Ray

Last week my doorbell rang at 9.00 and Ray, my neighbour was standing there. Ray lives two doors away with his elderly mother. Their house has been on the market and recently the sign was changed from 'for sale' to 'sold' so I assumed they would be leaving soon. I have occasionally spoken with Ray's mother who told me that she had been caring for her brother in Romford and he had died and left her his house so she was going to live there. I haven't really said more than a passing word to Ray as mostly he is rather drunk (although harmless..I see him sometimes asleep on the lawn, unable to co-ordinate the front door key to let himself in!). Ian and I speculated that when the house was sold Ray would probably drink all the money away. Well, last week Ray asked me if I would come and have a drink with him as he was moving out the following day. I felt a bit sorry for him as I don't think he talks to many people and so I said yes. When I got to Ray's house the only thing in it was a TV, an empty can of Stella and a bottle of Russian vodka! I agreed to the vodka and he found some coke and I determined that the conversation (and the drink) would not take long! He told me that he was going to buy some land in Bulgaria (although didn't seem to know how or when or what he would do with it) although he couldn't see much need to learn Bulgarian as 'English is the language'. I drank the vodka quite quickly, wished him well, made my excuses and left! Fortunately he was too drunk to get out of the chair quickly enough to get me the second drink he promised! He said he had lived there 27 years but didn't really know anyone else to talk to which I thought was quite sad. Mind you, I notice that a week later he is still there and there is no sign yet of him moving out!

Ian's bowel's 2

Ian had his colonoscopy yesterday. It went pretty well. He was welcomed to the hospital and shown his room, which was like a cross between a 'Travelodge' and a hospital. All the staff were very polite and friendly. He saw a nurse straight away who filled out forms, did a few tests and prepared him for the procedure; he saw the consultant briefly and then he was wheeled down to theatre area. He was gone for an hour or so and while I waited the nurse bought me a cup of tea. While he was gone the nurse set up the room for his return with a monitor and an oxygen cylinder and made his outpatients appointment for him. He was asleep for about an hour after they brought him back but after that he woke slowly and had a drink and a cup of tea and a sandwich (the food was like the food you would get in an average hotel and served by someone with a badge on that said 'waitress'). The nurse asked me if he needed a certificate for work, checked up on him regularly and once he was awake and had been to the toilet removed his cannula and pronounced him fit to leave. The consultant came in and said that his bowel looked perfectly normal but had taken several biopsies to ensure that there was nothing there that couldn't be seen by the naked eye and after that we left. Ian was a bit unsteady and tired but basically well and we were home by 9.30. The whole thing had taken 6 hours from start to finish.



There were several things that struck me as a contrast to my recent experiences with the NHS. Firstly the whole procedure was very efficient from start to finish, the staff were all pleasant, friendly and efficient (even though they were busy) , the food was something that you wanted to eat and people were considerate enough to get me a cup of tea while I sat there! All of these things made a big difference to our experience and I'm sure if you were unwell would make you feel like you could relax and get better and not have to spend your energy trying to fight the system and to get out as soon as possible My only concern was how on earth they managed to keep the carpets clean and free from MRSA!

What a wonderful world

I always listen to the radio when I am by myself in the car and often sing along as I know no one can hear me! Today, while I was driving to Brighton they played 'What a wonderful world' by Louis Armstrong. The song always cheers me up, not least because it was one of my father's favourite songs. He always liked songs with 'a good tune' and also liked Louis Armstrong, who he remembered as 'old Satchmo'. I specifically remember him saying how much he liked it, especially the words, which I think summed up how he felt about life at the time. I was still at primary school (in fact I have just looked it up and it was released in 1968 so I would have been 10 years old) and my father would have been around 60 years old. Louis Armstrong would have been about 67 so I suppose my father grew up with his music. I very much remember getting the sense that for both of them the song was a celebration of life and all that is positive about it. I also remember that at the time they played it in our school assembly and we were told that although it was a popular song it was also like a hymn.

Over the last few years particularly I have been quite surprised at my ability to see a 'half full glass' rather than one that is half empty and I think I have been very blessed to have a largely positive view of life. When I heard the song today it reminded me of where some of that positivism might have come from.

