the benefit system and some factions of the immigration system.

Look. When it comes to Disability Living Allowance, beginning April 2013 everyone will be reassessed. That's because it will be changed to a benefit called Personal Independence Allowance - PIPS.

The present government have put it quite succinctly. "To ensure that those deserve it, get it."

Yup. It isn't something that worries us. The only consistent thing we've found in life is change.

~~~~

Oh, Immigration. English son, American wife, dual nationality granddaughter :)

~~~~

Am I the only man in the universe who smiles when something breaks? Restoration, a little archaeology, is painstaking and difficult. Looking at a pile of broken pieces, I think.. wow!... and mentally, rapidly, go through the options.

Love it. I love the distraction, the detail and the close quarter work that I can work on at my own pace, take a break as much as I want and, well, just get into it :)

A bit narked

2011-10-22T18:50:00.000+01:00

As we say around here.

I've just read a blog of a Stroke Survivor in his twenties who in the last three days has been out with his parents on a shopping trip. Later, he went on a "regular walk" for a MILE, (1,760 steps) took his walking stick, but didn't need it, and was a bit tired.

Why am I annoyed? He's waiting for his Motability car to come through.

Disability living allowance has two components. Care, three levels, lower, upper, middle. Two levels of Mobility. Higher and Lower

I don't get out much, because I can't walk very far. So I only get lower. One of the options of Higher rate Mobility allowance is that you can give up the allowance for an adapted car.

That seems so wrong.

But get this. To get Higher rate Mobility you must be virtually unable to walk. Eh?

Pickled...

2011-10-22T17:57:00.003+01:00

Again :)

Pickling, I've decided, is a macho, man's thing. Or maybe it's just the woman I know. Robust as they are (ahem), when I do pickles and chutneys, they do nowt but grumble.

"Heck, Dray, that pongs!". Yes. Yes it does. A good chutney needs a well dark, flavoursome malt vinegar that when hot makes your eyes go crossed as it assaults the senses. Non of your poncey Branston pickle. It needs to smell like, kerpow! as it cooks. It's a man thing. Feel free to disagree....

Sounds a bit rough? Nah. Today it's Elderberry and Apple. A friend who has a heck of a problem walking found some end-of-season elderberries on a local field untouched by an arsonists field fire.

I like Mr. T. He's not only gutsy, (he's in a lot of pain) he brought back 5 pounds of elderberries for me to play with. Mr. T talks my kind of language. He chatted about leaving some seeds for future years, some for the birds, and worrying about the little who set three fires on the field.

Wot? No recipe? In the spirit of adventure I'll see how this works out before I publish it. But if you're feeling adventurous, dig around the web for a standard Fruit Chutney, and substitute the fruits you have.

I should warn you that chutneys need to be in a dark cool place for at least a month, preferably three. This will be ready by 20th December.... :)

Not sure about this new Google blogspot thingy. Very 'laggy'. Click something - takes ages?

Tots.....

2011-10-20T17:48:00.001+01:00

Wants to bring a school Hamster home for Half Term.

My experience of the little buggers is that that if you have cats, they die of shock at the slightest excuse.

Anyone have any experience? I don't......

Sigh...

2011-10-19T14:26:00.003+01:00

Shock horror. I've left my main PC alone for a couple of days. Partly because, to be frank, I get sick of it.

It's not the PC. It is, to be frank, because I don't get out much, a 'lifeline'. But a lot of locals are much, much more disadvantaged that we, so they need access to the all pervasive internet. Sure, they have have phones, mobiles, and in some cases, internet themselves.

But being on low incomes, credit card debts (spit!), benefit paid into banks, bank charges, fuel debts - Geez, some of these people are on £46 per week.

To be fair, I'm quite well aware that there are always going to be those who encompass the resources available to them into their estimation of that they feel they need, to maintain the lifestyle to which they would like to be come accustomed.

( How polite is that! :) )

But there are families with kids and people with disabilities who need access to the internet, because to resolve their difficulties it's much quicker and cheaper than an expensive phone call.

Because they're struggling, their own phone availability may well be inconsistent, and likewise their internet access, should they have it. Phone Box? What's that?

Anyways. Our local-ish Advice Centre is down to one day a week because of government cuts. The volunteers are willing, but paying for other resources such as fuel, lighting and phone bills has made it Mission Impossible.

Same here. I love helping out, but sometimes it just gets too much.

My apologies if anyone is inconvenienced.

Yipee!

2011-10-12T11:16:00.000+01:00

My trousers fell down.

All of them. :) The first pair in front Er'Indoors and my two daughters and a lady neighbour.

Well, it wasn't going to happen while I was on my own, was it? That's not the way the world works is it?

Bear and her friend looked me up and down with raised eyebrows, then continued with their conversation as though nothing had happened. Eldest daughter looked up from her "I was flattened by a 17 stone dwarf maniac" magazine, and said "Good Grief". Predictably, teenage Tots said "Oh for god's sake Dad, I can see your KEKS!"*

Me? Halle-bloody-Luya, and I said so. I apologise for the image in your head of a middle aged, bearded Yorkshireman with his trousers around his ankles sounding jubilant, flashing his er....'keks'.

If you didn't. You have now.

With the conversation between wife and neighbour turning to a pants-versus-boxers debate, I did my monkey swing thing on my rails up to the bedroom - which I can tell you, is no mean feat with your trousers around your ankles - I tried on another pair of jeans. Then another. And then my suit trousers. Then in desperation, as the voice of the Bear drifted up "Belt. Second drawer, on the top, the one who's bottoms popped out (giggle)"

I tried on the almost forgotten suit trousers I wore when we wed, 22 (?) years ago.

Yay. Success. Well, alright then, a little tight. But I'm pleased. I've managed to lose a lot of weight that I really, really needed to shift. Body Mass Index (BMI) now 23. Like, Yay :)

Parting shot from Bears mate as she left "First time I've seen you stand up in ages Dray".

How to deflate a mans ego........

*footnote. Keks or Kegs. Ancient British teen-speak for masculine underwear. They'll be telling they invented textfway speakfway next.

What?

2011-10-08T12:42:00.004+01:00

A local Asda super-store has opened within Bear walking distance, bang next to daughters school.

The prices are quite reasonable, though I'm sure some prices are introductory crowd pullers. The Bear is drawn to it like a moth, and daughter mine is getting home from school an hour later, because she goes for a wander around after school with her mates.

I've always wanted a decent butchers nearby, and I've campaigned for a long time to get one. I'm a great believer in thriving local shops.

Courteous staff "Ma'am, we can't sell you that, we've a bit of a problem with cheeky blighters peeling labels off a reduced products and sticking it on something more expensive, then doing a runner when staff approach. Tell you what, you can have that for free, and I'll fetch you something from this afternoon, and charge you THAT sticker price for both. Is that ok?"

