A reminder of mortality

Whom do I approach for a full refund? Who insures the craft we are gifted? To whom may I complain when the chassis fails, or a wheel comes rolling past on an open country road? Perhaps there was no life-time guarantee, for all are doomed to fail. Hitherto, I could ignore my own failing body. I heard the oncologist tell me this myeloma had now metastasised to multiple secondaries in the lung and liver. She is an intelligent, knowledgeable woman in whom I trusted and believed, yet I lived as though nothing had changed. True, I have slowed down, grown weaker, less able to walk far or up gentle slopes, but there was nothing to see or feel. I am not coughing up nasty phlegm or turning bright yellow, and have been pain-free and sleeping well. 

But now I am sent a reminder of mortality, for there is pain. It is mid-thigh: a dull, constant ache that occasionally screams to make its presence known - sharp, determined to be noticed, sufficient to stop anything else I am doing or violently wake me with a jerking jolt in the ungodly hours of night's darkness. The pain has not yet been blessed with an official name, but when I phoned the oncology team at Addenbrooke's their simple advice was to phone St Nicolas Hospice. Sometimes a simple tone of voice is sufficient to convey a thought, for the hospice nurse sounded sadly rueful saying she would conduct a home visit next week, despite my protestations that I am still mobile. There is much to be said for private funding: contrasted with the overworked NHS, the staff answered the phone swiftly and clearly have time for a home visit, even from Bury St Edmunds.  My 80th birthday binge yielded over £500 towards the hospice fund, so my thanks to all who contributed so much towards keeping the hospice running.

Helena Bonham Carter

Friday found Ann and me sat before a potter's wheel. Never had I imagined doing this, but a Christmas gift from Edwin and Andre was a voucher for a two-hour lesson for two people. The teacher has only been doing pottery herself for two years, having taken it up in lockdown rather as I took up painting, but she has turned it into a commercial success, running a well-positioned, attractive studio close to the centre of Bury. As well as selling her pots in the shop, she runs several classes each week and is well booked up until Easter. Six of us huddled ambitiously over our wheels, dreaming of attractive plates or cups we might fashion. Well, never have Ann or I been in such a mess. Clay seemed to be flying everywhere, covering my jersey and jeans despite the apron she provided, and ending in Ann's hair. At the end of two hours, Ann had a decent looking chalice, but my best efforts wouldn't rise as I wanted, so mine looks more like a misshapen dog bowl, for a very small dog. Our efforts are to be fired in the kiln, which is very brave of her as she threatened they could explode if we didn't do it right, and mine was folded and refolded so many times I'm sure it must have water or air bubbles trapped inside. I will stick to my painting, which I enjoy and generally produces vaguely recognisable results.

My eightieth birthday binge

Ann, Eds, Andre and Lucy dancing

My 80th birthday has been celebrated in style. Everyone who loves us was there, including many of our neighbours, and it was the people there who made the night a joyous success. Edwin and Andre had arranged everything - mostly. They hired the hall, arranged the catering, bought the decorations, booked a DJ and – on the day – with the help of Ben, Kaz and Luke, blew up all the balloons and set out the tables. The one thing they could not order was the cake! Never had Edwin met so much negativity as from those so called cake chefs. None was available, and often declined in a very rude manner. In desperation, he handed the task over to Ann. She too had difficulty, probably phoning many of the ones Eds had tried. Finally, a local person answered Ann's plea on Facebook and promised to bake one, to be ready on the morning of the party. The day started wet and I overslept. The boys left early for their haircut before collecting the hall key, and we followed. I went off to pick up the cake, but I was early at the house and no one answered for a while before her mother came to the door in dressing gown, saying, "My daughter does them. She's still in bed." Eventually she dressed and came down, carrying the most delightful looking confection. Our relief was palpable.

Cutting the cake with Lucia and Theo

The DJ was brilliant playing so much variety over the eight decades, including many of our favourites to which many of us danced, even me waving my stick about. Ann and I went as 60's hippies, Edwin was Taylor Swift, and Andre Ed Sheeran. Ben and Kaz came as a priest and nun, while Matthew and Rosie had the nerve to come us me and Ann! They were brilliant, and Matts looked more like me than I do.

Ben, Andre and Kaz

Lucy and Theo

Mateo, Lucy and Luke

Ann and I trip the floor

Who is which?

I am privileged to have made it through the world for eighty years, for many of them supported by and in the company Ann, the best companion a man can have.  Most of them have been wonderful, memorable years, but all have been defined by the people I have met, especially those who add to our lives as did the people who came to support this celebration. Many of them travelled great distances to be here: Ben and Kaz from Telford, my brother Richard and Chris from Coventry, and Lucy, Matthew and Dan and their families from the north. Even many local friends braved the cold night to come, including our neighbour in his wheelchair. Thank you all so much. You will not be forgotten when I remember this wonderful day; your presence added to the occasion. 

