Blogging and me

Why do I blog? A good question and one which is now somewhat timely and demanding an answer. Read on…………..

I started this blog because I have always wanted to write; it helps to fulfil a creative instinct within me. As the blog description states, it is meant to be a blog about anything I think might be interesting, amusing or even a bit controversial. It is not, and was never meant to be an on line diary of my activities, although many incidents and events in my life inevitably provide the inspiration for many of the postings.

I have made some changes and deletions because some misunderstandings have occurred amongst some of my readers, and it is not in my nature to deliberately cause offence either knowingly or unwittingly. Should anyone who reads, or has read this blog think that any of my comments have been specifically aimed at them, they are almost certainly wrong. Much of what I write is "tongue in cheek" and should not be taken too seriously. I try to write in an amusing entertaining way and I have had many extremely good reviews, even to the extent as to comment (more than once) that I should write a book. Indeed, it has even come to my attention that someone has actually made a hard copy of this blog and shared it with others for their delectation. Perhaps the next stage might be Hodder & Stoughton, you never know.

Joking aside, it ought to be reasonably clear where I am being serious and where I am not. "The Justice of God" is deadly serious and I mean every word and would not change a single letter. Where I am being flippant, that is more for amusement, though that might be lost on some. Those who know me well, will know that in real life I am well meaning, honest, hard working, friendly, humorous, and generally try and do my best in whatever I undertake. I am also human, and like everyone else, have my faults. This blog is no exception. I appreciate comments, so if you feel I have touched a nerve or want to bring something to my attention, click on “comments” and the floor is yours. I will publish them so long as they are not obscene or offensive.

Moving swiftly on, I want to say a little more about what makes me blog. A lot of it is frustration with the unfairness and stupidity we find all around us. Yes, there is much that is good and commendable in the world, but there is an awful lot which is not. I worry particularly about the way that religion distorts people’s view of life and their relations with others – particularly those who do not share their faith. Unless as a race, humanity can free itself from the mental straight jacket of religion, then the future for our children may well be too terrible to contemplate.

It’s not all doom and gloom. There are, nevertheless, those hysterically funny moments which should be written about to bring a laugh or a smile. There are the amazing experiences and the places and people you encounter on your travels. There is a whole universe of interesting and exciting things to write about, so I have no excuse for dull or boring prose.

Another function of blog writing is catharsis. Sometimes there are things you just have got to get out of your system, and you don’t mind who knows about it. Anyone can read this blog, and it serves its purpose with every “hit”. Please keep reading, and I’ll keep blogging.

Ooh Nurse

I have got a new hobby. It's going to the doctors while trying to convince myself that I am not actually dying, though inwardly I suspect I am.

It all started like this:

A few years ago I took part in a 46 mile walk around part of Cambridgeshire. When I finished the walk - though by this time "walk" was the wrong word, it was more staggering towards oblivion; I noticed one of my toes was sticking through a hole, which had developed in one of my socks. When I took my boot off, there was no hole - it just felt like it.

The imaginary hole never went away, in fact the odd feeling of semi - numbness tingling yet still feeling started to spread, first to one toe and then them all, taking over both my feet, and now working up my legs. I saw a doctor some years ago and mentioned this to him, to be told it was probably a symptom of the sciatica, a complaint that pre-dated the walk.

Anyway, a couple of weeks ago I decided enough was enough, so I went to see the doctor. He was very good, very understanding, checked this and that and everything seemed to be okay. Nevertheless, bothered by the "spreading" syndrome (who wouldn't be?) he sent me for a blood test.

"Are you at all queasy?" asked the nurse before sticking the very long needle into my vein.
"No, not at all" I replied, "you're not going to kill me are you?" I replied with a laugh but not quite a thigh slap.
"Well, I don't aim to kill you" she replied while I mused that hopefully her aim was good.

In went the needle as I watched it sink into my vein feeling a sharp stab and a kind of ache. She then sucked up a number of blood samples to test for every disease known to man, telling me that one of the samples would have to go to Addenbrookes. Wow - Addenbrookes, must be serious after all. I counted it a real honour that a sample of my humble lowly blood should be deemed worthy of the attentions of such a learned and esteemed establishment. It was clear that I was definitely more than just a "take an aspirin and lie down for a while" type of patient.

I awaited the results. The days rolled by. Suddenly, amid a whole load of junk mail lying on my doormat I espied a HAND-WRITTEN white envelope addressed to me!