Yup. Asda butcher, aka, Walmart. Here's me getting sticking up for local shop keepers. Phew the 'little guys' have their work cut out to beat service like that......

~~~~~

Bear is off with some local ladies later to a 'Baby Shower' with another ex-local lady who moved away, who was famous for her Anne Summers parties. Tiddler number 5 apparently. The irony isn't lost on me :)

I know what a Merkin (American) Baby Shower is. My mind boggles what a Yorkshire Anne Summers wielding Baby Shower is. Probably involves copious amounts of Fosters and 1980's music. My bet is on lots of Ronan Keating.

In my day, we called it a Granny Bash :) More Like This

I think I'm me / Bag o'rats

2011-10-07T17:58:00.005+01:00

It's rather hard to type when your wheelchair-cum-office chair is sideways on to your desk, and you have a pussy cat with a poorly tum on your knee, who after 11 years of running away from this man-thing, has decided I'm wonderful. Or else.

"No offence wheelie" said a friend of mine, "but I can't see how anyone reading you could mistake you for a journalist".

Oh my. If only she knew :)

It does sound rather a deflating thing to say doesn't it?

Absolutely not. Though I have to admit she was puzzled why I laughed.

Perhaps I should explain.

Yeh, I write, and not just here. I also ghost write, often for people who are better speakers than writers. You'd think speaking and writing are synonymous, but they aren't. I know, I do both.

Speaking allows you the freedom to improvise, and can often be carried off by outline notes if you're doing it alone. Nothing wrong with outline notes because they stop you from wandering. Often though, a much stricter, structured script is needed where you need to stick to what's in front of you.

For instance, politicians speeches are written by committee. I do something similar. I meet with - correction - they meet with me, and we chat and socialise and I 'get into their heads'. Then two like minds meet and we mash up a draft and work on it.

The cost to me is time to get out of their head. Clear the decks, so to speak, or one can lose track of who you are, ne'er influencing mind the next client.

Very formal articles often have to written to strict guidelines. Scientific articles are peer-reviewed. The work is submitted to a lot of other scientists, and often by peeps you've never heard of to be reviewed.

Pending their approval, the publication may have strict conditions on the structure of the article.

Journalism? Right bag of rats that is. There's that you submit, and there's the stuff that's printed. The poor little article is messed about with, twiddled, and published when they feel like it. Each publication has it's own preferred way of expressing itself. I'm not going into more detail about that, mainly because it's something you have to experience to believe. G'won, try. No reason why you shouldn't :)

If you are into writing, you need a lot of heads. The trick is, finding your way back to your own.

My Blogging is my way way of breaking all the rules, forgetting all the experience and getting back into my own head. It's messy in here, and that's how I like it! :)

Ray 'Favoured'

2011-10-06T15:48:00.004+01:00

My best mate popped up for an couple of hours last night with another much younger chap from his community home. Ray, 82, and I have known each other for over 30 years.

Ray's lived in a Jesus Army community household for over twenty years. Though I was part of that church for awhile, (until 16 years ago) we didn't take that step, and I'm not sure they would have let me if I'd wanted to. Too much of a Dark Horse :)

Suits Ray down to the ground. Colourful, slightly controversial, and he's a breath of fresh air.

I've not seen him for a year, mainly because neither of us travel well, though we've kept in touch by phone. I have to admit I'm not too good with phones, so the contact has been down to his dogged faithfulness. Now that's what you call a friend.

Standard joke there, is where most 'Shepherds' have sheep, he has a Goat. Me. Cheeky monkeys :)

Gosh it was good to see him and Andy. Community has been very good for him, and they look after him. Certainly well fed :)

It was a great catch up time.

That's a worry.....

2011-10-02T17:58:00.005+01:00

Yesterday older pussy cat, who's about 13 - we don't really know how old she is - fell over on the windowsill and started fitting. Not a problem. I plonked her on my knee and used whatever means to get some water down her. It couldn't have been pleasant for the old girl, but after 5 mins she settled down and slept.

When she awoke, she was very lethargic, and has been behaving a bit odd. That is, she doesn't want anything to do with The Bear, but whenever I sit down she wants to be on my knee, and she's following me everywhere meowing.

That's a complete reversal. Though she's never followed Bear around, she's always a lady cat who's a ladies cat. I'm the 'man thing' who for the last 11 years she been with us she just about tolerates.

We don't really know how old she is. She was a stray who adopted us.

Update. To make matters more of a worry, I went to the field a few doors away with Sigma The Dog and Bear. Throwing his ball, sticks, that sorta thing. After half an hour was running up three or four steps, and promptly fell down them unconscious.

I put him on my knee, rubbed him vigorously for a couple of mins and he recovered and promptly jumped off looking for his ball. I've phoned the vet and he said it's the heat and humidity, and I shouldn't worry about it too much.

Just cut down on the exercise, and don't let the "old lady cat" bake her brain on a window sill.

Phew!

Optimism

2011-10-01T16:56:00.003+01:00

Now that's a surprise hot spell - it was 33.5 C / 92.3 F in my back garden two hours ago.

Despite that, I thinking of my planting strategies for hardy winter veg.

The first problem I have is defeating aged father-in-laws gardening techniques. If it isn't concrete or grass, it's a weed. I had to threaten to sit in one of my trees to stop him 'pruning' it last week. For pruning, read 'cutting a 25 foot, 25 year old tree to a 3 foot stake.' Again.

Thankfully, he backed off grumbling he was only trying to make things easier for me. Ye small gods, climb a tree? Having floppy ham butties and a thermos passed up in my best brining bucket? Gosh. I get the shakes sat on a stool, ne'er mind 20 feet up.

I'm at loss how to solve that one, short of a taser. Does that work against a strimmer/chainsaw wielding 5' 3" bulldozer?

My yield of herbs has been er, one. Rosemary. It survived in a pot. The cabbages, potatoes, fifteen herbs, radishes, onions and lettuces were strimmered ("bloody weeds, and why did you fence that bit off? I had right job getting to it....")

~~~~

I'm going to have to break my principles and BUY some peat free compost. The stuff I've carefully nurtured for two years is, mysteriously levelling up a paved garden path. Something about vegetarian rats. More like peppers, chillies and tomato's sprouting.....

I have a cunning plan. I have, running 25 feet long, 3 feet wide, from my back garden gate to my front gate what could euphemistically called a 'flower bed'. It was a yellow Yorkshire stone gravelled effort that has fallen into disrepair. It's not a lot, but?

If I dig in a bit of compost to a spades depth, a little bit every day, and it looks obviously cultivated, particularly if I put in a few late bedding plants quick?

~~~~

Winter herbs and veg? Surprisingly, yes.

Lots of salad leaves, and spinaches, if I keep an eye when we're due for frost, will keep coming 'till mid December. If it's frosty, I'll cover them in refuse sacks overnight.

Kale I've found is frost tolerant., as seems to be broad beans ("Wots those things on sticks?")

Garlic- the one from the supermarket will do, will struggle through until late spring. They take ages anyway.

Parsnips, Swedes, Turnips, onions (from 'sets') shallots, fennel and pak choi if their picked when mature - fine.

Rhubarb, Celery and Leeks if heaped over with a well fertile soil as they poke above the soil. Stubborn little monkeys :)

I'll definitely be planting some parsley.

The trick is to plant more than you need. The worst that can happen is you get a pleasant surprise.

Unless you have a strimmer killer :)

Oh, a quick footnote. Rescued an 8" terracotta pot of compost and put it on the kitchen windowsill . Y'know those red, green, yellow 'peppers' and Chillies from the supermarket? Well, I said to Bear, y'know those seeds inside? Just chuck them in there.

Three weeks later, I have pot full of vigorous plants. Heck! Which are the Chillies? Chuckle!

Oh, my...

2011-09-27T19:08:00.001+01:00

Throwback to 1984

Well, I'll be a monkeys uncle.

Bear is my second wife, but I had the privilege of contact with my first wife who'd
moved with my first daughter and her boyfriend to Havant. Heck of a long trip from Sheffield
by national coaches I can tell you.

So, having travelled hundreds of miles to spend time with my daughter (Note:- I had been granted custody) to collect her?

I was abused, shouted at, by the social worker, in front of my daughter, and the social worker complained she would call the police unless she could hear what I said to my then, 4 year old daughter. Which she did, and I showed them the court order, so they said - Yep, in his favour.

~~~~

Roll forward many year later. I made a freedom of information request for the mandatory records.

No record of any such record, and no such social worker ever existed, ever. The court record does have a record of my being granted custody (that never happened)

May I be blunt? Oh, bastard... :(

A least..

2011-09-27T15:24:00.003+01:00

"At least" said Bear "You didn't say 'I told you so'. But then, you never do."

No. No sense in doing that.

I'd met someone, an unexpected visitor, and after a shaking of hands, and no more than a minutes chat, I knew where he was at, where he was coming from, and worse, where it was going to. It wasn't good. Bear was in the kitchen making coffee, so I excused myself and asked Bear to quickly jot down some notes for me.

He's highly intelligent, highly motivated, well qualified and seemed to know his stuff.

Then I returned and, gently as could, dropped a few hints and tried to steer him a direction based entirely on my - I dunno what to call it. It's as real to me as though I'd heard it. "Hang on" he kept saying "How do you know that?". Poor chap went quite pale.

I don't know. I never have. When they leave, I have a personal check box system I go through to make sure I've not picked up info from someone or someone else - which is good business practise after all. I rarely need to.

Not been wrong yet. That gut sense? Can I call it that? has served me well for many years, and I've enough confidence to go with it.

About Mmm.. 15 % are not-so-good. This poor chap chose to ignore me. He's on Jobseekers now, and refuses to talk to me. Can't say I blame him :(

More, some of his friends have phoned to tell me I was supposed to help him and I'll "Never work again". Ah, y'see, that's where they're wrong......

#Beartales

2011-09-26T11:06:00.004+01:00

You'd think think after... er.... 26 years of marriage? I would have learned never, ever get into a conversation with The Bear about weight loss.

Bear's just been for a regular medical, and came bouncing in full of beans because she's lost 4 lb in weight, and her blood pressure was 119/60. Spot on.

Since she now knew her weight according the doctors scales, she brought the scales from the bathroom down and weighed herself again on those. We had suspected ours 'weighed over'. Correct, by 2 lbs.

Pleased as punch, she insisted I weighed myself - I've been dieting for weeks - and I'd lost 16 lbs english - 1 stone 2 lbs in the same period she'd lost 4lb.

It went downhill from there. This led to a discussion about Body Mass Index. I'm 10 years older than The Bear, and exactly a foot taller. My BMI is 26.2 at present. Bear's is 32.6.

It works like this.....

Underweight = <18.5
Normal weight = 18.5–24.9
Overweight = 25–29.9
Obesity = BMI of 30 or greater

So she says, "Cool, I only need to lose a couple of points down to about 30".

I guess if you've read my blogs you've realised I have a compulsive logical streak. Which can be good?

Any reasonable person would have smiled and said "Yes'm" and found an excuse to be busy. Oh, no. Not me. I was reminded what Bears REALLY do in the woods. Fell Giant Redwoods with their teeth.

~~~~

To be fair, as my GP explained to me awhile back, BMI is being phased out in the UK. It led to inequalities, such as Firemen, Policemen, Rugby players and weight training athletes being suspended from their work and ordered to lose weight because they were classed by BMI as overweight.

It's being replaced by a method that measures limb, tummy and height measurements, tum being the important one. Called Body Fat Measurement (BFM) it finds out how much of your body is fat.

A Rugby player can have a BMI of 35 (see table above) but have a healthy BFM of 15-18% or less.

Bear hasn't been checked for that. Mine is 22%. Way to go yet :)

~~~~

Blabbering idiot that I am, I said something nice. I said, "Bear if I wanted to marry some skinny little thing, I would have done? Wouldn't I? I married a Bear with all the right bumps in the right places?"