Happy Christmas everyone

Our Christmas Hearth

Yesterday we went to Rae and Malcolm's for mince pies, and now it is Christmas Eve. Edwin and Andre are here to share Christmas and prepare for my grand 80th birthday bash. A large number have said they will come, so we hope the weather holds out. If the snow returns, we may be limited to a few local people. Christmas is upon us, meaning more work for Ann and not much change for me, now I am mostly retired. We have a large box of fruit in the kitchen, and Ann has been so busy she watered the pineapple. As always, the hearth and its warmth take the centre of the room, and Ann has decorated it in beautiful simplicity. It is surely no coincidence that the hearth contains the heart. Christmas shopping this week, Edwin was next to a young couple with a pile of wrapping paper in their trolley when an older man walked past. "Oh," he said, "are you only just doing it? I have a wife and four children and a full-time job, but I got all my presents wrapped a week ago!" 

I always welcome the winter solstice with its hope for longer days and a promise of regrowth. We have passed the turning of the year, and "as the day lengthens so the cold strengthens," as my mother used to say. We must hope we don't get the weather they're experiencing in the US, or our boiler will never cope, even without an energy crisis. It has been quite a year, with three primeministers, a change of monarch, a major European war, and a cost-of-living crisis, all additional to the passing of sentence of execution in my own case. 

I have been watching His Dark Materials, the third part of which is now being broadcast by the BBC. Many have criticised it as blasphemous, but I interepret it as only anti-organised religion. I have always thought it a gross arrogance to presume that any one religious doctrine is the absolute truth and all others are a lie. No one person, surely, can have no more than a glimpse of the unknown. So many glimpses give us a hint of a shadow of truth, but the whole truth is hidden. I attempted to explore it in my book, Girders in the Sand, suggesting that there is a reality beyond that of which we are conscious, His Dark Materials chimes with this, Suggesting as it does that organised religion seeks to control the minds of its adherents, yet beyond it is a deeper truth, wherein there is a mysterious connection between living beings and the universe that created us. It is a book of great depth and thought-provoking subtlety.

A gay wedding

 On Friday, Ann and I were in Middlesbrough for the event of the year - the marriage of Mike and Ryan. The wedding was scheduled for 11:30 in the registry office. We arrived at 11:00, where we gathered on the steep steps to the old Victorian  Town Hall. 

Mike and Ryan with Theo

Ben and Luke

 The two special men were dressed in matching suits and very smart. They and the two fathers were taken into the registrars room where a gentle, patient woman guided us through the brief requirements for the ceremony and verified that all names were correct for the register. Ryan and his father went first to wait before the table, then I walked Mike down the aisle; the first time I have had such a special privilege and I was honoured to be asked. Each father was asked in turn if we were happy to support the wedding, answering "I do"; we then sat as the ceremony proceeded. It was a moving event, with great commitment from Mike and Ryan. The registrar asked if anyone present knew any reason why the marriage should not go ahead, at which point Mike turned to look at us all and said, "if any of youse lot says anything, I'll kill yer!" making everyone laugh. Then little Theo, dressed to match the two men, shyly brought up the ring box with the two rings inside for each to wear. 

Ann and I at the wedding

The two men at the reception

The wedding meal was limited to the immediate families, but as each groom was one of five siblings, this was still a large number. Ann and I sat next to Mike and opposite Ryan's parents. To our surprise and an emotional delight, they gave us each a book marked "John" and "Annie", carefully put together by Ryan with some of our poetry illustrated with appropriate images. We were moved to tears at such consideration.

The reception was held in a large venue in Middlesbrough, so large indeed that Ann and I wandered into someone else's reception, and Richard and Chris went into a 50th birthday party upstairs. Mike and Ryan's venue was quite special: tastefully decorated with a dance stage backed by a "Mr and Mr" silver sign. The disco was loud, the food plentiful, and the cake huge. We had returned to the hotel after the meal where I fell asleep, so we were a little late and missed the cake cutting, but not the eating thereof. Almost our whole family was present, including my two brothers, Richard and Peter, and Peter's daughter Laita, whom we hadn't seen for many years. There is so much hatred, bigotry, prejudice and oppression in this world, it was truly wonderful to see so much support for this wedding, where even old traditionalists could see two people committing to each other in love, and celebrate their happiness.