Instinctively I knew the situation was serious. Only junk mailers send me type written letters. I cautiously opened the envelope. My worst fears were realized - I was called back for yet another blood test. "Can you tell me why?" I asked the receptionist as I made the appointment, conscious of the fact that really only the doctor (who of course would not be available right at that very moment) should answer such questions. She repeated this to me, as you would expect while taking a quick peak at my notes and informing me that one of my readings was outside the normal limit, and they just wanted to do a second check to make sure.

That was it. I now knew it was serious. Thoughts started going through my head. Should I check the policies? Should I start putting my affairs in order? Should I start eating Mars Bars again?

This morning, I turned up for blood test number two. I waited in the waiting room where people were waiting playing a waiting game. My waiting game was "Sudoku" on my Nintendo DS, the ideal friend in a waiting room while waiting.

"Stephen McAdam" the nurse called out, and I rapidly saved my game and made like a sick man into the nurse's lair. Actually, she was very nice, as was the other one last time.

She did a blood pressure test. It was high.

"Are you on blood pressure tablets?" she asked, before trying twice more, finishing with an old fashioned sphygnamometer before confirming that, yes, there was no mistake, my blood pressure really is high.

"But I go to the Gym three times a week" I protested.

"Don't worry, just coming here can put your blood pressure up" she replied, and I commented that it might have been something to do with the Sudoku…………
She plunged another needle into my hapless vein and the dark red blood rapidly flowed forth.

My next appointment is next Friday.

The jury is out…………

Bad Shopping

I was out on the town the other day and something close to miraculous happened. I walked past a book shop without going in. Now what’s miraculous about that? I hear you ask. Well, it’s like this: I am a terminal book addict. I’ve joined book clubs, left them and later rejoined again - just to get the special 500 top sellers for a penny each and you only have to buy 30 books a week for the next twenty years. Yeah, I’m exaggerating – but you get the drift. So why did I walk past the book shop, when I had plenty of browsing time on my hands? The reason is that the penny has finally dropped that I cannot possibly read all the books my habit has already amassed on my creaking bookshelves. I’ve got loads of wonderful books, but I probably won’t live long enough to read them all. I DID buy a book on Amazon a couple of weeks ago (for a fraction of the shop cost), but I can easily justify that one. Its “The Lore of the Land”, a reference book on English folklore by Jennifer Westwood and Jacqueline Simpson. I had two reasons for buying it. One was to do with finding out interesting facts about places before I visit them. Why visit them? – to take photographs which might be sold to a publisher. The other reason was because it has, on page 65, a photograph of “Jeremiah’s Tea House” at Little Abington. I took this photograph and it was my very first photo sale to a publisher, so I thought it would be nice to have the book. The rest, I’m not bothered about, but there’s always got to be a first.

I have become a very bad shopper. I am bad because I hardly buy anything. Because of this, unless it’s very expensive, I can afford to buy pretty much anything I see in the shops I might desire. However, I am constantly having an internal battle as to whether I can really justify spending the money. I don’t just say to myself “that’s too expensive” because I pass up practically all the cheap things as well. I think a lot of it is that I have really become a bit bored with the consumerist pressure to constantly go out and spend money on things I don’t really need, and NEED is really the operative word. I love photography. I do not own the very latest equipment, but it does the job. Yes, I will eventually buy a new camera one day, but as long as my equipment gives me the results I need, then I am a lost cause as far as the camera shops are concerned. I am bored with all the magazines available. I hardly ever buy a magazine at all these days because most of the ones I’ve got I rarely find the time to sit down and read anyway. And as for photography magazines, my knowledge of the subject is so vast they could hardly teach me anything! You see a photomag screaming out about how to do outdoor photography. Well, here’s how you do it: You pick up your camera, step outside your front door and start taking photos. Easy, Eh??

Another thing – you see all these special offers – SAVE this much, no! – SAVE that much. No!! The way to save is not to buy the bloody whatever in the first place. If you are really honest with yourself and analysed all the stuff you buy over a month, let’s say, I bet a lot of the stuff, for many people, wasn’t really necessary. No, the best way to save money is not to spend it. That way, when you DO treat yourself and buy something, it becomes that bit more special and you begin to appreciate things that bit more. I suppose, what I am driving at here is my disdain for this consumer led society we live in, where someone is trying to entice you to buy something at every turn. Buy this, buy that – no – stop – don’t buy anything.