"Bear?"

"What? What?"

What?

~~~~~

Bear is complaining I don't publish #Beartales on Twitter any more. (@wheelieslug) She says it was really funny. So, looking at her carefully over my reading glasses, I said "Oh, beloved, may your knicker drawer never be infested by the fleas of a thousand camels, you do know that #Beartales is you, don't you?"

"Yes dear" she replied, looking at me as though I was somewhat dim. "But I like it". I think

I'll have to have a lie down......

Jams again

2011-09-24T14:16:00.005+01:00

I don't have a family and pets. I have yo-yo's. In, out, in, out... I really should learn to use a lasso, no'kiddin'.

My fridge and freezer are full of fruit - Damsons, more Damsons, Apples (various) Plums, pears, grapes plus stuff 14 year old (don't call me TOTS!) brings home.

Thanks Jamie Oliver. Not.

:)

~~~~

I have a super-efficient frost free fridge freezer, so the stuff in there will last over winter, if necessary. The downside is that the fridge keeps itself frost-free by keeping the air cold and dry. That means I have to make regular fridge checks for stuff like grapes and veg that don't have the moisture dried out of them.

Soft fruits such as grapes, plums and Damsons can end up like a grand-dads bum. Before I get a storm of protest, I'm reliably informed I may well be a Great-grandfather. As for the carrots - I'll keep my imaginative descriptions to myself. Ahum.

~~~~

So what to do with the wrinkle's? Quick and easy is Jam. And yup, that includes veg too. Carrot jam is surprisingly nice, particularly if you throw in a handful of raisins. G'won, give it a shot.

Equal amounts of fruit to sugar. Jam needs pectin to set. You can get that from apples, lemon zest, lemon juice, damsons amongst others. You can buy pectin or Jam Sugar from a supermarket, but to me that defeats the object - the idea is to save money.

Put a saucer in the fridge. Put a jar and lid in the oven at about gas mark 1 - approx 100/120 C.

Boil the fruit in a couple of spoonfuls of water until it becomes watery and perhaps beat it to death with a potato masher :) Add your sugar and lemon juice. Boil it up until it comes to a froth. Turn it down. After about ten minuets, keep an eye on the side of the pan. Is it sticking?

Grab the saucer from the fridge. Put a spoonful on the saucer, and let it to cool. If you can shove it with your finger, and it's slow to spring back, it's set.

If you want to cheat, drop a couple of jelly cubes in it.

But that assumes you don't mind jam being a bit runny :)

When you're happy with it, pour it into the HOT jar and screw the lid on. Leave to cool.

The one I've made up from left-overs in the fridge today made about a pound of jam, and it ended up being slightly runny with big jammy lumps in it. Ok, it's not like a supermarket jam, but Bear says it's gorgeous.

I can't I'm diabetic. But if Paddington Bear says it's cool, hey, who's going to argue?

Open all hours

2011-09-21T15:52:00.004+01:00

An owner of a local shop popped by for a chat today - he delivers, free of charge to anyone within 2 miles as long as the order is over £10.

That's what his advertising says.

In reality he keeps an eye on the elderly, ill and disabled, and makes sure they have everything they need. He makes sure they have food in, and that if they have difficulty cooking, someone can do it for them. If he can't provide, he knows a-man-who-can.

In his freezer in the back of his shop, he keeps a secret stash of ready-meals that his wife and daughters cook, that he likes to surprise people with for free. He's quite famous for walking into a home and saying cheekily "C'mon missus, where's that cooker, lets get this this crap warmed up!" in a rather silly sounding broad Yorkshire accent.

When I was ill not long back, when he saw The Bear was a bit fed up when she went to his 6am 'till 10:30 shop, he shoved one into her hand, telling her " 'Ere you are Old Bear, that'll put some lead in 'is pencil". It's only when she got home and looked at the receipt she realised he had scribbled on the bottom "No charge for the pickmeup xx"

Pick me up? It nearly blew my bloomin' head off...... :)

At Christmas, he pops in a bottle of white wine in for "his ladies" and "something a bit stronger" for "his gentlemen"

Amrik ("call me Mick") has done handsomely having a business model like that. So has his daughter Meeka ("call her Mick too!") a couple of miles away, and his other daughter Nina runs her businesses the same way.

"Nowt t'do with business" he insists firmly. "It's our way. Family first. If I didn't do it, who would they have?"

Last Christmas the local Tenants and Residents Association (TARA) decided to provide enough for the over 65's from their funds from contributions to ensure they had food for Christmas dinner. A chicken, tinned fruit and condensed milk, sunflower oil, tinned salmon and soups, tinned potatoes and carrots, gravy cubes and Christmas pud, tinned ham, that sorta thing.

They held a meeting to discuss it, and a buffet was provided by a local English owned Chinese takeaway business. For that buffet, they were presented with a bill for £1,500 pounds. For less than 50 people, and £500 over budget. When they refused to pay the extra £500, the proprietor complained loudly to the local council yelled at TARA meetings and made all sorts of dire threats. His shop is now closed. Boycotted, if you like :)

'Mick' on the other hand, provided everything for the over 65's at wholesale cost, no profit to him. As long as someone else did the delivery. But on Christmas Eve he was out on his rounds, checking his "Ladies and Gentlemen" had everything they needed.

And he was open Christmas Day.

~~~~

Now, an Asda has opened 15 minutes away, as The Bear wombles. Next door to my daughters school, and 5 mins from my sons home. (The pupils are banned). Heck is it cheap. And ye small gods, it's open 24 hours.

We've used a Tesco Express, 10 mins. away by bus now and again. Across the road from the doctors, and convenient for milk, salad stuff and Oxo's.

~~~~

I was explaining that to Amrik (Mick) perhaps with a tinge of conscience. He explained.

"I own that bit of land at the bottom - the pub that was demolished after a riot 25 years ago? I'm waiting for planning permission to come through. There'll be houses, flats and shops."

"I own the gym, dance studio, furniture shop, pet shop, fishing tackle shop and I've done a deal with the chippy"

"Don't think the big supermarkets can do what we do. If I was worried about competition, I wouldn't do it."

He's got a point. The Big Boy competition spends millions on it's advertising, appealing to petrol buying, car driving customers. Yet their a tiny proportion of the population. More, their a proportion of the population who spend more on petrol getting to a supplier than they'll spend over a week. Daft. The lost legs generation.

The size of the car park of the local new Asda is bigger than the store. Crazy.

Take a walk to a local shop. Stop, chat, and you'll be surprised how much you'll save.

So then....

2011-09-20T21:27:00.004+01:00

What's all this fiddlin' and grumping and fruits and pickling stuff got to do with being a stroke survivor?

'Cause thanks to lots of love and and an internet connection I found life after stroke.

It's no way been entirely positive - I kid you not. When the ol' bod stopped doing as it was told, and I spent a long time struggling with a brain - and I have to admit - a mind, that frustratingly battled through a fog to to do the simplest of things.

Worse, I remembered how I USED to be very clearly. That made me very very angry. Which helps. Well, ok. That didn't make me very popular. But it was right for me. Probably the best thing I've ever done for myself. I've always been driven to some extent, and had the attitude of "Don't let the buggers get you down".

I deliberately changed the direction of my life. I was loved, and I still am, but my focus was outside myself. I was secondary to me. Being forced into a position where I had to work on me changed my perspective.

I realised I was important, if only to myself, ultimately. And that's a Good Thing.

I went on to achieve little goals one at a time. To me, that's made my new found self worth justified.

Does that make any sense?

While I think about it...

2011-09-20T17:27:00.002+01:00

Should you try your hand at making chutney, be warned that because you're cooking with hot vinegar, it will pong, and the smell is really pervasive so you'll need a window open.

The vinegars should be 5% vol. Anything stronger will drown all the other ingredients. Any weaker and it won't preserve.

Spoon or pour the hot chutney into hot jars.

You can quite happily add gin, vodka, whisky, or bourbon for flavour, but the long cooking time will drive off the alcohol so it won't help with preservation. Stirring a couple of tablespoons into each jar when the chutney has cooled is the way around that.

Don't use brass, copper or aluminium pans. The acid in the vinegar and fruit will dissolve some of the metal and taste very unpleasant. I found stainless steel just fine.

Mega-tips. It's fine to re-use old, clean jars. You can buy waxed disks to help prevent jam or chutney touching the lid. I've used greaseproof paper successfully.

Age it. Chutney really should be thought of as a long term preserve. The taste improves wonderfully if its stored in a cool dark place for 3 months.

Chutneys last - officially - for a year. Bear is still using a batch of chutney, piccalilli and pickled onions I made 3 years ago with no ill effects.

Have to admit I'm not that brave :)

Preserves part1

2011-09-19T14:25:00.005+01:00

Having the same problem as Jamie - Sorta. My three year old apple tree hasn't borne any fruit yet, but neighbours trees have.

I think Yorkshire generosity works in strange ways. We like a deal, and we hate waste, but give freely. The end result is I've been given loads of apples, on the condition Bear bakes a big apple pie or two, or I make some chutney. I'm cool with that. Then the 'middle man' who gets the fruit for me wants his pies and chutney too :) That's fine too.

But on the other hand, he tells me, the neighbours are grumbling their so overburdened with fruit on their bushes and trees they don't know what to do with it. But they don't want to give it away because they're worried about being taken advantage of.

