Birmingham

A good weekend in Birmingham meeting son Ben and Kaz, and brother Richard and Chris. We stayed in the old Rotunda in the heart of Birmingham, now converted into wealthy apartments and renamed Staying Cool. Ann's father had worked on the building during its construction in the early '60s and when it was offices Ann herself had taken a comptometer course there, something now confined to commercial museums and Wikipedia.

Ben has a stressful job helping people on low income or income support to sort out their debts and finances. It is not an easy job. He may struggle for them to obtain some money to help them through, but the following week when he returns, they have blown it on a pedigree dog or a huge television rather than pay of the rent arrears, then they expect to get another payment.

One heart-breaking story he told was how the drug gangs recruit young school children, offering huge payments that outdo teachers' salaries, then use threats against them or their families to keep them there. Children who wish to leave, or may have been robbed and can't pay the money they owe, face the threat of amputations, which have occasionally happened: but this doesn't seem to get in the news much. The police find it very difficult to get information, for even other children who are aware of it at school, are too frightened to report it on.

The family in Birmingham, Staying Cool

On a lighter vein, we strolled from Staying Cool to take refresh in The Alchemist, a lively spot on the circuit of the youth of the city before they hit the nightclubs. The place was awash with early celebrants in the throes of tanking up and we had to elbow our way through the door to face a barrage of noise and lively faces. Then, two girls stood and offered their table to Ann and Chris, gave them big hugs and said tables were like gold dust on a Saturday night, but we could have theirs! It brightens the spirit to see such thoughtfulness. We proceeded to enjoy our fizzing, smoking concoctions in comfort, despite the noise and press of people. Brummies are the nicest people.

More medical problems

West Suffolk Hospital is notorious for loosing test results. They have lost a few blood tests, ECGs, X-rays, and a full batch of respiratory tests. Once, they lost all of Mary-Anne's heart tests. But I finally managed to extract my blood test results from the GP after repeated visits and phone calls to the hospital. They showed stage 3 chronic renal failure. To put this in perspective, stage 4 requires dialysis, and stage 5 is "call the undertaker".

When Lucy heard the news, she immediately said she would be willing to donate a kidney, if required! How caring is that - the last thing I would have expected or wanted from anyone. I have been getting tired and can only walk slowly for some time now, and my taste has changed so even coffee tastes sour. I had put it down to post-radiotherapy, but perhaps it is the effect of having anaemia and being uraemic due to the kidney failure.

Yesterday came unhappy news that baby Theo was very ill, with diarrhoea and low blood sugar. He was rushed into hospital with a blue-light ambulance and kept overnight on a drip and antibiotics. This morning he was more alert though still with the diarrhoea, but the good news now is that he has been allowed to return home, so we all hope for a quick return to good health.

Of strokes and a death

Every mornng since returning from India, our neighbour Linda has left for the hospital early and come back late to be with her husband David, who had a major stroke out there. Today I saw her washing the car which David used to polish each morning but today it was covered in the mud of neglect, and managed to talk with her. David has been moved to a rehabilitation unit for physio and speech therapy, and this was the first day she had got for herself. But even as we spoke, the phone went and the unit said he had interpreted his limited words to say he wanted her there, so she lost the day.

Although my Japanese company has gone quiet, Galen are still sending work from Northern Ireland. Today I had a training morning for a new approval system, which ‒ unusually – actually looks easier to use and with better options than the old.

This afternoon, Mary-Anne and girls came round. They had some sad news – gravely announcing the death of their new budgie. They had only had it for a week.

The dentist

A visit to the dentist is always dreaded, and today came fully up to expectation. With the dentist himself I was fortunate: a couple of X-rays, a bit of poking round, and the message that the teeth were all still there and functioning normally, with no change in outlook to the dental bulletin. But then the bombshell: "We'll just get the hygienist to clean them up a bit." 

The dentist only spent ten minutes with me, but the hygienist made up for that with a full half-hour of total torment. "Just try to relax," she cooed, with the soothing tones of Beria calming a victim bound for Stalin's gulag. I was taut enough for my rigid legs to be in the air, forty-five degrees from the couch like a man with tetany. My lips would not relax from the gums, and my dry tongue kept attempting to push the instruments aside in reflex protest. Luckily this emissary from hell had fixed dark protective goggles over my eyes, so she could not see the desperate terror behind the mask.

I believe, on the whole, I behaved well. I didn't swear or scream, and I forced my legs back to the couch to simulate a relaxed state. I brought my head back in line with the light, and managed to crack my mouth open a little, enough for the white-coated monster to quickly slide in a suction pipe and mirror, followed rapidly by a screaming drill. Each tooth was attacked ferociously, as though she intended to root them out like unwanted weeds at Kew. She finally finished, and proffered a small plastic cup of green swill to remove the blood and debris. I stood and shook my head, thinking the teeth might fall and scatter like beads from a broken necklace, but by some miracle they were still intact, and I had survived for another year.

When Ann came out from her check up, she was smiling and boasting of her super white teeth. "They're always so gentle and understanding there," she said, "I never mind going to them."