I looked up the words. They are really quite simple and brief and the whole recording is only 2 minutes 19 seconds. It was one of the last last things Louis Armstrong recorded as he died suddenly in 1971 of a heart attack. My father died in a similar fashion 14 years later.

Lyrics to WHAT A WONDERFUL WORLD written by George Weiss and Bob Thiele and recorded by Louis Armstrong.

I see trees of green, red roses too
I see them bloom for me and you
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world

I see skies of blue and clouds of white
The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world

The colours of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces of people going by
I see friends shakin' hands, sayin' "How do you do?"
They're really saying "I love you"

I hear babies cryin', I watch them grow
They'll learn much more than I'll ever know
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world
Yes, I think to myself, what a wonderful world
Oh yeah

Mother's knees on the mend?

My mother seems to be improving very slowly. Her confusion and memory are a lot better and now when I speak to her on the phone she seems to be almost like her old self. Her feet are a little less puffy and her hands a bit better although her knees are about the same. She manages her own cooking, washing up, laundry, can mostly manage her own affairs and can get to the shops to buy a paper. My sister does her weekly shopping and cleaning but apart from that she is pretty much independent in her new flat. She still misses the fact that she can't go far on her own, although she does manage to get to the doctors, to get to the post office and we are working on her getting out to the hairdressers. It seems that most of her symptoms were due to an under-active thyroid and the severity made it difficult to diagnose. Her thyroid levels have only been in the normal range for about 4 weeks so we are hoping that in a few months some of her other symptoms will eventually ease. More importantly she has adapted to her move quite well and told me the other day that she really loved it there. The added stimulation of having company, the extra confidence of knowing that there are people around should she need them and the fact that there are things going on around her have all seemed to help. Sixteen of them are going out for dinner on New Years Eve. They have managed to negotiate a very good deal for themselves at one of the trendiest restaurants in Windsor that just happens to be round the corner.
It's funny but when I noticed that she was getting confused I couldn't really bring myself to be that honest with her at the time about it as I was afraid of the fact that she may have dementia. Now I know more than anyone that confusion is a typical symptom of under active thyroid and is often mistaken for dementia but when it concerns your own mother logic doesn't work!

Le maçon

We think we have found a builder for the house in France. We met four possible builders while we were over in the summer and they all promised quotes. One materialised quite quickly and bits of it were okay, but he wasn't our first choice of builder as he seemed to have his own ideas as to how things should be done and we thought we would probably have a hard time getting him to listen to us. One had been initially reluctant but after meeting Ian he had seemed quite enthusiastic. We chased him when the quote didn't materialise and he confessed that he had not done anything and as he had some health problems he didn't want to bid as he probably wouldn't have time to do the work. One hadn't responded but we decided we didn't really like him much. I can't quite put my finger on what it was that had put us off but we just got the impression that he was more interested in hunting with his friends that helping us build the house. Also when we stopped in at his house to drop off the plans he had a rather nice looking dog that he proceeded to shout at and hit. I just don't feel I want to trust the building of my home to a man who hits dogs as I can't imagine that he would be able to create a nice happy feeling in the building. After some reminders the final quote came in from Monsieur Soulier. We had both got a good feeling about him when we met. He seemed reasonable, quiet, polite and seemed to know what he was doing. The quote was not too excessive and so we hope to meet him soon and agree to start the work. I think what really convinced us was that he was a competitive racing cyclist in his youth. Funny how in the end business decisions are often little to do with business!

Ian's bowels

The story of our collective ill health continues. Ian has had a pain in his stomach for about a year. It usually makes him feel quite sick and sometimes it has been quite bad and he has taken himself to the doctor, but then it goes off and he forgets about it. Two doctors now have told him that they thought he may have appendicitis and, after hearing of my sister-in-law's emergency in France and a particularly painful episode the other week he got himself referred to a specialist. He has private health insurance so he was seen quite quickly and had a few rather unpleasant and intimate examinations (he hated it and I guess they are not very pleasant but then as a woman you get rather used to it!). He was then sent for an ultrasound which found nothing and so he returned to see the consultant. Unfortunately the consultant could still feel a lump in his bowel and he still had some discomfort so the next stage involves a camera on a very long tube being placed in a very uncomfortable place! Ian has to first clear out his bowels with what sounds like a derivative of Harpic and then not eat for 12 hours. He will be sedated, unable to drive home and will need someone to look after him for a day or so. Needless to say he is rather worried. The consultant thinks he may have a polyp that he can remove or biopsy during the procedure but of course it is always easier to imagine the worst! We will be very glad when it is over!

