The Ramblings of Rick

Money isn't the route of all evil, oil is!

2012-01-21T20:55:00.001Z

I commented last year that I believed that much of the involvement in Libya was fuelled by the fact that Libya was an oil producing country. And now we're seeing a former military dictatorship attempting to flex its muscles again.

In 1592, an Englisman by the name of John Davis discovered a group of isolated islands, but it wasn't until 1690 that another Englishman, John Strong, actually explored these islands.

Then, in 1764, these islands were inhabited by a group of French sailors, who established a colony, which lasted until 1766, when the Spanish deposed the French and settled the islands themselves on the east side, not realising that there was already an English colony on the west side that had been established in 1765.

In 1774, the English left the islands, the Spanish also leaving in 1811 and they remained uninhabited until they were colonised by Argentina in 1820, The Argentinians remaining until the British navy recolonised the islands in 1833, sending the Argentinians packing.

And so the Falkland Islands, for that is their correct name as they were named in honour of Anthony Cary, 5th Viscount of Falkland, the man who had financed Strong's expedition in 1690, remained a largely peaceful British Territory.

That is until 1982, when the Argentinian junta, increasingly facing difficulties at home decided to divert attention from domestic matters by launching a full scale invasion of the Islands. Seventy-three days later, the invading force had suffered ignominious defeat and the Argentinian junta, by their actions, was responsible for the deaths of 907 British and Argentinian service personnel.

Now, thirty years later, the sovereignty disagreement is being cranked up a notch again, including the Argentinians burning Union Flags outside the British Consulate in Buenos Aires. Why? I'm sure that it has nothing to do with the fact that it is looking increasingly likely that there is oil in and around the islands!

Let Chaos Reign

2012-01-17T20:36:00.000Z

One of the changes that is occurring that I failed to mention in my last post is that fact that we are moving. Not far, but moving nonetheless, into a slightly bigger house, and last Saturday saw the start of this process.

One complicating factor has been that although we anticipated moving out of the old house last weekend, we cannot move into the new house until the end of this month. In the meantime, we are staying at m'Julie's Mum's house.

This has meant that we have had to put the majority of our belongings in storage. This has meant returning to Big Yellow, a place that both me and m'Julie had grown to dread after having to store my stuff there in 2007 for five months before we moved into the last house.

Unfortunately, not everything has gone completely as planned and we have found out that we both have far too much stuff and we need to "downsize" before we move again, particularly as, having booked one room in Big Yellow, we had to book a second room.

The old landlord has also been a bit of a pain, as we had told him that we anticipated moving out by last weekend, even though we are fully paid up until this Thursday. Now he's unhappy because we won't have moved everything out until tomorrow (*Wednesday). It appears that he has new tenants moving in this weekend and is concerned that they won't be able to do so. Personally, I think that he should have anticipated needing more time for the handover.

So now we have ten days of living out of boxes and then the chaos of sorting out a new home, with Maggie and my birthdays in the meantime this weekend. Should be fun!

Damn!

2012-01-02T17:41:00.018Z

Having started 2011 full of good intentions about continuing to blog, I got as far as May, and then I'm not quite sure what happened. What didn't happen was my continuing to write this. Having said this, its not as if the last seven months of 2011 passed without anything happening.

In August, Drew, my No. 2 Son finally had enough of his mother and chose to move in with me. This did not impress my ex-wife, but as he is now 16 there was very little that she could do about it. The major down side of this has been that once again I have had to have dealings with the genetically challenged employees of the Child Support Agency, and as per usual, they have proved that they remain as incapable as ever.

I initially contacted these morons at the end of August to report the change of circumstances. Having learnt from my previous experience, I informed the cretin with whom I spoke that they had two months, until the end of October, in which to sort out my claim after which time I would have my MP, Greg Clark, sort it out.

Towards the end of October, I again contacted the CSA, who informed me that they hadn't actually managed to do anything due to their utter incompetence, so I was forced to write to Greg Clark. Interestingly, following his intervention, I did receive a letter from the CSA, admittedly one that was full of untruths, but it also moved on my case. To this end I received a letter from these incompetents informing me that I would receive payment in mid-December.

Having received no money, I called the CSA on the 16th, to be informed that the money had left their account and I would receive it within 3-5 working days. I was surprised that this now seemed to be moving on, but m'Julie was more cynical. Unfortunately, she was right! When I contacted another of the morons about this on the 29th December, still having received no money, he informed me that the Agency had put a block on the payment as they weren't sure they had the correct bank account details. This was despite the imbecile I spoke with on the 16th confirming my bank account details! I also have no idea why I wasn't contacted to verify the details.

The upshot is that I should receive the money this week. But I have again informed the latest cretin that I will be reporting this to my MP, and I think that the Secretary of State, Iain Duncan Smith, should also be made aware of this Agency's incompetence. Sadly, he cannot sack them all as every one of the employees is too stupid to find employment elsewhere and would therefore become a huge burden on the state.

Drew did well in his GCSEs and has succeeded in getting a place at the local college to study the computer programming course that he wanted with a view to becoming a games designer.

Another piece of bad news from 2011 was regarding Alec's injury to his ankle. Unfortunately, rather than being just badly sprained, he had torn several of the ligaments and tendons in his right ankle.

As a result of this he has undergone one operation, which was only partially successful, and now has to have a second one.

Following the second surgery, he will be unable to train for about two years, so he will be discharged from the Army once he has had the surgery and had some rehab, although they will keep a place at Sandhurst for him for the next 6 years.

The advantage to this is that he is looking to go to university and get a degree, although had he done it before going to Sandhurst, he would have had sponsorship from the Army, something that he no longer has.

Workwise, I have had the "joy" of moving from the hospital that I was workinjg in to the new, purpose-built one five miles away. An intersting, and at time chaotic, period, but it seems to be settling down. I have been on leave since 22nd December, returning to work tomorrow, and having just checked my pager, it appears that I will have more than 30 emergency calls to follow up. No peace for the wicked!

M'Julie also has the prospect of change, having become very fed up with the dental practrice where she is working. As a result of this, she has applied for, and got, a new job in the new hospital.

So it looks as though 2012 is to be a year of change for the whole family. And who knows, I may even carry on with this.

All over

2011-05-02T21:19:00.000+01:00

So that's it then. After weeks, if not months, of build-up, including countless television programmes about various Royal weddings and some very corny films about the "Royal romance", last Friday William Arthur Philip Louis Windsor and Catherine Elizabeth Middleton said their vows under the glare of worldwide publicity and married in Westminster Abbey.

The big advantage to this was that it gave this country an extra Bank Holiday, on a Friday before a Bank Holiday Monday. For me, because last weekend was Easter, and therefore a four day weekend, I would have have only had to work three days, but because of time owing, I was able to take the whole week. So for the outlay of zero annual leave, I have had 12 days off! The downside is that I now have to go back to work tomorrow! At least its only a four day week.

So what of the wedding? Yet again, the UK has proved that when it comes to ceremonial occasions, then no-one does it better. William looked more nervous than anyone else, although I don't know why he chose to marry in his uniform of Colonel-in-Chief of the Irish Guards, rather than his everyday Royal Air Force one.

The bride looked lovely. I thought the dress was quite reminiscent of 1920s fashion, but I think that it definitely suited her. Her sister also looked fabulous and turned a few heads!

One of the heads that she appeared to have turned was the best man's, Prince Harry's. Now the press are full of speculation. As for Harry, I don't know if his brother had insisted that he wear a uniform that looked like he'd borrowed it from someone else much bigger than him, or if he'd lost weight since he purchased it, but he definitely looked a mess next to William.

The good news is that the threatened rain never appeared, so the trip back to Buckingham Palace in the open top carriage didn't result in a soaking wet husband and wife. And despite the defence cuts, the rumours that the flypast by the Battle of Britain Memorial Flight was actually all that's left of the Royal Air Force isn't true!

The other thing that was nice was the fact that the whole family were there, having picked up my youngest two on the Thursday. However, Maggie spent a lot of the time playing with m'Julie's new toy, a toy which will hopefully mean I get some peace and quiet!

m'Julie is on my mobile phone contract, and she was due for a phone upgrade at the end of last week. I knew which one she was likely to go for, as every time someone has been on TV with one, or even seeing someone in the street with one, I've been told "See, he/she has an iPhone!"

So last Thursday, off we went to the Orange shop and m'Julie told them what she wanted. The guy behind the counter then informed m'Julie that they had just had a delivery of the new white iPhone, which weren't due for release until the following day, but that they were willing to let her have one that day. How she managed to contain herself, I'm not sure. Although she stood there and calmly said that she would like to go for that phone, I knew that inside she was jumping up and down and whooping like a four year old!

So that was what Maggie was playing with, as well as complaining that her phone (an iPhone 3) isn't due an upgrade until next May.

However, whilst they were distracted by weddings and gadgets, I was indulging in my new "hobby", making cocktails. Finally, a couple of weeks ago, I purchased a cocktail shaker, something I'd been promising myself for years, and just about every evening since I can be found with various spirits, occasional mixers and plenty of ice, shaking like a demon. In fact, I think I've drunk more spirits in the past two weeks than I have in the last two years! My efforts have been greatly aided by Alex's Cocktail Recipes.

I guess that I will have to have one this evening to celebrate today's news. That the the world's leading terrorist, Osama Bin Laden, has finally been tracked down and killed. It is a pity that they were unable to capture him alive so that he could face proper justice, assuming the special forces team even tried.

There will be enough on the worldwide news bulletins without me going into all of the details, but there is one thing that I am curious about. It appears that Bin Laden was living in a compound that was a mere 200 metres away from the Pakistan Military Academy, was about eight times larger than every other compound locally, had higher walls, topped with barbed wire, than any other local compound and had no telephone or Internet access, and yet the Pakistani authorities were not curious about this and had "no idea" that he was living there. Really?

I saw a television interview this evening with the Pakistani ex-president, Pervez Musharraf, who was objecting to the fact that the American special forces team had flown into Pakistan, attacked the compound and killed Bin Laden, but had not informed the Pakistani authorities of intentions until after the whole thing was over. Is he really that surprised, given that Bin Laden appeared to be living unmolested in the lap of luxury in a Pakistani town, that the Americans chose not to share the information prior to the attack, and therefore risk their target being tipped off and disappearing.

There was also another interesting interview this afternoon. A Pakistani official was being interviewed and again repeated that they had no idea that Bin Laden was in this compound, and then in the next sentence stated that he'd only been there a few days. When the reporter asked him how he knew that Bin Laden had only been there a few days if he had no idea that Bin Laden was there he became very evasive.

I'm sure that there's far more to this whole episode than we will know for about one hundred years, not unless wikileaks restarts.

Double Standards

2011-04-14T15:13:00.000+01:00

In recent weeks, there have been a lot of headlines regarding various things which, to my mind, display very obvious double standards.

The first example of this is the bankers. It may seem that I have an unnatural dislike of bankers, but my main dislike of these people is the arrogance that they so often display. Just a few years ago, these people almost destroyed the economy of this country. They were rescued by the Government stepping in and bailing them out with billions of pounds.

Yet there seems to be no acknowledgement on their part that they may have done anything wrong, and their insistence that they still receive bonuses seems to support this. However, the latest thing now is that there have been threats by certain banks that if the Government increases their tax liability further, they will relocate their headquarters abroad. So they are refusing to acknowledge any fault for their dire financial position and they want all the rewards that come to someone who is successful. And if they don't get their way, they are threatening to leave.

So what should the Government do? Should they submit to what is essentially a ransom demand? Personally, I would tell the bankers to go. But there would be conditions. The first of these would be that they would only be permitted to relocate abroad once they had paid back all of the money that they had received during the Government bailout. If they are unable, or unwilling, to make this repayment, they can either remain in this country and accept their liabilities, or they can continue relocation but face having assets to the value of what they owe seized and sold off to recoup the money. And if that leaves the bank unable to continue trading, tough. The bankers can go and claim the equivalent of dole in the country where they intended to relocate.

We've also seen double standards displayed by the Government of this country regarding Libya. What has been and is still happening in Libya is appalling. Gadaffi, desperate to cling onto the power that he seized in 1969, has had no hesitation in using the full force of his military to quell the uprising that has occurred this year.

In response to this, initially the United Nations and now NATO have launched an aerial attack on the heavy weapons of the incumbent regime, in an attempt to stop Gadaffi from attacking Libyan civilians. Britain has subscribed to this wholeheartedly, sending aircraft to enforce the no-fly zone and to attack the heavy weapons used by the pro-Gadaffi forces. And despite the initial claims that this was nothing to do with regime change, it can clearly be seen that this is exactly what the whole thing is about, with the various politicians insisting that there is no place for Gadaffi in a "new" Libya.

Yet, just under four thousand miles from where all this conflict is taking place in North Africa, for the last ten years there has been a very similar thing taking place in South Africa, including a Government that it is accepted has no legitimacy following "rigged" elections and that has no hesitation in using its armed forces against its civilian population to ensure that it remains in power.

Yet despite this continuing and despite there being lots of political hot air stating that this should not be allowed to continue, Robert Mugabe remains the President of Zimbabwe. Why? Well, as I've said before I'm sure that it has nothing to do with the fact that Libya is a wealthy oil-producing country and Zimbabwe is a dirt-poor mineral exporter.

So whilst this country appears to be taking the moral high ground in an effort to assist the oppressed population of Libya, it is only because there is a possibility of there being benefit to the politicians, a benefit that the oppressed people of Zimbabwe cannot give them.

The final area of double standards relates to the recent French law that bans anyone from concealing their face in a public place and seems to specifically relate to Muslim women who choose to wear a niqāb.

My personal opinion is, because in Britain we live in a democracy, people should be allowed to wear what they like as long as it causes no harm. If they want to walk down the street wearing a purple bin bag and a felt top hat, they have the right to do so. The same with regards to a burka or a niqāb.

Whilst there are some security issues regarding the use of burkas, specifically the case of the 21st July 2005 bomber Yasin Omar, who attempted to evade arrest by fleeing London disguised in one of his mother-in-law's burkas, but the majority of women who wear these items do so because they wish to, not to conceal evidence of wrongdoing.

However, since the ban in France, there has been an outcry by certain groups objecting to the fact that Muslim women are being dictated to about what they can and cannot wear in public. And many of these objections are originating from middle-eastern countries that will arrest and jail women for wearing what they consider to be indecent clothing. Yet you hear no objections from the west when this happens, because it is the law of those particular countries and is respected as such, just as the no-face coverings law in France is the law of that country and should be respected.

A Day Off!

2011-04-03T12:39:00.005+01:00

It’s been over a month since I last wrote, and a very busy month it has been, as I've worked all but one weekend since last writing, either directing resuscitation courses or away with the TA. Unfortunately, I had to complete both of the courses that I was to direct in the same month, as if I hadn't directed the paediatric course this month, I would have had to wait until next year, because the next paediatric course that we're running is in November. Because this course is running over the weekend of Remembrance, I will have other commitments won't be able to participate.

These courses are long days, starting at 8am and finishing at 6pm, and intense for both the faculty and the candidates. And you are unaware of what is happening outside the confines of the course, which is why it was not until after the faculty meal last Saturday and when I returned to my hotel room that I found out that, yet again, a peaceful protest in this country had been hijacked by rent-a-mob.

Last weekend, there was a protest march organised in London to protest against the Government cuts that are being implemented in an effort to reduce the deficit. The march made its way through London and was addressed by Ed Milliband, the Labour Party leader.

Unfortunately for all concerned, and like every other protest in this country in recent years, the cuts protest has hit the headlines not because of the peaceful nature of what occurred, but because a few hundred thugs used the excuse of this march to attack buildings on the route, and then the Police Officers who attempted to stop them.

And this is the curse that we now face. As a democracy, we must allow people to protest peacefully, but every time that this is allowed, the scum element will hijack it for their own purposes and cause untold damage. And then to top it all off, those thugs that are arrested and put before the courts will, nine times out of ten, walk away scot free because our legal system is so lenient.

But at least we don't deal with protesters in the way that the Libyans have. Unfortunately, their actions have now resulted in the armed forces of this country becoming embroiled in the whole thing, enforcing a "no-fly" zone and participating in strategic bombing.

From a purely practical point of view, each of the bombs that are dropped by an aircraft of the Royal Air Force will add to the debt deficit that we have already discussed. From a military point of view, it is known that it is impossible to win a conflict by air power alone, and it has been seen that despite the nightly bombing raids, the Libyan ground forces have continued to attack. Are we going to have to deploy ground troops as part of a NATO force? And if so, with all the cuts taking place to the British armed forces, where are we going to get these troops from?

Maybe it won't come to that, as Colonel Gadaffi's allies and colleagues appear to be deserting him at a rate of knots. Mousa Kousa (whose name suggests that he should be a character in Team America) arrived in the UK this week, having resigned his position as Libyan Foreign Minister because he was unhappy with the regime's attacks on civilians.

It's interesting that this is the same man who, in the 1980's, could see no problem with telling a British newspaper that his Government intended to eliminate two political opponents who were living in the UK. This led to his expulsion from this country. And now he's back, apparently claiming asylum. But with his history, should we grant this, or should we put him before the International Criminal Court in The Hague, to answer for his crimes. He is also thought to have been heavily involved with the Lockerbie bombing and is wanted for interview by the Scottish police.

It is also rumoured that there have been various other Libyan officials visiting London in an effort to negotiate a peace, and the debate is now whether Gadaffi should be allowed to disappear off into exile, ort whether he should face the consequences of his actions. I would imagine that if he is eventually removed from power and no longer control the oil, then it will be the latter. And I'm sure that if the British Government has been instrumental in removing this dictator, they will be in a better position to negotiate a good deal for oil with the new regime.

Whilst on the subject of consequences, it may be time for previously convicted jailed terrorists to face the consequences of their actions. I am, of course, referring to the recent murder of a Police Officer in Northern Ireland.

Thirteen years ago, the British Government signed the Good Friday Agreement. Part of this agreement was that prisoners currently serving sentences for terrorist activities would be released early if the organisation to which they belonged abandoned armed conflict.

Initially, this seemed to be working, but there have increasingly been breaches with the extremist elements continuing the "armed struggle". The latest example of this is the murder yesterday of the 25 year old Police Officer, killed by a car bomb in Omagh.

What this shows is that despite their reassurances told renounce violence, many of these terrorists are continuing to kill and maim. Many of these terrorists will have the support of their families and the communities in which they live, which makes their detection and apprehension much for difficult for the Police. So perhaps the solution is to round up all those who have been released early and place them back in prison to complete their sentences. Perhaps the impact of this would encourage their families to be less supportive and actually put a stop to this criminal behaviour.

I don't think that anyone wants a return to the days of soldiers having to patrol the streets, people checking underneath their cars and people living in fear of indiscriminate death from a terrorist bomb. I lived in Northern Ireland for a couple of years as a child at the start of "The Troubles" in 1969, my father serving out there at the time. I had hoped that my son wouldn't have to do so.

Unfortunately, Alec has been backtermed as a result of the injury to his ankle and is currently spending his days either receiving intensive physiotherapy ands remedial PT or studying for the War Studies course that he will complete when he joins the next intake.

However, the good news is that he recently visited Cranwell, where he was tested for his flying aptitude, which he passed. Now he just has to undertake his flight grading, which he had hoped to complete during his leave in this month, but he will be unable to do so because of his injury.

If he gets through the flight grading, then he will be able to commission into the Army Air Corps, and then begin the process of learning to fly helicopters.

Oh! What a surprise!

2011-02-27T17:25:00.008Z

In the UK, and no doubt throughout the world, the newspapers have been full of stories about the political upheaval that's been taking place in the North African countries as well as other Arabic countries.

Much of this is a result of the people of these countries demanding changes to the way in which they're governed and the demand for more democracy. These protests have largely achieved changes for the better, but then there's Libya. The Libyan response, or more correctly Colonel Gadaffi's response, to these protests has been extreme violence, with the Libyan military opening fire on the crowds of protesters and killing more than 200. This seems to have caused shock and disgust worldwide. But why? I think that I would have been more surprised to hear that Abdelbaset Mohmed Ali al-Megrahi, the "terminally ill" Lockerbie bomber had actually died. It is also now being claimed that the Lockerbie atrocity was directly ordered by Gaddaffi.

The world, and more importantly the British Government, seems to have conveniently forgotten that this man came to power as the result of a coup d'etat, albeit relatively bloodless, and for many years was considered a terrorist by most Western countries. This latter opinion was not helped by his actively supporting paramilitary and terrorist organisations around the world, including the IRA. In fact, Gaddafi's foreign escapades resulted in the murder of a British Policewoman, Yvonne Fletcher, who was murdered by a Libyan "Diplomat" when he opened fire on a crowd of protesters outside the Libyan Embassy in London in 1984, the result of which led to a breakdown on diplomatic relations between Britain and Libya, although the perpetrators were granted diplomatic immunity and walked away scot free, and the Berlin Disco bombing, which resulted in the US military bombing targets in Libya in 1986.

And yet knowing the type of man that he was, the world has rehabilitated him back into civilised society from 2008 onwards. And why? I'm sure it’s got nothing to do with the oil, after all I'm sure that if Zimbabwe had oil, they would have been treated in exactly the same way that they have been. Or perhaps not.

There has also been a great fuss about the evacuation of the many expatriate Britons working for the oil companies in Libya. The Government has been criticised for its inaction and the delay in getting these people out. But hold on! They're expatriates, who are paying no tax to this country and no doubt earning plenty of money. In fact, enough that I'm sure that they or the company for whom they are working must to be able to make their own arrangements for evacuation. I bet that if the Government was to ask for a contribution to their travel during these cash strapped times; there would be a huge outcry. No doubt, the European Court of Human Rights would love to get the grubby little mitts on a case like this.

Which brings me onto the next thing that's gripped my shit in recent weeks (I really think that I'm turning into a grumpy old man!) The European Court of Human Rights has also been in the news in the UK recently following the rulings that we are breaching the rights of prisoners by not allowing them to vote and also breaching the rights of sex offenders by keeping them registered.

Surely, if a person commits an offence and finds themselves incarcerated, have they not removed their right to be an active member of civilised society? By all means, once they've served their sentence and returned to society, then they can continue as other normal people do (caveat to this coming up) by taking an active part in the society to which they now belong. And the law of this country states that if a person commits an offence of a violent or sexual nature, then they must be put on the Violent and Sexual Offences Register.

This was decided by the British Courts in the Sovereign State of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. What right some European judge has to dictate the laws of this country beats me. Probably the same amount of right that I have to go to Strasbourg and tell these "judges" to find themselves a proper and useful job.

But we're told that if we don't comply with these dictats, then the British Government could be fined by this Mickey Mouse court. Personally, think that the Government should have the balls to tell these jokers to get stuffed. After all, if we act now, they won't try telling us that we are breaching a person's human rights by punishing them for committing a crime, as I wouldn't be surprised if that were a ruling that surfaces in the future.

