Living in Cloud Cuckoo Land

All my pictures of Ann seem to show her over a table with a glass of wine. In fairness, hers of me show a similar theme, but I prefer to see pictures of Ann in the blog. I don't consider myself a good sight these days. Tomorrow, we are hoping to get to Coventry where we've been invited to stay with my brother Richard and Chris, then on to stay with Ben and Kaz at their holiday cottage in Wales, so we went to Waitrose for some last-minute shopping to take. At least, Ann did some shopping while I walked the dogs in the great park at Sudbury. We then agreed to stop for a drink and a bight to eat on the way home, while I am still working and we can afford to eat. So we enjoyed a meal and a bottle of wine at the luxurious Swan Inn in Long Melford.  Also, if the forecast for this storm is correct, with its red warning over SE England and Wales, we may not even get away. They are forecasting winds of up to 100 mph, and the worst storm to hit Britain for decades. Nevertheless, unless the A14 is washed away or blocked by a string of overturned lorries, I am hopeful we will get through if we time it for after the eye of the storm has passed.

I have just finished a book called Cloud Cuckoo Land by Anthony Doerr. It is without doubt one of the most unusual books I have read, switching constantly and rapidly not just from century to century, but also between characters and places even launching into a SciFi future following a climate apocalypse in Earth. I think the true protagonist is the book of the same name written by the Greek Diogenes. Indeed, it isn't even the story of a physical book, but rather the story within the book, both how it survived floods, wars and fires, yet still lives on through a last remaining tattered partial copy recently unearthed in the Vatican library. Yet somehow the double story of Cloud Cuckoo Land, both by Diogenes and by Doerr, represents our own lives in many ways, and cries out to preserve the lives we have rather than chasing chimeric illusions. Even at 600 pages, I could not put it down till I had finished and I recommend this book for anyone looking for a thoughtful read and a gripping tale. 

Ann loves trees

Lebanon Cedar Tree in Winter sunrise 

Hardwick Heath Park in Bury St Edmunds is commanded by a number of great Lebanese cedars, planted 200 years ago when the Park was part of a great estate. We often park there when visiting the hospital, as the carparking is much cheaper, and it is but a short walk through the grounds to Bury Hospital. Also, its vast acreage is a paradise for dog walkers, where they can run free of the leash to their heart's content.

I was there a few weeks ago, having dropped Ann off at the hospital for an early 8:00 a.m. outpatient eye appointment. It was the moment of sunrise, seen against a clear blue sky through the trees, with heavy frost upon the ground, the sun reflecting fiery red off the trunk and branches of the great cedar. It was a rare, memorable sight in a deep winter January morning that I felt compelled to capture in paint. I was there for two hours while Ann was being examined, and gave the dogs two long walks that cheered them considerably.  I am quite pleased with the final picture, and will present it to Ann framed, as a testament to her love of trees and her bravery in facing a very difficult cataract operation. 

After the cataract surgery the immediate effect was to leave her blind with the eye weeping. Happily her sight has finally improved, the eye is less sore, and she is beginning to see more clearly through that eye, though still only with peripheral vision due to the central hole.

We enjoy the Globe's hospitality

In more up-to-date news, after visiting Waitrose yesterday we stopped at The Globe in Clare, a wonderful old-fashioned pub that has resisted all temptations to modernise or serve food. It is a pure drinking emporium, now privately owned so not tied to Green King. We had not been in since before the lockdowns, and it was good to see it packed, with a wonderful fire in the hearth. Most people there were on first-name terms with each other and with the landlord (whose name is Andy). They were mostly young, and many were just standing chatting despite a number of empty seats. Ann enjoyed her usual wine, while I sampled a fine Dalwhinnie, one of a number of whiskeys on the shelf. It is a good landlord who favours a selection of whiskeys rather than boasting of fifty weird gins just to be in fashion.

Edwin and Andre have finally signed the agreement on a rental house in Bury St Edmunds, and have been given the keys. They plan to move in next weekend. Unfortunately, Edwin has now developed Covid, and is quite ill with it. He wasn't able to get the keys with Andre, or meet the landlord at the house, but she left them a card and bottle of bubbly to welcome them. They hoped to have us round for a final meal with them before they move, but that too is now not happening. 

We will be away next weekend, going to stay with Ben and Kaz in Wales. We had planned to stay in a hotel en route to break the journey, but brother Richard and Chris have just invited us to stay a night with them, the first time we will have seen them for two years, so we look forward to meeting up again. Just sorry we are missing Edwin's new start in a new home.

