Things Can Only Get Better!

Monday. 7.30 a.m. It's still and calms on the weather front. It's not particularly warm, but there's no wind blowing, as is it was this time last week. I am going back to IKEA to get a second recycling bin to match the one I purchased yesterday and will be to separate glass for recycling. At least I can get rid of the horrible old cardboard box which served as my recycling bin. Not exactly the best thing for the job and now gone.

Yes, things can only great better, especially now we don't have to endure endless days of lockdown, but now we have to contend with Vladimir Putin's sabre-rattling in Ukraine. Let's just hope and pray that it doesn't escalate into something worse.

12.45 p.m. I've been back to IKEA and bought a second recycling bin, which is for glass. I have seen some LED strip lighting, which I think I'll buy at some point in the future. It can be stuck on surfaces, and I'm sure it would add a certain bit of style to an otherwise rather boring room. Also, some really brilliant hanging lights remind me of the Death Star in Star Wars (Darth Vader's hideout.). They have pull cords that you pull (now, there's a surprise!) and the sections open out. I'm not sure if I got one, it would work in this flat as you really need high ceilings. Whatever the height of the ceilings, I just love them and are so imaginative. 

I'm watching a documentary on Channel Five about the winter of 1962-63 which I remember well. I would have been about 12 in 1963, the year I had my appendix out and spent a lot of time in what was the children's ward of Bedford Hospital. I was supposed to have been operated on around Christmas that year but somehow or other it was bought forward, so I could be home for the festive season, thankfully. The surgeon who did the operation was Peter Lacey, who was a shooting friend of my father, so perhaps that was how the date was changed. Quite handy when you have the surgeon as a family friend. I know he used to come for tea and other meals, and I think one of his sons went to my school. The actual scar in my abdomen is very small (no, I have absolutely no intention of showing it off, thank you very much.) only a couple of inches, and it's very neat, compared with those of other people I've seen with them. It just shows what a good surgeon he was. I don't remember much about it, other than I was in that hospital ward for a few days and then was sent home.

As for the 'Big Freeze', it caused a lot of problems on the farm, and we had to feed the cattle out in the fields which were covered in snow, taking bales of hay out to them and, because my father grew Brussell sprouts on the farm, having to keep pigeons off them in the fields. I feel sorry for the pickers who had to work in really awful conditions to have bags of them ready to take to Smithfield market to be sold, going on a lorry which came each evening from a company called Bennett and Hawes.

At school, the playground was covered with snow which froze and thawed as the winter progressed. We had to clear this snow, as it was difficult to walk across easily. The shovelled snow and ice was heaped at one end of the playground against a wall, which made the wall lean dangerously as the freeze continued.  I cannot imagine today's schoolchildren even being ALLOWED to help with such jobs as shovelling snow. They would moan about being made to work or claim it was against their 'human rights.' Also, there would be something mentioned about our dear old friend 'health and safety.'

Come On England!

Sunday. 6.20 a.m. Well, I can't really start this post by not mentioning the win for the England football squad's  in Italy yesterday evening. So it means they are only two more steps away from actually winning this championship. 'England in dreamland', being one newspaper headline, another being, 'Pinch yourself . . . we're in the semis!' Well, if nothing else, it will be fuelling certain areas of the economy, such as beer and lager sales, pizza, and probably fish and chips. I noticed huge piles of packs of lager and beer when I was in Sainsbury's on Saturday as well as racks with England replica shirts and other items of clothing on them. You really couldn't ignore any of it. Also, merchandise with links to football, such as Coca-Cola, Pringles, and Walkers, all no doubt sponsoring the football event. A lot of money tied up with football.

Well, football aside (no chance of avoiding it.) when I ventured forth with Alfie at around 5.45, there was a hint of rain, even if it was rather thin. Well, if nothing else it will cool things down as it is quite humid at the moment.