However, that would be the sensible course of action to take, but since when have the British Government followed that course. They are, after all, and despite the fact that this country is in financial dire straits and financially punishing the ordinary people of this country with tax rises and other penalties, continuing to pay billions of pounds in aid to foreign countries. The ridiculous thing about this is that two of these countries are Russia and India.

Now surely, countries that are not only producing their own nuclear arsenals but also still sending craft into space do not need to have their economies boosted by the UK. Also, many of the countries receiving aid are former colonies. But the important word here is former. Surely, once they have gained independence, it should be just that, independence, financially as well as politically. If they wish to export goods to the UK and get paid for that, fine. But otherwise, sort out their finances themselves. If they mismanage their finances, that's up to them, and up to them to deal with the consequences of this mismanagement. Then perhaps we can see the taxes returned to a more acceptable level. Rant over!

Today is also seven weeks since my eldest started at Sandhurst, and it is Old College Sunday, which is similar to an open day, during which the cadets demonstrate some of what they have learnt during the time since they have started their course and also stands to show other elements. Unfortunately, Alec was unable to demonstrate his marching ability, as he badly sprained his ankle during one of the exercises and is on crutches, as can just be seen in the photo of m'Julie, Alec and me.

The worst of it is that there is a possibility that the injury may be severe enough for him to not be able to carry on with the course at the moment, but may have to be "back-termed", joining the next course at the stage that he's at now. Obviously, this has not made him feel good, as it will mean that rather than passing out in December, he won't pass out until May of next year. However, there would be some advantages to this as he would be passing out at the start of a new training year, which means that there would be more opportunities to join the regiment of his choice, there being more places available at the end of a training year, rather than at the beginning. But the biggest disadvantage as far as Alec is concerned, will be that he will not pass out with the friends that he has made so far. But all this is speculation until he is seen by the physiotherapist tomorrow, so hopefully, for his sake, he will be allowed to continue.

What a Change!

2011-02-15T20:33:00.002Z

Five weeks ago I drove my eldest son to Sandhurst to begin his Commissioning course and this last weekend was his first weekend home since then.

It seems that he has had an eventful time. He survived the exercise, which is more than can be said for one of his colleagues who ended up in the hospital where I work, but then he spent last week in the MRS in Sandhurst with a kidney infection. Unfortunately, it meant that he didn't "pass off the square", which is the drill test that all the Cadets have to undertake.

Despite Alec's best efforts, he was unable to convince the Medical Officer, who coincidentally I had served with in Iraq, to release him in time, so he will have to do the "pass off" in a couple of weeks.

So he arrived home on Thursday evening, changed and took me to the pub for his first alcohol since before he went. Then he spent the weekend spending the money that he'd been earning on essentials to take back with him and catching up on the sleep that he'd been missing out on.

Everyone here noticed the difference in him in just the short time that he'd been away. He was even vaguely tidy! Its just a pity that his brother and sister couldn't have spent a bit more time with him than they did, although they were actually permitted to come with me when I drove him back to Sandhurst on Sunday. Maggie was particularly keen to see the place as she intends to study medicine and then join the Army herself, so will probably be there in a few years.

Now he's about to embark on a 36-hour patrolling exercise somewhere Wales, so I hope that he straps his feet well. We'll find out when we visit him in two weeks.

Meanwhile, while he has been enduring all this, in the real world, one group of blood-sucking leeches has given in to another, or to put it another way, the Government has rolled over about the banker's bonuses.

So here we are, less than three years after the British Government spent billions to bail out several banks and still the profits that they are making are used not to pay back the money that they owe but to pay undeserving people vast sums for a "job well done"!

I know that there was the argument that if the Government stopped the bonuses from being paid then the bankers would leave. However, I don't see the problem. If these morons had done their job correctly in the first place, then the banks that they work for would never have been in the dire straits that they found themselves and needing to be bailed out. In other words, why pay money to appease people whose fault it is that they are in a mess in the first place.

In fact, the banks that were bailed out should pay no bonuses until such time as all the money that was given to them during the bailout has been repaid, with interest. And if the bankers leave? Replace them with competent people! Personally, I think that they should have been sacked in the first place anyway.

But then, what do I know?

A Bit of Culture

2011-02-01T20:15:00.001Z

I think that living in the UK, and particularly living so close to London, we are very spoiled, as we have access to some the finest culture in the world, be it literature, theatre, music, art or museums.

I no idea how many museums there are in London, but sometimes it seems that every time you turn a corner, there's a signpost for another one. And the beauty of so many of these establishments is that they are free to enter.

And so it was that on Sunday, m'Julie and I headed off by train to the Capital and made or way to the British Museum, which is in the Bloomsbury part of London.

Even though I lived in London for so many years and have lived so close to London for about the same length of time, it was the first time that I'd been to this museum since I was taken there by my mother when I was about 10 or 11 during which time there had been a lot of changes.

Our reason for going was actually down to m'Julie, as she has a real interest in ancient Egypt, and there was a special exhibition on the Ancient Egyptian Book of the Dead.

The Book of the Dead is not as morbid as it sounds. The Ancient Egyptians believed that once a person had died and was buried, then their spirit, or ba, was free to come and go during the day, returning to the body at the end of the day. However, to achieve this, the ba had to go through various trials, and to prepare it for these, the ba was supplied with prayers and "spells" to enable it to do so.

The exhibition was designed as a journey from preparation for the afterlife, through burial, judgement and the preparation of the book. Sadly, and much to m'Julie's chagrin, there was no photography allowed in the exhibition itself, but trust me, it was fabulous. It was sometimes difficult to believe that I was within inches of a papyrus that had been written 4,000 years ago, the same age and a lot more fragile than, Stonehenge.

It is also a shame that we did not have more time, because once we had been through the exhibition, there is so much more to be seen at the museum. At least we now have no excuse not to return and see the rest of the museum, although I suspect that it will take several trips.

I also heard from Alec on Monday. He's on exercise for the remainder of the week just fifteen miles from home. Apparently, having got up at 0500, he was travelling via Tunbridge Wells to get there. I did offer to stand at the side of the road and wave as he went past, but for some reason, he declined the offer.....

Literary Ability

2011-01-22T18:09:00.003Z

I'm not sure who it was that said it, but someone did once say that everyone has at least one good book in them. The problem that I see with this is the definition of good. Some people would rave about Mills and Boon, whereas I would rather gouge out my eyes with a blunt rusty nail than subject them to one word of what I consider to be dross.

I am very envious of my friend Neil, the author of Speedbumps, as he is endeavouring to write a book about his time at school. I believe he has the self discipline to achieve this goal, even if it does take ten years to complete.

I, on the other hand, seem to lack this sort of self-motivation, as evidenced by my year of CBA when it came to writing this, although there are occasions when I think that certain events would make a good book or could be included in a story. It’s just finding the time on top of everything else to sit down and do it.

However, I did make the time last weekend to write one important thing, a letter to Alec. I have heard from him a couple of times, and it was no surprise that he was somewhat tired. At the moment, he seems to be averaging 3-4 hours sleep a night, although that will improve as he gets further into the course.

I was not the only one to write, though, as his sister has also written and I know that he received that letter, because he told her when he telephoned her on her birthday on Thursday.

That's something that I find difficult to believe. It’s bad enough that my eldest child will be 20 this year, but my youngest is now a teenager. I can't help but wonder what has happened to the last thirteen years, and marvel at how quickly they have passed, taking my daughter from the baby floating in the birthing pool to the confident, independent-minded young lady that I now see.

For her birthday, I finally succumbed to her constant pleading and allowed her to have her ears pierced. The look on her face when the earring was fired through her ears made me wish that I'd got my camera with me.

It’s quite a busy time for birthdays, with Maggie's on Thursday, mine today and m'Julie's in two weeks. Again, its looking back at the speed with which time is passing, as it doesn't seem like 31 years since I was celebrating the birthday that she celebrated on Thursday, and it is incredible to remember all that has happened in that time.

One fairly significant event from my life was brought to the fore again this week with the resumption of the Iraq Inquiry, and Tony Blair (or B Liar as he's referred to on the Army Rumour Service) returning to answer further questions, although from what I can see, although he spoke a lot, he didn't actually say very much. Perhaps if the private correspondence between him and Bush had been released, then more light would have been shed on the whole business.

My take on the whole subject, as someone who found himself in Iraq in late-2003, is like so many others who were out there. Did the regime need to be replaced. Yes. Were the majority of the Iraqi people happy to see an end to the way in which their country was being run? Again, yes. Did the Iraqi regime have access to the claimed weapons of Mass destruction, and did Blair and Bush really believe that these weapons really existed. To both questions, I think that the answer has to be no. And, most importantly, had he and Bush and their advisors come up with a post-conflict plan to ensure that the there would be stability in the region. No, of course they didn't, which is largely why Iraq degenerated into the mess it became.

So why did the British Prime Minister support US plans to invade. I guess that we'll never know, but I truly believe that he was not acting in the best interests of the country when he made the decision to do so. I suspect he was more concerned about his future career prospects, making sure that he had friends in high places. As for him finally expressing his regrets for the loss of life that resulted from his decisions eight years ago, I have to agree with the person in the public gallery who shouted "Too late!" I think it’s a pity that he seems to be walking away from this scot free.

However, at least not all corrupt politicians are getting away with things, all be it on a much smaller scale than Tony, as two weeks ago David Chaytor, the first of the MPs convicted as a result of the expenses scandal in 2009, was sentenced to eighteen months in prison for fraudulently claiming £20,000. Again, it’s a pity that with the current policy on sentencing etc, this crook will probably be out of prison and cashing in on his criminal activity in the form of books and lecture tours in about six months.

Eric Illsley, another of these criminals has also finally resigned having been convicted, although he is still awaiting sentencing. Let’s just hope that all of these thieves end up serving custodial sentences, and not just getting slaps on the wrist.

So now I'm about to have my "birthday tea", and m'Julie's even making me a cake (she sold her first cake just before Christmas and is open for orders). Not helping with my efforts to lose weight so that I fit in my mess kit for the dinner in two weeks, but, not be Royalty, I only have one birthday a year, so I'm going to enjoy it.

It’s just a pity that No.1 Son is the only one not here to enjoy the food, although he has telephoned. He's still knackered, still being worked hard, and still enjoying it. And if he's reading this, no, there probably won't be any cake left over when he comes home in three weeks.

A New Beginning

2011-01-11T21:24:00.003Z

Not for me, but for No. 1 Son. Its odd, but he passed his Army Officer Selection Board nearly three years ago, and at the time it seemed that his going to Sandhurst was such a long time away, and now he's there!

He decided that he was going to have his last night out last Friday in Tunbridge Wells and invited lots of friends and all the family for a curry night and then he and the friends were going off clubbing. However, from the start, things did not go completely according to plan.

He had decided that he was having the night out some time ago, but the first spanner in the works was his mother, who had decided that as I was going to be there, she was not. I did find this a little selfish on her part in that she was unwilling to put her animosity to one side for the sake of her son, but ultimately that's her loss.

And, because he'd chosen an Indian restaurant to have the meal in, he inadvertently excluded m'Julie, as she doesn't do spicy food because it does not have a good effect on her.

And I was also not at my best, having gone down with my third "bug" in almost as many weeks. A week before Christmas, I'd had a chest infection, and then, having recovered from that, I went down with a cold on Christmas Day, and then last Thursday had another cold, with gastrointestinal "extras". m'Julie was convinced that I had swine flu and did a runner to her mother's.

So it was in a somewhat subdued state that I picked up No. 2 Son and my Daughter and drove to the restaurant, where I ate not very much and left early with the kids.

No. 2 Son didn't ,mind too much as it gave him the opportunity to get home her and sort out which are his PS3 games to take home to his mother's now that he has his own PS3, bought from a friend last week.

The plan on Saturday was to collect No. 1 Son, make sure that he was all sorted and then make sure that he had an early night before the trip on Sunday. However, because he was a. Hungover and b. A bit disorganised, he was ready to move out until nearly 8pm! So much for the early night.

We got up quite late and at lunchtime, after Alec had said his goodbyes to the rest of the family, father and son set of for the uneventful journey to Surrey.

We made good time and so stopped off at the Camberley Tescos for a coffee and lunch. Alec successfully blended in with all the other smartly dressed young men and women looking very nervous.

After this very quick lunch we made the short trip to the Academy and joined the queue of traffic that was making its way to the parade square to park, Alec managing to get a couple of pictures of New College through the trees as we slowly drove.

Once we arrived, things happened very rapidly. I went off to have coffee whilst Alec was off filling in paperwork, then the families were taken to the chapel to be addressed by the Commandant and Old College Commander. Then it was back to the car to help Alec get all his kit into his room, prior to a quick goodbye and my heading home.

We'd been told during the talk that all of the new Officer Cadets would be kept busy and would be getting used to eighteen hour days during the next few weeks, and we could see that in the little time that we had to say goodbye.

So that's it now for five weeks, which is how long it is until he gets a weekend off. And clearly the long days have started as I was woken up by a text message at nearly 1am this morning telling me that he was just going to bed after a very long day that had probably started 20 hours previously.

Still alive!

2011-01-03T14:25:00.002Z

Despite the fact that it has been more than a year since my last post, it’s nothing to do with my demise, untimely or otherwise. It is purely that, to quote my No.2 Son, I CBA. It just got to the stage where I couldn't bring myself to sit down and ramble, although the family will be able to vouch for the fact that I continued to do so at home.

It’s also not because nothing happened during 2010, because I did have quite a busy year. My real job kept me busy and even got me a trip to Portugal for the ERC Congress. I'd never been to Portugal before, in fact, I'd never been to the Iberian Peninsula before, and it was even better because it was all paid for by my department

However, we were lucky to get there, as we flew at the time that the UK was again grinding to a halt because of snow. The whole of the east of the UK was in chaos, including the M25 seeming to have been turned into a car park for lorries, but we flew from Heathrow, which was clear.

We were also lucky to get back, as the day that we were flying back was the same day that the Spanish air traffic controllers decided to go on strike. Fortunately, because we flew with TAP, we were able to get back, because unlike airlines such as Easyjet and Ryanair, TAP didn't cancel all of their flights at the mention of a strike.

The city of Porto was very nice, from what I saw of it, as the Congress did interfere a little with the sight-seeing. However, courtesy of one of the medical companies, we did get to have a nice meal at, and a tour of, the Taylor's Port Lodge. Now, as I do like my port........... It’s definitely somewhere that I would revisit, hopefully next time with m'Julie.

The TA part of my life has also kept me quite busy, and in July I spent a week in Holland as part of the British Military Contingent providing support during the Nijmegen Marches, or Vierdaagse in Dutch. It was an interesting but tiring week, although we weren't as tired as those that were actually marching. Some of the blisters were horrendous, and I saw my first ever case of trench foot from a man who'd not looked after his feet properly.

And in September, although not as cosmopolitan, the camp was on the Isle of Wight, reached via landing craft, which was an interesting experience.

So now Christmas and New Year is over for another year and 2011 has the potential to be as busy as last year. The first of these is No.1 Son's "Last Meal" this Friday before I drive him to Sandhurst on Sunday to begin his Commissioning Course.

Watch this space!

Chaos

2009-12-28T15:08:00.003Z

Since my last entry the World, or at least the UK, has been thrown into utter chaos. And the cause of such a breakdown in the fabric of the country? It snowed!

Now, if Britain was an equatorial country, experiencing only minor differences between the summer and winter weather patterns, then I could understand it. But we're not. We are a temperate country which has both summer and winter difference in temperature. In fact, this latest snowfall was forecast a week before it happened. But when it did finally fall, it seemed to come as a surprise to everyone who was in a position to actually prepare for it. Consequently, the roads, the railways, the airports and even the ports ground to a complete and utter halt.

Every year its the same. If the councils devoted as much time to preparing for the weather as the news channels do to covering the chaos that a small snow fall can cause, then this country would be as efficient as all the other European and North American countries that have snow falls.

However, it appears that it is not just winter that causes chaos. In the spring we experience floods (everything grinds to a halt and there are assurances that this will not happen again..........until next year), the summer, where if the temperatures are high half of the elderly population dies (there are assurances that this will not happen again..........until next year), the autumn where there is chaos because the leaves fall off the trees (everything grinds to a halt and there are assurances that this will not happen again..........until next year) and finally winter, where cold temperatures and snow cause chaos (everything grinds to a halt and there are assurances that this will not happen again..........until next year).

However, the white Christmas that everyone hoped for didn't materialize, as the weather changed from snow to rain, and almost all of the snow melted.

Christmas Day dawned early (all of the kids were staying) and after pressie opening m'Julie cooked our huge turkey to perfection. Unfortunately, Alec was working, so instead of being seven of us at dinner, there were only six, Alec eating later when he got back from work.

Surprisingly, by boxing day all the turkey was gone, which meant that the days of turkey curry, turkey salad etc were avoided.

We also managed to avoid joining the throng at the sales, although we did go to the cinema to see St Trinian's 2 on the day after Boxing Day, which was a suitably silly film to see. The nearest that we got to the sales was to try and find some speakers for Hannah's new iPod, as the ones that she had are for the previous generation of iPod and don't fit.

Unfortunately, now that its all over, we have the inevitable returns to work. Although I'm not back to work until next Monday, m'Julie is back at work tomorrow and the kids are back to their mother's on Thursday, returning to school on the same day that I return to work.

So New Year's Eve will be a quieter affair this year, with only me, m'Julie, her mum and Hannah, as Alec is working in one of the bars that he works in.

Oh well, another year over.

Cull Centres

2009-12-17T19:00:00.002Z

For the past week I have been 'sans Internet' at home, which has been very inconvenient at times. I found this out when I decided to check my email one morning and discovered that my broadband, which had worked perfectly the previous evening, was no longer working. At this point, I telephoned my provider in an attempt to establish what was happening.

Despite having the name 'British' in the title, the call centre for this company is located in India. Now I have no problem with this provided that a. the person with whom I am speaking has a good command of the English language and b. does the job for which they are being paid.

Unfortunately, whilst all those who answered my several phone calls met criteria a, they were appalling when it came to criteria b!

The first person that I spoke to, after several minutes, initially informed me that I had never had broadband. When I pointed out that I had been with my provider at my current address since July 2007, she informed me that I was moving house, arguing with me when I told her that I wasn't. Finally, she informed me that my broadband had been seized. I asked what this meant, and was told that it meant that my broadband had been seized. However, this lady was unable to tell me why my broadband had been seized, but knew someone who could and transferred me to a British lady, who informed me that my broadband had been seized.

When I asked her why my broadband had been seized, she initially informed me that according to her records, I had never had broadband at my current address. I told her that I had been with my provider at my current address since July 2007. She even asked if my landline was still working. I pointed out that we wouldn't actually be speaking if it wasn't. This lady then established that because my original contact was with BT-Yahoo, I needed to speak to someone else. Cue gentleman in Indian call centre.

As with the previous two people with whom I spoke, I was asked for my name, my telephone number, some security questions and the nature of my problem. Having done all this, I was firstly told that I had never had broadband at my address and was then told that my broadband had been seized. However he could not tell me why it had been seized and I was put on hold whilst being transferred to the person who could help me.

After five minutes a very cheery man asked me for my name and telephone number. I explained that I had already given it to the three previous people that I spoke to but he just kept asking for my name and telephone number.

Obviously, I had got the man who was new and wouldn't deviate from his script. I, a couple of years ago, when speaking to one of these call centres, had got the person who had the script, and if you interrupted them or asked a question, went back to the start of the script and repeated everything that she had just said!

So, when I asked cheery man to pout me through to a supervisor, he refused (that was obviously not in the script!) Eventually, my patience ran out and I put the phone down.

Several hours later, I tried again, but decided that I would use the approach of speaking to someone in the UK. So, when I got through to India, I asked for the UK telephone number. Four times I did this, and on each occasion, I was informed that I would be put on hold. On each occasion, because of the inactivity, the phone cut out.

On the fifth occasion, I got the comedian. This was the one that, when I asked for a UK telephone number, put me on hold, but kept cutting in with 'would you like to speak to my supervisor?' and then put me back on hold again when I told him that I wanted the UK phone number. After the sixth time of asking and my response of 'Which bit of I want to speak to someone in the UK don't you understand you moron!' he cut me off.

On the seventh occasion, I got through to someone who, after leaving me on hold for five minutes informed me that they are only a call centre and do not have any numbers for anyone in the UK.

So, I decided to use the phone book, and I called the BT Head Office in London. It has a London address, it has a London phone number, and it diverts to the bloody call centre in India! I hung up when answered!

Next I tried calling the local BT business office with a local (to me) number. I got through to a very helpful lady who agreed that the call centre personnel are useless and who gave me another number 'up North somewhere'. I called the number and it rang twice before a recorded message informed me that the number was no longer in use and that I needed to dial another number.

Guess where the other number was for. Go on, guess. Yup! INDIAN BLOODY CALL CENTRE!!!

Eventually, after speaking to four more people, I found out what the problem was. Apparently, BT had sent me a bill in October and I hadn't paid it. Because of this, they had written to me asking me to pay it, and I had not replied. They had then written to me and told me that if I didn't pay it they would cut off my broadband service. Finally, on December 1st they had sent me a final bill and my service was stopped on 9th December.

However, when I looked at the final bill that had arrived the previous day, I noticed that there was a slight problem. The person to whom it was addressed was indeed me, the street name, town name, county name and post code were all correct. The problem was that there was no house number, which explained why I had probably not received the other letters.

So when I spoke to the final woman, I explained this. She informed me of the address that I had, which was correct, including the house number. However, when I told her that the only letter I seemed to have received from them was missing this vital element of the address, if the others were the same that would explain why they had not been received. This woman then argued with me that because they had my correct address it was not possible that the house number had been missed off. She relented when I offered to photocopy and send the letter to her complaints department and wanted to know her name so that I could inform them that she had called me a liar.

So now it came to sorting out the problem. I told her that I would pay the outstanding amount by card and asked when I would be reconnected. I was told that because of their error in not having the correct address for me, which meant that I received no bills from them, and therefore they 'seized' my line, that I would be treated as a new customer and would have no service for five to ten working days. At this point I informed her that this was not quick enough and would go elsewhere for my service. Consequently, this is my first Sky broadband post.

As for the outstanding bill, I will eventually pay it, but it is tempting to wait for them to phone, put on a series of stupid voices/accents, put them on hold a lot and cut them off at regular intervals before telling them that it will take two weeks for the bill to be paid. However, if they can provide proof that they have culled all of the useless oxygen thieves that I dealt with last week, then I will pay immediately.

Speaking of useless oxygen thieves I have had what I hope will be my final dealings with the CSA.

About six weeks ago, my ex-wife returned to work. At this point I telephoned the CSA and informed them of this fact and that the arrears that she had not paid as she was on benefits could now be paid.