French classes

I went to my first French class last night. I thought it started at 5.30 but when I got there at 5.10 it was already underway. Furthermore the teacher didn't have my name on the list but I convinced her in French that I had registered and that these things happen all the time! I really enjoyed the class! The time went quickly and I actually felt quite exited at the prospect of my final assignment- a 10 minute presentation, in French, of a subject of my choice with questions. (Of course I have already decided that my talk will be on llamas!) When I got home I had a closer look at the course handbook and realised that in fact I had gone to the wrong class! I had gone to the intermediate class and I was signed up for the elementary! I emailed the teacher explaining my mistake but telling her how much I enjoyed the class and asking if I could transfer to it! I didn't get a reply but when I looked at the website this evening I realised that I had also emailed the wrong teacher! I then emailed the right teacher and am now awaiting to see if my request has been granted but not holding out much hope as I think they will think that I am very stupid!

Sandpit talk

We've been talking about the sandpit at work. Cleo told her husband and he said that cats sh*t in sandpits. Marie said that when she takes her six year old to the sandpit it always ends in tears when the kids fight over the bucket and spade and throw sand in each others eyes! The motto is choose your metaphor carefully!

Playing in the sandpit!

I have been thinking about the sandpit. I really think it is very inappropriately named! The stated purpose is to get researchers and others talking about research in a creative way but the hidden agenda is that it is linked to funding for research from the various research councils. Now, if you are a serious academic then your ability to secure research funding is absolutely crucial to your continued career. You will certainly not get a chance of a job in a top university unless you have been successful in getting serious money for a series of projects and you will never become a professor or dean without a string of publications in eminent and learned journals. After all, this is what keeps the universities financially solvent! Therefore, any mention of money brings out the bounty hunters in full force. So, the people applying to attend the sandpit will consist of the most competitive and ambitious researchers. Any others attending will usually be equally competitive in the voluntary sector; high powered professional advocates, often with an ultimate eye on a political post, or paid representatives of various pressure groups such as Age Concern, who are looking out for their next paid post or alternatively have a deeply personal motivation for being there. The stakes are high and the players are nervous! I would like to think that the main motivation for people to be there is that they are deeply committed to their cause or the research and truly believe that their input will impact positively on the lives of others and I would be being too cynical not to acknowledge that this does play some part. However, sadly, it is not the prime motivator! Having been to conferences and meetings where some of these high-flyers and potential high-flyers congregate I have observed the following:

1. They will always have plenty to say. Often it is rubbish and not related to the topic but they always say it enthusiastically and make sure that everyone knows their name and where they are from before they start. (One of my colleagues was such a high-flyer for a while and I can remember her saying "Lovely, when you are at one of these meetings it is important that you say something; and if you can't think of anything sensible to say stand up and say 'it's awfully hot in here, does anyone mind if I open a window?'" She later became the senior professional advisor to the Department of Health!)

2.They introduce themselves to you in a friendly manner but as soon as it is not rude to do so, ask about your research interests and publications. In their heads they are trying to work out whether there is any potential for them to get more money if they work with you and as soon as they realise there isn't they move off to the next potential target. (I think it is called networking)(They may also have another motive for continuing to talk with you- see point 5!)

3. Despite the public perception of researchers coming straight from the lab with no dress sense and unruly hair, these participants all wear Armani and go to expensive London hairdressers (if they still have hair; if it is thinning then it is shaved off in the designer skin-head look). The men usually have a left-over 80s earring in one ear (by now just a discreet stud) and the women somehow have never managed to loose their shoulder pads!

4. They all claim to vote Labour (not so surprising really as Labour is the new Tory!)The truth is if there were a different government in power they would claim to have voted for them as well.

5. At conferences or other residential events there will be quite a few delegates that seize the opportunity created by a few nights away from the wife/children/partner/husband and have an illicit shag with someone else. There are a lot of sad and lonely people in the higher levels of academia! Maybe there are a lot of sad and lonely people everywhere but somehow the 'deed' seems more shocking in that it is carried out in this rarefied environment. Sometimes these affairs continue from conference to conference and become part of the motivation for people to attend!