Oh woe – this is not good though. If everyone was like me, all the shops would go out of business. All the breweries would have to close (I drink very little, just the odd binge once in a blue moon). This is the contradictory world we live in. We all want to earn money. To get money we work. The money is generated through sales – of various sorts. If nothing is sold, nothing happens. So, in order for society to thrive, we all need to spend, spend, spend and then there will be lots of jobs for everyone. So, if you are unemployed and reading this, I apologise. It’s probably people like me who are to blame for putting you out of work. Not only am I a bad shopper, I’m also a bad credit card user. You see the credit card people don’t want me to pay off all my debt so they can charge me interest. I don’t play their game – I pay it all off every month, I don’t pay interest. But what I DO do is build up my loyalty points and every now again, I can go out and treat myself – or get the groceries, for free. How bad is that?

Car Stuff

Today I went to the garage to have a repair done to my car. The passenger’s side front door needed a new central locking lock thingy. It didn’t cost me anything as its still under guarantee. When you blipped it to unlock the doors there was a rather alarming graunching sound, although apart from that everything worked fine. Our car is a Kia. We had a Subaru Turbo Forester a few months ago, but when I discovered it was going to cost me a thousand pounds just to get a new exhaust, not including the new clutch it needed - amongst other things, it was clear it had to go. The Kia Carens was the much more affordable replacement.

Now, if you know anything about cars, you will know that in terms of performance the Subaru wins hands down. I could hold my own quite comfortably with BMW drivers who, as everyone knows believe they have the right to overtake everything on the road and sit glued to your tail flashing their lights until you get out the way. Now I couldn’t care less.

The Kia is much more a pipe and slippers car. However, as I possess neither a pipe or slippers, this is irrelevant. Actually, contrary to what I’ve read about the Kia, it does actually have quite a turn of accelaration when I floor it, although I’m past caring about racing other motorists. I don’t care if a Trabant overtakes me. I don’t wear a baseball hat, but I do play loud pounding music - when my wife isn’t with me. However, I do have a bit of an issue with the TV advert for Kia. “Designed to change your mind” says the slogan. Designed to change your mind about what? Designed to change your mind from thinking Kias are underpowered, unreliable cheap and nasty crap cars? Is that what its trying to change your mind about? Probably. Until I was pushed to getting one, that was pretty much my view of Kia cars. I am of course a complete snob in most things. Now I am a Kia snob. They must be brilliant cars otherwise my very discerning wife and I wouldn’t own one.

Time for bed - G’night, Sleep tight, D’nay let the doggies bite.

A visit to the Dentist

A few days ago I went to the dentist. I had to. I had no choice at all. I was in pain. Actually, that’s wrong - I was in agony. The top right hand molar, second from the end was giving me so much pain that I couldn’t concentrate on anything. Eating was a nightmare. I was also grumpy, though trying not to be. I was living on pain killers. I had so many pain killers that my kidneys went into overtime mode. I kept waking up in the middle of the night absolutely busting for a pee. After so many pees, I must have been getting dehydrated as my urine changed in colour to a not-quite-right orangeade .

Now the particular tooth in question was one I could live without. After all, I still had my upper right end molar, and my lower right end molar was still intact, so chewing and grinding or even gnashing would still be within my dental capabilities. Also, I just knew that this would be no simple filling job, but a root canal job. Root canal jobs, as we all know mean only two things. The first is no immediate relief from the pain. The second is several trips back to the dentist and a sudden emptying of the bank account. There was only one thing for it. No beating about the bush. No messing. No hesitation. It had to come out.

After the obligatory questions such as “are you sure you want me to take it out”, and “are you really sure you want it out”, and “you could have root canal treatment and keep the tooth” - the dentist finally conceded that in the “to extract or not to extract” department, I was the boss.

I settled back into the chair, relaxing in its warm embrace. The dentist’s mouth lamp stared at me like some bug eyed creature from a science fiction movie.

The dentist decided to take an x-ray before beginning the extraction. He showed me the resulting image and there it was - two long roots projecting deep into the gum.

I felt a deep sense of joy as the needle penetrated my gum - several times. It didn’t matter that it hurt. It didn’t matter that my gums swelled up with the sheer volume of the anaesthetic which was being pumped in. What mattered was that this bloody tooth which was causing me so much agony was about to meet its maker - but not without a fight, as I was about to find out!