Having heard nothing back, I telephoned again two weeks ago and spoke with David Grey who had charge of the communal brain cell that day (they really should be more careful who they let loose with it). Firstly, he informed me the amount that my ex-wife owed, and then informed me that she wouldn't be paying it at present as she was, according to CSA records, on benefits. I explained (slowly) that she had returned to work, informing him that I had explained this to his colleague four weeks previously. He told me that he would need to speak to my case worker, Sharon Hughes, but that she was not in until that afternoon, and that he would get her to call me. My last words to him were 'So she will definitely call me this afternoon?' and I was assured that she would.

Five days later, having heard nothing (no, I wasn't really surprised either) I telephoned again. However, when I asked for Sharon Hughes by name I was told that she wasn't my case worker. I suggested that David Grey had lied to me when he'd said that she was, but the woman I was speaking to got very snappy, informing me that she had been, but had moved to a different job the day after I was expecting a call from her. Convenient!

I therefore had to explain the whole business to her, and pointed out that the incompetence of her agency and colleagues was of epic proportions, and that I wanted the whole thing sorted out immediately, if not sooner.

Having again got quite snappy and having denied that the CSA was incompetent, I was then placed on hold whilst she did some 'checks'.

What these checks revealed were that my ex-wife is no longer on benefits and that she owed me four times the amount that Grey had told me. When I asked her how long the CSA had had the information and she had told me, I asked her to justify her denials of incompetence when Grey had access to the same information but had told me completely different things. No response.

The upshot was that she would telephone my ex, ask her about payments and would call me back, which she did the following day. However, in the true spirit of incapability that the CSA is founded upon, it appears that this woman had got the final figure wrong and that David Grey had been correct in what he told me was the sum owed. And yes, I did tell this woman that she was upholding the incompetence of her agency.

With the card payment now made, that is hopefully the last time that I will have to deal with those cretins at the CSA, although I am sure that they will, at some point, cock up when it comes to my paying for my children, but I'll deal with that when it happens.

Tempus Fugit

2009-11-20T21:02:00.001Z

I'm going through a phase at the moment where my body clock seems to have reset itself, so I will go to sleep shattered and wake up 'hours' later. But when I look at the clock, I discover that I have been asleep for less than two hours. I then have the problem that I feel like I have slept for hours and can't get back to sleep again.

One of the advantages that I do have with my new iPod is that I can access YouTube wirelessly, which I did last night. Bizarrely, whilst surfing through the music on the site I saw a song that I hadn't heard for a long time. I clicked the song and as the first notes came through my earphones, the last twenty five years vanished. By the end of the song, I was once again 17 and (reasonably) problem and stress free.

There are many things that can elicit memories, smells and sounds particularly, and it fascinates me the way in which the brain processes these memories, giving a feeling of euphoria if it relates to a happy memory, and the sadness that you feel if it relates to a less happy memory. The song last night resulted in both responses, the euphoria because of what it related to and the sadness due to the outcome.

I've said before that there is very little that I would change if I could have my time over again, but it would be nice if we could occasionally go back and explain our actions and mistakes with the eloquence and maturity that we possess as the adults that we have become, rather than brashness and immaturity of the teenagers that we were. However, I suspect that some of my friends who have known me all of that time would argue that I have neither matured nor learnt eloquence in the last quarter century!

It is odd to look back and remember that when this piece of music was significant to me, I was younger than my eldest son is now.

Alec is now back in the UK, but is hoping to be flying out to either China or Senegal to complete his 'gap year'.

Unfortunately, his time back has not gone smoothly. Firstly, the people who were to collect him from the airport had a problem with their car, so, although he arrived back at 0700, he wasn't collected until 1900, by me.

Having collected him, I drove him to his mother's house. The following morning, there were numerous messages from his mother, and Alec, on my phone. The upshot was that she had thrown him out and he was staying with one of her friends.

Sadly, it will also be awkward for him to stay with me as we have rearranged the house since he left and he would no longer have a bedroom of his own, and it makes far more sense that he stay at his mother's, as that is where all of his belongings are. But she has put her carnal desires ahead of her son, again. She even gave Drew, Alec's brother, a hard time for allowing him into the house!

Hopefully, he will be able to meet up with the staff from Project Trust and head off to one of the other countries early in the New Year.

As I said before at the time that Alec was leaving Guyana, I was otherwise engaged.

The mess dinner went very well and I did fit into my mess kit (just!) It seems that I've put on most of my weight around my chin(s!)

The dinner was excellent, and the concern that there had been about the chef, this being the first function that he had cooked for since doing his chef's course, proved completely unfounded.

The menu was also very good, the starter being butternut squash soup. I'd never had this before and was surprised at how spicy it was. The main course was beef wellington, with saute potatoes, green beans and carrots. The beef was also cooked to perfection, and I was actually unable to finish, although that was partly due to the concern that my mess kit was becoming tighter by the minute!

Desert was key lime pie on a ginger nut base, and then the usual coffee, mints and port for the toasts. All present seemed to enjoy themselves and were full of praise for the chef. The next dinner will have to be a guest night, or there's the risk that m'Julie will throttle me.

Oddly, I woke up on the Sunday with a bit of a hangover, but that had gone by the time I collected m'Julie a headed back to the Sqn. From there we headed into Maidstone and to coffee in the Mayor's parlour, prior to my separating from m'Julie and making my way, with the rest of the Mayor's party to the cenotaph in Maidstone and the Service of Remembrance.

Following this was the first visit this month to the church in Maidstone for the more formal service, before returning to the Sqn for a lunch.

The reason that this was the first visit this month was that I returned to that church last Wednesday for the funeral of the Warrant Officer who had died on 29th October.

The church was packed and there was a very large turn out from the Sqn. His son spoke, showing maturity far beyond his years, and many of the Sqn joined the family at the wake after the cremation.

So now its the build up to Christmas, which, unfortunately, has been building up on the TV for weeks with all the adverts. Hopefully, it will be good, particularly as all of the kids will be at ours. Now where's my Bah! Humbug hat?!?

2009-11-11T11:00:00.007Z

For The Fallen

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.

Laurence Binyon, 1914

In Memory Of
S/4206 Private JOSEPH WATT
1st Bn., Seaforth Highlanders
who died
on 10 April 1916 aged 19

Remembered with honour
BASRA MEMORIAL

and

In Memory Of
S/8909 Serjeant THOMAS McIVOR
9th Bn., Black Watch (Royal Highlanders)
who died
on 29 April 1916 aged 30

Remembered with honour
LOOS MEMORIAL

Major Changes

2009-11-06T20:18:00.000Z

There have been several major changes since my last post, the first of these being that I am indeed a Major (can you see what I've done there?!) However, it was a bit of double-edged sword, as the day I was given my crowns was the same day that it looked as if the Squadron would be dormant for months.

There had been some talk for a while that the Government would need to save money, what with recession and their expenses claims, and one of the strategies that they had decided upon was to reduce training for the Territorial Army. I knew that some units were already doing unpaid training, but then the decision was made that all training would stop until April next year.

And where were we when we found out about this? On a weekend training exercise.

Initially, it had seemed that we would be unaffected, but then the axe fell on all TA Units, so I had to write to all members of the Squadron with the bad news.

It was not well received by the troops, but they understood the reasoning behind the decision, and many that were already booked onto courses said that they were willing to attend without pay.

It also meant that the Sergeant Major and I attended the launch of the Poppy Appeal without pay, although I don't think that either of us have ever claimed for the time for such an important event. The SSM was also being given one of the first poppies.

So, having written to everyone about the fact that there was no training, things changed rapidly within a week. First of all was the fact that the Government had relented a little, and decided for the sake of retention that one drill night would be paid.

I drafted another letter, but fortunately didn't send it, because withing 24 hours, there had been a complete u-turn and all training was reinstated. Sadly, it was too late for some courses, but not for all.

Unfortunately, it wasn't all good news, as one of the Warrant Officers (the one with the simulated gun shot wound to the head in the last post) died suddenly last week. It is thought that he had a massive heart attack at home and as far as I was able to establish when myself and the SSM visited his widow the following day, he didn't even get as far as hospital. It came as a shock to most people as he was only 53. So my first order of business when the Squadron met again on Wednesday was ensuring that everyone knew, although we still hadn't heard anything at that point about funeral arrangements.

From a home point of view there has also been a major change, when my ex-wife telephoned me, the first time that she had actually spoken to me in about four years. But, like the harbinger on doom that she is, it wasn't good news.

It appears that Alec, my eldest, is not having as good a time as I thought in Guyana. In fact, he has been having a very miserable time and not getting on at all with the two people that he is living with in St Cuthbert's Mission. As a result of this, he has decided that he is returning home.

I telephoned him the day after the call from his mother and talked to him about the consequences of coming home after only nine weeks, but he was adamant, although he did talk about going to one of the other areas, either in Africa or Asia.

The fact that this was the first that I'd heard about all this, and the fact that it had apparently been going on for some time, far from impressed me. Particularly as I had made sure that the Desk Officer for Guyana at the charity had all my contact details.

When I spoke to him the following week, I was to discover why. He had been informed by my ex-wife that she would keep me informed about everything that was happening. I put him straight, and he's kept me informed since.

Alec leaves Guyana to fly back to the UK on Remembrance Sunday, arriving on the Monday, and then its a case of debriefing in Coll and hopefully, for him, flying out to the new location very soon after getting back to the UK.

At the same time that Alec is flying back, I will be in Maidstone taking part in the Remembrance Parade. But between now and then is my first mess dinner as OC. I wonder if I'll still fit in my mess kit...........

Busy Busy Busy

2009-10-04T12:45:00.005+01:00

Since I posted last, it has been quite a busy time. The two week camp has taken place and I have been back at work for almost two weeks.

Two days before the camp started, I finally received the letter that I'd been waiting for, although it was claimed that it had been sent to me on 12th August. This was the letter offering me the OC's post, which I accepted. Now I just have to wait for the Personnel Office to catch up and send through my promotion!

Personally, I think that it was a good time to be offered the post, as I was able to accept it and then do the job for two weeks solidly. I have also now changed my hours at work so that I am able to visit Aldershot once a week.

The first week of camp was spent in a place called Nescliffe, which is not far from Shrewsbury. The first part of the week was spent with everyone receiving medic training and this was all put into practice with a demonstration when the VIPs visited us.

The second half of the week was devoted to driver training at another training area in Swynnerton. This training area takeds some getting used to as it was the old training ground for soldiers being posted to Germany, and so once on the training area, all teraffic drives on the right, instread of the usual left. Several of the troops were able to get their licences and even the VIPs had a drive.

Fortunately, they survived uninjured, though they did worry their instructors on a couple of occasions. Their visit was rounded off with a combined Officers'/Sgts Mess dinner at a very nice restaurant in Shrewsbury.

During this week, it was early starts each morning so that everyone could do PT. The annoying thing is that, despite all the problems that I had last year, the only problem that I had with the PT was that my right knee, the one that I had the arthroscopy in last May, at the start of all the trouble, is still playing up and swelled to about four times normal size every time I did something! As for the heart/chest? No problems.

At the end of the week, everything was packed up and we made the trip to Wiltshire and relocated in one of the many camps on Salisbury Plain, just a couple of miles away from Stonehenge. This was part of a major medical exercise, with our Regiment exercising another Medical Regiment, examining the new role for the Regiments.

The Sqn was therefore had the opportunity to work with the armour that we don't have and was used as observers, drivers and casualties, the latter being expertly made-up by a professional company, which also used genuine amputees.

Six of the troops found themselves attached to the Regiment that was being exercised and came back having learnt lots and having had a superb time.

There was also the opportunity for everyone to have a flight in a Merlin helicopter, as these will soon be used for casevacs. Great fun when flying straight and level, not so much fun when not, or when flying at high speed level with the trees!

The camp finished back where we started in the centre, with all the kit etc being packed away and vehicles washed, a night spent in the centre and all home at lunchtime on the Saturday. Although the camp had been for two weeks, it had gone very quickly, and plans are already in place for next year.

We were also very lucky for the entire camp, as the week that we were in Shropshire we had just one day of rain, and on Salisbury Plain it was warm and there was bright sunshine with just a couple of hours of rain(unheard of for Salisbury Plain to have no rain for that period of time!). In fact, it was positively tropical compared to the last time that I'd been on the Plain was when m'Julie and I visited Stonehenge earlier this year and we'd both been freezing. Mind you, the dust.......Some people are never happy!

It was also this weekend that I got to speak to Alec, who phoned because he hadn't been paid and was skint. Other than that, he seems to be having a good time in Guyana. Its just a pity that he has no internet access, which means that his blog updates will be few and far between (a bit like mine at the moment!)

So, after all this activity, it was back to the grind after just one day off, and I was soon back into it. The only difference is that I am now taking Thursdays off so that I can go to Aldershot every week.

Unfortunately, the timing wotked out that the weekend after I got back, there was an Advanced Life Support course at the hospital that I was teaching on, so there was to be no time off that weekend either, although I did take the opportunity to stay in the hotel with the rest of the faculty and so was able to enjoy a few glasses of wine with dinner, unlike last time when I drove home after the meal.

So now, with my first weekend off in five weeks, I am putting off the inevitable course preparation for the European Paediatric Life Support Course that I'm teaching on in London next week.

Definitely no peace for the wicked!

All growed up!

2009-08-23T19:10:00.007+01:00

If you look at the 'Blogs I Read' section to the right, you will notice that there is a new one, 'Alec's year in Guyana'. Yup, he's gone. My eldest son is now, and will be for the next year, about 4,500 miles away, having flown out last Friday. This will not only be the furthest apart that we've been (Iraq was only about 2800) since he was born, but also the longest time. However, I'm sure it will go very quickly. The last three weeks has.

The house now seems very empty as both Drew and Maggie have returned to their mother's after spending three weeks here. However, they did have to earn their keep, as, although I was on annual leave, I did have to go into work on two of the days due to August being the month that all of the new doctors start, and they all needed to be trained. This was where Drew and Maggie came in, as they were able to demonstrate cardiopulmonary resuscitation and using the defibrillators in AED mode, and are probably far better at it than most of the new doctors!

The remainder of the holidays was a fairly relaxed affair, with just some day trips here and there, including Walmer and Dover and a day in Eastbourne at Eastbourne Airborne, which is not only the world's biggest seafront airshow, but is also free. Much to m'Julie's amazement, it is also the first time that I'd seen the Red Arrows 'live'.

Going back to before the kids arrived, the Garden Party went well. I was relieved that I did manage to fit into my service dress, and the weather wasn't too warm, so I wasn't too uncomfortable. m'Julie and I were on the Deputy Mayor's table, the lady who will be the Mayor next year. Maidstone does things slightly differently in that, rather that have an election for the Mayor every year or two, the most senior councillor is the Mayor for a year and the next most senior takes over from them, having been the Deputy Mayor for a year.

Having said all that, following the cakes, scones and strawberries and cream, the Sam Browne that I was wearing not only started to get tighter, but also became very uncomfortable.

Caroline's visit was not as long as I'd hoped, as her son-in-law was concerned about her travelling on her own due to the problems that she has with her legs, so told her that he would drive her down and take her back on the same day. Unfortunately, that meant that we only had limited time with Caroline, and we met her at the Wings Museum in Surrey. The museum is not officially open yet, and although we were able to walk around and take pictures, we were requested not to put any of the pictures on the net, even the ones of me in the cockpit of the C-47 that was used in Band of Brothers.

The reason that we met here was that not far from where Caroline lives in Texas is the site of the WW2 British Flight Training School, which was where many RAF pilots trained at the outset of the Second World War. Caroline is very active in preserving this site and is keen to be affiliated to similar sites in the UK.

Lastly, the weekend prior to the children arriving was a range weekend. Due to the qualifications of one of the Sqn officers, we were all able to enjoy not only the usual fixed firing point shoots, but also the close quarter battle shoots, including the street, where there is one person on each side of a 'street', firing at targets that pop-up at the end. Judging by the comments, a great time was had by all. Unfortunately, the OC has left, and he was the only one in the Sqn who was qualified to conduct that range.

Now its just myself, m'Julie and Hannah in the house, although I'm away on camp for two weeks soon, so need to make sure that I have everything ready for that.

Pain!

2009-07-16T18:10:00.001+01:00

I've experienced two distinct types of pain during the last couple of weeks. The first is the pain from the abscess, which resulted in a trip back to the dentist before my original appointment, including more antibiotics in addition to the ones I was taking, and the second was the cost of having the treatment done. And its still not completed. I have to go back at the end of this month to finish the treatment!

The advantage of all of this is that, due to having a temporary filling, and then just cotton wool in the hole, eating was difficult and I have lost weight. I am now in the situation where the service dress jacket that I will be wearing at the garden party next week can now been done up, which, just three weeks ago was an impossibility.

However, whilst I was able to do up all of the buttons the last time that I tried it on, there was a distinct possibility that if I had coughed, sneezed or even taken a deep breath, then the buttons would have flown across the room. This also meant that when I did the OC bit of going and seeing one of the soldiers from the Squadron pass out at Pirbright, I had to go in a suit, rather than uniform.

At least I can still fit in my 'Combat 95' uniform, which is just as well really, as the second of the primary health care weekends has now taken place. The guys that attended seemed to enjoy it and I hope that they got something out of it. The remainder of these exercises will be run by someone else because of my promotion to 2ic, and, possibly, by the time that they're taking place I may be in the post of OC, which I have applied for this month.

The day that I was in Pirbright was also the day that No.1 son returned from travels of his own. As I have previously mentioned, he is off to Guyana to teach with a group called Project Trust. It did, for a while, look as if he wouldn't be going, as he had not raised as much in sponsorship as he needed. Consequently, he hadn't gone to Scotland for the meeting.

The day after he was due to go, not only did I receive a telephone call from his mother, but she actually spoke to me, demanding to know why he wasn't in Scotland as Project Trust had called her. It appeared that they hadn't received Alec's email. What was more surprising was the fact that she actually met up with Alec, put her hand in her pocket and paid for his journey to the Isle of Coll! No doubt he will end up paying for that in the future!

As a result of this, he is now definitely going to Guyana and leaves at the end of August. It works out quite nicely, as his brother and sister are with me for the summer holidays when he goes, so will be able to come to the airport to see him off.

Other changes are that Maggie, my youngest, leaves her primary school tomorrow and heads off to secondary school in September. When m'Julie, Hannah and I went to the school last evening to see Maggie playing the part of the adult Nala in the school's version of the Lion King, it was strange to think that that would be the last time that I visited that school.

The play was very good and Maggie seemed to thoroughly enjoy herself. She is also looking forward to the challenges that await her in 'big school', though I am sure that some of these will be eased by the fact that her older brother is already there.

Whilst the kids are with me and prior to Alec's departure, we are being visited by Caroline, mother of my friend Norman who was killed in January. Bizarrely, I was watching an episode of The First 48 when Caroline phoned, which must have been recorded last year, as when I hung up and went back to watching, there was Norman at a crime scene.

So it will be a busy couple of weeks with kids staying, when Drew gets back from Amsterdam, Alec working as much as possible to raise funds for Guyana, Caroline visiting and the garden party, which I've just realised will cost me for m'Julie's dress. I wonder if I can get some overtime?

Redacted!

2009-06-23T18:00:00.003+01:00

Incredible. A word that, to my knowledge, has been little used apart from in the Brian de Palma film of the same name is now appearing more and more frequently.

The reason? The thieving scum that inhabit the Houses of Parliament and jokingly pass themselves of as a Government have finally released their expenses. However, it looks as if my speculation that these expense claims were to be sanitised prior to publication was correct, as large amounts of the information is blacked out. But, rather than use the word 'censored', which in effect is what is is, all the trough dwellers are using the word 'redacted'. I strongly suspect that this is because politicians have so little respect for the people that they are supposed to represent that they believe that most people will not realise that when they say redacted they do actually mean censored.

The argument that has been put forward for this censorship is that without it there would be a risk to the personal security of the MPs. Perhaps personal addresses, telephone numbers and email addresses should not be made public due to security issues, but this also gives the thieving scum the opportunity to 'flip' their first and second homes on a regular basis and claim expenses for doing so (people like Blears, for example). However, there is much else that has been hidden on these grounds that in no way relates to their personal security.

In addition, all claims that were made and subsequently rejected (floating duck houses etc) have also been 'redacted'. The public have a right to know just how these politicians are attempting to exploit the system to their own benefit, so censoring failed claims is completely unacceptable. If these people did not want public scrutiny of their affairs then they should not have a. entered public life and b. attempted to use public money to line their own pockets.

However, despite the fact that it would be in the public interest to investigate and prosecute all of the trough dwellers that have done wrong, it appears that there is only to be a limited investigation and no doubt they'll get away with just a slapped wrist.

On the subject of publicity, I finally received a response from Errol Lutton last Wednesday. Did he answer any of the questions that I had originally asked in April? No.

What he did reveal was that despite my contacting the CSA in march of this year, he had spoken to my ex-wife the night before to confirm that what I was telling him was the truth. He also told me that he would be writing to Greg Clark and that I would be kept informed about what was happening. I'll believe it when it happens.

There's a forum where someone has made a Freedom of Information Act request to the CSA about how many complaints they receive each year. It appears that they receive approximately 48,000. I'm amazed, I was sure that it would be more. There is also someone on the same forum that claims that it is pointless to complain just once. Their advice was to complain repeatedly and often!

Changing tack completely, I will struggle for the next month with the power that has been thrust upon me. The Squadron OC is away on business in the far east, so as the 2ic I have had to step up in his absence. There are advantages, though, as m'Julie and I have been invited to the Mayor's garden party in July. The downside to that will no doubt be the cost of the dress, and the hat, and the shows, not forgetting the matching bag.........

First stop, County Hall, next stop Buck House!

However, all this is dependent on m'Julie, as she is currently laid up having prolapsed a vertebral disc the weekend before last. And what highly strenuous activity was she participating in when she did this damage? She was watering her plants!

Proof that gardening is, in fact, a dangerous activity and also proof that my refusal to do any gardening is completely justified.

The other problem that I have discovered which may impact on this function is that it is likely that I will be required to wear service dress. Unfortunately, when I tried on the jacket last week, it appears that during the time that it has been in the wardrobe whilst I was off last year, it has shrunk! I am therefore exploring ways of making the jacket bigger, and me smaller.

My efforts at dieting this week are being assisted by the fact that I have developed a dental abscess. This, due to the pain, means that I have very little appetite as well as the fact that, following the commencement of the root canal treatment, I have difficulty opening my mouth.

Currently, I have a temporary filling in place to give the infection a chance to resolve, aided by antibiotics, before going back to finish treatment next Tuesday.

Unfortunately, not only will I be getting lighter, but so will my wallet. Yesterdays start of treatment set me back £95.00. Maybe I should have asked for a general anaesthetic on top of the local anaesthetic prior to being given the bill.