~~~~

So I've said, look. Don't let it go to waste. The Americans have this thing called 'yard sales'. It's an excellent concept. Just let friends know that your selling fruit off, at the same as/or less than supermarket prices, put it in boxes, weigh it out in pounds or kilos, and stand outside your house and sell it.

More, you can turn it into jams, jellies, and chutneys and make a nice profit. Of course, you need to spend money on vinegar, sugar, raisins and spices. But if people like it, you can cost it up, add 20% profit, and provide people with something local that'll be very nice for Christmas

I'm, at heart, a freegan, a forager. I like to know where our food comes from, and since it's a big part of the budget, it's a cheap or free. So make chutney!

~~~~

A good chutney can last 3 years. Surprisingly long isn't it?

So you have veg and or fruit that getting a bit past it's use by date. Those carrots that are getting a bit soft, the cauliflower that looks a bit yellow? Bruised and soft apples or pears?

The Basics of a good chutney. Use:-

A third by proportion to the fruit you have of onions.
A third by proportion to the fruit you have of dates or raisens/mixed fruit or a combination therof
A half of the weight of the fruit in sugar.
A third by volume of a vinegar to the fruit. It's easier if you think in ml and grams.
So if you have 300 grams of fruit and/or veg, use 100 ml of any vinegar - preferably at least 5% vinegar (it'll tell you on the botttle or jar) It can be red or white wine vinegar, malt or cider, or good old chip shop as long as it's 5% or greater.
Spices, salt and pepper to taste, but generally half a teaspoon to each 1.5kilo/3lb 5oz of fruit or veg

Try turmeric, mustard seed or powder or from a jar , chillies or chilli powder, chopped garlic and mixed spice. Experiment! Note :- Mustard when heated mellows considerably.

~~~~

Chuck it into a pan, and cook until you can draw a line across the surface or the bottom of the pan until the fluid only fills the gap very slowly. About and hour and a half.

Avoid Brass or Aluminium pans. The acids will 'pull' a metallic taste into the chutney.

~~~~

Jars should be sterilised in a preheated oven for half an hour at Gas Mark 1, about 125 C, or straight from the dishwasher. Top them up to the very top, and put vinegar proof lids on. I make my own greaseproof caps, and screw a sterilized lid on.

This kind of chutney should be left in a cool dark cupboard or fridge for three months for maximum flavour. In other words - make it now for Christmas.

For presents or personal use, a Kilner jar is excellent, but if it's for resale, the expense isn't justified.

Catchya :)

Gee Wiz

2011-09-16T15:59:00.005+01:00

I'll update this post with pictures when things have become less busy.

Apple Corer-Peeler-Slicer arrived today. Victorian invention. Very useful when you have a lot to do. Since a lot of it is wing-nuts, with a simple adjustment it can do a peel but not core thing, which is cool. Took me approx 4 seconds to do an apple or a tatty. No electricity required. Well worth the £18 I paid for it.

~~~~

Sigh. Lass next door this morning complained to Bear that the dog barked. And that we were banging about. And that Tots and her mate were screeching. So I checked the date. As fellas do.

We've been in this semi for 12 years. The disadvantage of living in a semi-detached is that you get to hear stuff you'd prefer not to. It's just a fact of life. So in those 12 years we've had three neighbours who have had to move on for various reasons.

We don't complain. Never have. We're used to it. Not this monkey. Dogs Bark. Kids make noise. Fact of life. So she's going to complain to somebody or other. Her hubby's a nice bloke, he works on meals on wheels during the day, and Pizza deliveries at night.

They went for a pub meal earlier. So now I have for the umpteenth time Grease hammering through my wall. And doubtless going to start yet another hate campaign on Facebook.

Meh, it's childish.

Kerfufful

2011-09-15T11:18:00.008+01:00

Sorry, but something has gone a bit doo-lally with blogspot at the time of writing - I'm actually using Firefox and Chrome on two screens (I wouldn't use internet explorer unless you paid me :) )

Friends Connect doesn't seem to be working and Elizabeth's page seems to be down? Can't find her blog?

Andy Hill from Talk Stroke has started a Blog at http://andyhill242.blogspot.com/ More the merrier.

Even if you aren't a stroke survivor, There's no reason why you couldn't read and reply on Talk Stroke. I could ask you to help raise funds for The Stroke Association UK, and there's a lot you could do -for instance, sell SA UK Cristmas cards, or their raffle.

But important as it is to raise funds, and the vast range of charities that ask for help - and heck knows there are so many worthy causes that are scrabbling for a slice of an ever decreasing cake. People can't afford to donate directly y'see.

However, it's much more important that there is unbiased opinion, practical, useful and imaginative advice.

More, there's the the forgotten few. The Carer's who are ordinary people who are thrust unexpectedly into becoming extraordinary people, poorly supported, untrained, unnoticed and challenged.

We've all had different and extensive life experiences we can share?

Please sign up to Talk Stroke and be a friend.

Be back later. Lots of Love, Dray xx

Fuzzy Logic

2011-09-13T13:52:00.004+01:00

There's more than one way to interact with your cat.

(felis annecto )

Ceeerashed.

2011-09-12T20:14:00.006+01:00

Errr.... I've gone totally blank...something about furry routers. Ummm?

I've had a very busy evening. Here's me sit sat waiting for a nice storm. Meh. according to my anomem.., er, wind thingy, we had in Sheffield about 16 mph winds and the odd gust of 30 mph, with a bit of drizzle for an hour this morning. Since then, boring. Roll on winter.

Houseful. Must be something to do with the full moon tonight.

It isn't usual that I get Tots and her mates, son, daughters partner, Bear, and a mate around. Bit of bother trying to keep track of all the conversations.

Then in the middle of all that Sigma the Dog found a stray in season balding lady Yorkshire Terrier mate a third of his size in the garden, so he went all howling "I want out". Poor little beggar is still all hormones, bless.

Then Bear went in the bath, and I'm in trouble for shouting "Thar She Blows!" Left me all in a tiz, it did.

Do you ever get those days when you feel y'just aren't going to win?

~~~~~

My mate Dazman has got a job as a call centre worker after a very long period of unemployment. Well, after his training period is over he's got to travel way out into the wilds and find buses, and pay for them to get to work well before 6am. But it's fantastic. It's an opportunity. Well done that man :)

2011-09-11T19:52:00.004+01:00

Bit urgent really.

A 14 year old neighbour has been threatened on facebook, and his parents have been given an incident number but told by the Police there's nothing they can do can do. I'm sure that's not right.

Can anyone offer me any advice please?

Liquorice All sorts

2011-09-11T14:09:00.006+01:00

RLS has got me thinking about my garden.

Bear and Tots (I'm told I have to tell you she's 14) planted some potatoes some months back. They forayed out into the veg patch, dug up a few, and found they were a decent size, but still green.

Green is not good. The green is an accumulative poison. Green potato skins killed thousands during the Irish potato famine Don't know what to do with those :(

But, my Butterfly Bush (Davidii Budli) has gone Zoink! so I can't see my front path from here. Going to have to prune that before Rog (Father in Law) The Destroyer Of Trees claps eyes on it.

~~~~~

Tom, my widower neighbour, popped by with 5 sticks of Liquorice root. Blimey, there's a blast from the days of Temperance bars, hot Vimto and Sarsaparilla

Told us he was takin' the mick of a 6 year old neighbours lad, who was playing with a lass. "That your girlfriend is it?" "No. She's a mate" says the 6 year old. "But I know who yours is!"

"Eh? Who's that then?" "It's Grumpy Bear?" "Who?" said Tom. "Well, you always say 'I'm off to The Bears', not to Drays"

Out of the mouths of..... Heh :) Grumpy Bear. He'll go far, will that young man, he will. Chuckle!

~~~~~

I'm off to allow myself to get upset about 9/11 again. For a lot of reasons, it wasn't that far away for me.

The Enemy Within.

2011-09-10T17:12:00.007+01:00

The Watchers.

The Watchers are a group of (usually) anonymous people who have worked for the civil service in one way or another over the years who look after their own. The term 'civil service' covers a wide variety of disciplines.

We have a funding drive running at the moment for service and ex-servicemen who are suffering from post traumatic stress as a result of their service. If you can give just a little one off donation, it will be greatly appreciated.

Their website is here, and there's an excellent article in The Telegraph (UK) here

How can an anonymous group raise funds? You just found out :)

My interest is that I was once a government employee who became a substance abuse councillor.

I heartedly recommend you read the Telegraph article. Cheers xx

Jack & Jill

2011-09-09T12:08:00.008+01:00

Sorry for the delay, and thanks for the concern.

Two days later....

Well, I did it. I walked the walk :)

It was quite comical really. There's yours truly studiously concentrating on his feet.

What's that old joke about "how does a centipede with a wooden leg sound? 99 thump, 99 thump". Yep, that's it.

Bear hung on grimly to my 'bad' side, which was unfortunate, as she's totally deaf in the ear nearest me. "How Yer Doing?" Fine. "What?" "FINE!" "No Need To Shout!". Dunno why she was shouting too. My hearings fine.

"Look Ahead, Not At Your Feet Dray!" "What?" "Oh shut up you idiot" Heheh :) Had to stop to get my breath back while having a fit of giggles. Handy those BT Boxes.

The unfortunate thing about living in a city that has as many hills as Rome, is that we seem to live on all of them. It's not that far *really*. End of the road, down a 45 degree angle, across a main road, then flat for about the same difference.

It didn't help it was bang in the middle of the school run, and peeps beeped their horns, and shouted stuff like "Weebles Wobble but they don't fall down" and "Oy! Ooh let thee aout!" Chuffs.

I love 'em really. Double Chuffs for not offering us a lift :)

Anyways, we got there. I was propped against a trolly (bliss!) in the 'old mens area' Humph. While Bear did her Thing. Had a nice chat in his 80's who's 68 year old wife was doing the rounds. "I can do everything I need to do" he chuckled. "Just very, well, y'know?" No. No I don't :)

By the way, if I may be so bold, if you've ever wondered how stroke survivors handle THAT? It's easy. Start as though one intends to finish, go make a cup of tea, and a plate of egg and chips, come back later, sorted. Honest. Really....