After the standard wait of about five minutes for my mouth to “numb up”, the stage was finally set for the dentist to pick up the extraction forceps and pull the critter out.

Now at this point I should say that my expectation was that this would be a very quick affair and that I should be out the door after a total of about 15 minutes. My appointment was for 9 ‘o clock and I had a work planning meeting to attend which started at 10’ o clock. No problem.

The dentist grabbed my tooth and began to yank it about from side to side, and front to back to compress the bone in which the tooth was set and create an enlarged cavity thus loosening the tooth for the final pull of extraction. The “final pull of extraction” began. He pulled. He yanked. He pulled again. He pulled hard. He pulled really hard. I pulled back in a vain effort to assist. The first attempt a failure he picked up a levering implement and poked it down the cavity beside the tooth and began to lever away. Back to the forceps, he resumed the pulling and yanking once again.

At around this point, the realization set in with me that this was one tooth which was not going to budge. Although the anaesthetic worked well, I could still detect pressure and the feeling I was getting was that the roots of the tooth were firmly welded into the bone. It felt as if it was necessary for my whole bottom jaw to be pulled out if the tooth was going to be budged. In fact, all sorts of gory visions started to flood my mind, and it was clear that as extractions went, I was in for the long haul - or should I say pull. The dentist, whilst doing a very good job of keeping cool and concealing any emotions of panic, kept assuring me that everything was okay, and asking if I was alright. Of course I was all right, in a near death experience sort of way.

Just to reassure me further and put me more at ease he told me that his next move was to drill vertically through the tooth to cut it in half and take it out one root at a time. He then proceeded to drill. And drill. And drill. At this point I realised the anaesthetic was starting to wear off - I had been in the chair for three days now - and suddenly I felt the drill searing into the nerve. My hand shot up and I began to make a combination of bovine lowing and velociraptor screeching noises. Thankfully, he stopped the drilling and injected yet more anaesthetic into my already swollen gum which was gradually performing an imitation of the Hindenburg airship and taking up most of the remaining space in my mouth.

After a further 5 minutes of “numbing up” time, the yanking was resumed - to no avail. It was now time to bring in the heavy artillery.

The door opened and in walked the receptionist. I could tell the situation was getting serious. She positioned herself behind me and put both hands around my head to steady me for the final “push”- well, pull really. He pulled. Nothing happened. He pulled harder. Nothing happened. He pulled astonishingly hard. Something snapped and the vibration rattled through my skull. Part of the tooth had come away, but both the roots were still firmly implanted. He switched to instruments with hooks and levers and much pulling, pushing and levering ensued. I could taste blood.

Suddenly, I felt a root come out with a sudden snap. “Yes”! the dental nurse cried out with an air of triumph. The root was placed into the tray. The dentist resumed with more pulling, pushing and levering. I could feel an increase of blood in my mouth and the whole of the right side of my face was starting to throb. There was a further snapping sound as more tooth broke away.

At this point the dentist decided enough was enough. I could have told him that myself but for the mouth full of blood. I had a good rinse and was given a gauze pad to bite on and a bill for £65. I was told the other root was still in my jaw and I should leave it a couple of weeks before deciding whether to come back again. I was advised that if I did, it might be a hospital job. I was starting to feel as if I belonged in hospital anyway.

I dragged myself out to the reception where a girl was sat in the waiting area awaiting her appointment. She went white on seeing me as I seemed unable to stop saliva mixed with blood dribbling from my mouth and dropping to the floor. Her mother cooed reassurance into her ear. I dribbled more gore onto the floor. “Don’t worry about that” said the receptionist, and proceeded to clean up my mess. I paid my bill. The receptionist advised me not to go to work, but to go to bed instead. I didn’t argue and complied in full.

Change and feeling

I feel the urge to write, though I'm not sure what. I feel as if my life is taking a radical change in direction, and things will never be the same again. There are so many things I want to do with my life, and I am more and more conscious of how rapidly life is passing me by. My creative instincts are taking over, and I feel the need to create much because it is a part of what makes us human.

I have a great need of beauty. music, countryside, landscape. That's probably why I love photography so much. Its a chance to capture beauty, and preserve it to ponder over later, and for future generations. The power of music and wonderful images together can stir the soul, inspire, and even change lives. I feel my life being changed..irrevocably. I am changing, growing older, moving on, dying, transforming, loving........and feeling sadness.