My writing has come to a halt. It's not a problem. It's not due to 'writer's block.' It's more that I know where the thing is heading, I just haven't worked out the mechanics of how such-and-such is going to work. It has to be logical and realistic, to make it work. Still thinking about the different options open to me, then I can sit down and do some serious writing. It is, however, quite strange how things change, even as I'm writing, how things can develop as I'm putting pen to paper (actually pencil. I don't like things to be too set, which would happen if it's in ink. With a pencil, you can rub it out and start again, several times in some cases.) Wandering around Oldbrook Green yesterday morning, I was pondering this particular point in the plot and I didn't know how or why it was (or wasn't.) going to work, and by the time we'd reached the other side of the Green I had come up with a solution (of sorts.) to bring in something which I had thought of some time ago but had no idea how to introduce it. I'm attempting to work out ways to bring in several other storylines so they intersect with what I have already written. It was never conceived as a single narrative, but over-lapping, concurrent storylines. Think of novels by Dickens, where several narratives are running together, or, in television soaps (EastEnders, Coronation Street for example.) where they use this technique, and they break off from one storyline and flip over to other storylines and then go back to the other storyline. The best example I can think of is 'Les Miserables.' I have read the novel, seen the stage musical and film and watched the recent BBC1 adaptation by Andrew Davies. It is written in the same way as Dickens, with overlapping storylines, with the Jean Valjean storyline which runs down the centre, or 'spine' and links up with the concurrent storylines. You'll need to read it and possibly watch it to get my point. All storylines connecting at the end to give the thing completeness, a denouement. A journey, what Joseph Campbell describes as The Hero's Journey.' This 'metomyth' construction common to many stories, such as The Lord of The Rings', 'Star Wars' (well, at least the first 1977 film and the two sequels 'The Empire Strikes Back' and 'The Return of the Jedi.'

Later. I've been out with Alfie at around 9.15 this morning. I'm still mulling over how to shift the plot forward. Thinking as we walk around Oldbrook. I think I've cracked it! How character A meets character B. (No, I'm not telling. No spoiler alerts.) Great! So later I manage to begin to write this sequence. Actually going to be quite central to what happens next. Now it's getting reasonably exciting. I have written a side of A4. I'll just leave it for a while and then return to it. I just want to get the story down on paper and then go back and modify it, tweaking bits here and there. As long as the main points are down on paper, then I can go back and redraft. A lot of over-used phrases and words, but that's not a problem. Time to get out my thesaurus.

Later. 3.05 p.m. I think I have cracked the problem (if indeed it is a problem, which it is and it isn't. I know that sounds odd, but it's not really.) which was so simple that it makes sense. Again, walking around Oldbrook Green was where the idea came to me. These light-bulb moments sometimes come when I go to bed, and usually when I can't get to sleep. It's in those relaxed moments when my mind just drifts which is when these ideas come. 

Yet More Hospital

I had to make sure I was on Ward 22 by 9.15 at the latest because Carol was booked to have an appointment at the ophthalmology department within the hospital at 9.30 this morning. We weren't entirely sure whether she had to walk there under her own steam or wait for a porter to come and take her in a wheelchair. As she's not entirely steady on her feet at the moment, it would seem more sensible for her to use a wheelchair. When there was no sign of porter or wheelchair as the time ticked by, I went to the ward reception desk and enquired. It's never clear whether the porter is booked at the same time as the appointment. Having been a Support Worker and carer, I would have had to make sure that such assistance was booked in advance. 

Time ticked by and no porter arrived, with or without a wheelchair. Then, out of the blue, a porter and wheelchair appeared. It was almost 10 o'clock. I think it doesn't matter about time if you're a patient using these clinics within the hospital. Carol was whisked away and we went through the 'secret portal' which only staff can access which is a sort of bridge between Ward 22 and the rest of the hospital. We came out in a familiar corridor and got to the ophthalmology department, which seemed familiar as I think Carol had an appointment in there a couple of years ago. I seem to remember it had these huge yellow and black signs up, no doubt made large enough for those with vision problems to be able to see. If not, for a child with a small level of intelligence to be able to read and understand. We signed in at reception and Carol was very quickly seen by one of the staff who did several tests on her eyes, the old fashioned test with the letters which start large and as they go down they get smaller and smaller. Then the lady used some sort of sensor device, looking a bit like a sort of weapon from Doctor Who or one of the Star Wars films, to measure the pressure in each of Carol's eyes. She couldn't get it to work so had to ask a colleague.to help her to use it. Then she got Carol to do a colour test. I think I've done one of these at some time or other. It's in a book, with sort of mosaics of coloured blobs and there is a number hidden within these coloured blobs. Carol had no problem with this test.

Then we were thrust out into the waiting area. Packed in like sardines. A sort of game of musical chairs. People doing their best to avoid eye contact with anyone (ironic as this is an eye clinic.) Those huge yellow and black signs seem to dominate the scenery. The a very smiley lady appears and Carol is whisked off and into another room for another test. Not sure what it is exactly, but it's over very fast. We come out and have to sit further away from the reception area. Signs on a door somewhat odd saying 'Male- vacant- Female- engaged. Most likely toilets, but it's not clear. Are the men vacant and the women engaged, to be married? Vacant men, as in, somewhat empty-headed? To unintelligent? Totally without any sense? Just somewhat ironic what you can read from such a couple of signs. They have signs on some of the clinic doors which say open and closed at the same time, with a sort of slide thing that blanks out the word when you move it across, but they don't bother to slide this across, so you get 'engaged and vacant at the same time, so you don't know which room is open, vacant, engaged or whatever, which makes the sign pointless and slightly confusing.