~~~~

The trip back up that hill was horrendous. I have no intention of doing that soon. Yeah, a taxi would have taken 5 mins and cost about a fiver. But being stubborn, I was determined to try. It was awful. But I did it. I found I had an inner strength. I'm not going to joke about that.

I post infrequently on Twitter as @wheelieslug

*Edit:- André has a Watcher....Dray edit. Indeed I do, and I'm very grateful, but too much info there guys, so it's shifted. Love you all lots. I promise to be good in future. Honest xx :)

Walkin' the walk....

2011-09-07T13:55:00.003+01:00

I'm off with the Bear to the local Lidl. Walking the walk. This promises to be interesting.

For those that don't know, I find walking difficult, to say the least. Update when I get back guys...

If you'll forgive me...

2011-09-05T14:11:00.000+01:00

While it's in my head, and before I lose it.

I know I make life a little awkward by using the pseudonym "Wheelie". That began when I had a stalker for many years, who after over a year seems to have sugared off. As I'm putting my head above the parapet, slowly, I don't mind telling you that I'm a Yorkshireman called André. Nickname, Dray.

Wheelie is just fine and valid. I'm a reluctant occasional wheelchair user. Doubles as my computer chair.

About the post below.

Heritage Hedgerows.

If there's a chance that your home was built before the 1930's in the UK, you may have a hawthorn bush or hedge. There's an excellent chance that hedge may have been there for hundreds of years before, and was treated with respect by the house builders.

Hawthorne is a fiddly and awkward fruit to use because it's small, and has a hard seed. If you're patient, and like to purée a jam, it's nice mid-sweet jam. Personally (and this applies to Roe fruit too) boil it with cored and peeled crab apples for about 25 mins until it's a mush. Shove the resulting paste through a fine sieve, into a grease-proofed and buttered tray, and put in the bottom of an oven on a little-less-than slow cook heat (about 60 C, for a few hours - up to 24 hours. :) You'll end up with a fruit 'Leather' that will keep in a dry place for about 2 years.

Cut into thin strips, and give it to the kids as sweets.

This won't apply to kids. Hawthorne is a natural, very mild, blood thinner. If, like me, you use medication, check with your GP.

Elderberry.

Elderberry - heck, can I overload you with recipes from wine from berries to crisped flowers in batter. Low calorie :)

However, it has a much longer history as a device, yup, device, planted near doors and gateways to ward off evil spirits. It was the technology of the time. Well, we're here now. Must be good.....

2011-09-05T12:43:00.001+01:00

Talk about an Autumn bounty!

I've been gifted 10 lbs Blackberries, 12 lbs of Apples, 5 1bs of Hawthorn berries, and I've totally lost track of the amount of Damsons and Plums - and they all just keep coming.

I'll have to honest, and tell you it's left me all of a kerfuffle. My first reaction is one of gratitude.Gosh, who wouldn't be?

~~~~

We don't live near countryside. It's a grey estate enlivened by the characters of the people that live here, a goodly and godly mix of young couples with kids and some who've lived here for 40 or more years. It's lucky enough to have a field nearby that only exists because it was too steep to build on.

That's supposed to be managed by The Wildlife Trust as a wild flower 'meadow' that's only fruitful in an obscure kind of way to those who know what to look for. But the older residents have planted apples and pears, blackcurrants and blackberries, Roe and Elderberry, and there's the odd patch of ancient Hawthorn boundary.

The local council started to modernise and redevelop much of the area. So out went some of those ancient Haws, hedgerows and trees - and in went samey walls and railing combo's. Thank the stars, at least for the outside, a few streets away they ran out of money.

That is just fine by me. The young parents taking their kids to and from school, have been taking carrier bags too, and showing them just how much is there for free. The older people have had such a glut, their inviting local children into their gardens to pick whatever they want.

Absolute magic. Knowledge I'd feared was going to peter out is saved, and another generation of purple faced, sticky fingered children from five to twenty are going to have birthright to pass to their children. Phew. That was close! :)

~~~~

Trouble with young kids though, is they can overdo it. Parents get fed up of 'purple' and sticky offspring, towels and furniture, Milk of Magnesia and 'Uffin' Chuffin' Jamie Oliver, and as Brillo Pads and children don't mix, well, usually......

Do you see where I'm going here? "Oo's t'bloke who does Branston and Apple pies and Stuff?"

Uhuh. 5 lb's Apples to the Pickles Bloke is a noble sacrifice. "Ee'does a nice Berry Jam". Indeed. "I've 'eard 'is Plums in Brandy and Sherry is 'smaart". Quite. "Dunt 'ee do Tomato Ketchup too?"

Apple Pies. Home made Toffee. Cinder toffee (gorgeous), The list goes on. Since it would be immoral to charge, they have little to barter - my second reaction of 'What The Heck Am I Supposed to Do With All That' is easy. Christmas Chutney.

And I'm sorry, those of you who read this who have contributed. My Bear and I are Unanimous on this.

Long John Silver here (See, I did hear that!) will give in return one Bear Sized (read :- Desperate Dan) Apple and whatever pie, and an honest to goodness 1826 Christmas cake. Deal?

Chatcya! Dray.

Odds and Old(ish) Sods.

2011-08-29T14:25:00.004+01:00

Final day of spending a couple of days on my own. Sorta.

Bear and 14 year old daughter (Don't call me Tots) have spent a couple of days with oldest son camping at, er... Ingomells? Where, of course, it being bank August holiday, it chucked it down at least one day.

I was pleased because it was beginning to feel like I was living with Les Dawson. I needed a bit of me time. And ye small gods knows she's earned it.

So I was left under the infrequent care of Eldest Daughter. Who is unfortunately a pretty good mix of her mother and I. Looks like Bear, but... er.... Lets just say there's a little too much of my bluntness in there. She even made ME blush, and that's hard to do :)

Otherwise, it's me, two cats. One elderly female who just wants to sleep and eat, and Smudge the young male wipper-snapper, who is a mad midget who's out all night, and wants to be let in at 04:30.

~~~~

And Sigma the Dog. Oh, Dear. Dogs are not supposed to talk. Are they?

This bugger does. Let him into back garden. He's got an escape route. I'm hearing, and I mean this so sincerely folks, "I WANT MY MUM!". Daughter phones up "Um, dad, Sarah just phoned up, and she says she just walked past your place and all she could hear was "I WANT MY MUM!". He's sat outside the front gate.

So I fetch him in. Put Stuart Little on. He likes Stuart Little. Ten Minutes later, Guess what?

I WANT MY... Y'know the rest. I think he wants his mum. And Stewart Little is ok. For the first couple of times. I'm too old to be a Granddad to Grand children AND a dog.... Whatever Rod Stewart might think

Grey Hedgehog.

2011-08-26T11:39:00.002+01:00

I've just had a pleasant shock.

I've posted a couple of times about a restoration I did on a well loved King James Bible from the 1600's?

It was a pleasure and a real labour of love. Had to be. I didn't charge, on principle. There are some things that you have to do, just because you have to.

Of course, I did my research, and took the date on the intro with a pinch of salt. These things were copied, often from necessity because of the social/political and most of all religious climate of the time.

Then there are good old-fashioned forgeries over 400 years that are actually quite valuable in their own right. But I concentrated on the handwritten annotations and and births, deaths and other bits of family history jotted, in often beautiful handwriting, to authenticate it.

Having decided it was probably an early edition, and decided it was ok to do some preservative work - one mustn't get restore (a preservative process) mixed up with renovate (attempt to bring back to standard, which can be destructive) I did what I felt I must. It is archaeology after all.

There was only one condition. No fibs. Well, that's the polite version. I presented it back to the owners with a bit bit of legalise that must be presented if it was to be authenticated by those wiser than I, or sold.

The shock? In May this year it was the 400th anniversary of The King James Bible.

I'd decided it was from mid-to-late 1600's. Turns out there were about 200 known surviving versions of the original 1611 version. You can add one to that I hope. I'm told my work has been described as "thoughtful and loving, that took nothing away"

It'll remain with the family, the ancestors of the original owners, along with a modern family bible that will continue containing the tradition of notes, annotations, births and other family history, continuing 400 years of history. How cool is that? :)

The hairs stood up on the back of my neck, and I broke out in a cold sweat. I mean, wow....

Oh, Tom...

2011-08-25T15:32:00.002+01:00

Don't give me any more Damsons :)

Tom has lived around here for over 20 years. When he first moved in, he planted a little Damson tree. Over the years, he and his family just got fed up of eating them, let them drop, and guess who's garden is full of Damson trees?

Then he discovered I made jams, pickles and chutneys. Hurrr... by eck.

He'll do well out of it, tho' the sugar will cost me a fortune. Being constrained by barter principle, I can't charge him for jams. Having said that, I can ask a bit nearer Christmas for chutneys and Damsons in Brandy or Vodka....

Chutneys mature and are much, much, better with age. Between now and the 'C' word I have to work out how much to charge him without making a profit. Heck.

