In Memoriam

Last night the tumble drier died and dried no more. With a great heap of wet washing to go through, we rushed out to buy a replacement, so going into PC World we asked, "what have you got in stock we can take now?" The guy printed out a list, so we walked up and down stopping only at those on his list. The price varied hugely, but as they never seem to last long how ever much we pay, when it comes to electrical items we have got into the habit of buying the least expensive. We came home with a Hotpoint, plugged it in and away it went, normality restored. Today I took the old carcass to the tip.

Memorial beech tree, Clare

Walking in Clare, I was struck by how many memorial plaques there are. A beech tree bears a brass reminder of Max who died 11 years ago, but still hung with baubles, teddy bears and ribbons freshly planted each Christmas and birthday, still remembered as the 5 year old he was. A bench celebrates an old dog-walking companion, Harriett and her Labrador Victor Hugo, that Bronte would espy across the park and race to greet. When she died, Harriett was unfound for three days, and her dog was so disturbed they had to have him put down. High on the wall of the old castle remnant are more enduring plaques to people who died in 1920, but even here occasional flowers are still left, such are the dead revered.

Castle wall memorials, Clare

Tonight I wanted to hear a talk by Carlo Rovelli, a famous Italian physicist whose books I have read. I allowed an hour and a half to go the 20 miles to Cambridge, but the traffic was so snarled up I couldn't move, and as the hour passed for the talk to start, I could only turn round and return home, frustrated and unenlightened. It is like a metaphor for a life. Next time, I shall have to leave earlier.

Eternity Leave

Today
I read a cancer death
described as eternity leave,
and it is perfect,
to the pinpoint,
accurately describing the end,
no sweet smelling flowers
or lengthy sympathetic words
just eternity leave
going on forever.

Annie Elliott

Hacking down Haverhill

Haverhill willows cut down

Beside Sainsbury’s is a wild park where oft I walk the dogs. Or wild it was until the environmental tree cutters took their power saws to it. It had a fine line of mature willows following the stream in  a vast acreage, now not coppiced but savagely butchered along with the scrub land and surrounding tree line. In whose name do they work such savagery? Certainly not for the wild life nor we who walk here.

I phoned for my blood results this afternoon: they show mild renal failure and increasing anaemia. Probably explains why I get so breathless and tire so easily. Renal failure is certainly associated with bladder cancer, and may account for my severe itching and weakness also. I will start some iron tablets today, and see if they help.

Requiem for days past

Requiem

The war torn faces
staring from pages
of a history book,
could be Syrian or Yemeni,
different profiles,
different politics,
same harrowed, sunken eyes,
the crawling cat of death
with its blooded claws of red,
ready to pounce on innocent prey,
requiem of yesterday
meets war of today.

Annie Elliott

Again walking in Clare Country Park, seeing the destruction of the old railway shed in the name of modernisation. It was an original loading shed with a length of siding still running into it, and an old side-loading wagon against the loading platform with a mini-exhibition of old photos of Clare station and maps of the old railway routes (see "Clare is a different place").

Now they are smashing out the walls and raising the roof to add "insulation" to bring it up to modern standards. Most of the car-park is blocked off by their work, and the main entrance to the park is closed; everyone has to tramp through the mud and bushes at the side if they wish to enter from the car-park. They have also fenced off the far side and dug a deep slit trench to lay something or other. The whole scene has an air of devastation.  I am surprised there was no conservation order on the building, such was once its quiet link to Victorian England, and the coming of the railways.

Mike in his army days

Mike has requested a copy of the pictures of his time in the army. He sent us the pictures, framed, many years ago, and I had to dig them out, but today I sent them off. I'm not sure why he suddenly wants the pictures now; perhaps he is recalling times past, as we all do from time to time. He served in Bosnia and looked very much the professional. We haven't seen his new house yet, but he is always meticulously clean and neat, a hangover no doubt from his early army training.

One of the agencies phoned today with an offer of a 6 month contract, but full time and in central London, so I declined it. However, today also came news that there is a bit more work coming through in my present job, so that's encouraging. We should be alright again this week!

Funny signs and symptoms

The problem with cancer is that it turns every ache of age into a threat of worse. Diarrhoea? It must have spread to the bowel! Those mild abdominal pains? It must be invading the liver. Achy joints? No longer a bit of arthritis, but infiltartion of the bones. Mild forgetfulness? It must be brain secondaries.

We all get aches and pains and mild functional change, but cancer magnifies and intensifies them as we wait to see if it is striking somewhere else. I cannot claim it is dread or fear, but an angry annoyance that it might still be there waiting to strike again. On the up side, every day counts as precious as it's driven home just how limited our little lives are.

In Bury today to do a bit of shopping and see a film, "Stan and Ollie", a moving tribute to the last days of the wild duo. It's extremely well-acted, in total convincing character, and I recommend anyone who enjoyed their films to see it. Most of the light audience were young: we were the eldest people there. I do wonder what a young audience might think, though. It is such old-fashioned humour, and was already dated and pre-war when they did their final tours of Britain. Nevertheless, their routines formed the backbone of much post-war humour, and it is worth seeing for a sense of the history of comedy.

Friends

Some old friends came round last night – old in the sense that Ann and I were no longer the eldest in the room. Yvonne and Robin are MA's in-laws, so we have known them since MA and Sam married. Rae and Malcolm are the parents on one of the teachers in the village school, whom we met when Edwin was being tutored at home. We had a simple meal –  everyone agreed to fish and chips, from the takeaway in Clare, though Ann didn't eat the fish, and some of the others didn't want the chips. But it was enjoyable and the talk flowed freely over the beer/wine.