Typical!

2009-06-09T19:41:00.002+01:00

Typical! Part 1: Having spent all that time and effort being sarcastic to that waster Purnell, what does he do? He resigns! Now I'll have to deal with a different Muppet! (Yvette Cooper who, along with her husband, another politician called Ed Balls, seems to be even more corrupt than her predecessor when it comes to parliamentary expenses, if that's possible!) He hasn't gone quietly, either, suggesting that Chairman Brown should step down for the good of everybody.

What did make me laugh was that the day after he resigned, a news reporter was camped outside Purnell's house in his constituency and reported that people kept stopping and telling him that he was wasting his time as Purnell had only been seen in his constituency once in the last ten years!

However, on the day that he resigned, I did get a letter from Greg Clarke, informing me that he had received my letter and that he had written to the chief executive of the CSA (now called the Child Maintenance and Enforcement Commission), Stephen Geraghty. This caused me some confusion, as when I had written to Mary Quinn, both the CSA website and the idiot that I spoke to stated that Mary Quinn was the chief executive, although I now notice that the website has been changed, and the Mary Quinn page, although still claiming that she is chief executive of the CSA, appears in the Department for Social Development website.

I didn't think that involving my MP would have much effect other than to get the morons at the CSA to actually do their jobs. But I was wrong, as I found out when Kevin Maguire phoned me on Friday to inform me that he was no longer dealing with my case, as it had been passed over to the Earl Luton (I still think that this could be an alias!) in the parliamentary team.

Whilst I had him on the phone, I also asked Kevin Maguire who his chief executive was. Just as well it wasn't a life or death question as he told me both Stephen Geraghty and Mary Quinn before putting me on hold and finding out before informing me that Mary Quinn is the head of the CSA and Stephen Geraghty is the chief executive. I'm still none the wiser.

I also had the rather bizarre experience of answering my phone yesterday to an Irish voice saying 'Hello, my name is Earl.....' However, that is where the humour ended as this idiot, obviously the Earl Luton that I'd been told about, informed me that he had taken over my case and had fifteen days (another CSA three weeks) to respond. More delays, meaning that by the time that I get this sorted it will be about eight weeks or more since my initial letter. Not exactly efficient when it states on their website

"It can seem difficult to make a complaint, but we want to make it as easy as possible so we can get things right".

Maybe they should let me design a more truthful website for them, perhaps

"Do you know an unemployable village idiot? If so, we have vacancies, especially management positions, just for them here at the Child Support Agency. Experience is a definite disadvantage although very low IQ and inability to perform the most simple of tasks will ensure rapid promotion. If they are exceptionally 'special' they will be assigned to our complaints resolution team in an effort to make it as difficult as possible for our incompetence to be exposed".

Earl Luton seemed quite surprised when I informed him that I expected things to move much faster than he was telling me as it had already been some time since my original complaint. His plea of it not being his fault that this process was taking so long was greeted by my informing him that I didn't care whose fault their inability to actually carry out their job was and that the whole business provided further evidence of the incompetence of the entire agency and all of its employees.

Typical! Part 2: When I received the phone call on Friday, I was on a minibus on my way to the Brecon Beacons having taken the day off to attend the Army Medical Services TA Patrolling Competition which was taking place in the Sennybridge training area, although purely in my role as Sqn 2ic, rather than as a competitor (far too old and unfit for that!)

All week, the weather had been very pleasant, even when we left the Unit for the six hour drive to Wales, it was still sunny, although it was getting a bit nippier the further west we went.

We arrived at 8pm and after a briefing, made our way to the main admin area, where we were eaten alive by midges before the guys headed off and I headed back to a room in the main camp. After that, it all went downhill.

When I got up on Saturday morning, although the sun wasn't visible, it was just overcast and colder than the day before. Stupidly, I left my waterproof in the room in my Bergen. I say stupidly, because no sooner had I got to the training area and had a briefing than the skies opened. And it continued to rain for the next 30 hours!

I managed to get round and see the team and met up with one of my colleagues at lunchtime and we were able to meet up with the team again during the rest of the day. We were lucky. We were moving from point to point in a vehicle, with heating and protected from the rain, whereas the teams were moving on foot.

Inevitably, there were several casualties, quite a few due to the cold and rain, so the decision was taken by the brass that the teams would be returned to the main camp, rather than stay out as they were supposed to. Myself and my colleague waited for the team to return and travelled with them to Sennybridge Camp before making our way to Brecon to the hotel where we were staying, The Castle.

The hotel was very nice and fortunately had working radiators, which meant that I was able to place my completely soaking wet uniform on them to dry out. With all the fresh Welsh air of the day and after a couple of pints in the bar, I slept really well. However, when I woke up, because I'd put the radiators on full to dry out my uniform, I was drenched!

After breakfast, it was back to the training area for the last of the events and we left the area at 2pm. And, typically, as we pulled on to the main road, the cloud cleared, revealing blue sky and sunshine, to the extent that we had to put the air con on in the car!

The team had done very well, considering that in the main competitors were from the various Field Hospitals, who have 7-8 times more personnel than the Squadrons to choose from, and finished higher than many of the other Squadrons.

So, sixty hours after leaving home, I was back and the process of sorting out my kit began, ready for the next exercise.

Typical! Part 3: When Alec, my eldest, was thrown out by his mother and moved in with me, I applied for child benefit. An application went in and then I received a letter asking for more information and proof that he is still at school. All this information was sent back to them three weeks ago.

However, last Tuesday there was another letter, identical to the first, with the words 'Duplicate-please reply' written across the top. Curious as to why this was sent, I called the number on the letter.

Unfortunately, when I got through and heard the Irish accent my heart immediately sank. I have nothing against the Irish, but I suspected that this may indicate that this agency was co-located with the morons of the CSA. And the woman I spoke to didn't allay my concerns, as every time I asked her a question or tried to explain to her that I had already sent in the information, she just kept repeating "You need to complete the form with the requested information and send it back". I decided to change tack and asked to speak to the section that was named on the letter.

I was refused access to this section and the woman also refused to tell me whether or not my previous information had been received, just repeating "You need to complete the form with the requested information and send it back".

Eventually, she agreed to inform the relevant section that I had telephoned and assured me that I would receive a call-back within three working days, which was Friday.

On Monday, having heard nothing, I telephoned again and spoke to someone who was much more helpful. What she told me was that it appeared that the section had indeed received the information that they had requested, but that it had been 'misplaced'.

When I asked the woman why it was that her colleague hadn't told me that the information had been lost, she was unable to tell me. She also pointed out that the information hadn't been lost, it had been 'misplaced'. When I asked her where it was and she told me that she didn't know, I suggested that she consult the dictionary and look up the definition of 'lost'.

So, now I have the information (again!) which is being posted to the Child Benefit agency (again!) so lets see if they lose it (again!).

Silence is not always golden

2009-06-01T23:07:00.005+01:00

At the time that I am starting this, it is Sunday evening and the house seems quite large. The reason is that Drew and Maggie have gone home, although it was made difficult for me by the fact that Maggie clearly didn't want to go. I think that it has to be the worst feeling in the world. I suspect that it will be written over a couple of days, so hopefully that feeling will have lessened by the time that this is finished.

The kids had arrived on Wednesday as it was half term, and I was pleased to see that Drew seemed to have fully recovered from the appendicectomy that he'd undergone two weeks previously. On Wednesday evening, m'Julie came up with the idea of visiting Greenwich on the following day. The reason for this is that at Greenwich there is the Royal Observatory, The Queen's House and the National Maritime Museum.

So it was that all five of us descended on Paddock Wood station for the trip up to Greenwich, which was slightly prolonged due to the inevitable problems on the railway, and we arrived in Greenwich at lunchtime. After a nice lunch in a French cafe, we made our way across Greenwich Park to our first stop, the Royal Observatory.

The first, and in fact I think the last time that I was at the Observatory was in 1976, when there had been an exhibition at the Maritime Museum commemorating the 200 years since America had gained independence. It had changed in the 33 years since my last visit.

The main exhibition area of the Royal Observatory is very interesting and we had the inevitable photo of us straddling the prime meridian.

Unfortunately, they were very strict about people not taking photographs inside the actual exhibition area which was a shame as there were so many historic and rare artifacts to be seen.

After the exhibition, we made our way to the only part of the whole 'Greenwich experience' that actually costs anything, the Peter Harrison Planetarium, where we were able to see what the sky should have looked like on Thursday night had there not been so much light pollution.

After the show we made our way back across Greenwich Park to the National Maritime Museum. One thing that I hadn't realised was that the site of the museum had once been the site of the Royal Hospital School, which is the inferior, Naval, equivalent of my old school, The Duke of York's Royal Military School, as well as being the old school of my friend Bruce.

Unfortunately, we didn't actually get to the museum until nearly 1630, and as it closed at 1700, we had very limited time to look around. However, I'm sure that there will be another visit during the three weeks that the kids are staying over the summer holidays.

Friday was a relaxed day at home, the kids spending most of the day playing World of Warcraft (!), but m'Julie making plans for us all to go out on Saturday.

As the day dawned bright and sunny, the idea that m'Julie had been talking about on Friday was put into action and we headed to the South Coast metropolis that is Eastbourne, aka God's Waiting Room. Although this is not the nearest coast to us, the alternative, Hastings, is in my opinion, a complete cess-pool, hence the choice we made.

We headed straight to the beach and the girls, who were already wearing their swimming costumes headed into the sea, which resulted in a loss, as Maggie decided that because its a stony beach she would wear her sandals. Unfortunately, a large wave sucked off one of them, and despite her best efforts to grab it, it was 'lost at sea'.

Drew also joined the girls, but as he hadn't taking his swimming costume, it was a case of rolling up his shorts and having a paddle.

After a quick meal and a visit to the pier, we all made our way back to the car and headed up to Beachy Head, which although it is so close, is the first time that I'd ever been there. After several attempts to get the video camera in still picture 'timer' mode, I was successful.

As well as being a well known beauty spot, it is also notorious as being a very popular suicide spot, to the extent that there are chaplaincy patrols along the cliffs. As I write this on Monday evening, there is a news report about two adults and a child whose bodies have been found 400 feet down Beachy Head.

Also in the above picture is Percy the Gnome, who was a present last year from H, and, now that he's been painted, is to be pictured in various places that we visit. m'Julie is even talking about his having his own Facebook page!

After all this fresh sea air, we were all feeling quite tired by the time we got home, which meant that for most of us, Sunday was another chill-out day before the kids left, although Hannah did have a dancing exam in the morning that she will find out the result of in a couple of weeks.

So, as I said at the start of this, the house is 'silent' again, so I can return to abusing politicians. The reason for this is that the 'special' person from the CSA with whom I had spoken, apparently called Kevin Maguire, called me back on Wednesday morning.

However, after a ten-minute conversation, rather than suggesting a solution, Kevin Maguire informed me that he 'couldn't make head nor tail' of my case and was having to request the case papers, which would take a further seven to ten working days to reach him. I was left wondering what this person had actually done since receiving my complaint, and was left to conclude what I already knew. Kevin Maguire had clearly done nothing.

Following this very unsatisfactory conversation and having had no response to my original letter, I decided to write to Purnell again to see if I could elicit a response from a second letter:

Dear Mr Purnell,

I wrote to you on 18 April 2009 regarding the incompetence that is rife within the Child Support Agency. To date I have received no reply, not even from your staff, although I am aware that your claiming staffing costs does not necessarily mean that you employ any staff.

Now that your behaviour re: expenses is in the public domain and you no longer have to spend time and effort in any attempts to cover this up, I trust that you will return to your Ministerial duties and look into my complaint and inform me of any action that you have either taken or ordered to be taken.

Yours sincerely

Not content with this, I also wrote to my local MP, Greg Clark, enclosing copies of my letters to both Purnell and the equally useless Mary Quinn. The reason for this is that when I previously had problems with the CSA in 2007, I involved Greg Clark.

Having had no luck from writing to the then Secretary of State, John Hutton, and the then CSA Chief Executive, Stephen Geraghty (another pair of oxygen thieves), I contacted Greg Clark, and within days had a solution.

Hopefully, the result will be the same, particularly as there is bound to be an election before long.

An apology

2009-05-22T19:54:00.000+01:00

It appears that I have to make an apology, because in my previous entry I stated that I had not received a reply from James Purnell, Secretary of State for Work and Pensions, and I suggested that this was because he was too busy trying to fleece the British public for all that he could get. I was wrong. It appears that he had already done that when he evaded paying the Capital Gains Tax when he sold his London flat.

However, he is not alone, as there are at least two others to partner him in his crime, Geoff Hoon, a man whom I met just before I went to Iraq as he was Defence Secretary at the time, and Hazel Blears. Interestingly, whereas Gordon Brown appears to be hanging Blears out to dry, it seems that he's backing both Purnell and Hoon. But then the latter two haven't criticised Chairman Broon or laughed at his YouTube appearance.

The other thing that I find completely unbelievable about this whole thing is that these parasites have been robbing us for years. Now that they have been found out, despite the fact that they did their utmost to cover up their wrongdoing, and all of a sudden its a case of them all being very sorry and don't worry, they'll pay it all back.

Actually, I do believe that they are sorry, but they are only sorry that they have been caught out. Would they have changed their ways had the Speaker and his cronies' attempts to block the Freedom of Information Act from having any sway in Parliament succeeded? Of course not!

And as for the paying back the money that they have stolen, I think that this could well set a very dangerous legal precedent. Whilst MPs make the law, they are still subject to that law. If, by repaying the monies that they have obtained either deceitfully or in many cases fraudulently, they evade prosecution, then surely the precedent is set that anyone who commits a crime and benefits financially from it merely has to pay back the monies stolen, or return the items that were stolen, to avoid prosecution and jail.

Personally, I believe that all those that are found to have been less than 100% honest in the expenses claims should be prosecuted and, if found guilty, subject to a harsher penalty than their fellow criminals. After all, they are the ones that make the law, so if you break it, you face a harsher penalty.

However, will it ever get that far? Unlikely. No doubt Chairman Broon and his Politburo will come up with some fiddle to ensure that all the crims are given some sort of Parliamentary immunity.

The biggest problem that faces the British public at the moment is that with so many corrupt MPs, there have been many calls for the Government to stand down and a General Election held. But who would replace the current lot?

When all of these revelations first came about, there were several 'mainstream' MPs trying to scare the public that if they didn't accept the situation and voted them out, then the 'extremists' would get into power.

Again, I think it unlikely. If you look at the current make up of Parliament and recent by-election results, the only credible options seem to be the British National Party, the Green Party and the UK Independence Party. The BNP is not a credible option as it is just too extreme (I would hope) for most voters, bearing in mind that this is the party that recently claimed that L/Cpl Johnson Beharry VC was only awarded his Victoria Cross because of his colour!

As for the Greens and UKIP, I think that both of these parties simply lack the credibility, which unfortunately, leaves the only option being the three 'Snouts in the Trough' parties.

Perhaps some trust and confidence could be regained in these if there was a definite move to deselect all those MPs whose actions are found to be less than honourable prior to the next election. However, as it appears that none of the three Party leaders come out of this squeaky clean, I doubt that this will happen.

Going back to Purnell, it appears that the CSA obviously have insight into just how inactive this moron is, as my problem still hasn't been resolved. I did telephone last week but got through to another of the 'special' people that they employ.

He informed me that he had no idea what was happening with my case and that he had no idea who was dealing with it. There then followed a period of him looking to find out who was dealing with my case before I heard him laugh and announce to a colleague 'Oops, its me'. At this point I was put on hold.

When this idiot came back onto the line, he informed me that it was him that was dealing with my case and sounded surprised when I told him that I knew as I'd heard every word and that this summed up the efficiency of the CSA. Clearly not happy at this point he became quite verbally aggressive and informed me that he didn't have to do anything for 15 days from receipt of my complaint.

As 15 days was up I asked what he intended to do. However, CSA 15 days is not like normal people's 15 days, as they only count Monday to Friday as days, so CSA 15 days is three weeks, not just over two. Clearly the 'special' people at the CSA need their own 'special' calender. The upshot of all this is that they will be doing nothing before next week.

I, on the other hand have been less idle. There is a programme on the Beeb in the evening, and they recently investigated the fact that the CSA are often pursuing men who are not the fathers of the babies that they are being forced to pay for, and that they are often pursuing the fathers on the say so of the mothers.

One of the things that the show was doing was asking fathers that have had this experience to contact one of their researchers. Whilst I haven't been falsely accused of fathering a child, I did take the opportunity to email the researcher and suggest that they may want to investigate and highlight the general incompetence of the CSA. Watch this space.

Mind you, my ex-wife actually spoke to me for the first time in about three years, not through lawyers or via email, but on the telephone. Unfortunately, the reason was that No.2 son, Drew, was admitted to the hospital where I work and had his appendix out. Very bizarre, really, as there is almost exactly four years difference between them, Alec's birthday being the 20th July and Drew's the 21st. The bizarre thing is that it was almost four years to the day since Alec had his appendix out.

It was also typical that he was admitted on the one day that week that I wasn't at work, as I had taken time owing to do some TA stuff. Fortunately, I was recceing an exercise area nearby so was able to detour into the hospital on the way back, which surprised a few of the staff (I was in uniform) and caused one Dr to greet me with the words 'What the f*ck are you doing dressed like that!'

By the time I saw Drew, it had already been decided that he was going to theatre that afternoon, so I was able to help him get changed and settle down. The heat coming off him was incredible.

After a short visit I headed back to the Sqn and didn't see him until later that evening, by which time he was appendix free and very sleepy, although he did have enough strength to gesticulate at his brother, whom I'd taken in with me.

To my surprise, he was discharged by lunchtime the following day, less than 24hrs post-op, and seems to be doing fine.

The reason that I was doing the TA stuff is that last weekend I did my first 'proper' field exercise with the Sqn since February last year. I say 'proper' because we were visited by a Brigadier and the Regimental CO and in the evening we left the training area, changed and went out for a meal at a local Gastropub, before changing back and returning to the exercise area.

Not only was this the first exercise I'd done in a while, it was one that I'd organised, the emphasis being on primary health care, which, from experience, I know will be the majority of the work that the medics will have if they deploy.

It was also the first of a series of five exercises, all emphasising the primary care role, that I was to organise, but I have also been appointed as the Second-in-Command (2ic) of the Sqn and, although I will be running the next exercise in July, I will be handing the organisation of the remaining three to one of the other Officers.

I was surprised at just how rusty I'd got with my enforced break, from just the military point of view. It took me a while to pack my Bergen as I was convinced that I'd forgotten things. It all came flooding back over the weekend though, and I'd planned for everything to be done in slow time anyway.

Apart from the Gastropub meal on the Saturday evening, the remainder of the weekend we ate rations, including some of the Halal rations, which I thought were far better than the old rations (apart from the mushroom omelette. I hate mushrooms!). There were even tubes of strawberry jam and Vegemite in some of the packs!

The downside was that on Monday I had a bit of a 'gastric upset', although, as it didn't hit until the evening, I suspect that it was a bug rather than something that I'd eaten. What it did mean was that I only worked for two days this week, as hospital policy is that if you have D&V, you don't go back to work for 72 hours, even if you feel fine.

So after my two day week, I now have a no day week, as its half-term and I have the kids from next Wednesday.

Snouts in the Trough

2009-05-11T11:41:00.004+01:00

Having written to the Secretary of State for Work and Pensions, a complete waster by the name of James Purnell, I had expected to at least get an acknowledgement that my letter had been received. To date, nothing. Not even from his minions within the Department of Work and Pensions. How rude!

I have read on other forums that people have written to various ministers and received no reply. They have even been defended on some as being too busy with their day to day duties to be able to respond to the countless letters that they receive from various people. However, I think I know the real reason why.

It appears that British Members of Parliament spend an awful lot of their time finding ways to fleece the British public that voted them in, and then claiming that these are legitimate expenses. Examples that have been quoted are an MP who claimed for a Kit Kat, another who claimed for tampons and even one who claimed that she felt unsafe in her own London home and claimed more than £25,000 for security patrols, despite being a millionaire.

There has also been much concern about MPs second home allowance, which they receive so that they are able to live in London because their home or constituency makes it impractical for them to commute. However, it was revealed in 2007 that 16 London MPs are claiming more than £20,000 a year for second homes, even though they live less than an hour's commute from Westminster.

Another MP, less than a year after being elected, put in a detailed claim for various repairs to a house that she had already lived in for five years! Even the Solicitor General is at it, claiming for 'miscellaneous items' which it was spotted were a Christmas tree and decorations. On that occasion the claim was not paid, but what's the betting that it was claimed back some other way. At least she didn't try to claim for porn films watched by her husband, which is what the Home Secretary, Jacqui Smith, did.

Purnell had a second home in Covent Garden, which he claimed more than half of the rent on expenses each month, despite the fact that his girlfriend allegedly contributed half of the rent. When he moved out recently, he lost his deposit of £2,500 because, according to his landlord, he left the flat like a pigsty. So what happened to the £1,600 that Purnell claimed for employing a cleaner. Not surprisingly, Purnell has denied that the flat was as bad as claimed. Similar to the denial that he had allowed himself to be 'photoshopped' into a photograph. Perhaps he was late for the photo shoot because he was busy lining his pockets elsewhere.

All the information regarding expenses was recently published in a National newspaper, and Parliament is far from happy. The reason is that they had always vehemently opposed scrutiny of their expenses. Straight away, to me, this raises suspicions. However, the Commons authorities lost the legal battle and the expenses were due to be published on July 1st. Now they've been leaked to a newspaper and parliament has called in the Police. That seems to be a case of 'We've been caught with our fingers in the till, so we'll call the Police and try to deflect it onto someone else'. If the expenses were due for publication anyway, is this not a huge (further) waste of public money, or were the expenses due to be 'sanitised' prior to publication, and the leaking has circumvented the sanitation process?

Its interesting to read just how much work an MP actually does (or not, in most cases). And its not that difficult to find out. In fact, there's a web site, appropriately titled TheyWorkForYou.com. And I think that this is where the problem arises. Unfortunately, once politicians are elected, they forget that they are nothing more than public servants, and often very transient ones at that, sometimes in the 'job' of being an Member of Parliament for as little as four years. The hierarchical system means that the only guidance that they seem to receive from their more senior colleagues is in how to take advantage of other 'perks' that they were unaware of and line their pockets further. Maybe that's why so many of them spend so much time trying to fleece the system for as much as they can get.

Sadly, a legal precedent has now be set that means that MPs do not actually have a duty to their constituents, which I guess gives them free rein to do nothing whilst getting paid large sums and taking every opportunity to line their own pockets. Isn't democracy great.

Suspecting that Purnell would turn out to be an utterly useless oxygen thief, I also wrote to Mary Quinn, another waste of skin public servant. I had written to this woman previously, about two years ago, so am qualified to describe her as I have.