So rather than a sandpit I think these events would more appropriately called a snake pit!

The sandpit

I was quite surprised today to be invited to apply for a place on a sandpit. It threw me a little as the last time I visited a sandpit I was about six and I had a bucket and spade. I looked into it further and found that in modern-day English a sandpit is a

" residential interactive workshop over 5 days involving 20-30 participants, the director and a number of independent stakeholders. An essential element of a sandpit is a highly multidisciplinary mix of participants taking part, some being active researchers and some being potential users of research outcomes, to drive lateral thinking and radical approaches to addressing particular research challenges."

Other features of a sandpit are that they

"are intensive events. For the well being of participants, the venues offer opportunities for relaxation, and the timetable includes informal networking activities as a break from the detailed technical discussions"

and

"Owing to the group dynamics and the continual evaluation it’s not possible to dip in and out of the process. Participants stay for the whole duration of the sandpit event"

Further reading suggests that

"Sandpits encourage the imaginations and creativity of children by providing the materials and space to build structures such as sandcastles; use toy trucks, shovels, and buckets to move the sand around; dig holes and bury things, etc. In other words, the sand provides a medium in which children can pretend to explore, construct, and destroy the world in three dimensions. This idea of being creative and experimentation is what the metaphorical uses of the word 'sandpit' or 'sandbox' were born out of."

God...!!! Things like this just confirm my increasingly held belief that I am too old, too jaded and too cynical to continue working in the public sector! I don't think I could physically or psychologically stomach even one day with a bunch of people talking in metaphor and acronym, totally up their own ar*es without any means of escape. It seems to be a cross between New Age boll*cks and and a reality TV show! It really is time to breed llamas! (And no, that is not a metaphor for some career move or life-stage or retirement but a genuine plan! See earlier posts!)

Doggy tales

I have been a volunteer for the Cinnamon Trust on and off for the last few years. The Cinnamon Trust is a group that help people who are elderly or infirm manage their pets.

http://www.cinnamon.org.uk

When I signed up I had dreams of walking lively collies for jolly owners who couldn't quite manage the longer walks. In reality I soon discovered that dogs like these had plenty of offers for walks and what I got was elderly disabled dogs living with elderly and mostly lonely owners. The dogs become the most important thing in their lives and negotiating the terms and conditions for the walk is a trecherous business! Never-the-less I have had some good experiences including walking a small blind dog with heart failure that sniffed its way around the block and snorted loudly when it got out of breath! The owner would pick at a yoghurt and a glass of sherry for lunch and send me out with £10 to buy some prime steak for the dog. On another occasion I walked a very lively terrier for a very elderly lady who lived around the corner. She sadly died and I was involved in re-homing the dog to new (younger) owners in Kent. Her family suddenly appeared after she died and made a lot of fuss about how they didn't want the dog so I went to the florists and ordered a big bunch of the brightest sunflowers to send to her funeral and signed the card from the dog! I haven't done much for the Trust for a while but happened to be in when they called the other day. A local lady was temporarily incapacitated and unable to walk her hearing dog, Bambi (hearing dogs are trained to alert deaf people to sounds such as the door bell and the phone, although mostly they provide company and contact with the outside world). After a visit it soon became clear that the lady was having plenty of visits and the dog was getting plenty of walks (it had even lost weight because it was getting more exercise) but assistance was needed to take the dog to its weekly agility class as the regular helper was unable to make it every week. So, I went to my first ever dog agility class, sadly without a dog of my own. However, it was good to watch! Bambi is sadly not a young as she used to be and has poor eyesight. She can just about manage a few rounds of the low course, leaving out some of the more difficult items. Bambi will soon have to retire as a hearing dog but this will be a very difficult decision for her owner to make!