~~~~

The barter system is good tho'. Another neighbour has lots of blackberrys, yet another is having early windfalls of apples they don't know what to do with. Some are picking their 'cookers' - Granny Pippins - too early.

Stuck in the supermarket generation, they don't know what to do about them. Tired now. Perhaps expand later.

Grumbles aside, what a wonderful problem.

Marmalade?

2011-08-22T14:26:00.007+01:00

This'll tickle you :)

From, ahem, "The Queen-like Closet or Rich Cabinet / Stored with all manner of rare receipts for preserving, candying and cookery. Very pleasant and beneficial to all ingenious persons of the female sex"

Author Hannah Wolly, Around 1650.

What a wonderful book title!

I'm a big fan of very early recipes. I'm getting a bit overrun with Damsons, so I was digging around my collection for ideas, and came across this :-

127. Marmalade of Damsons.

Take two Pounds of Damsons, and one Pound of Pippins pared and cut in pieces, bake them in an Oven with a little sliced Ginger, when they are tender, poure them into a Cullender, and let the Syrup drop from them, then strain them, and take as much sugar as the Pulp doth weigh, boil it to a Candy height with a little water, then put in your Pulp, and boil it till it will come from the bottom of the Skillet, and so put it up.

With recipes like this, you have to get into the head of the writer and the period they live in.

Pounds are no problem. I refuse to use anything else :) But that 'Oven' could be a problem. What temperature? Without launching in to history lesson, it's pretty straight forward. A 'Goode Oven' is very hot. An 'Oven' is any oven that has been been on for a little while. But cooler than 'Goode'.

In this recipe, the clue is "when they are tender" to get that, slowly, and for how long? "let the Syrup drop from them" so they don't dry and crisp.

'Candy hight' got me for awhile, until I found in 'Book of Simples' by Edited Henry Lewer in 1910.

"Boyle your fugar till it will draw like a thread between your finger and thumbe"

The setting point of jam is around 134 degrees C. Those cooks must have had asbestos fingers.

A modern way, though there's nothing wrong with using a cooking thermometer, is to put a saucer in the fridge. When your jam froths up, and then the froth sinks again, give it a couple of minutes. It should settle to a slow, heavy boil with a slick surface - almost oil like.

Take the saucer from the fridge, and put a spoonful of jam on the saucer, and wait a few seconds. Pull the spoon gently across the puddle of jam. If it wrinkles and springs back, it's a perfectly good, but thin jam. If it wrinkles and stays, it's a thicker jam, but the difference between the two can be seconds of heating.

Oh, and it says Marmalade doesn't it. Marmalade means oranges? Guess not :)

~~~~

For those who have a bit of experience in modern jam making, you may have noticed I haven't mentioned pectin. Pectin is essential in jam making to enable it to set, and nowadays you can add it separately. But they didn't know that hundreds of years ago. But they did know that some stuff did, others didn't, and if they added a bit of stuff that did, it set stuff that didn't.

But everything made good wine....

edit 25/08/2011

As a basic rule, rather than buy commercial pectin, which just adds to the cost, either add sour apples or lemon, or put lemon peel, apple cores and skin in a muslin bag, tie it up and hang it in the pan. The disadvantage is that they may add flavours you don't want, while commercial pectin won't.

Muslin can be hard to get hold of nowadays, since the dearth of local butchers. I bought a pair of tights - hand washed them in diluted lemon juice and salt solution, (a posh Elizabethan method) gave them a good rinse.

Another tip. Add a good pinch of black pepper to a fruit jam, and a tiny pinch of Chilli powder is surprisingly nice. :)

2011-08-21T14:39:00.002+01:00

Blimey. I didn't know they could do that.

BT I mean. My internet connection had been playing up. In the end, after checking everything my end and finding everything was hunky-dory, we bit the bullet and phoned Bt's support line.

That's something we avoid like the plague, because you'd normally get a run-around by someone at a foreign call centre following a script on their screen who one can barely understand because they've had their call centre training from watching episodes of Coronation Street and East Enders. And my Punjabi is rubbish.

Instead, we spoke to a terribly nice chap in Glasgow (Ok, so that's foreign) who dispensed with the script once The Bear explained I was "an ancient propeller head (?!) " who knew his stuff. Fair-ish comment.

I should explain my routers code is heavily modified by your truly so it does what I want it to do - and it's not BT. Hence my confidence. So while he was flattering my missus in the name of customer relations, I ran a serial console - non of your SSH nonsense - sat back, and waited.

And was totally gobstruck when my router said to me "Hello sir. If you'll excuse me..." It's never done that before.

What followed was a very thorough and rapid check of the basics of it's functions. Ploughed through my security as tho' it was never there. Even the bit where it plays a bleepy Captain Pugwash to anyone trying to hack it.

Our new Glaswegian friend announced to the Bear that everything was absolutely fine at our end, that it was a line fault, and he'd fixed it. I bet he did :) Guess who's going to be burning the midnight oil finding out how BT did that?

~~~~

Bloody well went hypo last night. All I know is I woke up at silly o'clock under a blanket, with Lucazade stains all over my shirt. Much drama, apparently. I don't remember. Neighbours, Bear, oldest daughter and a card I keep in my top pocket saying "Call an ambulance and I'll chuffing haunt you" getting me a real ear-bending this morning.

I'm a skinny (and getting skinnier) type 2 on tabs, not insulin. Don't ask me. I dunno. Out for the count apparently. That's the second time this year. Tch. Perhaps I should up my carbs?

Tips for preserving a new book.

2011-08-19T13:14:00.001+01:00

Tips for preserving a new book. Home Edition.

Tho' I have to say I'm not into that.

A book should be used, abused, read and passed on to be read again. That's what books are for. And yeh, I know that's not much of an up front pay the bills profit for an author? But look at it as an early internet. Reputation, background publicity, spreading the word. It worked for the bible :)

But if you insist, Pear-wood box. Big 'un. Walnut, an oil based wood. If you can afford it, Sandalwood. As a rule, if the wood smells nice, go for it.

Avoid plastic bags like the plague. They maintain moisture. Moisture is bad.

Make sure it has a tight fitting lid, and it's kept in a cool, dark place, like a fine wine. The important thing is to keep temperatures constant/don't open it to check more than once a year. Open/Shut/Ok. Lift them (and if you have more than one) from the bottom of the chest using Balsa wood.You don't want the oily wood in direct contact with the books.

If you have any of those little silica gel bags that come with electrical equipment? Chuck them in.

If it's a leather bound book, ask me. Separate rules for those.

Catchya :)

Preserving the future

2011-08-19T10:39:00.007+01:00

Now there's an interesting challenge.

I've been asked to restore some early edition paperback Enid Blyton books to "their original condition".

Restoration is a fraught, time consuming and a not at all profitable business. The oldest book I've worked on was a King James Bible family from the early 1600's, complete with handwritten family history until 1950's, and notes in the margins from 40 users.

That one left me well out of pocket, but the pleasure of the work was immense. And the smell, oh, that smell - I can't look at bible nowadays without it evoking that deep, rich, musty scent unbidden. Books, y'just can't beat em.

These Enid Blytons deserve no less care. Like the bible's I've done, their likely to be be well loved Famous Fives and Secret Sevens.

Dog-eared, and I suspect, 30-40 year old reprints that'll have the ink, crayon, and later felt-tip scribblings of ages, dates, and "with love from Aunty....." on the leader pages of a few generations of little girls, (and boys fascinated by 'George') read under countless blankets by torchlight.

The description 'early edition' is a bit of a worry. Early Editions in good condition, like matchbox toys, sell for very high prices. Mess with those at your peril. And there's the rub. Better the condition (for that read 'unloved') the higher the resell price.

I have strict rules as to how anything I've worked on is presented. The description has to include the fact I've worked on it - which invariably reduces the return.

I interview the person who wants a renovation. I won't for instance, replace missing pages. I can, but the pages in an aged, but yellowing book would be a stark white contrast. Quite deliberately. Then there's the research time needed to duplicate those pages if it's an obscure book.

It wouldn't be the first time I've been accused of using my work as self promotion. But no. I simply need to know that a restored or preserved work isn't passed off as an untouched original.