Carol is being fast-tracked through the system this morning. It's so she can be back on the ward quicker. I think if you were an ordinary member of the public you cold be sitting here most of the day. The excitement is too much, the boredom far too stimulating for your brain. A television screen on or some music would alleviate the boredom, or even a coffee and tea machine might help, but none of these. People on their mobiles. What would happen if the whole network collapses? What did people do before there were mobiles? I was driving towards either the hospital or Ashfield Medical Centre the other morning, and I saw this youth crossing the road. It seems crazy to cross any of the grid roads around Milton Keynes because most are extremely busy. It's dangerous at the best of times, but at that time of day, probably around 8 a.m. to 8.45, during the mad peak when people are either going to work or school. There are bridges and underpasses so you've no reason to cross a carriageway. But this individual was busily fiddling with his mobile phone. I've walked around the shopping centre with people doing this and almost run into me. Just put the things away and concentrate on the world around you. You might actually miss something, or worse, get run over and killed  by a car or lorry.

Anyway, Carol was eventually seen by a doctor, who said her eye problems were cause by cataracts and she would need glasses.

So, having gone back to the reception desk and handed over the yellow form to the receptionist so that Carol's notes could be updated on the system, she got back into the wheelchair and was pushed back to the ward by another porter.

Family Summer Holidays- Part 3

As I have mention in the earlier post, my father's yacht was the central reason for the holiday in Frinton-On-Sea. I think the sailing must have been particularly good along that stretch of the Essex coast. The boat he had which was called 'Amaranda' was a Jewel class yacht. It was clinker built, meaning it was made of overlapping lengths of timber made in the traditional manner. He had another yacht built of fibreglass of about the same size and later still a far larger yacht called 'Flashpoint' which was moored in the estuary at Brightlingsea and which was fitted out with a galley and sleeping accommodation , although it was quite cramped. I wasn't so keen on sleeping in that tiny space afore, as I got seasick with the motion of the boat and also some amount of claustrophobia in such a tiny space. This had a tender, a small rowing boat attached which was used to ferry us out to the mooring.  I remember that my Uncle Michael (my mother's brother, now, alas, dead.) was a very good sailor and would take command of "Flashpoint" because I think as Dad got older he found it quite difficult to manage. Dad had bought a small wooden rowing boat from somewhere in Colchester I seem to remember and took some duty as tender and was called 'Midge.' This was quite a basic sailing boat and could be sailed quite well by one person. Mum was good at sailing that alone and I think my brother James sailed that a few times. This was also sailed on the River Ouse near Cardington Mill, as we had a hut there which was used as a base for sailing and summer picnics, but, unfortunately, all of that had been swept aside when the business park was built.

The yacht would be taken down to be parked at the beach on arrival in Frinton. We had to go to the estate agent to get the keys for the house we had rented as well as the beach hut. I know that now it's quite fashionable to rent or own a beach hut at places such as Southwold, Frinton, Bournemouth and other seaside resorts, but when we went it made a very good base on the sea front. Frinton has an excellent beach, very fine sand between breakwaters or 'groynes' and the sea comes in right up to the level of the promenade and so washes the sand clean and makes an  excellent safe place for families with young children to have a holiday. Inside the hut (we had a different one each year, but I believe that they are all basically the same inside) there is an inner and outer area, the back area being lockable with double doors and which makes a good place to change when you go swimming. In that part of the hut there would be a Calor gas ring for boiling water for tea, a set of around six deckchairs, a picnic table and probably one or two other tables. In the front section of the hut there would be a benched area, so you could set up your table here and sit for meals or set up on the promenade at the front of the hut. 