Post-holiday blues

Coming back home and getting back into work has been very strange this time. It is always difficult but somehow this year the irritations have been more irritating than usual, the tiredness set in almost as soon as I got back and I seem to be very much aware of the pointlessness of some of the things that I am required to do as part of life and work. The first major annoyance at work concerned the newly identified smoking areas. Over the summer it seems that a few people in the University were given the job of identifying suitable outdoor areas where it was permissible to smoke. It seems that suitable areas are supposed to be pleasant for the smokers and those taking on this role took this to heart, with little consideration of the effect of these decisions on the non-smokers in the vicinity. The 'therapy garden' which has been carefully created by students for the benefit of all, was chosen as one such site and without any consultation an enormous sign and a tiny ash tray was erected in the middle of it! Now, we use this area as a teaching space and I have to say we all took this decision very personally. There followed a barrage of emails (excerpts below) but as yet we have not had a response, not even a 'thank you for your comments but bugger off' type! You will notice from the emails that another smoking site is 'Leaf Hospital - area of rear lawn (hospice side)! Now, I know the hospice residents are not going to notice any long term effects from the smoke but I did think it was rather cruel to encourage smoking in front of the very people who may now be regretting the day they smoked their first fag!

"From: Bridge Kevin
Sent: 13 September 2007 10:16
To: uni info
Subject:Designated smoking areas
Dear colleague

Further to recent changes to the smoking law, the university has provided a designated smoking area close to most buildings. Smokers are politely asked to use these areas with immediate effect. Smoking is no longer permitted elsewhere on the university's premises.

The location of each designated smoking area is as follows:
Eastbourne
Hillbrow and Sports Centre - grass triangle adjacent to Gaudick, Denton and Carlisle crossroad
Trevin Towers - Rose garden at rear of building
Welkin and Bishopsbourne - Bishopsbourne barbecue lawn
Aldro - Aldro therapy garden
Robert Dodd and Greynore - H block garden
Leaf Hospital - area of rear lawn (hospice side)
Queenwood - area of Ward Hall lawn

University Centre Hastings - not possible

As you can see, it has not been possible to provide a designated smoking area near to some buildings and where this is the case, smokers are able to access the public street easily.

Thank you for your co-operation.

Regards,

From: Jim Jones (Health Professions)
Sent: 14 September 2007 12:19
To: h health professions staff;
Subject: FW: Designated smoking areas
Ironic that the Aldro smoking area is the Therapy garden! Does this have to be the case?
Jim

From: Lovely
Sent: 14 September 2007 12:35
To: h health professions staff; Bridge Kevin
Subject: RE: Designated smoking areas
no... I feel quite strongly that the Therapy garden should not be a smoking area! Whilst you might be able to make a perfectly good fertilizer from cigarette butts I don't think it is fair that those studying horticulture in the therapy garden should have to pick them out of the flower beds!

From: Bridge Kevin
Sent: 14 September 2007 12:51
To: h health professions staff
Subject: RE: Designated smoking areas
Dear all

The Therapy garden is the closest place to Aldro that provides a pleasant space for socialising (as specified by the university), whilst keeping smoke away from buildings.

An ashtray has been provided for cigarette ends.

Regards,

From: Jim Jones (Health Professions)
Sent: 14 September 2007 13.02
To: h health professions staff;
Subject: FW: Designated smoking areas
But surely as a teaching area there should not be smoking in it? - Is smoking allowed on sports fields which are also pleasant areas away from buildings?
Could this be reviewed?
Jim

From: Patsy Mcbride (Health Professions)
Sent: 21 September 2007 13.29
To: h health professions staff;
Subject: FW: Designated smoking areas
Dear Viviene and Kevin

Last week you informed us of the university's designated areas for smoking. On the same day, it was surprising to find an extremely conspicuous sign for the smoking area firmly in place in the 'Therapy Garden'. It would have been good to have some prior notice of this intention and an opportunity for discussion.

I would like to add to my colleagues' comments that this is an environment where students are taught and therefore not one where smoking should be sanctioned. Also on a practical level, I think it unrealistic to expect people to walk in wet weather across a lawn where there's no path, in order to use an ash tray. I believe it is far more likely that they will remain on the tarmac near the students' greenhouse.

Finally, while I would not condemn people to smoke around bins or in car parks, I see no reason why they should be encouraged into an area that has been painstakingly made into an amenity for all.

I hope there can be accommodation on this matter although I note the concrete fixing!

Best wishes
Patsy

WE ARE STILL AWAITING A REPLY!!!