In my five page letter, I have catalogued the total incompetence of the agency of which she is head and given her two weeks to sort the mess out. However, I firmly believe that Mary Quinn, the Chief Executive of the Child Support Agency, is so incompetent that she couldn't find her own arse with a map, a person pointing to her arse to show her where it was and a huge neon sign saying 'Your arse is here' if she was given two lifetimes, so I don't hold out much hope.

Normally, someone this incompetent would have been removed from post and reassigned to something more in keeping with her apparent abilities, counting paperclips perhaps, but Mary Quinn, the Chief Executive of the Child Support Agency is fortunate that she has Purnell as Secretary of State, a man who probably doesn't realise that their is a problem.

Having written to Quinn, in which I gave her four tasks that I expected her to perform in a fortnight and actually stating:

'I expect you carry out the above personally, as I have already seen that your minions are actually incapable of performing the duties for which they have been employed.'

the only response that I have had so far is a telephone call from the complaints department to inform me that they had received my complaint and that someone would contact me within a few days. Obviously, Quinn is too stupid to follow simple instructions, so has passed it on to an equally incapable minion, who telephoned in an effort to placate me almost a week ago. Again, I don't hold out a lot of hope of a solution.

Perhaps I should take a leaf out of the book of a man named Mr Daz. The CSA will no longer talk to this man on the telephone because, like the CSA, he records all of his phone calls. But, unlike the CSA, he uploads these calls to the Internet, including one where they have informed him that they will only communicate with him by post, before going on to reveal that although they have his correct address in their records, they have been sending all communication to him to the wrong address. Genius! At least it has proven that I'm not the only one that talks to morons when I telephone this agency.

On a far more cheery note, last weekend saw myself and my sons make the annual trip to Twickenham for the Army v Navy rugby match, or, as it should be called, the Fiji v Navy rugby match.

Drinking started early, in fact as soon as we arrived at Waterloo at 1115 and carried on for pretty much the rest of the day, with just a short break for the match, although it was more of a rout, the Army winning 50-7.

Alec's godfather, Guy, had travelled down from Shropshire with his girlfriend and her daughter and we were also able to meet up with H. Sadly, this may be the last time that myself and the boys all go together as Alec will probably be in Guyana next year, at Sandhurst the year after and then who knows.

It was odd being back in Twickenham, as well, as I had lived there as a child and Guy and I had gone to college there. In fact, as we made our way back to Richmond station along the river, there was much reminiscing going on, admittedly much of it with the boys saying 'Do we want to know about this!?!'

So now its back to the real world and preparing for a TA exercise next weekend. Hope it doesn't rain too much!

All Change Please

2009-03-08T17:19:00.015Z

Well, the last few weeks has been fairly busy, but unfortunately, not all in a good way. Initially it was good, and the kids arrived at nearly the time they were due.

We'd decided that we'd take the kids out on the days that we had them, and the first visit was at the request of Hannah, to Drusillas Zoo Park in Sussex. Hannah had been there recently with one of m'Julie's friends and had enjoyed it so much she wanted to go back.

Surprisingly, although its not that far, it took us a while to get there, and we arrived just before lunch. then the was the second surprise, the cost of entry! So, with my wallet lighter to the tune of nearly £100 we made our way round.

Drusillas is a small zoo and isn't home to the 'bigger' animals, lions, tigers etc, but there is a variety of animals and I think that we all enjoyed our afternoon out.

One thing that we did prove, if proof was needed was that Drew is the loudest of the kids, as there is a part where you can compare your vocal talents to various animals.

The following day, we decided to kill two birds with one stone and headed to the Army Medical Services Museum near Aldershot. Fortunately this was free, and I had to sort some things out whilst I was there and left m'Julie and the kids to have a look round, catching up with them when I was done. However, I hadn't taken a camera, and due to m'Julie's dental background, most of the photos that we got were Royal Army Dental Corps in nature!

After this we grabbed some lunch and I got the opportunity to embarrass the kids. We'd gone to the Pizza Hut in Farnborough which, being a lunchtime, was quite busy. When it came to attracting the waiter/tresses attention so that we could order desert, we had no luck. The queue at the counter was also very long. And then I had a stroke of genius. From where we were sitting we could see the number for deliveries. I took out my mobile and I called it. At this point Maggie and Hannah tried to hide under the table and Drew went scarlet and decided that he needed to go to the loo.

It worked, though, so after that we went and visited Stan aka Porl aka Naive Zebra, and spent a very pleasant couple of hours with him and his brother. Stan also very kindly loaded the girls up with cuttings from his garden and the rest of us with various of his home-made sauces.

On the way back, we managed to avoid an accident when m'Julie spotted the 'Eat More Chips' lorry only because we were stuck in traffic on the M25, and m'Julie's high-decibel outburst had limited effect.

After the kids had gone home, there was then a routine fortnight of work etc. But all that changed last Friday. m'Julie and I were doing the month's shop and we were expecting the kids for the weekend. As we were paying, my phone rang. It was my eldest son, Alec, letting me know that he had just been assaulted, again, by his mother's boyfriend and was awaiting the arrival of the Police.

I say again, because this man (I use the term very loosely) Stephen George, has made a bit of a habit of doing this. The first incident was in September 2005, just after my ex-wife had introduced this creature to our children, having met him on one of those less scrupulous SOS (Sad Old Singles) internet dating sites. I was in Canada with the Army at the time, and apparently my son and his mother had an argument. George took it upon himself to settle the argument by pinning Alec to a bed and punching him.

Although the Police were called, my ex, her boyfriend and her mother concocted a story and he was let off, despite having previous convictions.

The second occasion was when Alec was in Norway with his mother and her boyfriend, visiting his mother's cousin. Again he was assaulted, and again the Police were informed, but they lost interest when told that the offence had taken place outside the UK.

At least on this last occasion, George found himself in handcuffs and in the back of a Police van, although sadly the Police decided to release the cretin without charge later that evening. How this imndividual was ever allowed to stand for election as a Conservative candidate in the Trumpington Ward of Cambridge I will never understand.

As a result of this, his mother decided that she would, yet again, put herself ahead of her children. On the Saturday evening m'Julie received a text from my ex-wife informing her that someone needed to go to the back gate. The reason for this was that she had had one of her friends pile all of Alec's possessions into her car and tthis woman was unloading them outside the locked back gate.

So Alec is now living with us, his mother is continuing to be as awkward as ever and he is desparately trying to get sponsorship to do his gap year teaching in Guyana. All donations to.........

New Haunts and Old Haunts

2009-02-21T17:36:00.010Z

As I prophesied at the end of the last blog, I have now spoken with Darren Marner of the CSA (I name him because the CSA some time ago told that there would be a lot of trouble if I named names, and I am curious to see if they have a. the balls, and b. the competence to carry out their threat. As this cock-up is entirely their fault I doubt it in both cases). It does appear that they screwed up at the beginning of October and started taking less than they should. According to Darren Marner, I should have noticed this, despite the fact that I was recovering from my surgery, but he did admit that I am being penalised for his department's incompetence. Interestingly, when I asked about the money that I'm owed, it wasn't his department. James Purnell will be receiving suitably snotty letter within the next few days.

On a much lighter note, me and m'Julie have been away for a couple of days to the West Country, staying in an old fishing village called Clovelly on the North Devon coast. Despite having lived in Exeter for 4 years, and having talked about visiting Clovelly, which was less than 70 miles away, this was my first visit, which meant a 500 mile round trip.

We left on Sunday morning because we had decided that we were going to break the journey a couple of times. On the way, Julie indulged in her new hobby.

A couple of years ago, whilst on a long and boring trip to somewhere, I was pointing out to m'Julie the Eddie Stobart lorries, telling her that each of the lorries has a unique name and that there were even 'Eddie Spotters'! As a result of this m'Julie joined the Eddie Stobart fan club, and was then armed with the spotters' book when we did long and boring journeys.

As a direct result of this, a few weeks later on a trip to France, m'Julie spotted a lorry with the words 'Eat More Chips' emblazoned on its side. There are several blogs and web pages about the trucks, which apparently belong to a fruit and vegetable producer in Wiltshire. Unfortunately, now, whenever we are driving and we see one of these lorries, m'Julie will point and announce at about 130 decibels

"EAT MORE CHIPS!"

Sunday was no exception and when we did see one on the M3, I almost had another MI as Julie shouted!

The first break was at Stonehenge. This is just of the A303, the route that we'd taken. Although I have driven up and down this round numerous times and seen it, I'd never stopped. Julie had never seen it other than in pictures or on TV, so it was a new experience for both of us.

It was surprising was how busy the place was. There was almost no space in the car park and the queue to get in was fairly long. However, as we had our English Heritage cards, we were able to 'queue-jump'. We spent about an hour walking around the site with Julie inevitably taking pictures, a couple of which are below. The downside was that although we had snow two weeks ago, this part of the UK didn't get it until a week after us and it was still, to quote m'Julie, 'Absolutely gibbering!'

After a quick hot drink we then continued our journey westward although there was another stop prior to our final destination, in Ottery St Mary. The reason for this detour was to visit my old school friend, drinking buddy, best man etc, Richard aka Pete, his wife Maree and his daughter Keira, who is three days older than my daughter Maggie.

It had been some time since I had seen them, in fact the last time was three years ago at my mother's funeral, and it had been longer since I last saw Keira. We spent a very pleasant few hours, and were treated to homemade Sunday lunch. The biggest surprise to me was Keira. As I've said, its been a while since I've seen her. I've known 'Pete' for 30 years, and met his niece when she was a little bit younger than his daughter, yet Keira could be Steph's twin sister, only 20-odd years younger! Unfortunately, the only picture that was taken was the 'Battle of the Bellies'!

Due to the time that we left, we realised that we would be arriving in Clovelly after dark, which made for an interesting journey. The reason that it was interesting was that as we got nearer, a mist/fog descended, not unlike that in the film of the same name. Whilst this made driving a little more difficult, it freaked m'Julie out completely, who found it very 'Hound of the Baskervilles-like'. However, as we drove from Higher Clovelly into Clovelly itself, the mist vanished, literally. One minute it was thick mist, the next, nothing.

Now its not possible to drive into the village itself, so what we had to do was park in the visitors car park. Normally, if you aren't staying in the village, you have to park here and enter via the visitors centre, there being an entry fee to the village. However, because we were staying, there was no entry fee. But, because we didn't arrive until after 6pm, the visitors centre was closed.

Fortunately, there is a side gate that's open 'out of hours' and we were able to make our way into the village via this. The initial path is quite steep, but tarmacked, and then the fun began. The path becomes steeper, and cobbled, which is fine if you're wearing thick-soled, as I was, but not if the soles are thin, like m'Julie's. That was why, as we walked down the street to the hotel, my progress was accompanied by the sound of footfalls and m'Julie's was accompanied by the sound of footfalls and her saying 'ow', 'ouch' etc.

However, the torture didn't last long as the hotel where we were staying was about half-way down the hill. Having booked in and dumped the bags in the room, we decided to have a walk down to the harbour, but only after m'Julie had changed her shoes.

We walked part of the way down to the harbour, but because it was so dark, we could hear nothing and decided to leave it until the following day. So it was back to the hotel, dinner and sleep.

After a pretty good night's sleep (well, on my part at least) and a good breakfast, m'Julie and I headed up to the visitor centre to watch the video about the village. Then we decided to make our way to the harbour, stopping at all the points of interest in-between. At least m'Julie was wearing her trainer today and we didn't have a repeat of the previous evening.

Having seen all the sights on the way down through the village, we arrived at the harbour just in time for lunch, so we had a pub lunch at the pub on the quay.

By the time we'd eaten, the tide had gone out and we were able to make our way along the 'beach' to a waterfall. I say 'beach' because this is no golden sand sun-kissed beach, this is bleak, battered by the Atlantic and consists of large pebbles/boulders. The waterfall is often more fierce than when we saw it and there is a legend that the cave behind the waterfall is the place where Merlin was born.

I also discovered, whilst taking the pictures, that if, after taking the picture, I continued to hold the camera to my face, then m'Julie would carry on posing in front of the waterfall, getting more and more wet. Well I laughed!

After this, it was the long walk back up the hill to the hotel and another pint before having an afternoon doze.

Feeling suitably refreshed we then set off up the hill again to the Norman church of All Saints. This was quite a walk, including a slight detour when we went through a gate, thinking that it was a short-cut to the church, only to discover that it seemed to lead into the grounds of the person who owns the village.

After walking back to the hotel and having something to eat, we decided that walking up and down the hill that is Clovelly had knackered us and we retired to our room for the rest of the evening.

After another good night's sleep and breakfast, it was time to say goodbye to Clovelly for the circuitous return journey to Kent. I say circuitous because our first stop was Exeter.

As I have already said, I lived in Exeter for four years just after I got married. I had done my training there and my eldest son was born there. But this was the first time that I had been back since leaving in May 1994. m'Julie, on the other hand, had never been there.

Again, it wasn't to be straight forward as Gadget Girl had taken a liking to a camera she'd seen and we had to detour to a couple of shops to try and find one. Unfortunately, they only had them in silver, and not the red that she wanted.

For that reason, m'Julie had to use the perfectly good camera that she already owned to take the photos in Exeter Cathedral.

After walking around the Cathedral, we had some lunch and then I decided to visit the old school of nursing to see who was still around. I was to get a shock.

The school of nursing, when I'd trained had been in the old maternity home. So we drove to where it had been located, only to discover that it was no longer the school of nursing, but now an old peoples home. In fact, one of the ladies that I spoke with told me that many of the residents had actually been born there. I suspect that the school has now been moved to the site of the main hospital, which has changed a lot in the last 15 years, especially the fact that the old concrete-cancer riddled tower block that had housed the wards has been pulled down.

After briefly pointing out to m'Julie a couple of the houses where I'd lived in Exeter, we set off homeward again, this time with a detour for m'Julie to the town of Glastonbury, as neither of us had ever been there.

The intention had been that we would visit Glastonbury Tor have a look round the town and then carry on. However, the only way to get to the Tor is either a long walk or a bus ride, which we didn't really have time to do either, although we did see the Tor from a distance.

I have to say that my impression of the town of Glastonbury was not very favourable. It was full of either beggars or 'pseudo-hippies' (these are the ones that are wearing their designer hippy gear, paid for with the allowance that they get from their parents, who are either something in the City, doctors or lawyers, and these 'hippies' are on there gap year before going to University to study Law or Medicine) and the town is full of over-priced shops selling fake 'New Age' products, priced to fleece the allowance away from the pseudo-hippies.

The only upside was that when we had a drink before leaving, the guy that was working in the kitchen (possibly the owner) was the spitting image of James May.

So now we had what turned out to be the longest part of our journey, not in distance, but in time, because we had the 'joy' of driving round the worlds biggest car park, also known as the M25! As a result of this, we were both shattered when we got home, although we both felt that even though we'd only been away for two days, it seemed to be a lot longer.

Now we had twelve hours to recover before the kids descended on us............

Same sh1t, different day

2009-02-11T14:47:00.001Z

I'm now approaching the end of my third official week of full time work after my more than six months off. I say official because although I started working half days, I often stayed on as m'Julie works at the same hospital and I give her a lift home.

However, before I was able to return I had to go through the farce of being seen by the Occupational Health doctor. I say farce because when I actually did see him, it was obvious that his experience of people who had suffered cardiac problems was slightly less than a first year medical student on day one of his course.

I did laugh at him when he informed me that I could return to work, but that he did not want me to attend any emergency situations. Using words of one syllable I explained my job to him, it being constantly attending emergency situations, so he could forget that. He did counter with the fact that it said in his textbook (I think it may have been called Occupational Health Medicine for Dummies) that anybody who has had an MI is at risk of further but seemed to completely miss the point that I had undergone corrective surgery since my MIs. I asked him what it said in his book about that, and in fact insisted that he look it up, and wasn't completely surprised that there was no mention of people who are post-CABG.

So now I'm back at work, doing exactly what I was doing before I had the MI (apart from going out for smoke breaks) and I haven't died, so I must be doing something right.

Although it is nice to be back, there are times that I feel as though I've not been away at all. Whether that's a good thing or a bad thing, I'm not sure. Sadly, the areas that were unsafe are still unsafe, and happily, the areas that were fine are still fine. I even sacrificed watching the Scotland v Wales rugby match on Sunday (although with the result, it wasn't that much of a sacrifice) to teach on an Advanced Life Support course.

The advantage to that is that I ended up with a time-owing day which I am taking at the end of this week, meaning that I'm able to extend the annual leave that I'm taking next week, as its half-term week and the kids are staying for the latter half.

Annual leave is also proving quite lucrative. During the time that I was off last year, I wasn't able to use up any of my annual leave. Consequently, I now have 25 days to take. I'm taking 5 days next week, carrying 5 days over and the Department has agreed to pay me for the other 15 days.

But it may not be that lucrative. In the UK there is a remarkable body called the Child Support Agency. This was set up by the Government to ensure that absent parents paid for their children in an attempt to reduce the burden that these children are to the state. They even have the power (now) to confiscate driving licences and passports from those who do not comply with their orders.

Sadly, although it seems like a good idea in theory, the practice was somewhat different. It was clearly being run by people from another of the Government's schemes, in which they aimed to get the terminally stupid back into employment, the criteria apparently being the more retarded a person is, the more senior the position that they fill. As a result, there have been acres of newsprint documenting the ineptitude of this agency. Unfortunately, my dealings with these people have been going on for nearly three years, and have also proved that there are very many idiots in Government service.

Although it is a long story, in summary my ex-wife claimed for the children that were living with her, I claimed for the son who was living with me. Within two months I was paying for my kids, whereas my ex-wife refused to pay. As a result, I also stopped paying. She was not pursued for payment, I was. This went on for several months with no solution. I wrote to and met with my local MP. Nothing. So I then wrote to the Chief Executive of the Child Support Agency, my local MP and the Secretary of State for Work and Pensions. Again nothing. Finally, I wrote to the Chief Executive of the Child Support Agency, my local MP and the Secretary of State for Work and Pensions informing them that unless a solution was found within one week of my letter, I would be going to the press to publicise the incompetence of all of those involved, both at the CSA and at Government level, and also taking legal action for the discrimination that I had suffered as they were pursuing me but not my ex-wife.

Less than a week later, everything was sorted (possibly because the Secretary of State was new to post and wanted to stay in post), my ex-wife commenced payments and I recommenced payments direct from my wages every month. I believed that this was the last of it, and it seemed to be the case, or at least has been, for the last two years.

And then, yesterday evening, I received a call from Darren at the Department of Work and Pensions. Unfortunately, as I was in the middle of a supermarket, I was unable to speak to him. I tried to call him back when I got home, but no luck. So I tried again this morning. Although I didn't get through to Darren, I did speak to one of his colleagues in the ominous sounding 'Debt Enforcement' department.

From talking to this person, it appears that the department has recently had an audit and they wanted to know why I had reduced my payments. It appears that, although for the last two years there has been an order in place to take the money from my wages monthly, there records show that I pay monthly by sending them a cheque.

It appears that either the Child Support Agency or my work Salaries and Wages department has screwed up (no surprise in either case), but I have no doubt that there will be some attempt to claim that it is all my fault.

Must look up who the new Secretary of State for Work and Pensions is............

Less than a week!

2009-01-09T13:07:00.002Z

People often tell me that they think that I'm a pessimist and that I should look on the bright side more often than I do. So I resolved to enter this New Year with a brighter outlook, but less than a week into it events have conspired to bring back the pessimist.

When I was younger, I grew up in an Army family. This meant that we moved on a fairly regular basis and making long term friends was difficult because of the transitory nature of our lives. However, whilst in Northern Ireland, I made friends with another Military Policeman's son and daughter, and our mothers became the best of friends as well, mine having been born in Australia, theirs in the US.

Oddly, when we were posted from NI to Hong Kong, they followed a few months later, with Norman, Michelle and myself getting up to all sorts in the New Territories of Hong Kong (it was the early-70s and it was fairly safe for young children to be out and about unsupervised).

There was then a bit of a hiatus, as they were posted to Canada and we were posted back to the UK, and I next saw Norman when he started school in the UK in 1976. Two years later I went to the same school.

When he left school, Norman settled in the States and joined the US Marine Corps, serving for a short time before joining the Dallas Police Department, ending up as a Senior Corporal in the Gang Unit.

After Norman returned to the States, we never met up again although we did talk on the phone sometimes. Sadly, a meeting will not now take place as I found out yesterday that on Tuesday, whilst executing an arrest warrant, Norman was shot and killed by one of the men he was trying to arrest. Sadly I found out too late to be able to attend the funeral in Dallas today.

RIP Norman Smith.

All over for another year

2009-01-02T13:02:00.001Z

Well, that's it. Christmas and New Year done with for another year. Only 356 shopping days until Christmas.

As is usual at Christmas, the air of 'National Emergency' descended upon the country. As the shops would not be open on Christmas Day (although most were open again on Boxing day), the Great British public began panic buying and hoarding and by 1200 on Christmas Eve, the local supermarket had sold out of bread and nearly all vegetables!

Christmas was not the most peaceful of affairs as there is a pub very close to where we live. Whilst I am all for people celebrating, some people will use any excuse to get legless. I did have a bit of a sense of humour failure when the pub had closed, but people were still out and about and shouting at 3am! Which is why I was not the most awake of people when Hannah woke me up at 7am.

Pressies were opened and that's when I realised that I'd made a big mistake. Having bought m'Julie an iTouch, she now out-gadgets me and I want one!

Boxing Day saw the arrival of my three kids and more pressie opening before we had an afternoon of board games, and I proved that when it comes to world conquest aka Risk, I can't be beaten!

The rest of the week was very relaxed and lazy, with Drew and myself playing Resistance 2 although I did have to take Maggie and Hannah 'girly shopping', even if m'Julie did oversee most of it whilst I drank coffee.

Midnight on the 31st saw us at home, seeing out what has been a pretty crap year as far as I'm concerned and wondering what this year will throw at us.

So, the kids are now back at their mother's and is less than a week before I go back to work, and therefore get back to normal. Whatever 'normal' is...

Return to Work

2008-12-22T09:21:00.003Z

So its now official. I will be returning to work at the beginning of January, nearly six months after I was last at work. But even now I've had to deal with NHS bureaucracy.

At the beginning of December I had my outpatients appointment where I saw a consultant Cardiologist who told me that it was fine for me to return to work. So I let work know and they let the Occupational Health Department know. The idea behind this, as far as I was aware, was that OH would see that I'd been cleared by a Consultant and rubber stamp my return to work.

But no! That would be far too simple. OH have insisted that I have to be seen by their Registrar before I can return to work, and knowing that my intention was to return to work at the beginning of January, they gave me an appointment for 23rd January!