Ann and Chris

With brothers Richard and Peter

Lucy with Lucia and Mateo

Rosie and Matthew

The next day, we dropped Ann to see her sister, Jane, while I slipped down to Middlesbrough to see Arwen and Nye, the grandchildren we had missed on the day. Then, a tiring drive home down the long A1 to two mad dogs thrilled to have us back. Altogether, it was a fantastic day and worth the great effort of getting there. We wish them both well in their commitment to a life together.

Cataract consternation

I have had my cataract for years. It has been my constant, blurry companion, forcing me to squint or close my right eye to look critically at anything, including traffic where the confusing blur of the bad eye distorted an assessment of any oncoming danger. For years, too, ophthalmologists have opined that it "would need dealing with" in the future. Finally, that future arrived, and I agreed to be listed for surgery. To blot out the terror, my mind went numb to the oncoming onslaught, refusing to think of it or discuss it. Ann has had cataract repairs in both eyes, but in vain were her protestations that "you don't feel a thing", and "you'll be glad you had it done". I know how fearful she was of anything to do with her eyes, yet she bravely went through the procedures with no sign of distress. Well good for her! I am not of such metal. 

The cutting was booked for Ipswich, and Edwin volunteered to drive me to the place of torture, as I huddled tense in the car, making guttural one syllable responses at his gently attempted distractions. The receptionist welcomed me in, her smile concealing a malicious, pitying, knowing look that I know must be being their kind exterior. They had a large television on the wall, playing a video of coral fish in a profusion of colour endlessly swimming round their reef to distract us. If I were such a fish, I would have forgotten why I was there, and could also flap around aimlessly and carefree. Instead, I wondered if I had made a grave mistake, and perhaps the cataract was something I could live with. I should call Edwin back and tell him the clinic had overbooked, or a surgeon hadn't turned up, and I had to go home. But I gritted my teeth and numbed my mind, to be led like the lamb to the pre-op room where they filled my eyes with many drops, perhaps hoping to freeze my brain along with the eye.

Finally, I was taken through to the operating theatre. The surgeon was fully gowned and gloved as if about to do major heart surgery, such is the danger of infection. They lay me on the couch, and I wondered if I ought to just admit I'd changed my mind. They brought a bright light into focus, and the surgeon told me to keep looking at it. Ann had said that I wouldn't see anything but the light, but she was wrong - round the periphery of the light I could see silhouetted the bulk of the surgeon wielding his scalpel as he approached. I am not a brave man, and even as he began slicing I thought of telling him I wanted to leave, but instead I gritted my teeth and clasped my hands tightly as he cut deeper, and the light became a blurred vague pattern. He kept telling me to just look at the light, but every time he touched the eye, the light jerked from side to side. There was the soft sound of a muted dentist's drill as he did unspeakable things, constantly calling for "more irrigation", as water seemed to cascade constantly into my eye socket. Suddenly, the light seemed to grow sharper again as I guessed he put in place the plastic lens. I don't know what else he did, but eventually, after the longest ten minutes of my life, he said it was all done and had gone well. 

My God. What a nervous jelly I was. I shook as I stood up, and was led from the room to "recovery", a quiet chair with a cup of sweet coffee. I was even offered a biscuit, but was too shaky to take one. At last, I was back in the car with Edwin. He lent me a pair of sunglasses to protect from the glare of the late, low winter sun, but I didn't open my eyes for the whole of the journey home, glad to be able to keep them closed and rested after their ordeal. 

The most striking effect from the resulting visual correction came that evening when I watched  football replays on television. Suddenly, I saw a vivid effect whereby the bright red jerseys of the players moving across the green grass was thrown into stark three-dimensional relief. I know from my basic physics that this effect, called chromostereopsis, is caused because red light with the longest wavelength is refracted less than the shorter green and blue wavelengths. Even when physically only existing in 2-D on a flat TV screen, red images are therefore displaced on the retina relative to green ones, giving the illusion of 3-D. My poor cataract-stricken right eye had never allowed me to see this effect before, but now it is stunning!

A welcome visit, and a disappointing repair

We celebrate a delightful lunch

 A delightful weekend with Ben and Kaz, with a great evening drinking and putting the world to rights. They not only stayed with us, but cooked for us - even buying the food on the way over. We had a delicious full Sunday lunch with all the trimmings, including home-grown carrots and parsnips in honey and orange. Absolutely delicious, and wonderful to see Ann able to rest for once while someone else does all the work. The dogs, normally given only dry food, were salivating with excitement as they sniffed something they hadn't realised existed in their little world - the smell of roasting beef!

Edwin and Andre finally returned from Brazil after a wonderful holiday, only to come back to cold, dark rain, a baggage handlers strike at Heathrow, the Heathrow Express stopped, and full cancellation of the Kings Cross to Cambridge service. When finally through customs at Heathrow, they had to take an Uber to Liverpool Street and pick up the slow stopping service to finally reach Cambridge and rescue their car. To crown it all, Andre was ill and vomiting and now has confirmed Covid, so we won't be seeing him for a while.