Golly gosh, it's it's a hard decision. The pitfalls versus the pleasure. But if another generation can enjoy a Blyton, and be loved, complete with crayon - hey, I'm all for it :)

Slave to love

2011-08-16T15:46:00.003+01:00

You'd think, as a Goggle Slave, who puts up with the foibles of it's search engine (but blocks it's adverts), unsuccessfully uses Cloud Print, But has Latitude, Google Docs and Calendars and has a Google+ account, uses one of it's better inventions, blogspot, AND has a top-notch Android phone (Android is Google) a HTC Desire-S, that I wouldn't have to keep signing in all the time? But I have to, I do, I do. Sigh.

~~~~

I've actually discovered a use for the GPS (Global Positioning System) on my phone. As I'm not allowed out alone, for some inexplicable reason. Sorta. Apparently, part of the reason is that I have a tendency to wander off. I'm happy with that. No bugger else is :( Can you imagine not being able to trundle down to the paper shop alone? Have the woofler take you for a drag? Pah, I tell you. Not done that for years, and it fair brasses me off.

But I think (background music: The Great Escape) I may have found a solution. First, smart phone. Google Latitude. You can share your location with others. It doesn't have to be automatic, you can choose when to share, with whom, and the recipient can pick 'real time tracking' for about an hour.

On any computer.

The other is another Google dubrie called 'My Tracks'. It's really meant for cyclists or hikers, but, if you set it going before you go out, and let it run - it doesn't get in the way of anything else if you switch to something else - and cancel it when you get back, you can save it with a lot of options you can share with anyone you choose, and they can see where you've been.

Oh, Slave to Love. One of my favourite Brian Ferry Tunes. I'm off to have some Toast... :)

Loan Shark.

2011-08-15T15:21:00.006+01:00

Bit worried about my Bear. She's sleeping up more than 12 hours at a pop, getting really scatterbrained - forgetting appointments, offering to lend people to lend money we haven't budgeted, making arrangements to meet people when she's supposed to meet someone else, offering to give people money for stuff without asking to them to pay back. I've fought off hoards.

I understand to some extent. I've also discovered that a lot of the people we know are in the grip of either a local loan shark, and a illegal cigarette seller or a combo.

Talk about interesting times. I hate Loan Sharks with a passion. I am sick to death of locals, including my eldest daughter, saying "Ooh, I've paid off a couple of loans, now I can get another one" or the most incredible one another neighbour said "I'm p**sed off I had to borrow £700 on clothes for a fortnight in Skeggy"

Wish me luck. I intend 'shopping' the bugger, when I can find out exactly who *she* is. Hope I have some windows left.

Wish me luck.....

Meanwhile, back of the ranch :)

2011-08-09T14:02:00.002+01:00

I gave in and went to the docs.

Last time I went, they found evidence of macrocytosis. Otherwise known as larger than usual large blood cells. The main causes of these are alcoholism , liver dysfunction, and bone marrow disorders.

But the bottom line is vitamin B12, otherwise known as Thiamine deficiency. Our doctors - most doctors - see that mostly in alcoholism. Booze depletes B12.

The problem with oversized red blood cells is that their immature. They don't work properly, so they don't hold oxygen very long, leaving someone tired all the time, they decay very quickly, and being large, they block tiny blood vessels (capillaries) and can block blood supply and cause stuff like strokes and temporary strokes.

Which, I've had.

This caused a bit of a furore on my doctors internal network. More, you should be aware, it involved the local chemists (pharmacists) too. Their all network connected.

General opinion I was a BIG drinker. No I'm not. So I've had a series of blood tests. Liver function, kidney, cholesterol, blood sugars, urrhhg. All sorts. One result being no large blood cells. Impossible for an alcoholic.

Weight, blood pressure, no macrocytosis. All absolutely fine. So much so, they've offered their apologies, and their doing an in investigation into those macrocytosis results, and whether they have me mixed up someone else.....

Weight? I'm down from 85.5K to 80K. Lost 5.5k (12 lb 20z). Wooo, hooo :)

Riots

2011-08-09T10:34:00.007+01:00

Well, my dear sweet 14 year old butter-wouldn't-melt daughter used Her Blackberry to send a BBM (blackberry message) to all her mates - and she has a heck of a lot - saying "All rioters are w**kers!" and they all agreed.

The first raised an eyebrow. The latter enabled me to wiggle both. In their opinion, they aren't what the BBC politely referred to as 'protesters' and 'disenfranchised youth'. They're "thugs, thieves and nutters".

Couldn't agree more.

So while we head into the political quagmire that will inevitably follow these events, it probably worth remembering that most huddy-wearing, number-one haircut 'yoofs' who talk a language all of their own, are very community minded, even protective of their communities, and a good hearted lot who don't wanted to painted with the same rep.

With that in mind, I've got a get together with some of them, some 'community leaders' and a community liaison officer lined up. The idea is to discuss how to turn the bad use of the technology on it's head and use it to to BBM and Txt a positive message to their personal networks to stop this spreading and quell it. Soz if that sounds like jargon. But it seems a good idea. I know. I suggested it :)

If your interested in my political opinion, such as it is, it's simple. I'm with the local kids. Not on our patch, not on our watch. It's not spreading to here. End of.

Meanwhile, if you're London based, I've had a request from a friend in London that you take a look at this site, 'Catch a Looter' noting the disclaimer :) Cheers....

Oh, I've just had a quick look at my Twitter feed. Quote @BendyGirl Pls remember to check disabled ppl, elderly ppl & those with young children are safe & supported #disabledriothelp #riotwombles.

Ta.

2011-08-06T22:35:00.002+01:00

I'm deeply distressed tonight. 31 American special servicemen have died in Afghanistan in a helicopter crash.

31 fathers, mothers sons, brothers, children. Oh, heck. For those who understand, Way the lads eh? Way the lads :(

Dray xx

Sugar, honey, honey...

2011-08-06T14:20:00.004+01:00

Inspired by Rare Lesser Spotted's post. He mentioned berry picking :)

Berries? Fruit? Aaargh! We live on a nondescript council estate, where they actually found a bit of hill they found they couldn't build on, known locally for some reason lost in time as 'Maggies Field'.

After a bit of a battle, we (I) were able to get it managed by the seemingly unlikely combo of the WildLife Trust and the Freegans movement. Why the freegans? Foraging. Using what you have around you to keep costs down. They're intertwined.

Besides. They look alike :) Combat trousers with LOTS of pockets, Camouflage maybe? Anyways, they've between them planted hundreds of windflowers on something the local council tried - and failed to turn into a skate-park. More, we encouraged people to grow fruit trees.

However, the local teens (10-15) year olds have found an ancient Rowan Berry tree, in a secret place that they use as a 'den'. (Do you remember doing that?)

Word has got around I do jam. As RLS has said, berries are out early, and I have 3 Kg of Rowan berries, 5Kg of blackberries, and 10kg of plums to turn into jam and wine. Darn, that's a heck of a lot of sugar......

2011-08-01T19:58:00.003+01:00

I read a few news sites.

Tell you what tho'. Reading readers comments? I'd rather poke my eyes out with a pointy stick.

Why is it that people, even commenting on fairly sensible newspapers such as The Times or umm, I dunno, Telegraph, find the reporting is fine, but get into stupid anal discussions about about the presence, or lack of an apostrophe? Why do people feel the urge to be bitchy, catty, and just plain nasty?

Truth is, it's a downside of freedom. Freedom allows you to say what you want. Do what you want. But hidden behind the apparent anonymity of a screen, keyboard and router, some will say stuff that would get their nose punched, or socially excluded if they said it to your face.

That's not an exercise of freedom. It's an abuse of privilege, a provocation to abuse, and I wish more moderators got their heads together and realised that.

To me, it's simple. Treat others as you would like to be treated yourself. And give the 'trolls' their own separate internet, and find a field where they can meet together on a regular basis with pointy objects.

Sheesh.

2011-07-26T14:03:00.003+01:00

Rough news yesterday. Brother in law's long time girl friend died. She was 32, had a long history of alcoholism.

Simple really, as much as death can be simple. Had too much to drink, had a cardiac arrest, spent a week in hospital on life-support, and her family decided to switch her off. Off she went :(

She was bright, intelligent, sharp and engaging, and as I told her many times, a silly twot (but I like you)

You'll have to excuse me. I'm somewhat angry.....

Bzzt.

2011-07-20T10:47:00.006+01:00

My Bear says I never grew up.

'Tis true. The first app I dowloaded for my phone was the NASA one. I was the swotty kid with the star charts on the bedroom wall and who made The Eagle moon lander from balsa even before it reached the moon. Never, ever ask me anything about space travel. You will be able walk off, have a bacon buttie and a cuppa, come back and still find me talking with a happy smile....

Happiness was completing a miniature Watt engine from scratch, or being told off for holding a super-hot soldering iron in my teeth (not recommended!) surrounded by wires, paper clips, drawing pins, a dismantled remote control and the smell of burnt hair. See teeth.

This time, I've been told off because I came across a teeny little program that puts lots and lots of very realistic flies crawling all over her desktop on startup.

Well? How was I to know she'd scream, jump backwards, trip over the coffee table, go head over ass and land on the couch with a thump?

And the cat is just fine thank you, though I must admit I've never seen it shift so fast. It's true. They DO land feet first. I didn't ask it to land claws first on her chest tho' did I?

Despite what she says, I'm quite well aware of whom my parents are, and much of what she suggested I'll have to Google, but I'm quite certain it's physically impossible. There's probably a picture somewhere.

Oh, look, the same bloke does one with cockroaches.

That is So Cool!

Blowed if you don't......

2011-07-18T10:00:00.003+01:00

I dunno, for someone who's never set foot in a Jobcentre, or claimed JSA, I seem to spend a lot of time advising people or pointing people to others with specialist knowledge that can.

Here's a couple or three little no-so-obvious oddities I've picked up on my telephone travels.

Disability Living Allowance isn't means tested (not counted as income) - which effectively means that one can work while on DLA as long as the job/work doesn't contradict the reasons WHY you've been granted DLA. Bit of a minefield that.

But there's a little publicised fly in the ointment. Under the present DLA system, there are two components. Mobility ( 2 levels) Care (3 levels) If you receive level 2 or above Care, who aren't allowed near a Jobcentre.

Assuming you're brave enough to battle the complexities of fulfilling the (rightly) tough criteria to be granted Care level 2 or above, and use any abilities you may have, you won't get any help from the Jobcentre to find work, and you can't claim Job Seekers Allowance. You're on your own. Jobcentre's do have Disability Advisor's. But only for ESA or DLA level 1.

Note to the tabloids. Please stop getting Incapacity Benefit (now called Employment Service Allowance or ESA) mixed up with DLA. One is means tested, the other isn't. It's annoying, and misleading, and leads to prejudice against the disabled by those who don't know or can't be bothered to find out otherwise.