Now this presented a bit of a problem. If you work for the NHS and are sick for a long period of time, then you will still get paid your full wage for the first six months that you are ill. After that, it drops to half pay for six months and then stops. My first six months is up on 10th January, which wouldn't have been a problem except for the fact that the OH Dept have given me such a late appointment, so I telephoned them and explained this to them.

Although I wasn't able to get an earlier appointment, there was a compromise solution. I could return to work at the beginning of January provided that my own GP approved (in addition to the Cardiologist who'd already said that it was fine!)

So I am returning to work at the beginning of January in a 'phased return', which means two mornings during the first week, three mornings during the second and five mornings during the third, the OH appointment being at the end of the third week.

But that wasn't the best bit. When I spoke to the OH advisor, she seemed to be under the impression that I had lost the use of my legs and was very concerned that I shouldn't walk anywhere! I had to remind her that although I had a CABG, I'm not the 'normal' age of people that do. So much for holistic and individual care!

However, between now and then, there is the start of quite an expensive time for family. Expensive not because of everyone get thousands of huge Xmas presents, because of the number of 'events'.

Tomorrow is Hannah's (m'Julie's daughter) birthday, then Christmas, then four weeks later is Maggie's (My daughter) birthday, followed two days later by mine, then two weeks later by m'Julie's.

So, in the meantime

Exertion and Murder

2008-12-09T15:06:00.003Z

As part of my recovery following the surgery, 8 weeks post-op I began cardiac rehab sessions at one of the local sports centres. This consists of an 8 week programme of lectures and exercises to assist people who have had either a heart attack or cardiac surgery.

The lecture part is fairly superfluous for me but the exercise is OK. However, it is done at a far more gentle pace than I'm used to, and there's no-one screaming abuse, PTI style, at me. The first week that I attended I was paired up with one of the helpers, who unfortunately is about 30 years older than me. Not only did he keep telling me to slow down, but he also had to keep stopping to get his breath. Even explaining the age difference to him didn't seem to work, and he wouldn't have it. However, since then I've been allowed to get on with the exercises at my own pace. And once I've finished the 'programme', I'll be allowed to go to the gym proper.

This should be at about the time that I'll be going back to work. Although I do have to be cleared by my Occupational Health Department, I can't see it being a problem, although I do apparently have to take all of the annual leave that's accrued, as I've been off since early July, which may mean that although I am notionally at work in January, I may not physically be there until next July!

But first of all I've got to get Xmas and New Year out of the way. Unfortunately, I'm not the most festive of people, so I'll be glad when its all over. And the one thing that I won't be saying is that at least next year can't be worse, because I know that it can.

Having said that, at least next year is an odd-numbered year. The last few years, the even-numbered ones have been bad, whereas the odd-numbered ones have been good. For example, I discovered that I was separated, I had a girlfriend die, my mother died and my ex-wife abducted two of my children and vanished and I had my MIs and surgery, all during even-numbered years, but I met m'Julie and my divorce was finally settled during odd-numbered years. Watch now as it all goes pear-shaped next year just to prove my theory wrong!

Lastly, the murder. No, I didn't slot my ex, but what I did do was revisit the site of an old murder, are rather five. These five murders are probably the most famous murders, even though they occurred more than a century ago, mainly because the culprit was never found, although there have been many theories and many suggested perpetrators. They are, of course, the jack the Ripper Murders, which were carried out in the East End of London during 1888.

I have read many of the books on the subject and, although I would never claim to be an expert, I do know a fair bit about it. As a treat, to make me feel better after everything that's happened, m'Julie arranged a while ago for us to attend one of the various guided tours of the area. The company that she went with are all Yeoman Warders, so are used to giving talks.

I have to say, I found the tour and the talk very interesting, and it was interesting to visit some of the places that I had only previously read about, but I did disagree at the end with the conclusion that the guide made as to who the culprit was. I also found that he was historically inaccurate in a couple of the things that he said, but a very enjoyable evening.

So now its that slow grind to Xmas, although I have got a couple of m'Julie's presents already, but as she reads this, I'm saying nothing!

More recovery

2008-11-23T19:19:00.002Z

This week I had to return to the London hospital for my outpatient appointment following the surgery in September. So it was the same trip that I had to make when I went for the pre-assessment, but this time m'Julie came with me.

My appointment was at 10.30, so we arrived for about then, but didn't rush as the usual thing is that there is always a wait. But not on this occasion. We arrived, m'Julie went off to the loo, and I was called in by the Senior Registrar that had withdrawn the 450mls of fluid when I'd had the first pleural effusion.

I was asked the usual questions and then examined, the upshot being that I was officially discharged from that hospital, although I was told that if there were any problems I should contact them.

After this, we went to the ward, where there was no-one working that I recognised, and then we saw the Cardiac Matron that I'd worked with and she took us to the meet with the other lass that I'd worked with.

m'Julie had a cunning plan for the day, which was one of the reasons that she came with me. She wanted to visit St Mary-at-Lambeth Church, which is now the Museum of Garden History. Her main reason for this was that Anne Boleyn's mother is buried in the churchyard. So, after the journey into London and a burger at Victoria station, we got the bus to the church.

Having paid our entry, I think m'Julie was a bit disappointed to learn that Elizabeth Boleyn's grave is no longer visible. However, there is the grave of the Tradescant's and Vice Admiral William Bligh. Apparently, Peter Dolland, the optician is also buried there, but ironically, I couldn't see where.

The museum is very small, so it didn't take long to get round, so we decided to visit the Florence Nightingale Museum, which is in the grounds of St Thomas' Hospital. Although I'd worked there for six years, I'd never visited the museum, so I found it quite interesting.

However, this wasn't the only day that we'd been out and about this week. m'Julie is a big fan of the Internet Movie Database, and likes to look up areas where programmes that she likes have been made, and to visit them. That's why she has photos of herself in the churchyard and pulpit used in The Vicar of Dibley, which was filmed in Buckinghamshire.

At least this time, it was nearer to home, as it was a village that had been used for two Agatha Christies, a Poirot and a Miss Marple, which had both used the village of Chilham near Canterbury.

Again, m'Julie was a bit disappointed as Chilham Manor, which apparently appeared a lot in the productions, couldn't be photographed very well, as the sun was low and directly behind the house.

In fact, we haven't had a lot of luck with our visits this week as we had planned to revisit Scotney Castle, ten weeks after our first attempt! However, we woke up this morning to snow, and m'Julie discovered that the actual castle had closed for the winter at the beginning of November, although the grounds were still open.

I'm starting to think that we're feted never to see the place!

Social Injustice?

2008-11-18T18:25:00.000Z

There has been much in the news recently about "Baby P". Baby P was a 17-month old boy, who it appears, was systematically, physically, abused by his mother, her boyfriend and a lodger, all of whom have been convicted of causing or allowing his death, although none were actually convicted of murder.

As a result of this, the Government has ordered that there should be an inquiry and review of Social Services and their practices, particularly in Haringey, an area of London, where this all happened. But what will this achieve.

In 2000, an 8-year old girl called Victoria Climbie died after suffering systematic abuse at the hands of her Guardians. The Government carried out an inquiry and review of Social Services and their practices, particularly in Haringey, where this all happened.

So what we are seeing is a child dies, there is a very expensive (£3.8m) public inquiry and the upshot is that less than eight years later, another child dies in the same Borough.

It has also transpired that there were several warnings prior to the latter child dying, when a Social Worker who had worked for Haringey wrote to the then health secretary. Nothing was done. And the Council's reaction when this piece of information came to light was to slap an injunction on the ex-Social Worker. Actions like that immediately make me think that someone has something to hide.

What we have seen is various senior council officials being wheeled out to apologise. But what will that achieve? Nothing. Their time would be better served investigating why there was this catastrophic failure in the first place, and, if appropriate, getting rid of the person whose fault it is. Having said that, I don't mean in a 'We have found a scapegoat and are getting rid of them' fashion, but doing so internally, only going public if it is found that criminal negligence was the cause, and then the person concerned will need to face the full force of the law.

However, I think that none of this will happen. No-one will lose their jobs, and no-one will face criminal charges, because I guess the same will happen now as happened in 2000, and will happen the next time some poor child is killed under the noses of a Social Services department. The department will close ranks and protect each other.

We've already seen union officials stating that Social Workers don't want to make mistakes, but are human and mistakes happen. True. But what about nurses. Making a mistake as a nurse can lead to that nurse being struck off. Or servicemen. Making a mistake as a soldier can lead to that soldier not only being dismissed the service, but also going to jail. Why should Social Workers be any different.

There is a reason for my stance. In 2006 my ex-wife absconded with two of my children, and refused me any contact whatsoever with them. It took me very little time to track them down as she was staying with her latest boyfriend at his house. Now the problem was that I knew that he was 'flagged' by Social Services, although I was unable establish why. I therefore contacted his local Social Services and was greeted with total indifference. The only time that I was able to get any other response was when I suggested that their department was no better than the one that had allowed Victoria Climbie to die.

At this point, the Social Worker with whom I was talking became very annoyed, started shouting and threatened to report me to the Police for harrassing them, because I phoned very regularly. I countered by informing them that I had taken the names of every Social Worker that I had spoken to and would go to the press, naming all of them, in revealing their incompetence unless something was done to ensure the safety of my children.

It was after this conversation that I started to receive regular updates on the children's welfare from Social Services because they began visiting them, at home and at school, on a weekly basis.

However, I should never have had to resort to this to ensure the safety of my children. Making Social Workers properly professional, by having properly trained and accountable Registered Social Workers, may reduce the incidences of child deaths as a result of abuse.

It also appears that another Social Services department have been negligent in their duties, in this case Brighton. This year a man was convicted of murdering his wife. Her body was found in a car roof box in the back garden. His young daughter became increasingly upset about the disappearance of her mother, and was able to speak to one of her teachers. The teacher, following procedure, informed the local Social Services, who treated her concern with utter indifference (pattern emerging?) Eventually, some weeks later, a Social Worker did visit the house, Police were called and the husband arrested. Fortunately, the daughter suffered no physical harm.

Sadly, the only question now is how long before we hear about the next child that has died as a result of abuse.

Remembering

2008-11-13T19:56:00.000Z

As I said at the end of the entry before last, I spent last weekend in the delightful town of Dover, visiting my old school, but more importantly meeting up with friends old and new, some of whom I hadn't seen for years.

Unfortunately, things didn't go completely according to plan. As you are all aware, Hannah had been in hospital the day before we were due to go and there had been some question as to whether we would actually be going or not. However, m'Julie decided that she would be going.

At least she did until we actually set off and were about ten miles from home when she decided that she wanted to actually stay with Hannah and I had to turn around.

I was then unsure as to whether I would actually go, as I was uncomfortable at the prospect so soon following the surgery, and I had a total sense of humour failure.

However, I did go, but because of the delay, I had to make my way there in the dark and rain, which did not help my mood improve. I got there about an hour later than planned and made my way to the hotel, which had been chosen as it does a special deal for the Old Boys.

A little bit about the hotel. The hotel is located on the main road to the Port of Dover. It was obviously built in the 1960s, as this was when that much concrete would have been popular, and it is unlikely that it will be there in a year's time, as that part of Dover is apparently being re-developed and all the concrete monstrosities are being pulled down, which also means that many of the pubs that I used to frequent as a (possibly underage) teenager are also to disappear.

I'd never stayed in the hotel before, but many years ago had sat in the bar during the early hours of a Remembrance Sunday with others who were, but my memories of the place were befuddled owing to the alcohol that we'd consumed, but not to the extent that my memories of it being somewhat 'basic' were completely wiped out.

When I actually booked in, I was immediately convinced that I had been set-up, as I was handed my key and discovered that I was booked into Room 101! At this point, I was joined by Neil and Sean, fresh from the Rugby Club, who also suspected a set-up when they found out my room number.

Room 101 turned out to be a family room, and unfortunately, even though m'Julie had decided not to attend, I was still charged full price. Being a family room meant that in addition to the double bed, there was also a set of bunk beds, located directly in front of the heater. These bunk beds were very heavy, and due to the events of 7 weeks ago, I was unable to move them and so get to the heater and turn it on. This was unfortunate, as there was a sliding 'patio-type' door next to this, which rather than opening onto a balcony, opened onto what can only be described as a fenced-in ledge. I'm sure that at some point the door would have fitted the frame, but sadly, that is no longer the case. The wind whistling across the Channel blows through all of the cracks, making the room colder, and I was to later discover that the other disadvantage to this was that all traffic passing along the busy road to and from the docks could be heard very clearly in the room.

Having dumped all my stuff in the room, I made my way downstairs and bumped into Dave, whom I hadn't seen for a few years, so we sat in the lobby reminiscing and looking out for familiar faces as they arrived. We then heard rumours that two of the people that we'd been waiting for, Stan and H were already upstairs in their rooms, so we decided to visit, disturbing H's watching of Strictly Come Dancing. We also made the mistake of deciding to gate crash Neil's room. Unfortunately, minutes before we arrived, he had obviously visited the bathroom. Now whether it was something he'd eaten or not, we don't know, but we were all forced to beat a hasty retreat to Sean's room.

Now what's happened over the last few years, although I haven't been able to get there due to Squadron commitments, is that Stan and H put on a private party in a pub, and this year was no exception.

The pub in question is located in the area that is to be 're-developed', and in fact has been closed for some time, only opening for our entertainment on Saturday. It had also been burgled a few days before and the keys to the patio doors had been taken so Neil was a little concerned about fire regulations.

Stan had done a superb job and the karaoke was already going when we arrived, and it wasn't long before the few of us that had arrived were joined by many many more, and the pub was soon packed, and the chilli that was served at about 9 was gratefully received.

However, the big disadvantage was that it was impossible to speak to anyone as the music was so loud, which meant that I spent much of the evening by the door, particularly when Alex, whom I hadn't seen since 1992, arrived.

In fact, the last time that Alex and I had seen each other was when he was at my eldest son's christening in Exeter, so he was somewhat surprised to hear that that baby is now doing A-Levels with the intention of joining the Army.

Although I was enjoying myself and catching up with people, the events of this year soon caught up with me, and at 10.30 my body let me know that it was way past my bedtime, and I had to retire back to the hotel.

Once back at the hotel, I discovered a couple of other minor problems with my room, as before getting into bed I had to trawl the room for every pillow, there being only one very very thin pillow per person, and when I had made my coffee and settled into bed to watch some TV before going to sleep, I discovered that the remote control didn't work.

Even when I'd settled down I couldn't sleep as the room was very cold, the bedding inadequate, and the traffic very loud. Despite going to bed before 11, I was awake until after 1am.

My call at 8 woke me up, and I discovered the big advantage over previous years. Normally, these affairs are very alcoholic, and although for most people this year was no exception, for me, who had been drinking coke for most of the night it meant that I was fresh and awake when I woke up, without the slightest trace of a headache.

At this point I discovered that the hotel had also obviously been designed with 'little people' in mind, as I had to kneel to get under the fixed shower head. However, breakfast was good, even if my companions were all feeling a little sorry for themselves.

After breakfast, it was off to the school and meeting up with more people that I hadn't seen for some time, before parading up to the cenotaph for the Last Post and two-minutes silence, and then the march past, which proved that although some of those parading had left the school before I was born, we could all still march better than most of the kids that are currently at the school.

As I did for most of my time at school, I avoided chapel (too much risk of lightening strike) and retired to the assembly hall for coffee and more remembering, although I have to say that the turnout from our year was quite disappointing (less than 10% according to Stan), which is born out by the 'Class Photo'.

l-r Alex, Tones, Adi, Stan, Dave, Carlton, Me

We then made our way to a local pub for lunch before the journey home. I was also able to warn them all about the bread sauce! The last time that I had been in this pub was last year when m'Julie and I had taken the kids to Deal Castle. We had decided to have a Sunday lunch at the carvery in the pub. After getting the meat and veg, there were sauces, including what appeared to be bread sauce. Now I love bread sauce, so helped myself with a will. It was only when we had all sat down and I took the first mouthful of my dinner that I discovered that it was a strong horseradish rather than bread sauce.

After we'd had lunch it was time to say goodbye. Its very strange, as although most of us communicate only a daily basis, by phone, text or t'internet, this is usually the only weekend that we're all together. We were also aware that there were many of our friends who were absent, for whatever reason, and they were also in our thoughts, particularly those in warm sandy places.

I'm lucky, as, apart from Dave, I am probably the nearest, which is just as well, as when I got home, my first stop was bed, and I slept for most of the afternoon and early evening (comfortable and warm!) and still slept on Sunday night.

The days since then have been recuperation days, and I've done nothing too strenuous, mainly catching up on the recorded programmes, although I did watch the service from the Cenotaph on Tuesday.

Three of the four surviving British veterans of the First World War were present, Bill Stone representing the Royal Navy, Harry Patch representing the Army and Henry Allingham representing the Royal Air Force, the youngest being 108, the oldest 112. I did find it rather sad to see Henry Allingham, struggling unsuccessfully to lay his own wreath. Apparently, he had been determined to do so, despite being the oldest, but eventually he had to relent and allow it to be laid on his behalf.

Again, it will be busy this weekend as Drew and Maggie are staying from tomorrow evening, although, as I'm picking up Wrath of the Lich King for Drew tomorrow, I probably won't see much of him.

Just before I go, I must thank Stan for allowing me to use the still photos that you see, as I'm in none of the photos that I took, and also to Neil for filming on Sunday when I was parading.

90 Years On

2008-11-11T11:00:00.006Z

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead.
Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep,though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

John McCrae, May 1915

In Memory Of
S/4206 Private JOSEPH WATT

1st Bn., Seaforth Highlanders
who died
on 10 April 1916 aged 19

Remembered with honour
BASRA MEMORIAL

and

In Memory Of
S/8909 Serjeant THOMAS McIVOR

9th Bn., Black Watch (Royal Highlanders)
who died
on 29 April 1916 aged 30

Remembered with honour
LOOS MEMORIAL

Return to normality?

2008-11-07T18:10:00.001Z

This week has been a bit of a return to normality, starting last Friday. I had an appointment for a chest x-ray at the hospital where I work. However, earlier in the week, I'd had a phone call from one of the Charge Nurses. He had been assigned the task of meeting with a rep to discuss the possibility of purchasing new laryngoscopes, but wanted someone there from my department. I gave him my boss's number, but he was unavailable, and as I was in the hospital anyway, I ended up attending the meeting.

I also ended up walking up and down the hill into town three times, once for m'Julie, once for myself and once to get the train home. It wasn't until I got home that I realised just how tiring all this was, as I could hardly keep my eyes open and was ready for bed by 7!

The next return to normality was on Monday. Monday was six weeks since my surgery, which meant that I was able to drive again. It felt strange at first, but it doesn't take long to get back into it. First trip was to pick m'Julie up from work, which worked out well as it was very cold and very wet.

Tuesday was again spent 'at work' as I went up to the other hospital to meet with my boss and colleagues and have lunch. I was also able to drop into my Squadron and confirm that I'd be at the opening of the new bar the following day (normality No. 4!)

Although I was collared and tied on Wednesday evening, I did feel a little under dressed as all the other Officers were in service dress. However, it was a pleasant evening and I had my first beer since pre-op! Just looking forward to parading normally again in January.

Yesterday evening was Hannah's (m'Julie's daughter) open evening at school. She was quite nervous about it, which she needn't have been, as all the teachers that we saw were full of praise for her. Even maths, which came as no surprise to me, but did to Hannah, who has always said that maths is her worst subject and that she's useless at maths despite m'Julie and me telling her otherwise. Now Hannah has to believe it, having been told by her maths teacher.

However, when Hannah got home last night she seemed shattered and had fallen asleep by 7.30. Unfortunately, she was awake again at 11.30 and vomiting.

Hannah has suffered from cyclical vomiting for some time and on the three previous occasions that she has had it since I've known her, has always ended up in hospital needing IV rehydration. And on each of those occasions, she has been in hospital for at least 24 hours, except when she spent nearly two weeks in, but that was due to a numpty Registrar who, despite being told he was wrong and all the evidence proving he was wrong, insisted that she had an infection and kept her in for IV antibiotics.

So at 6 this morning m'Julie woke me up and I telephoned the on-call GP, informed them that I wouldn't be taking Hannah to see her when she actually needed to be seen by the paediatricians and then spoke to the paediatric Registrar and took her into the hospital.

When we got there, Hannah was as ill as she normally is, but the hospital took a different approach to her management. Rather than the usual cannulation, fluids and IV drugs, this time they gave Hannah an anti-emetic suppository.

Normally, it takes Hannah 12-24 hours before she starts feeling well, but today, she slept for a couple of hours and when she woke up, not only was she drinking, but she kept it down, to the extent that this afternoon, she was discharged. Now we just have to go to the GP and get some of these suppositories so that in future, when she has attacks, we can deal with them earlier.

So after such a busy week, I should be having a relaxing weekend, but I'm not. This weekend is Remembrance Weekend, and the school that I went to has an Old Boys (and girls) reunion every year on this weekend. For the first time in about ten years, I'm going, although it will be a lot less alcoholic than normal for me, and this will be m'Julie's first experience.

So watch this space for the photos and videos from the weekend, probably published early next week.

Am I Becoming 'Disgusted of Paddock Wood'?

2008-10-30T20:17:00.000Z

As regular readers will know, I've been off work for some time and one of the ways in which I pass the time when m'Julie is a work is with the television. I don't purely watch DVDs, but have kept up to date with (fairly) current affairs by watching the BBC News channel.

Generally, I find their coverage very good and better than most of the other available sources, although I am at a loss at the present time about the Ross and Brand affair. Whilst I agree that what they did was unacceptable, I fail to see, with everything else that is going on in the world, why they are receiving so much coverage on the news programmes, being the lead story on most.

However, that is not why I think that I am becoming 'Disgusted' (20 months ago, I could have been Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells, but now I'll have to settle for Paddock Wood).

In the UK there is a man called Jack Straw, who is currently the Lord Chancellor and the Secretary of State for Justice. Three days ago he gave a speech to the Royal Society of Arts, covering Punishment and Reform which received lots of publicity as it was allegedly him complaining about 'cushy prisons'.

In a nutshell he seems to be saying that although we shouldn't return to the old days where prisons were dingy revolting places with prisoners forced to slop out, it should not be forgotten that prisons are the severest form of punishment available to the British justice system, the removal of the offenders liberty being the punishment, with an emphasis being on rehabilitation and education of offenders as well as assistance in dealing with drug problems. He also states that the victims of crime should not be forgotten, which appears to be happening as far as penal reformers are concerned.

At the time that this speech was being publicised, there was also a lot in the media about the fact that in many prisons the prisoners have access to satellite television and games consoles in their cells. Whether this is true or not, I cannot say as these were tabloid headlines, and I think we all know how reliable tabloid journalists are/n't. However, Mr Straw did talk of an unacceptable Halloween Party taking place in a prison.