Troubles with tax

Chris, who runs the antique centre in Clare, intercepted me this morning as I walked past to collect my prescription. Ann always tries to avoid him, and won't walk past the centre when he's there, as he is very talkative. I think it must be an Irish trait. We opened the conversation by swapping our medical states and discussing symptoms - always an easy topic of conversation as we become more elderly. He confirmed that he is continuing with plans to convert the centre into apartments, and has shut half the units, asking people to leave or double up if they had two units. Our old unit is one that is going, so it seems we judged right to leave last year, otherwise we'd have been thrown out this year. It is going to change the character of Clare when it finally closes, as antiques have defined the town for many years, and it has featured in both Lovejoy and the Antiques Road Show.

The chemist asked me to complete a questionnaire when I finally collected the prescription. It seems the NHS demand they give these out from time to time, to check up how their pharmacies are performing, and asks a lot of detailed questions about the length of wait, and the cleanliness and politeness of the assistants. I knew his father Mr Smith Snr well during my time as a GP, and remember his son Mr Smith Jr. joining some years ago when he was fresh out of pharma school, so needless to say I answered every question very positively. I imagine most of the people who bother to return the forms are regulars and motivated to complete such pointless things, so I dare say we all give him A-stars.

This contrasts markedly with Inland Revenue, who are threatening to send the bailiffs in for an unpaid bill, which I have paid, and which our accountants say we don't need to anyway as it is a software error on their part. He has contacted them three times that I know of, and they say they are aware of the error but are still waiting for the computer engineers to sort it out! I tried phoning them this afternoon, but could get nothing but hold music and the message that demand for their services is exceptionally heavy. The call costs 12p/min, and when the total estimated phone bill reached the level of interest they say I owe, I rang off. My God, they take enough from us with their threats and claims, but are very reluctant to send any back or talk about their problems.

The letter from grandson Luke ("Matts and Rosie make dinner") mentioned that he enjoys programming and may decide to become a programmer. At the present rate of progress of Inland Revenue, he'll get his degree and be able to work for them and fix their problems in the time they are taking to sort them out.

This weekend, we planned to visit a number of people during our forthcoming trip to Birmingham. Alas one of them has not yet replied; last time we offered to come to see them, they suddenly found they were away that weekend. Ann and I joke that they haven't replied this time because they're busy trying to book somewhere else for this weekend. Perhaps we are not meant to visit just yet.

Matts and Rosie make dinner

Two events to recall yesterday. First, Edwin left for a weekend in Birmingham with one of his friends. He took a full hamper of booze with him (mostly vodkas) to stay in an Airbnb apartment. He has sent some videos of them making merry in a nightclub, which looks like an exciting rave and very lively. Oh for the energy of youth again! He also visited Cadbury World, which he describes as stuck in the '90s, and unchanged since he visited with us as a young boy, but they have now stopped all the tastings that used to make it interesting.

Matts and Rosie entertaining us

Second, Matthew and Rosie came for the afternoon, and made is a late lunch. As I sat watching Wales thrash the hell out of Ireland to take the Grand Slam, our two gallant visitors took over the kitchen to prepare a major three-course meal. This was a real boon, as both Ann and I have been feeling increasingly tired: me from fighting the disease, and Ann from her deep concern and all the extra work she is having to do; so to have people come round and take on a meal, and tidy everything away afterwards, was a double bonus and worth highlighting. Matthew always takes a photo record of every meal he eats, so naturally he had to snap this one: this time as a selfie to include the four of us.

Today, we were still well filled from the meal, so just bought cheeses in the local farm shop for a light snack. Also, our grandson Luke sent a long letter with some photos, a rare treat indeed and proving that the art of letter writing is not dead. I am now challenged to reply to him by letter rather than by email, but he writes much better than I.

Problems with pets and the EU.

Writing a blog is a strange experience. I meet no famous people; I am not caught up in momentous events; even the impending changes of Brexit have no direct impact. I may add a minor aside, but any deeper thoughts seem to be just a reflection of news items. The only direct consequence for me is that the Japanese work has dried up as the company retreats from the UK, and Galen have registered a new business unit in Ireland to deal with the EU, and our QPPV (qualified person in pharmacovigilance) now has to appoint a separate new person to cover Europe. Like so many people interviewed I want to scream “just get on with it!” If we just quit it could not be worse than these stifling fruitless debates, and all would rapidly sort out.

So I’ll talk instead about the dogs. We took them to the vets yesterday for their annual injections. Byron is a bit of a coward, so hid beneath the chair and had to be pulled out when he immediately jumped onto Ann's lap for protection. Bronte had not problem with the injection, but kennel cough is given by nasal drops, and she struggled like a bronco every time the vet approached her. I did not realise how much strength a dog has in its head. Two of us with three hands gripping the head could barely restrain her, but finally they were in - although the vet did need to open a second vial. Then Bronte started retching and coughing as though she had been poisoned, and managed to bring up a pool of phlegm onto the floor, for the vet to clean up.

Afterwards we visited our friends Robin and Yvonne, with a long chat about the problems of relationships. Being loving grandparents ought to be a simple and joyous time, but occasionally problems may arise in interpretation of the role. We just hope all sorts out before too long. 

Mary-Anne has now added a budgie to their menagerie. They hope to teach it to speak, so I look forward to hearing what words it acquires. Her hens have continued to lay throughout the winter, giving her a large accumulation of eggs. Ann has sent her some egg boxes, so I speculate that perhaps she will begin to make some pin money selling fresh free-range organically produced eggs.