I now know how useful en-suite bathrooms are. Our bathroom basin has been leaking since the plumber repaired it. Yesterday, I plucked up courage to tackle the job and succeeded in removing the basin, to find it had small cracks in the base. We therefore decided it was time for a new one, so I was in Sudbury this morning traipsing round every plumbers' suppliers looking for a new bowl. Most didn't have anything at all, but even those that did have some on display said it would be five to seven days for delivery. My final visit was to Plumbers City, which again was negative, but next door to Wine City. I was more successful there, coming out with a box of assorted white wines to cheer us up. Finally, we have found a bowl on Amazon which promises next day delivery, so hopefully only one more night of having to traipse down the hall in the middle of the night.

Celebrating Abdul

Abdul reaches the final!

One of Andre's good friend and workmate, Abdul, has reached the final of Bake Off. It is not a program we normally watch, but we have watched this series faithfully in tribute to Abdul, and this week he got through the semi-final to reach the last test. The contestants are each allowed to invite a number of family and friends to the final, and I know Andre and Edwin went down to the marquees in Berkshire this summer to watch it with Abdul's partner. They all had to sign NDAs and had their phones confiscated, and they have both been faithful in refusing to drop any hints about how Abdul got on. They will still be in Brazil next week, so won't be able to watch the final, nor catch any glimpse of themselves in the crowd of supporters, but we will watch it. The semi-finalists feature on the cover of Radio Times this week, so we will buy a copy for them to keep.

Our son Dan paid a flying visit yesterday, on his way back to Yorkshire. We went into Clare for lunch at the Swan, before he headed for home, but coming out of the Swan, the road was blocked for about twenty minutes while the meat wagon unloaded carcasses for the butcher's shop. Dan said he'd come all the way up from London without getting into a single traffic jam, until he hit Clare.

I often wonder why non-scientists have such difficulty with basic concepts. I get a copy of Artnet news in my email each week, generally filled with new artists' work, or interesting stories. This week had an article titled  “The World’s Oldest Map of the Stars” by Sarah Cascone. There have long been rumours that Hipparchus, the inventor of trigonometry and greatest overall astronomer of antiquity, had drawn one of the first star maps, but it has been lost to antiquity. Now a new document has been found in the Vatican Library that is a palimpsest, i.e a parchment on which old writing has been erased and overwritten. A clever student researcher has discovered that the original scratched out writing was probably a copy of Hipparchus's star chart, thus confirming its existence. This is a fantastic discovery, and well worth writing up in an arts newscast. However, Hipparchus's other great discovery was the precession of the earth’s axis. Precession is the slight wobble we see on anything that is spinning round, such as a gyroscope's wobble. Sarah Cascone repeatedly called it "procession", as if the earth and the other planets were marching round the sun like a coronation parade. By studying Egyptian historical records, Hipparchus found that the appearance of Sirius in spring had grown two weeks later every 1,0000 years, until it no longer coincided with the flooding of the Nile. He then correctly predicted the earth's precession every 26,000 years. It is even mentioned in poetry:

Canto IV

   Though no one man could dare compute the course of heaven,

   Yet some there were who puzzled at the wayward signs:

   Slight noted shifts within the ordered span of lights;

   While agile planet wanderers would errant run,

   Charted by watchful men through scores of centuries.

   Egyptian goddess Isis named bright Sirius,

   Whose dawn approach foretold the rising, fertile Nile:

   Yet even she would lag two weeks each thousand years,

   Until too tardy to predict a flooding land.

   This long, through dynasties of Pharaohs, did it take

   To chart numerous regressions in the mystic seven,

And note a perturbation in the spin of heaven.

 from Girders in the Sand

Another minor infringement is in The Importance of Being Interested: Adventures in Scientific Curiosity, a wonderful book I am reading by Robin Ince. Even he mixes his units in one place, quoting the speed of light as 300,000 kilobits per sec, instead of kilometres per sec. Perhaps he thinks light travels through a computer at the speed of information.

My dreams lately are very vivid and disturbing. Ann says I no longer snore, but have started shouting out in my sleep, which disturbs her even worse. The first night, I dreamt of being chased and attacked by a great bear; the second night, I was swimming desperately with a huge crocodile beside me; the third night it was an oversized serpent, looking more like the Basilisk, baring its fangs at me. Then I dreamt I was attempting to tackle some rough terrain in something like a camper van. It required two people to pull the tarpaulin over the frame to create something of a shelter, but I was struggling to do the job alone and failing badly.