So, putting my 'D of PW' head on, where do I stand? I think that our biggest problem with the justice system in this country is sentencing. Last week, a man was convicted of murdering his 16-month old daughter. She was malnourished and had been badly abused before he finally put her over his knee and snapped her spine in two. His sentence was life imprisonment and he was told that he must serve at least 22 years. WRONG! I firmly believe that if a person is sentenced to life imprisonment, then they should serve at least life imprisonment. This man should, as we no longer hang murderers, remain in prison until he dies, not be walking the streets again when he is 47 years of age.

In exactly the same way, I firmly believe that if a person is sentenced to 3 months or 10 years, they should serve 3 months or 10 years, no parole, no time off for good behaviour. If you don't want to do the time, don't do the crime.

In many American states, they operate a 'three strikes and you're out' policy. Anyone who commits offences that would result in their being jailed on three separate occasions automatically receives a life sentence on that third occasion, which is something that I would like to see operate in this country.

I know that there will be certain penal reformers that will feel this is wrong and that I must be a terrible person, but I haven't finished there.

Prisoners must be identifiable as such and should therefore wear a uniform that clearly identifies them, even those serving life whom I believe are currently allowed to wear their own clothes. There is a prison in the US where the local Sheriff insists that his prisoners wear everything, tops, bottoms, underwear, in pink. Degrading, perhaps, but they can be easily identified as prisoners.

I also believe that those serving non-custodial sentences should be made to wear a uniform that identifies them when they are litter-picking or scrubbing graffiti, or whatever their punishment is. If they don't like it, the simple answer is don't commit the offence that gets you put in that situation.

Once serving a sentence, prisoners must abide by the rules. In the press there is much made of the fact that illegal mobile phone use is rife in prisons. The simple answer is that there is technology available that will jam all mobile phone signals in a limited area. This should be installed in prisons. Any prisoners who still attempt to use mobile telephones and are caught automatically have one year added to their sentence of each offence, even if their original sentence was only three months. If this doesn't discourage the practice, I would be very surprised.

Drugs are also apparently a major problem in all prisons and Mr Straw states that as many as 13% of new inmates enter prison with a drug problem. In this situation, all those with a problem must be given rehabilitation to wean them off the drugs. However, once they are weaned off the drugs all prisoners must be subject to weekly drug tests. If they fail they are punished, the punishment would be dependent upon the type of drug for which they have tested positive. Sentences will be the same as for possession of that class of drug, because to test positive the prisoner must have been in possession of the drug. Testing positive for a Class A drug will result in 7 years being added to the prisoners sentence for each offence, Class B will result in 5 years being added to the prisoners sentence for each offence and Class C will result in 2 years being added to the prisoners sentence for each offence.

As for conditions within prisons, I strongly agree that we must not return to the days of slopping out, but it must be remembered that prison is a punishment. At present, many prisoners live in conditions better than British soldiers serving on operational tours. Whilst there is the argument that the soldiers have volunteered to serve, so they cannot complain, I would argue that the prisoners have volunteered to be imprisoned by committing the offence, so also have no cause for complaint.

Satellite television, gone, games consoles, gone, communal television rooms with limited hours and a communal games room, yes, perhaps even a small gym so that prisoners can keep themselves fit, but definitely a 'no frills' approach. Prisoners would also be expected to work, however, at present I believe that they earn a few pence for any work that they do. I believe that this practice should stop. Any profit made from their work should be ploughed back into the prison. If the prisoners want 'pocket money', this would be provided by their families, no more than £10.00 per week, for them to buy what they need.

There was also a report recently of one prison where the prisoners were unhappy about the conditions and the authorities were concerned that there may be a outbreak of violence among the prisoners. To this I have a simple solution. There is a radio DJ in this country who, as one of his features, does a quiz whilst wearing an electronic dog collar on his arm. Every time he gets a question wrong, he gets zapped, the force increasing each time.

So why not make all prisoners wear something similar, although impossible to remove. If they wish to take part in disorder, then they get zapped. If they escape, then there would be an area around the perimeter of the prison that if they step outside they get zapped. It may seem harsh, but no more so than the tasers issued to most UK Police forces.

The only concern may be that there would be some prison officers who would inappropriately use these devices, so for that reason there would have to be very senior authorisation, although still within the penal establishment, perhaps the Governor, who would give this authorisation, with very severe penalties, from dismissal to imprisonment, for inappropriate use.

The other thing that has been in the news very recently is that the Home Office has decided to make it more difficult for extremists to enter the UK, particularly those that intend to preach hatred.

The UK is a multi-cultural country, which I believe must always be the case. However, I also believe that although we are a multi-cultural country, it is essential that those that have entered the country from abroad must respect the laws and traditions of this country, in exactly the same way as I or m'Julie would be expected to do in certain countries, rather than demanding, in some cases, that the law be altered to fit in with their beliefs or that their form of law be allowed to run alongside British Law be it Halakha, Sharia or any other form of law. I firmly believe that in Britain, we should be subject to and abide by purely to British Law. If there is anyone that wishes to be subject to other forms of law, they should move to a country where that law is practised.

A good example is the couple that were recently convicted in Dubai. The lawyers argue that the the Judge believed that they were innocent of the charge of having sexual intercourse in public, but were guilty of kissing in public.

If they were in this country, kissing in public is not an offence, but in Dubai, which operates Sharia Law, it is. I find it extremely difficult to believe that these people were not briefed prior to commencing work in Dubai, so they have no grounds to complain. Ignorance is no excuse in any case. If you can't do the time, don't do the crime. hey should also remember that under Sharia Law they could have been subject to corporal punishment, so they got off lightly.

However, returning to my original point about it being more difficult for extremist preachers of hatred to enter the country. I believe that freedom of speech is important. However, like most of Europe, there are certain things which go beyond the 'Freedom of Speech' umbrella. Holocaust Denial is illegal in most European countries. In this country, it is an offence to incite racial hatred. However, we still see it happen and no-one act on it. There are what can only be described as neo-nazi speakers in this country who advocate a 'white only' Britain. Unfortunately, at present , I believe that not enough is being done to curb these extremists. We have also seen Islamic extremists preaching in this country, and although more has been done to curb these people, more could still be done.

The new law that is to be introduced will name and shame these people, their names will be shared with other countries, and they will be denied entry to this country. However, that does not deal with the home-grown extremists who are already here. Perhaps the Government should act more forcibly on those that preach hatred against a person because their skin colour is different or because they have a different religion and those that issue death threats to a Muslim woman who has painted a self-portrait wearing a hijab and cradling a piglet.

The last thing to have 'got me going' is illegal immigration.

In the UK, we have a large immigrant population, almost all of whom entered the country legally and with permission. The majority are working to earn their keep and are useful members of society.

However, I recently watched a programme about the UK Border Agency. I was amazed to find out first of all the number of people that attempt to enter the UK illegally as well as the number that actually succeed. I was also amazed to find out that even if an illegal immigrant is discovered, if he or she has no passport, they cannot be deported. So what seems to be happening,was demonstrated in the programme. In this instance it was a Nigerian who had entered the country legally on a tourist visa. That visa had expired 2 years prior to his arrest by the Border Agency. He informed them that his passport had been sent back to Nigeria. Therefore, until new travel documents could be obtained for this man from the Nigerian High Commission, he has to be allowed to remain in this country. Because there are limited custodial places for illegal immigrants, and only those that are considered a risk are locked up, he was released and told that he must report on a weekly basis to the Border Agency. He reported once and was not seen again. There's a surprise.

The simple solution would be that all immigrants are placed on ships within UK waters, perhaps old cruise ships, that are due to be broken up, but somewhere where the could have suitable accommodation. Each person would receive a 24-hour ration pack daily (If they're good enough for British troops on operation they must be good enough for people who have illegally entered the UK. The advantage is this. On occasion, there have been cases of immigrants setting fire to their detention centres. If they are on a ship that is two miles out, starting a fire is not a good idea as they are unlikely to survive. Also, if they still try it, all fire lighting equipment is taken away, as the rations can be eaten hot or cold.

It would be interesting to see how quickly these people sort out their travel documents and are asking to return to their country of origin in these circumstances. And when they are deported, the bill is then sent to the appropriate High Commission/Embassy, as why should the British tax payer meet the bill.

The same would apply to asylum seekers. Whilst there are many genuine cases, there are also many that seek asylum to avoid deportation, again seen on the programme, as the Nigerian, once caught and told that he would be sent back to Nigeria when he had travel documents, immediately suggested that he may claim asylum as he feared for his life in Nigeria because of a family feud.

Even those that enter the country legally as immigrants would have to meet certain criteria. No job/means of supporting themselves, no entry. I would also not allow them to claim benefits for at least five years post entry. If they lose/resign from their job prior to that 5 years and are unable to support themselves, the must return to their country of origin and reapply.

So there it is, my 'manifesto'. Am I turning into Disgusted of Paddock Wood, am I becoming an extremist or do I just have way too much time on my hands?

Recovery and Trauma

2008-10-25T17:37:00.010+01:00

So I've been home for two weeks and the good news is that I've even managed to avoid being re-admitted to any hospital. However, the frustration remains and was brought home to me on the first Monday that I was home. I had to go to the surgery to have a blood test. The surgery is just over half a mile from home, and the first day that I walked it, it took 15 minutes and when I arrived I was wheezing like an an asthmatic at a burlesque show.

However, that has gradually improved and I can now do it in 5 minutes and I wheeze a lot less.

The sleep pattern is also settling down. Initially I was finding that no matter what time I went to bed, I was wide awake between 4 and 6.30am. I am not a morning person, and until recently had always believed that there was only one 7 o'clock in a twenty-four hour period, so these early morning awakenings were not well received. Often it was as a result of discomfort (pain would be too strong a word), although again there is now pain which will be investigated when I have an x-ray next week.

I have had regular phone calls from Stan, who always manages to cheer me up, among others and I am slowly getting back to 'normal'. I even took a trip into Tunbridge Wells yesterday to meet m'Julie from work.

But the thing that has had the biggest effect on my recovery was last weekend, when Maggie and Drew came to stay for the weekend. Obviously, I'm still not allowed to drive, and m'Julie doesn't drive, so she had to negotiate with my ex about the children being dropped off, which she did on the Saturday, collecting them again on the Sunday. Oddly, my ex now refuses to communicate with me at all, and has even told the children that she doesn't have my telephone number, although until recently she seemed to be able to send me text messages. Personally, I find this quite amusing and completely pathetic, but then she is very unstable.

It was quite a surprise for me. Drew, who had been quite upset when he saw me in hospital, seemed much less concerned and carried on as normal, but Maggie, who had been completely the opposite when she had seen me in hospital, was clearly very affected by everything that had happened and was very cuddly all weekend, not that I'm complaining. However, it was still very difficult to say goodbye to them on the Sunday and allow them to return to their mother.

However, they are being dropped off again tomorrow and going back Tuesday as its half term and will be here again next weekend.

So now its a case of just taking each day as it comes. I still need to have an afternoon sleep on some days, but not every day, I'm able to walk greater distances (even if I did have to stop once on the hill up from the station in Tunbridge Wells yesterday) and people tell me that I'm looking much better, so I 'must' be.

I also now have a date to start my cardiac rehab (10th November) by which stage I'll be driving again and have been to Dover to the Old Boys reunion.

And the trauma? The evening before I was discharged from the London hospital I decided to watch a bit of television. Imagine the trauma I experienced when I saw this

Who'd have thought it? Sell out perhaps? I thought that I'd had to many drugs at first, and nearly had a relapse!

A Busy Month Part 4: The Home Straight

2008-10-20T20:44:00.001+01:00

Not a great deal was achieved on the Sunday after I was admitted, although I did discover that the incompetent SHO had, when clerking me, written that I had discharged myself from the London hospital. Later in the week I got the opportunity to put him right on the matter, as a result of which I am sure that he will be very much more careful about the accuracy of what he writes in patient notes in the future.

On the Monday, I changed consultant from the one who had been on-call for the weekend to one of the cardiologists, although I was only to see him on the one day as he was attending a medical conference (golfing jolly) in Biarritz, and I was passed on to his fellow cardiologist (who was the one who told me that it was a golfing jolly).

I was also sent off to have the first of the radiological examinations, which in this case was an ultrasound. This showed that I had a small pleural effusion, which contradicted the X-ray, which showed a moderate amount. However, the radiologist explained that on X-ray, areas of collapsed lung can appear as an effusion. She also told me that the amount of effusion that was present was unlikely to be drainable.

The downside of everything that was going on was that I was regularly spiking pyrexias, making me feel really unwell. However, IV paracetamol is, in my opinion, the best thing since sliced bread.

One good thing was my visitors. m'Julie had tried to negotiate with my ex-wife that the children could visit me on the Sunday, but my ex had refused as there was some sort of churchy thing going on. However, she did agree to their visiting on the Monday for an hour, so from 4 to 5 I had the pleasure of Drew and Maggie visiting.

The evening and night was to prove much less agreeable. The ward where I was was supposed to be a male ward, however, the female ward was full and a certain amount of 'overflow' had found its way to the male ward, including a woman who I would say was in her fifties and had the definite look of someone who liked more than just the occasional drink, and who was opposite me.

Unfortunately, she chose that Monday to lose it completely, perhaps, a la Father Jack, all the alcohol had finally left her system. She became abusive to the staff and patients, made several attempts to escape, succeeding on one occasion and being brought back having collapsed outside A&E. Following the collapse, and her being brought back to the ward, there was then the debate about what should be done.

When I was a student and also first qualified and working on wards, patients could be sedated, even against their will, if the medical and nursing staff agreed that it was in the best interest of the patient concerned or the other patients in the ward with them. However, it now appears that no matter how mad the patient is, to sedate them may be a breach of their human rights, even if not to do so results in their physically or verbally attacking a fellow patient.

So I lay in bed listening to the various junior doctors, nurses and site practitioners debating what to do whilst the security guards kept an eye on the shouting madwoman who at this point was convinced that everybody, staff and patients, was plotting to kill her, and only her friend Emma, whom she, and she alone, could see further up the ward could save her, resulting in her screaming 'Emma, I'm here' at the top of her lungs.

The staff even tried oral medication. I did point out to them that I didn't think it would work, but they asked the madwoman if she would take some pills and she said yes. They gave her the pills and she threw them as far down the ward as she could accusing the staff of trying to poison her. Surely I can't have been the only one that had seen this outcome.

Eventually the decision was made to sedate her, and there then followed the debate of who would actually inject her, as all seemed to be frightened that they may be putting their registration on the line by doing so. Just as I was about to say 'Give me the bloody syringe and I'll do it,' someone had the courage to inject her. But it didn't end there, as the madwoman made one last attempt to escape via the (very loudly alarmed) fire exit before finally settling down.

The following day, the madwoman had settled and I was sent for a CT Scan to confirm the location of the effusion. After the scan had been performed, the Radiographers came into the scan room and asked me about the surgery that I'd had, specifically whether I'd had abdominal as well as thoracic surgery. I knew where this was going and decided to have a bit of fun, and pointed out that I'd only had the thoracic surgery. When they asked if I'd had previous surgery I confirmed this, and added that if they were looking for my spleen, it had been removed 20 years ago. Cue sighs of relief all round, as they couldn't find it and were concerned that it may have ruptured, which was why I had the pain and they couldn't find it.

The CT Scan also showed that I did indeed have quite a small pleural effusion, and the decision was taken that it should be drained under radiological guidance.

That evening my eldest son visited, although he seemed to spend most of his time instructing the staff that they should give me a hard time. However, they apparently pointed out to him that they wouldn't do that as at some point I would be back at work, and would therefore be in a position to get my revenge.

Wednesday day passed off uneventfully, however, there was more entertainment in the evening. There had been a man admitted, in his fifties, who looked like a drinker, and whose legs were apparently completely paralysed.

Possibly years of experience helped, but watching this man's behaviour during the course of the evening, I knew what was going to happen. I even said to the staff that I thought that not only was he going to go loopy overnight, but I would bet them any money that he would re-discover the use of his paralysed legs.

Sure enough, by 11pm, this man was shouting about the fact that everybody was plotting to kill him (why is it that alcoholics become so paranoid and convincedthat everyone wants to kill them when the alcohol wears off), and by the early hours, in an almost miraculous move, he had indeed re-discovered the use of his legs. Unfortunately, the on-call doctors did not have the courage of their colleagues from the Monday night and did not do anything, so the rest of the patients were subjected to this man's paranoid delusional shouting for the remainder of the night and much of the following day. In fact, the following day, his legs had recovered to such an extent that he could walk several yards before crashing to the floor. Again, the staff are not allowed to restrain patients, and other than telling this man to sit down, they could not prevent him from going walkabout and falling over, they could only fill out the incident reports afterwards.

On the Thursday, the decision was made to drain my effusion under radiological guidance, so I was off to the X-ray department, where a spinal needle, under ultrasound guidance, was inserted into the centre of the effusion and an attempt at drainage was made.

Sadly, the result was severe pain for me and approximately 1ml drained. It appeared that what had been an effusion was now a haematoma, and the only thing for it was to leave it to reabsorb on its own.

Back on the ward I was feeling very much better, even though only 1ml had been drained, but mainly because I hadn't spiked a temperature since the early hours of that morning.

However, the evening and night threatened to be a repeat of the previous evening and night with the madman. So, because I was so tired, as were the other patients, and prior to going to bed I informed the nurses and doctors that myself and the other patients were not prepared to tolerate another sleepless night, and that if they didn't have the balls to make the decision I was sure that I could find someone who did have, and if necessary I would be happy to personally administer any medication that was prescribed.

This man was sedated and myself and the remainder of the patients got a good night's sleep.

The following morning, on the ward round, I was told that I could go home. Whilst this was the best news that I could have had, the downside was that m'Julie, Hannah, her friend and her friend's daughter had gone to Lincolnshire the previous day to a Pumpkin Festival, and they weren't coming home until the Saturday. However, m'Julie's mum agreed to be at the house until m'Julie got back.

Next was the question of transport home, and here I was very lucky, as one of the ward staff very kindly offered to give me a lift home.

So at 3pm, armed with a small pharmacy, I made my way out of the hospital to the car park and by 3.30 was sat on the sofa at home having a cup of coffee and catching up on the rest of the Sky+'d stuff.

m'Julie was home at 3.30pm on the Saturday, and I was able to settle in and concentrate on recovery, even if that did mean going to bed at 9pm, getting up at 6am, having an afternoon nap and generally behaving like a geriatric (remember, I moderate all comments!). At least I was home!

When The Wife Doesn't Listen

2008-10-19T11:45:00.000+01:00

I got sent this by a friend. It appealed to my odd sense of humour and I thought I just had to share it. Enjoy.

A Busy Month Part 3: The 'Fun' Continues

2008-10-18T20:00:00.000+01:00

Despite the fact that I had felt so good after the kids had visited, the next couple of days were to be fairly miserable. When I had been transferred back into the HDU, I really had felt so bad that I was sure that I wasn't going to get out of the hospital. When I look back on it, I wasn't actually that unwell, the evidence being that a. I didn't need to be re-ventilated at any time, b. At no time was I transferred to the intensive care unit and c. At no time did I require inotropes.

In the early hours of the Monday morning I woke up. I had severe pain in the lower left side and I couldn't get my breath. I was helped out of bed and into a chair, and as I moved, I experienced the most excruciating pain that I have ever experienced in the whole of my left side, and again I couldn't get my breath. Even with the CPAP in-situ, it was some time before I was able to breathe anywhere near normally.

This continued for the entire day, with another severe bout of the breathlessness and pain at lunchtime. Fortunately for me, the Cardiac Matron witnessed this episode and got things moving. Before long, I was given a large dose of painkillers and an x-ray was performed that confirmed that I had a pleural effusion. Therefore the decision was taken that ultrasound would be performed and there would be attempts to drain the effusion.

A radiologist performed the ultrasound and marked the 'best' access point for drainage, then one of the surgeons decided he'd have a go at drainage. So, an hour later, and having stuck approximately eight needles into my back, he had managed to drain off 80mls of fluid.

Although it doesn't sound like much, it was a significant enough amount that it improved my breathing and lessened the amount of pain that I was experiencing, which meant that I had a much better night.

The following morning, one of the other surgeons arrived with a portable ultrasound and informed me that he, too, was going to have a go. Having ultrasounded and injected local anaesthetic, he then proceeded to insert one needle and start to drain the effusion. Forty-five minutes and several syringe changes later, he'd drained 450mls of fluid. If I'd thought that the 80mls made a difference, this last lot made a huge amount of difference, and I felt absolutely brilliant. However, the downside to all this was that I had to start on intravenous antibiotics and suffer all of the side effects that go with them.

The other thing that I found rather strange was the number of visitors that I received during the course of the week. Some travelled long distances and some I hadn't seen for a while. Whilst I was extremely grateful to see all of them, I couldn't understand why they were visiting, and also why they were so surprised to find me either sitting out or, in one case, not in the HDU because I was out in the toilet. It was almost as if their expectation was that I was on my last legs.

A little later in the week, I was to find out why. It transpired that my ex-wife had taken it upon herself to telephone all of our old friends, including those in the States, to inform them that I was seriously ill, in imminent danger of dying, and if they wanted to say goodbye, they'd better get in quick whilst I was still around. The payback. Here was I, feeling much better, with all these people visiting and expecting me to die.

In fact, following the drainage, I was feeling much better to the extent that on the Thursday I was fit enough to be transferred out of the HDU and back into the main ward. Yes, I was still a little breathless, and yes, I was still a bit sore, but compared to the week previously, I was 100% better. In fact, I began to think about going home.

The thoughts of home increased overnight on the Thursday night. Unfortunately, the Hobbit was on duty. This meant that I had to be on the ball as it was me that needed to remind him when I was due my medication, including the doses of IV antibiotics. In fact the evening one that was due at 10pm wasn't given until I reminded him at 1am. When I asked him why it hadn't been given at the correct time, I was informed that it was because 'You looked asleep' and he seemed unable to grasp the concept of whether I was asleep or not, the dose should still have been given. I started to realise that if I remained in the general ward, there was a distinct possibility that, through omission, the staff could cause further harm.

The following morning, because I was feeling much better, I informed the doctors that I wished to be discharged. Provisionally, they agreed, the provisions being that I would need another chest x-ray and also prove that I could mobilise without keeling over. So, as soon as I'd had my shower, I headed off to the shop.

The biggest surprise was when I stepped outside. This was on 3rd October, and was the first time that I'd been outside since 17th September, over two weeks previously. The drop in temperature in that period of time came as quite a shock.

Having walked down the stairs to the shop, I cheated and got the lift up the two floors. By the time I got back to the ward I was a little breathless but I had proved that I could mobilise about the hospital (I'd walked to another wing to get my first decent coffee in two weeks) without keeling over and dying. That box was ticked.