There was a parking space on what was called the Greensward, a long stretch of grass which runs the whole length of the Frinton seafront. There is a slipway which runs down to the promenade and a further one which allows boats to be manhandled onto the beach and then launched. It was quite a strenuous task to haul the boat up and down these slipways, but I think at one point the car was used for this purpose.
As I said in the earlier post, it can't have been much of a holiday for my mother, because we stayed in a rented house in Frinton and this would mean there would still be meals to cook and we children would need to be looked after. Also, my mother and father sailed most days and knowing my father, who wasn't the most patient of men, it must have been quite stressful being a crew member for him. I can remember on several occasions being on board one of his yachts on the River Ouse and he wasn't patient, particularly if you hauled on the wrong sheet (rope) or moved at the wrong moment, as you had to if the boat was tacking into the wind, for example. If you didn't move fast enough you were very likely to be hit on the head very hard by the boom, the wooden 'stay' which kept the bottom of the mainsail fixed to the mast and moved about quite freely if not taken under control with whatever rope you happened to have in your hand and if not you'd get a lot of abuse from my father such as 'get out of the way, you idiot!' or words to that effect.
Quite a few family friends would congregate at the beach hut at Frinton. Not just my uncle Michael and his wife Gemma, but also a couple called Tim and Betty Smith.  They were a really nice couple, but they would argue with one another and would sit and bicker endlessly.  Can't have been much fun for my mother, inviting someone to tea and have to listen to them constantly bickering.
My brother Andrew appeared in 1961. I think after four boys my mother was keen to have a daughter. So it was a bit of a surprise when child number five was yet another boy. The Smiths, on the other hand, had been married for years and no baby appeared, but around a year after Andrew was born their one and only child appeared, called Ian. Funny little kid, bald, not very good looking, to say the least. In fact, possibly the inspiration for Yoda in the 'Star Wars' movies! I shouldn't make such comment, but never mind. Then there were the Boddy family, Ashely and Alison. Again, lovely people, but very noisy. I think Ashley bought my father's first boat, 'Amaranda.' He was another very good sailor. But as I say, whenever this family visited you needed to keep at arms length or wear earplugs as Ashley had/has a very loud laugh and the whole family makes a great deal of noise.
My Great Aunt Liz stayed at the Grand Hotel  which is on the seafront at Frinton and quite an imposing building.  She was one of my father's Scottish relatives, never married and was ancient even when I was a teenager.  She died at the grand old age of 95, in 1965, so almost 50 years ago. She makes me think of Lady Bracknell in "The Importance of Being Ernest." Blind as a bat and just as deaf and with a huge nose, which, thank goodness, I didn't inherit. Imperious, to say the least, and although she wore a hearing aid she never seemed to have it tuned properly so it made that unfortunate whistling noise that hearing aids are prone to. You would find yourself repeating things endlessly if you had a conversation with her, which could make life very difficult. Anyway, she would come down to the beach several afternoons when we were there, but it would mean her being ferried around in cars and taken down to the beach as she couldn't walk far.
Andrew, as I've said, was the youngest of my parent's children. I can't imagine what looking after no less than five children would be like, not just feeding, clothing, birthdays, Christmas and so on. So it's no wonder that my mother needed some sort of help. So Andrew had someone to look after him when he was a baby up until be was around 9-10 I suppose. This lady was Miss Fuller. To this very day I'm not sure of her Christian name. It's odd, but it's true. She had been a seamstress and very good too, and had gone to our neighbour's at Cardington, the Porter's and used to do mending. Somehow or other she was sort of 'head-hunted' by my mother and came to work for us., doing virtually the same thing. I know, it's odd to us today, but people did mend clothes. It's not something that is done now, I should imagine, even with the 'recycling' generation and the need to be 'environmentally friendly.' I imagine this would be a left-over from the days of the Second World War and what followed with Austerity. Anyway, she had one afternoon of mending socks, darning etc and then when Andrew was born she used to take him for walks in his pram. Eventually she came more or less permanently as a sort of nanny, but I don't suppose she would have wanted to be called that. So she came with us when we went on holiday to Frinton. I don't know what the arrangement as regards payment. I suppose she was given something, but I don't know. But I suppose she was getting, in effect, a free holiday. At least it meant my mother got some sort of time to herself as Miss Fuller took virtually complete control of son number five. Things went very well with this arrangement until my grandmother  Ferriman came to Frinton. I'm not sure for certain whether she came for a day or two or whether she stayed with us, but she was another body for my mother to look after.
One afternoon there was something of a cat-fight between Miss Fuller and my grandmother. Don't ask me what it was about. It was in front of everyone on the promenade near the beach hut. My grandmother was going on  about something like who was looking after my brother, and Miss Fuller, who was an extremely strongwilled lady, put her foot down and said that SHE was looking after him. It was like something out of one of those comedies, almost fists flying, fur and feather. 'He's my grandson and I'm in charge of him!' from granny Ferriman and then 'He's my responsibility' from Miss Fuller (or words to that effect.) I'm not sure how it ended, but it must have been very embarassing for my mother. I think it may have been about who could take him for a walk along the promenade or something equally trivial. I know it must have caused no end of entertainment for all and sundry!