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Strange how cycling weaves itself throughout my life

I suppose that it is just because I look out for other cyclists that I notice them but they do seem to appear everywhere I go! One day in the campsite in France a camper-van appeared and an older English couple got out. They saw Ian changing the tyres on my bike and immediately offered to lend us a track pump. As we cycled off Ian commented that they must know what they were doing with regard to bikes as they had pretty decent touring bikes with them. We thought they might be in their 60s and enjoying their retirement. Later that day we chatted to them, initially about cycling in general and then about bikes, then about where they cycled, racing and then about the Tour de France...I told them that Ian and I had been Marshals at which point they told us that they had been invited as V.I.P. guests to the opening ceremony but had declined as they had been on holiday! They were invited because he had ridden the Tour de France in 1961, when there were national teams. They had both raced with all the big names of that era and were personal friends of the Boardman's, in fact their son had been one of his mechanics. Turned out they were more like 70+ than 60! On a couple of days they road their bikes as far as we did in much less time! When they were talking about the Tour de France I lamented that they must have been riding in the days when the sport was not tainted by drugs. I was soon put right on that one. "Don't you believe it! The sport was full of drugs, everyone was taking it! We (the British riders) were all given something to take if we thought that we were in with a chance of winning although none of us got anywhere near!"

We met other cyclists as well. One of the builders had a trophy on his desk and when we asked him about it he said he had been the road race champion of Aquitane when he was 25, although he had to give it up when he started his business. Ian also spoke with someone who made iron frames (for the barn) who told him that he had been the French champion in the Madison (a strange track race where cyclists race round in pairs and propel each other forward at various stages!)

The wolf strikes again

Lupus gets its name from the butterfly rash that typically appears over the face and people used to think looked rather wolf-like. I mentioned in an earlier post that over the summer the daughter of a colleague of Ian's was taken ill, eventually diagnosed with lupus and died very suddenly at the age of 26.

http://myweb.lsbu.ac.uk/~fintan/seana

This link gives all the details better than I ever could. Ian sent it to me as he thought it might mean something to me. It certainly did and I could identify with a lot of the things they went through, especially her refusal to let anyone go with her to hospital (I certainly did that!) and the strange and insidious presentation of the disease with its sudden serious climax. I feel incredibly thankful and also a little guilty that my outcome was more positive. I think when the coin was thrown up in the air mine landed one way and hers landed the other as when I asked my consultant if I would still be here if I had waited until my appointment time before getting seen he didn't answer.

Best of times, worst of times 2

Well, my sister's life is certainly full of highs and lows at the moment. At the weekend Ian and I went to Hamburg to support her as she competed in the Triathlon World Championships. She had really worked hard to qualify to represent Great Britain in the age-group categories and was thrilled to get there (despite the fact that she had to fund herself, including buying her GB kit and race entry fee). When we arrived she was having a few pre-race jitters and we spent the day checking her bike with her, going through the course and watching her practice getting on and off the bike quickly. She had an 8.50 a.m. start the following morning and we just about got there on time to see her start her swim. We then ran over to see her get out of the water and cheered her and all the other athletes on as loudly as we could, waving the rattles that had been given out by the organisers. We then went to see her as she got off the bike and started her run and finally dashed across to the end so that we could see her as she came through the finish line. (We were both exhausted after that!) The atmosphere throughout was great. The athletes were enjoying the competition and the spectators (including us) got into the spirit of it and cheered everyone. My voice was hoarse afterwards! She came 38th out of 78 and was pleased with her performance but I think mostly she just enjoyed the experience of being there and taking part, which is exactly what I hoped for her. As Ian and I were waiting for the plane to take us home that evening I sent her a text saying that I hoped she enjoyed herself at the party that evening at that Dad would have been really proud of her representing her country and doing so well. She told my mum that it had been the best day of her life, that the cheering was great and that she felt really proud to be representing her country. As she crossed the finish line she was really touched that people came up and shook her hand. (The picture is of my sister and her friend at the end of the race)

As we were waiting by the swim start one of the competitors, a young Canadian girl, came up and told the organisers that she was really scared. The organisers calmed her down with reassuring words and we also said some encouraging things, but what I really wanted to say was that she was so lucky, to be there, to be representing her country and to be blessed with the health, fitness and abilities that she had and she should just go out and celebrate that and not worry about anything else!