~~~~

This applies to everyone.

So you're bored with your job? Or maybe want a better paid job? Perhaps you've lost your job, but you aren't entitled to Job Seekers Allowance because you have too much savings? (which is good). Maybe you are just the kind of person who may be entitled to state help, but would prefer, for whatever reason not to claim?

Off to the local Jobcentre? Er.... no. Unless you're being paid an employment related benefit (ie. Job Seekers Allowance) they won't help you. They may helpfully refer you to their Online page but otherwise you're on your own. Daft, isn't it?

~~~~

Picking up on my point above about those that may prefer not to claim benefits, even if their entitled.

Lots of reasons why someone might do that. Pride. They've managed and have always managed. Perhaps they come from a generation and a background where they find state aid distasteful.

Sometimes people come from close families that help each other out. Others may belong to religious organisations that help them out, or perhaps are aware of the increasingly common free Food Banks, free furniture and often amazingly understanding landlords. Voluntary homeless and anti-society? I could go on

There's a problem with that. If you aren't paying benefit, voluntary or wage deducted contributions to society such as tax or national insurance you'll get 'red flagged' as suspicious, and you may well be passed on to a department that, um, will go out of their way to help you 'make the right claim'.

Forced to make a claim? Who'd believe it? Catchya :)

Golden days..

2011-07-11T11:37:00.005+01:00

I was lucky enough to have a metal-work teacher at school who enjoyed electronics as a hobby, and had a real passion for sharing it. He was also an ardent militant trade unionist.

Peter Knight ( I know, some parents are cruel - Pee Tonight, a gift to a schoolboy) also offered the incentive that if you stopped the full two hours at his weekly after school club, he'd cook unlimited giant chip butties with salad cream.

Bit of a no-brainer really. Even now, I can't look at a chip butty without recalling the smell of hot flux and chips, and vice-versa. Three guys went onto the then almost unknown job as electrical engineers, one went on to run his own TV repair shop, one a Veg shop, and another still runs a chippy, repairing consumer goods on the side.

Me? I spent my holidays as a jobbing repairman to supplement my education, and spent the first three years of my working life as a metallurgist ( £19.35 a week!), left to work in the health service as an admin, then a couple of years at a now defunct designer electronics firm.

Defunct because the admin, working practices and wages were crap. (£1.35 an hour when the industry standard then was min. £2.40) This shop steward took umbridge, led them out on strike, (err.... umm..) and they went wotsits-up in three days. They were getting away with low wages by taking on skilled people for 6 months 'assessment' and then continually extending the 'assessment period'.

Metallurgist, Electrical engineer, Admin, Trade union activist? I look back to the 1970's, and Peter Knight with fondness.

In case you're wondering, I've sometimes been asked do I regret 'being responsible' for losing 100 people their livelyhoods? Heck no. Sleeping overnight on their workbenches, cold, no heat or cover? up at 6, but being paid for 7 hours minus going to the toilet and meal breaks? Nah.

My life has changed lots since then. I retain a sense of social justice, and I'm less vocal - seriously, I am:) and I've learned the value of thinking before I say what I think. Mostly....

Crumbs!

2011-07-05T12:02:00.011+01:00

"But we have some in the freezer?" Bear said, checking her hair in the mirror. Again.

But.... It's really had to get around that kind of women's logic. All I'd suggested was that "We" - see what I did there? Used an inclusive term to defer future conflict? - "We" made some home made fish fingers for Don't-call-me-Tots when she got home from school.

But..... She had me there. "Birdseye" she said firmly, when I didn't answer.

I knew she was watching me in the mirror.

Actually, I was fighting the urge to run around the front garden screaming, waving my arms about, wearing nothing but my underwear. Or 'kegs' as my neighbour calls them.

American readers may be forgiven that a quick Google will show numerous references to 'Barrels'.

"They need using up" said Bear. That wasn't a question. I was being told.

Any normal bloke would belt up. Not me. "Have they been opened?" I offered nonchalantly.... (- Thrust- )

"Will be when I do" Damn! (contré-parade)

"Where's the fish then?" She said. (-Thrust!-)

Careful Wheelie...(- en guarde-)

...Ah, no, wait for it..."Not in the freezer by any chance, is it?" Checking her, well, something, again...

Oh, gawd, all I wanted was to make some bloody fish fingers.

"Birdeye it is then" said a quiet firm voice behind me. Ouch. It's true y'know. You can hear someone grin smugly.

I will not turn round, and you can't make me.

If you'll excuse me, the garden, and me and my barrels beckon.....

Bookends

2011-07-04T10:11:00.004+01:00

"Why do raise your voice to your wife? It's not like she's deaf, is it?" he said.

I'm sure, despite the bad tempered delivery, and the attempt at a rhetorical question, they meant well. Humph.

Putting aside that (a) No-one tells me off, not even The Bear, and (b) how I talk to my missus is between her and I....

Well, yes. As it happens, She is. Very. Totally deaf in one ear, and only 10% hearing in the other. Which is why, when she has her back to me, I tap her on the shoulder if I need to speak to her. Why when she uses a phone, to get her attention, I often have to flap around a bit if I need to get her attention.

She always uses road crossings, because she can't hear which direction traffic is coming from. She often appears inattentive and 'ignorant'. She doesn't mean to offend. She just doesn't know you're there.

Even Sigma The Dog learned very quickly to ask me, to ask her, if he wants walkies. Bright young chap that dog.

And yup, I do raise my voice. The hearing she has got is clearer in lower frequencies, and I have a 'Barry White' voice and 25 years practice. From day to day, she is able to function quite normally.

More amazing, she's also pitch perfect with a great love of music. Have you ever met those really annoying people who can pick up absolutely any instrument and play it? Play an out of tune piano or guitar, in tune, without retuning it? Meet the Bear :) It's called savant auto-transposition by the way.

Naturally, she can sing like an angel too.

She doesn't consider herself in anyway disabled. Her deafness is a result of an illness as a very young child, and she can't remember things being any different. So much so, she doesn't think about it, and doesn't tell anyone. I can't say I blame her. Some of the loveliest people, once they're told, talk to her as though she's somewhat dim.

Bear is very sharp, very on the ball, highly intelligent and very well qualified. For many years, she had a successful career in the Civil Service. As she says, deafness can have a plus side - she isn't easily distracted :)

I really wish she would tell people sometimes though. Most people are bright enough to pick up the little clues - the TV being that little bit loud, or that you need to get her to face you to talk to her.

But now and again you get the odd one who seems totally clueless.

Like she says, you can't tell just by just looking at someone, can you? She's much more patient with the clueless ones than I am. So remember. If you hear a raised voice, it may well not be in anger or disrespect.........

A deafy and strokey eh? Interesting combination, yes? Chuckle!

Stroke Support Group

2011-06-28T11:51:00.006+01:00

A message from 'bodger' (...and I thought Wheelie was a rough moniker!)

Led me to a very nice forum. Stroke Support Group is well written, easy reading, very helpful and informative, and a terribly friendly lot :) Well worth a look whether you are a Stroke Survivor, Carer, or just interested in finding out about Stroke, and peoples experiences of it.

Needless to say, I've signed up, and linked them on my sidebar. See you there :)

Note. You can often find me blithering on, on Twitter as @wheelieslug

I want to last for ever...

2011-06-27T15:47:00.003+01:00

I have an aged motorcycle stored away. A Honda Super Dream 250 cc.

Hardly a Silver Dream machine :)

Basically, a brother who has since died found it another home, I negotiated it back.

My dream is to ride it again. Sadly, I'm not allowed to drive yet. The DVLA took my licence from me.

It's good to dream?