 

A shameful confession

Walking on Shotley Peninsula

Work had grown quiet, so we could take an away day visiting our old haunts on Shotley Peninsula, where we used to berth our boat. We had intended to eat at the Shipwreck, a good stopping place in the old days, but it was closed for a long winter's break. Ann couldn't resist reminding me of a bad incident there many years ago, when I thought it would be a good idea to let a young Edwin have his first experience of driving. We had a Mercedes then, which I had reversed into a parking place so he could just drive forward into a large, empty carpark. Unfortunately, he gripped the wheel and seemed to freeze. The car executed a full U-turn to end up facing the Shipwreck at speed, and I was unable to grab the handbrake, or switch off the ignition. It all happened so fast and unexpectedly I couldn't even get the wheel from him in time. 

We slammed into another parked car and shunted it through the window into the dining area of the restaurant. The breaking glass showered the pavement outside, and the tables within. Our only good fortune was that no one was in the car or on the pavement, and no one was sitting in that section of the restaurant. The car we hit was owned by an eighteen-year-old boy, and a right-off. We met his mother later to settle the payment for the car. I think she was a probation worker, but she was very understanding about it. She said he had only had his car for one day,  and that was his first outing, but he also had written off his first car just a week earlier. I still have nightmares over this.

Walking past Harry King's boatyard at Pin Mill

On a happier note, we had a good walk with the dogs along the shoreline, and retired to the Butt and Oyster at Pin Mill for lunch later, made famous by Arthur Ransome in his books, Secret Water and We Didn't Mean to go to Sea, both boyhood favourites. Also today, I did Wordle in two - a completely lucky fluke and my all-time record! I'm posting this boast late in the day, so hopefully the reveal won't spoil it for anyone.

 

Some good news comes

Welcome Baby Aneurin

At last, some good news is coming our way. Matthew and Rosie have had their baby boy, to be named Aneurin after Aneurin Bevan, founder of the NHS. It is a noble name, as well as that of a true socialist; we wish Baby Aneurin all success and power as he grows in Bevan's shadow. The baby was born late last night (Sunday) and is coming home tonight.

As a second bit of good news, Edwin and Andre have found a house to rent, larger than their Cambridge apartment, located on a quiet road in Bury-St-Edmunds. Curiosity drove us to see it today, and it looks to be a lovely old cottage in a little cul-de-sac, so we wish them all joy too with their house move and settling in their next historic town.  

Also tonight, Ben phoned to say he and Kaz are renting a cottage in Wales in February, and inviting us to stay for a couple of nights. We have been keen to get a break away after the lockdowns and the cancer treatments, so their offer has come as a ray of hope for a brighter year ahead. 

On Saturday, I had my second immunotherapy treatment. Apart from mild nausea and dizziness, I am thus far much more comfortable than after the first one, so hopefully the drug is doing its business and knocking out the nasty cells floating round my body, without knocking me out too. I had taken a bag with a book, drink and nibbles to help during the time I sit strapped by a drip to a chair, but like an idiot I forgot it and left it in the car. The boys came to the rescue, stopping via a garage to buy a drink, chocolate and a newspaper to read. Naturally, Edwin's recent conversion to the labour party led him to select the Guardian to balance my right-wing tendancies.

I always feel a bit groggy and sick afterwards, so I went round to meet Ann at the boys' apartment, where Edwin prepared my a traditional jam sandwich to settle my tum. As the picture shows, they are very good at cheering me up and making me feel better. 

Talking politics, I always thought the suggestion to sack tens of thousands of nurses, care workers and other health professionals at a time of huge need and staff shortage was. to put it politely, a little short-sighted. Our trip to London last weekend saw us caught up in a march by NHS staff protesting about compulsory vaccination, and we did sympathise with them, although they have a weak case as they already should be vaccinated against Influenza, Hepatitis B, TB,  Measles, Mumps, Rubella, Diphtheria, Tetanus and Pertussis. Nevertheless, it should never be compulsory, and on a practical level, the NHS needs them now more than ever. So when the government announced tonight they are dropping the requirement, I was not surprised at all. This government has made more U-turns than the Woolwich Ferry, and I am sure there will be many more down the line until they get rid of Boris, who is now the albatross round the Tory neck.

A Commissioned Portrait, anyone?

Border Collie watching the flock

Going forward, since my abrupt redundancy notice, I will have more time for artwork. To this end I am reshowing my winter scene, modified since first I posted it, by the addition of a little model border collie herding the flock. I attached a small wooden platform beneath his feet, painted to continue the snow effect out of the picture. 