French neighbours

When Ian and I were in France we got to meet our prospective neighbours! I seem to enjoy writing about my neighbours so here goes. The land that joins Ian's is owned by Herman, a sixty something Englishman who has lived in France for the last 20 years. Herman lives by himself (and his recently acquired dog) in the run down 'Moulin'. He keeps a few sheep, grows herbs and sells them at the local market and lives a fairly basic life with little money and company. The road and bridge into the Moulin were declared impassable to traffic 20 years ago and his one functioning vehicle collapsed at the strain of driving across what remains of the bridge while we were there. As we left he was contemplating an alternative exit through a 'chemin rural' (basically a bridleway) that will definitely not be passable in the rain unless you have a tractor! After his day at the market he calls into to see some of the other neighbours and enjoys a glass of wine or two before he staggers back across the field. We had met him before but on this occasion he started off by being particularly gloomy; telling us of how cold it is in winter, how hard it is to make a living and how many English people come out and then return. However, after a while he mellowed a little and we got a glimpse of his humour and more devilish side as he told us stories about the other neighbours. I think Herman is someone for whom the glass is mostly half empty. What I learnt from that is that if you are a miserable bastard in England you will probably be a miserable bastard in France. Mind you, I think that with Herman some of it is a bit of a dramatic act put on for visitors.

The house that borders the land near the road was recently bought by an English couple and we called in and introduced ourselves. Peter and Hazel run a successful entertainment business in the UK that they plan to continue with but are in the process of moving the majority of their life over to France. With them came their cat and Peter's 84 year old father Albert. When we met Albert he was a little down as he had just returned from hospital, where they had told him to stop smoking. After 60 years of nicotine he quit cold-turkey and it turned out that some of his moods and symptoms were caused by nicotine withdrawal. We met him a second time a week later and he had really perked up after getting some nicotine patches. Albert was probably the most alert out of the lot of us. He had been into cycling as a young man and told Ian and I about the bikes he used to ride (we turned up the first time on our bikes). He had worked as a master carpenter and his hands were badly arthritic (and had been for about 40 years) but it didn't stop him from doing anything! Peter and Hazel had finally decided to make a major change in their lives after Hazel's parents died and Peter had a potentially life threatening illness that had made him seriously rethink his priorities. In their business lives Peter is a record producer and one coincidence was that they had recorded many times in the studio in London that my brother has bought (and is hoping to renovate). It was strange to think that when Ian and I stayed there last New Years Eve we slept in the control room where Peter had sat and sweated many times!

Our holiday

Ian and I are off the France next week to see if we can find someone to build the house on the land and to spend some time getting to know the area where we may end up living. It's quite exiting. On the way back we are going to visit the llama breeders to see their llamas!

Best of times, worst of times

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times

This is the opening sentence of A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens, referring to the time of the French Revolution. My sister says it is like her life has been this year and she is longing for a time when it will just be normal.

Foot and mouth

One thing that I didn't know about llamas until today was that they can get foot and mouth disease. I had read somewhere that they didn't get it but was a little confused when the papers reported that llamas were susceptible to foot and mouth and that the Surrey hills llamas were being closely monitored for signs. (We currently have a foot and mouth outbreak in cattle in Surrey, possibly linked to the local drug company and agricultural research laboratory that produce animal vaccines for foot and mouth disease). I read up on it a little more and it seems that llamas can get foot and mouth and can transmit it but are not particularly susceptible, have few symptoms and recover from it quickly. They seem to have a natural resilience to most strains of the disease. I got to thinking about how awful it must be then to raise your heard of llamas over the years (these are raised predominantly as pets or breeding stock) and then have to face the possibility of them being slaughtered on your farm, especially as they are not likely to suffer too much as a result of the disease. I don't think I would be able to bear that and I can now understand how many farmers who lost their herds in the last outbreak became depressed and suicidal. I spoke to a friend this evening who lives near the area and we decided that in the Autumn we will go on a llama trek with the Surrey llamas so I will keep my fingers crossed that they are still there!

Aftermath of the fires

The fires on Gran Canaria encompassed all the areas and places that we cycled. It seems that they are now out but these are the pictures of the aftermath. They make sad viewing. One is of Ayagaures, one of palmitos park and one of St Bartolome de Tirajana.