I guess I'm feeling somewhat doleful, or even maudlin. I have a warm glow of anticipation, and yet a sadness that the things and people I love in life are changing and disappearing. Its important to hang onto the things and people who you love. Its important to use your creative talents to good effect,. Its important to be truthful and keep a sense of proportion and humour. Its also important to realise that no matter how bad life might seem at the moment, it will change - but not always for the better. Even so, I cope.

A Royal Visit

This morning when I awoke, I wished my wife a happy birthday, and before she could get out of bed I lavished lots of really nice presents on her. I don’t do this sort of thing every morning, only on those which happen to be her birthday, otherwise she’d get very confused – you understand.

After I had walked the dog and my wife had spring cleaned the whole house, practiced her Kung Fu and said goodbye to the milkman, we jumped into the car and set off to Sandringham House to see Liz and Phil. We arrived to find that Liz and Phil must have got wind of our surprise visit, and decided to surprise us themselves by not being there!

I have driven through, around and by Sandringham many times in the past, but never actually stopped to get out and see how the other side live. As my wife and I are manic photographers and we had both taken the day off work to have a birthday day out, Sandringham seemed an obvious choice, as well as a place where people of our refined breeding and high standing in society would feel naturally at home.

After parking the car – a Kia Carens – (I believe the Queen is thinking of getting one herself soon), the first port of call was the bog. My wife reported to the throne room, while I made my way to the House of Lords – where all the big knobs hang out. Feeling suitably relieved and flushed, we made a bee line to the hise ………….errrr………I mean the house. Before entering in, we amused ourselves frolicking in the gardens and wondering at the fat golden statue of the Buddha, and seeing how many ways we could photograph Old Father Time – his statue, that is.

The SS Guard at the entrance to the house ordered us to put our cameras away, or at least switch them off, as well as our mobile phones. He assured us that if we didn’t we would not be shot, but did not tell us what fate would really befall us if we disobeyed.

The house was full, as you would expect, of very old and highly ornate furniture. It was clear the Queen doesn’t go to Ikea. As well as all the other paraphernalia, there were lots of weapons – guns, swords, spears, knives etc. It was apparent that the house had a dark side apart from making money from the visiting peasants, and that was killing poor, unsuspecting animals. One of the attendants assured me that the Royals would be up before Christmas to bag a few more. Great fun for them, though their prey might see it differently.

I took a close look, donning my reading glasses, at a shell from the Boer War which had been adapted and transformed into a clock, which stood pointing proudly to the ceiling. The attendant leaned over to me and said that it was actually an unexploded shell, and implied it could still explode. I suggested it was just biding its time, awaiting the right moment…………

Being a bit of a bookworm, I paid particular interest to the very sumptuous ancient books adorning the shelves of the glass fronted book cabinets. There were amongst others, history books, political books, and books of speeches by people now made obscure by the mists of antiquity.

“I wonder if they ever open any of the books and actually read them”, an old man asked rhetorically. I commented to my wife that maybe the Queen was a member of the “Folio Society” – but maybe not.

Leaving the house behind, we continued our wonderings around the grounds, taking in the museum while we were at it.

I have got to say that the gardens are absolutely beautiful, amongst the most lovely gardens I have ever visited anywhere in the world. It was a real pleasure walking by the lake and smelling the aromas from all the flowers which were everywhere.

We did laugh at one point – oh how we laughed – when we came across an old dear having a conversation on her mobile phone. She was speaking very loudly, so we couldn’t miss her. What made us titter was just how sickeningly posh she was verbeaging across the network. “Yes” was replaced by “yaah” – she wasn’t German. Maybe she was affected by where she was. Maybe that once she got outside of the wire, she would revert to a more “Gore blimey guvner” sort of way……or maybe not.

We concluded our exploration of the estate in visiting the Church – you know, the one the Royals are always seen on the telly walking into on Christmas Day. It’s called the Church of St Mary Magdalene. To look at from the outside it looks like a perfectly ordinary Parish Church. However, once you step inside you are confronted by one of the most beautiful and ornate alters I have seen in such a church. Clearly, the Royal connection has benefitted it well.

It cost us £9 each to visit the Royal Estate, and in my opinion it was worth every penny.
We polished off what had been a perfect day with a large soft ice cream cornet each, and a plate of fish and chips at a restaurant in Hunstanton. The sun shone all day, and set - surrounded by a pink horizon.