I have also completed the portrait of our neighbour, David, a stroke victim who allowed me to photograph him last summer. This adds to my total number of pictures: some forty plus over the eighteen months since I took up the brush. Perhaps I can find a new income stream by offering portraits in oils. Unfortunately, any potential clientele would need to be half-blind, or else welcome a distorted view of their image. I wonder how much anyone is prepared to pay for a commissioned oil portrait these days? 

David - Living with Stroke

Ann had her follow-up visit to the eye clinic this morning, following her cataract surgery. The vision remains blurred, and she must continue with drops for another week at least, but some peripheral vision is returning thankfully. She still has a large hole in her central vision on that side due to the macular damage, but the consultant said it may be possible to offer some treatment to improve the central vision now. That is potentially wonderful news, especially if the good eye should fail, and a complete change from a few years ago when they said it was beyond help. I suspect medical advances must be progressing in all fields of medicine, and unless one is directly involved in that field (as specialist or patient), we rarely hear of them. Ann doesn't want anything more doing at present, but is certainly interested in the possibility. 

 

I join the scrapheap

Herd of Fallow Deer (Buck and six Doe)

It has been an interesting time for news (personal, not political - on that I will not comment). The consultant oncologist has checked me over following my blood tests. Although some of the blood parameters continue to decline, she pronounced me fit for another dose of immunotherapy, booked for Saturday, saying they will just continue to monitor the blood levels. 

To add to life's uncertainties, today I had a telecon with one of the powers at the company I work for, who told me bluntly they will not be renewing my contract. He said they were having "an internal reorganisation", and replacing all contract staff with permanent staff. I had half expected it, but having worked without a break since I left school at 18 (I count my student days as working!), it still comes as a shock to the system. If another job offer comes along, perhaps a couple of days a week, I may be tempted but, realistically, I guess it will be unlikely now and I must adjust to living on the scrapheap of life.

On a brighter note, driving back from Clare where I had walked the dogs, I came across a herd of Fallow Deer by the side of the road, six Does and a fully antlered Buck. They moved off of course as I stopped the car, and were already in the distance as I pulled out my camera, but they were an impressive sight. Usually we only see single little Muntjac deer so close to the road, and those more often in the headlights at night rather than bright daytime.

At the Clare Art Club

Halfway through...Finished

Isolated in art since I started to paint eighteen months ago in the midst of the first lockdown, I thought it time to meet some fellow artists. The nearest group appears to be the Clare Art Club, which meets once per month for a talk followed by tea and biscuits, and tonight, having paid my entrance fee at the door, I am welcomed in as a guest. Some members are fellow septuagenarians, although some are younger, but none is below the age of 50, and all seem keen watercolourists with an interest in pretty pictures, of which tonight's speaker is a keen advocate. He is clearly an accomplished professional artist, who proceeds to show us how it should be done. His blank sheet of paper is taped to a board before which he stands, his palette in hand, waving his magic brushes to conjure up an impeccable image of a Cambridge street scene. Halfway through, we pause for tea and a biscuit before he resumes his brushwork and with a final flourish the last cyclist is in place and the job is done. We have a perfect image to lighten a dark hallway or adorn a greetings card. 

I have been asked why I don't try to do landscapes or everyday scenes such as this. My answer is simple: I do not want to. I will never have the skill for such intricate architectural detail, or even the eye to cropping the photo to make a pleasing composition. The majority of my work has been portraits, mostly from pictures I have taken myself of family members or friends or neighbours with a face that interests me. I love the contours of the human face, the details the shadowing can enhance, and the wonderful sensation of seeing character emerge as I mix paints on the canvas, wet-on-wet. My technique may still have far to go and result in many failures on the way, but I value the challenge and the chance to portray some inner quality of the person I am painting. 

Fighting Still

I am so tired of this life fight.

If I were young,

ready for fresh eyed conflict,

it would be so much easier

than the battle of lines

and walking canes

but life,

is never done

until the final breath is sighed

and the breast is stilled

beneath the ice cold grave.

by Annie Elliott

Yesterday, I had another 'routine' blood test prior to my oncology assessment later today. Again I had to partially strip in the carpark before driving up to the tent and hang my arm from the window for the girl to do her stuff. But it was all very quick and efficient. The results were available online this morning, and continue to show a slow decline in many of the measures, especially haemoglobin (I am quite anaemic) and white cells (leukopenia for the technically minded). Indeed, my leukopenia is now low enough to be classified as a Grade 3 severity on the oncological scale of adverse events, and I have known clinical trials be stopped if any subject reached this threshold. I can only wait to see if they will stop my own treatment, or give it one more go. Hey-ho for the merry-go-round.