Some intimacies were shared, though this blog is not permitted to confess them to a wider public. Rae told us how she met Malcolm; she was only 16 and he was dating her best friend. She lost a friend and won a partner. Later, when Malcolm told us how he does all the cooking and always cleans up afterwards, Yvonne said, "no wonder you had two women fighting over you!"

Yvonne has lived in the local area all her life, and remembers riding the train from Clare to Cambridge when it was still running, before the Beeching Axe. Ann mentioned the conversation about the dypsomaniac we'd overheard in the Swan the previous day (Embarrassments with strangers). "Ah yes, Daphne," she said. "She did like her drink. She was really pretty and used to be a model – then worked as a barmaid in the Bell, and they had pictures of her on the walls. She was only 42 when she died, from alcohol poisoning. But it was back in the 60's!" No signs of dementia in Yvonne.

 I took Ann's car into Nico's car wash today. They had a huge price-list on the wall,  showing the typical cost of a car wash with examples of the type of car in each category. Under "Small cars" they had "e.g. Mini ******". It had been "e.g. Mini Copper", but they couldn't correct it once it was painted on, so they'd blanked it out with electrician's tape.

Every wall in Nico's warehouse was papered with adverts for local businesses. One said, "Earn £500/week for doing nothing" and had a photo of a stash of £20 notes to emphasise it was genuine. Another was a notice about a local accountancy firm for small businesses.  Unfortunately it had other notices stuck all over it for the employees and customers: "slippery when wet"; "no admittance beyond this point"; and "Toilets →". The workers had even screwed in a hook in the accountancy notice, to hang up some of their rags.

One of the biggest and most prominent of notices was for "A. Jones and Son, Heating Engineers". Alan Jones calls at our house every year by sending us a card with the date on which he will call, and that dares us to cancel it on pain of our boiler exploding. He then takes about 20 minutes to take the front off the boiler and vacuum clean the dust inside it, before charging us about £150 including V.A.T. for the privilage of his presence. No wonder he can afford a massive bill board in Nico's.

Embarrassments with strangers

Two ambulances were queued outside the antiques warehouse in Clare this morning after I had walked the dogs. Distracted, I forgot to shut the boot to the car and so drove to the Swan with the dogs peering out of the back! Luckily they didn’t try to escape or jump down in the road.
Ann was having her hair done so I had a coffee in the Swan while waiting for her. It was better than any from Costa or Starbucks and only £2; amazing value with a comfy armchair before a roaring log fire to sit beside. These old pubs could make a fortune if they turned themselves into coffee bars and served morning biscuits, or afternoon tea with cakes, rather than rely on the casual trade of an alcoholic public.
Overheard in the pub, the men were gossiping about heavy drinkers they had known. One mentioned a women they knew, whom he'd told her directly: "You're a dipsomaniac!" "No," she answered, "I am no such thing. I'm an alcoholic."
Another mentioned he'd left the pub one day and a strange women came over to him and kissed him. Suddenly she stepped back and said, "Oh sorry, I thought you were someone else. "I didn't mind," he said, "I just told her she should have gone to Spec Savers."
Ann's mother used to tell a similar story: in a toy shop one day, she seized a blow-up hammer and ran up and hit Ann's dad on the head. He turned round, and it was someone else. Ann's cousin Joyce had a similar tale about her mum who always used to pinch the butcher's bum when he bent down — until one day it wan't the butcher but a total stranger.

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Message from Ann in response to yesterday's blog, work-too much and lack of.
The plumber came yesterday to fix our toilet that was refusing to fill. He was telling her that two of his nephews with degrees who live in London cannot find jobs either. One worked two years for the Prison Service and applied to join the Police Force. They told him that he did not have experience with the general public — prisoners are obviously not classed as the general public!!

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Please send a comment if you would like to share some embarrassing moment you had with a stranger.

Mail comments to: grandad.john@2from.com

Work - too much and a lack of

The employment market is very deceptive. My own job is winding down, and may finish soon, but new work seems in short supply. Ann says I can start to do all the jobs round the house that need fixing.

Two of Edwin's friends, both with MAs and experience in a number of jobs, are unable to get work. Northern Alice lives near Nottingham in a job where she is unhappy, but cannot move. She even applied for a job in Leeds, but they refused to interview her, saying she was "out of the area", though she had told them she wished to move. Another friend in Ashford could not get a job even in retail over Christmas. Low paid jobs in London would not cover the price of his rail fare, so they too are out. Are the political statistics deliberately deceptive? We do wonder.

Since Ann's cataract was removed, she is suddenly seeing all sorts of things she was blind to before. Especially dirt and dust. "Why didn't you do it?" she wonders, but I seem to have an inbuilt blindness to it. Now Ann sees it everywhere and has gone about in a frenzy of cleaning every floor and surface she can find. She says when friends come now, they'll think they are in the wrong house, and will ask "Where's Miss Havisham gone with all her cobwebs?"

Brexit drags on, with Nigel Farage haranguing the BBC for their bias against Brexit. Even though the BBC is supposed to be neutral, and even with more than 50% of the country in favour of Brexit, their bias is obvious. Their news items are always slanted against Brexit; their discussion panels are heavily weighted with remainers, and they ignore worthy news items that are pro Brexit, such as Nigel Farage's impressive rant against Juncker and Barnier. Yet for all this bias, and the lack of political will in parliament, a majority of the people still wish to leave the EU. For me, the reason is simple: I hate being told what to do, and rebel against it. Just the fact of the EU dictocrat stating we are foolish to want to leave makes me harden against them.

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Please send a comment if you've experienced a lack of work opportunities, despite the hype to the contrary.

Mail comments to: grandad.john@2from.com