Next was the chest x-ray. This showed that there was still a small pleural collection but that it was too small to be drained. Next box ticked.

Some of the junior doctors were a little unhappy that the registrar had agreed to discharge me, and made their feelings plain. However, I was supported by the senior doctors, the cardiac matron and the cardiac rehab manager (the latter two of whom I'd worked with in a 'past life'). However, when my observations were done, they also showed an improvement. Box three ticked.

Lastly, I had to be supervised doing the stairs. Now this was quite amusing as the nurse that accompanied me in a 'supervisory capacity' was both elderly and overweight, so when we actually did the stairs, I had to stop half way to make sure that she was OK, as she was puffing and wheezing more than me! And when we got to the top, she declined to walk back down and insisted that we get the lift back down! Last box ticked.

I was now definitely being discharged, so I telephoned my friend David who'd very kindly agreed to give me a lift home, and he collected me at just before 6pm.

Considering that it was a Friday evening, at rush hour, and we were driving through London, it actually took us less time than I was expecting to get back to Kent and I was home by 7.30, feeling absolutely shattered.

At 10pm, I couldn't stay up any longer, and m'Julie settled me into bed and I went out like a light. Unfortunately, two hours later, I was wide awake, and there was nothing for it but to make my way downstairs, make a coffee, take some paracetamol (I had a temperature) and watch some of the things that I'd Sky+'d before I went into hospital.

A couple of hours later, temperature had come down and I felt tired again, so I went back to bed, but only for another two hours. However, this time when I woke up, I was a lot more breathless and experiencing quite a bit of pain on the left side again. I dosed myself up, but without success, and realised that there was a distinct possibility that another pleural effusion was forming. I settled onto the sofa and watched the remainder of the stuff I'd recorded.

m'Julie woke up at 7, by which stage I really was suffering, in excruciating pain again and really struggling to breathe. I then got the lecture from her for not waking her up earlier. However, I'd felt that it would be unfair to wake her as there was very little that she could have done. Sadly, the only solution was for me to be back in hospital and, for the second time in less than three weeks, an ambulance was called.

First on the scene on this occasion was a single Paramedic, followed minutes later by the ambulance. Unfortunately, I knew all of them, but they were very good and didn't laugh or take the mickey as much as I would have done had the roles been reversed.

Once I was in A&E my main priority was pain killers, as I was in absolute agony. In fact, after 50mg of both oral and IV morphine, 75mg diclophenac, 100mg of tramadol and 1G of IV paracetamol (I'd spiked a temperature) I was still in pain. And it was a this point that the medical SHO came to see me, his opening line being 'I understand you're the resus officer, well I failed the ALS (Advanced Life Support) course two weeks ago and I'm not happy'. Despite my instinct being to say 'I'm sorry, you must have mistaken me for someone who gives a sh*t, and you are clearly an incompetent tw*t, please get me someone who knows what they're doing', I felt so rough that I managed 'Well, it's obviously your own fault as its not a difficult course, but can you please concentrate on sorting me out'.

So bloods were taken and an x-ray was performed which showed that I did indeed have another pleural effusion and the decision was taken that I would be admitted. What followed was rather surreal, as various people came to see me to inform me that they were sorry, but if I was admitted I wouldn't be in a side room, but out on the main ward. What they didn't realise was that the way I was feeling, they could have put me in a corridor in full clown make-up, as long as something was done to relieve the pain and breathlessness.

Consequently, I was moved to one of the medical wards and settled in. A little later, the registrar appeared and attempted to drain the effusion. Unfortunately, he only managed to drain 20mls, but even that had quite an effect, relieving both the pain and breathlessness a little. However, the decision was taken that everything would be sorted under radiological supervision, and that there would be no more 'blind' attempts. I also started on a different IV antibiotic to the one that I'd received in London, this one being known as 'Domestos', and its side effects were to be worse than the previous lot.

So, having been home for only 12 hours, I settled down for the night on a medical ward in the hospital where I work, being looked after by a staff nurse whom I'd known since he was a brand new student nurse, which I think freaked him out far more than me.

But this was to be the home straight, more of which in part 4 soon.

A Busy Month Part 2: The 'Fun' Begins

2008-10-15T20:27:00.000+01:00

I had no visitors on the day before surgery, but I still had 'tasks' to keep me occupied. I was given a couple of razors and told that I needed to shave my chest. Shave my chest! I'd had previous thoracic surgery 20-odd years ago and had had to shave my chest then. It had taken 20-odd years to grow the 17 hairs that I had, and here I was being instructed to shave them off. Heartbroken. It was also suggested that I shave my arms as there was a possibility that veins would be taken from them, so this I duly did.

When I went to bed that evening, inevitably, I found it difficult to sleep with lots going on inside my head. My cunning plan had been that once I had a date for surgery, I would make DVDs for all my 'significant others' in which I would take the opportunity to say goodbye should I not survive the surgery. However, because of the nature of my admission, I never had that opportunity, so much of the night before my surgery was spent writing 'just in case' text messages to friends and family, which I stored to be sent the following morning. The problem was that with the DVDs, they would only come to light if I did kick the bucket, whereas the texts were read no matter what.

The most difficult of these were to m'Julie, because a text message is such an inadequate way to say what you feel, and to my eldest Son, for the same reason, but also because we had had a bit of a falling out at the start of the year and everything was not completely cleared between us.

I was woken bright and early, had my second shower in the antiseptic stuff, sent the text messages and handed over all my kit for storage until after the surgery. Then it was the wait for theatre. I'd been told that I'd be going at about 7am, but it wasn't until 7.45 that I did go, after being visited by the anaesthetist, whom I'd worked with just a couple of years ago when she'd been at the hospital where I work.

The trip down to theatre was the start of what was to be, for me at least, a fairly sketchy few days. The first surprise was that the theatre didn't have an anaesthetic room, and I was wheeled straight into the (bloody freezing when you're just wearing a gown!) theatre.

Now, this was the start of the sketchy bit. A week later, I was told by the anaesthetist that as she'd been putting in lines etc, we'd had long conversations about the hospital where I work among other things. However, my final memory is her saying to me 'I'm just going to give you a little bit of midazolam.'

My next, very vague memory, is of my eldest son, Alec, and his friend Casper, although at the time I was convinced that I'd dreamt it, sitting out at various points and having a CPAP mask on. In fact, I was to be CPAP dependent for the next week or so.

CPAP (Continuous Positive Airways Pressure) is often used by people who suffer from sleep apnoea. In these circumstances, it is a small mask that fits over the nose and is worn when the sufferer is asleep. It delivers air under pressure to ensure that the airways stay open when the person is asleep.

In my case, because of previous treatments and the smoking, my lungs are what is technically known as 'buggered'. Therefore, immediately post-op, I wasn't able to maintain my oxygen levels. The CPAP used in hospital covers most of the face and is applied very tightly, so as to force the oxygen in and keep the alveoli in the lungs open to 'facilitate gaseous exchange'.

Although its quite uncomfortable, it is a better option than the alternative (hypoxia, confusion, possibly death).

I did find out that , because of the previous radiotherapy, rather than using the mammary arteries, as planned, they'd only been able to use one, the other being too badly damaged, so I had had leg veins taken from my left leg. I also found out that rather than having two vein grafts , as expected, I'd needed four.

The day after the surgery I was moved from the cardiac recovery to the ward's high dependency unit. I continued on the CPAP, but there were more rest periods where I was just on 'ordinary' oxygen.

These breaks gave people such as the physiotherapists the opportunity to visit and inflict their own particular brand of sadism.

Unfortunately, it was also very tiring, so the day after arriving in the HDU, when I was visited by m'Julie, Hx and my friend Jeremy, I was not the greatest host in the world, falling asleep constantly the whole time that each of them was there.

However, it was just as well I did sleep as that night, directly opposite, the patient arrested. Now that was difficult. I could hear what was going on and knew that the person that was actually running the arrest didn't actually have a clue what they were doing. Tempting though it was to jump out of bed and take over, I had to lie there and pretend to be asleep.

On the Friday, I was assessed by the physio and deemed fit enough to move from the HDU to the main ward. So I was moved. It was then a case of being geared up for discharge over the weekend. I was sent to x-ray, because there was a possibility of a small pleural collection (x-ray confirmed this) and attended the pre-discharge talk given by the Cardiac Rehabilitation nurses.

So having been all geared up for discharge, things then went a bit awry the following morning, when I woke up at 0530. I knew that my temperature was sky high and I was struggling for breath. I told one of the HCAs, who performed observations that showed that my blood pressure was low, my oxygen saturation was 83% (normal = 96-100%) and my temperature was 38.7 (normal = 37). However, rather than getting a trained nurse, she informed me that she intended to leave it for an hour or so ands re-check it. In the end I had to put my Charge Nurse head on and order her, quite forcibly, to get a staff nurse.

Much of that Saturday was a blur. The doctors came, but seemed decidedly uninterested, until they saw me after I'd walked to the toilet and back and had gone mauve (not a good colour!), and then it all happened and I was rushed back into the HDU, CPAP'd, lines re-inserted etc.

Unfortunately, all this happened at the time that m'Julie, her daughter Hannah and her mum had come to visit, so although they were at the hospital for about 3 hours, they spent almost all that time waiting to see me whilst I was being sorted out.

Once the CPAP was back in place I did start to feel better and I felt quite a bit better on the Sunday, although I was still struggling to breathe at times. However, I received a visit from Alec, my eldest son, who informed me that he had a surprise. The surprise made me feel 100% better as it was my other son, Drew, and my daughter, Maggie, whom I hadn't seen since the week before I'd had the MI.

What I hadn't realised was that behind the scenes m'Julie and my friend Bruce had been in delicate negotiations with my ex-wife and, as a result, she had allowed Alec to bring his little brother and sister to the hospital to visit me. However, there was to be a payback, but more on that next time.

A Busy Month Part 1

2008-10-12T20:28:00.000+01:00

Its been quite a while since I last updated this and the reasons for that will become clear fairly shortly. Also, because there has been quite a lot that has happened as well as the fact that I'm knackered, I'm going to do this in several parts.

So it all started almost a month ago on 14th September, a bright sunny, Sunday. So bright and sunny in fact that the decision was made that we would visit Scotney Castle. So we all piled into the car, picnic lunch packed and made the twenty minute drive to Scotney. Once we got there, we picked up the timed tickets for the house and then went to the picnic area for lunch. Unfortunately, this was where it all started to go wrong.

As we were eating, I developed a little chest pain. Unfortunately, I'd left my GTN spray at home, so I tried the old fall backs of adjusting position and having a little walk, and, surprise, surprise, neither of these worked. In fact, the pain increased and started to radiate down my right arm.

My next suggestion, with the benefit of hindsight, was not the greatest, however I made it anyway, and we all piled into the car to make the twenty minute drive home to get my spray, so that I could have it and then we could drive back and go round the house. And before anybody makes shouty comments, I realise that this is not the most sensible thing that I've ever done, but as I'm the only driver, it had to be done that way.

The drive back was 'interesting', as the pain was gradually increasing, both in my chest as well as my arm, but we got back safely, I found my spray and took it. Now GTN works within seconds, usually, but in this case, nothing. In fact the pain got worse, and I began to suspect that this was a little more than just angina. Another spray, nothing, so it was time to call an ambulance.

In Paddock Wood, we don't have an ambulance station, but we do have co-responders, so when we called an ambulance, the first on the scene were two of the local retained firefighters with oxygen (much needed and appreciated) and an automated defibrillator (bit premature).

The ambulance arrived about five minutes later, I was put in the back, given more GTN and taken to my local hospital. By the time we got there, this last load of GTN had worked and I felt fine, but I was still put in resus with a fair few odd looks and comments (this being the hospital where I work), and subjected to all the usual 'tests'.

After a couple of hours, the decision was made and I was moved to the CCU (different room to last time, but still a private room). Fortunately, I had packed the portable DVD player and the Michael Palin DVDs before the ambulance arrived, so the boredom wasn't as great as it could have been.

When I saw the consultant the following morning, the blood tests were back and confirmed my suspicions that the pain that I'd had was more than just angina, and had been an MI, albeit a fairly minor one. I was also told that I would not be discharged, but was to be transferred to London and would have my surgery as an 'urgent' case once there was a bed available. I therefore had 24hrs of DVD watching and boredom before a bed became available and I was transferred.

Transfers are now performed by 'private ambulance services', which means that some of the employees are 'characters'. The two that transferred me were no exception. The driver was about six foot eight and looked like he'd once been employed as a wrestler. Then there was the attendant, the guy that I was subjected to during the trip to London as he was sat in the back with me.

During the trip to London, this man, who informed me that he was badly asthmatic and had once nearly died due to a gastrointestinal complaint, also informed me that he had been a Commander in the Royal Navy and spent most of his navy career working undercover in Northern Ireland and other trouble hot spots throughout the world and that after leaving the navy had trained as a paramedic, but following his near fatal gastro trouble he had decided to work purely as an Emergency Medical Technician as there was less stress. In the meantime, the longer that the journey continued, the more certain I was that we would never arrive at our destination as my will to live ebbed away faster and faster.

The whole episode was beautifully summed up by the driver when we did eventually arrive at the hospital and he offered me a towel as he was sure that my ears must be bleeding.

I then had the indignity of being placed in a wheelchair (the crew insisted that I had to be wheeled) and I was taken to the surgical ward, where I was eventually shown to my bed by a staff nurse with a more than passing resemblance to a Hobbit (I'm sure that there was hair poking out of the top of his shoes!) One snippet of information that he did give me was that I had been on the operating list for that day, but because I hadn't turned up the day before I'd been cancelled. When I explained that I had been in another hospital awaiting the call to say that there was a bed available, he informed me that 'Oh no, there weren't any beds yesterday'. I considered it pointless to question why he'd told me about being on the list.....

The ward staff were a completely diverse mix, as reflects the area in which the hospital is located, with the majority of them being either African, West Indian or Asian, or more specifically Nigerian, Jamaican or Filipino. However, there was one member of staff who caused me some concern. This was the Senior Staff Nurse from Portugal. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against the Portuguese, but I was concerned that this chap, nice though he was, was in a position of some responsibility, and through attempting to talk to him, it appeared that his command of English was just marginally better than my (non-existent) command of Portuguese.

It didn't really come as any surprise, but unlike the CCU, once on the cardiothoracic ward I was no longer in my own room, but in a four-bedded bay. At the time that I arrived, this did not seem to be a problem. However, that night, the reality hit home. In the bed to my left sat a man who had had his surgery, Koran in hand and chanting the same thing over and over, until the early hours. There was also a distinct smell that suggested he may have been unsuccessful in his bid to secure the use of a commode.

Diagonally opposite from me was an Italian man. He too had had his surgery. He spent much of the night shouting out random words and phrases, in both English and Italian. However, whenever a member of staff approached him he claimed to be perfectly alright and seemed surprised that they had gone anywhere near him and woken him up.

Directly opposite me was a man who had also had surgery, although it was just the insertion of a pacemaker, but to listen to him, they had clearly opened his chest, without anaesthetic, to insert it, and he was very vocal about it. This made the experience of the first night comparable to sleeping during the height of a Tourette's convention.

On top of this, it was decided that I needed to have IV access, so the locum SHO was sent to achieve this. He looked very upset, after he'd missed the world's biggest vein for the second time, when I told him to go away and find someone who knew what they were doing. He seemed even more upset when he asked me if I was questioning his technique and I told him that, as he had no technique, that would not be possible.

I ended up being cannulated the following day, but unfortunately not in ordinary circumstances. As I had on my previous visit, I decided to take a trip to the shop for a paper. So, I walked downstairs, went out of the entrance and phoned m'Julie and then got a paper. However, as I was queueing to pay for the paper, I developed a bit of chest pain. Unfortunately, as I made my way back to the ward in the lift, this pain increased, and even after taking my spray back on the ward, the pain still increased. Result = ECG done (no changes), more GTN, cannula (not by Dr Mong!), more painkillers and Rick confined to ward until post-op, which I found out was to be the following Monday, 22nd September.

However, I was cheered by a visit from Hx in the afternoon where she went into secretary mode and screened/answered all my calls. However, we did managed to upset Stan (author of Naive Zebra) because he sent us

and we sent him

However Stan got his own back when he visited the following day, meeting m'Julie for the first time, and photos of my bruised belly have now made appearances on the forum, with suitable comments.

Unfortunately, I again proved that the angina that I was suffering had become more unstable during the wait for surgery when I again suffered some very severe chest pain during the night after a visit to the toilet and again when I was woken up by the pain have made no exertion at all. I still needed to wait until the Monday for the surgery though.

Probably the most difficult day was the Saturday as this was the day that m'Julie and Hannah visited, and was to be the last day that they visited before the surgery. The old paranoia reappeared and as I said goodbye to them, I was very aware that, as the surgery was less than 48 hours away, this could well be the last time that I see them. Not a pleasant thought.

So that's what I was up to in the first week, and I'll continue at a later date in Part 2.

Significant dates

2008-09-12T19:43:00.000+01:00

We all have significant dates that we remember each year, Christmas, Birthdays, Anniversaries, etc. But we also have dates that seem to become significant entirely by accident. These are dates on which significant, often life-changing, events have occurred. They don't happen every year, and often it is not until looking back sometime in the future that you realise that they are significant.

For me, September 12th seems to be that date. On several occasions in my life, this has been the date that significant events have occurred, but three stick out in my mind.

The first of these is Tuesday 12th September 1978. On this date I travelled from Whitton to Dover, to the Duke of York's Royal Military School. Along with 74 other boys from all over the world, we were commencing 5-7 years of education at an establishment that would often shape the rest of our lives and we were to meet people who would remain lifelong friends. An example of this is that in the blog list to the right is Naive Zebra. He too started at DYRMS on the same date. The author of Diary Of An Old Dukie started at the school the year after us.

Its very easy to look back with rose-tinted spectacles and claim that my schooldays were the best days of my life. They weren't. True, I had none of the concerns then that I have now, not just health-wise, but how many of us would want to relive puberty!

There is also the 'I wish I knew then what I know now' school of thought, and yes there are certain things that I wish I could go back and change. I wish I'd never started smoking and I wish I'd actually studied when I was at school. I think that I'd leave just about everything else as it has been, otherwise I would be a completely different person.

I definitely wouldn't change going to that school. The friends that I've made, not just from my own year, are the type that you may not see for months or sometimes years. Yet when you speak to them, its as if you had only not met for a couple of days. There also seems to be a common bond between all who attended the school, be it pre-war or last year, that means that when there are reunions, there is always a good atmosphere between all age-groups. That's something that I definitely wouldn't change.

The next date is Wednesday 12th September 2001. This date is significant for different reasons. The day before had seen the terrorist attacks on the twin towers of the World Trade Centre in New York and the Pentagon.

I had joined the Territorial Army in February 2001 and in September 2001 I was an Officer Cadet on my first camp in Fremington, Devon. When I'd joined, I had had all the usual talks, one of which was about the unlikelihood of my ever being required to serve for real, after all, the last time that the TA had been called upon was during the Second World War.

On September 11th, I, along with several of the Officers from the Sqn made our way to the mess for lunch. We arrived in time to see the second plane fly into the tower. However, it was not until the following day that we received the full briefing.

On the 12th, we were briefed about the security situation and how George W had declared a 'Global War on Terrorism'. There was also a lot of speculation that as a result of the events of the previous day we would all be mobilised to fight this global war. Within two years, just about all of those at that briefing had deployed, or were just about to deploy, to either Iraq or Afghanistan.

There can be said to have been two good things to have come out of all this devastation. Firstly, this was the most devastating terrorist attack that had occurred on US soil and led to the 'War on Terrorism' announcement. The knock-on effect was that American terrorist supporters were more reluctant to continue supporting Irish terrorists who were killing British soldiers and civilians. Now, we have peace in that troubled Province.

Secondly, there was an element within the Territorial Army who saw their service as being a member of a uniformed drinking club. Following the announcements of 12th September 2001, almost all of these wasters, when suddenly faced with the prospect of actually having to do the job that they'd been trained for, left. What this means is that those of us that are still serving know that we can rely on those who are serving with us.

Lastly, Sunday 12th September 2004. I had returned from Iraq in April 2004 to discover that I was separated. In the months after I returned, a friendship developed with a girl called Kate that, by September 2004, had developed into more than just a friendship.

I had spent much of September 2004 in Aldershot doing a course for the Army, but was back in Kent for the weekend of 10th-12th September. Kate had spent most of the weekend engaged in a St John Ambulance duty in Tunbridge Wells, and on the 12th I was returning to Aldershot to complete the course. So we agreed that I would meet her from the duty, drive back to her house and have a coffee with her before heading back to Aldershot so that we got to spend some time together.

Having met Kate, she waved me on and followed in her car. It was a route that we had taken numerous times, however on this occasion we were only a couple of miles from Kate's when I heard tyres screeching, and when I looked in my mirror, I saw Kate's car swerve across the road in front of another vehicle, which hit her and pushed her part way through a fence into someones garden.

I pulled the car over and ran to Kate's car, and found her unconscious but breathing when I did my primary survey. Other witnesses had called the emergency services, so I carried on looking after Kate. It was when I did a secondary survey that I discovered that she had blown her left pupil, indicating massive head trauma.

The emergency services had to cut Kate out of the car and she was taken to the local hospital, where she was intubated and admitted to the intensive care.

Two days later, the tests showed that Kate was brain dead and she was 'switched off', although her organs were donated. It appears that she had suffered a massive cerebral haemmorhage whilst driving which had led to her losing control of the car. She was 35.

So, here we are, 30, 7 and 4 years after each of these dates. This year nothing has happened of any significance, but I will be honest I am always curious to see what will occur as the date approaches.

Its a foreign country, innit bruv

2008-09-04T15:14:00.000+01:00

Yesterday I travelled up to London to attend the pre-assessment clinic at the hospital where I'm to have my surgery. This was quite interesting. The first thing that struck me was that all the people awaiting surgery and who were there for the clinic were about twenty years older than me.

So the first thing was a talk from one of the cardiac nurses about the anatomy and physiology of the heart, followed by what actually happens from admission to discharge. Now because of my job, these two elements were 'grandmother, suck eggs' time.

The last element was a talk by a chap who had the surgery four years ago. This was interesting and there were some useful tips. In fact he is the dad of one of the people who laughed at me in the CCU when I told them that I needed an ECG when I had my original MI.

After the various talks, there were the tests. Chest x-ray, blood tests, ECG (again!) and then a one to one with a cardiac specialist nurse and the pharmacist. So now that all that's completed, its just a case of going in for the surgery, which the mutterings yesterday were that it will be in four to six weeks. After a relatively painless five hours, it was time to head home.

I'd travelled up by train as I thought it would be easier than morning rush hour in a car and trying to find somewhere to park. This gave me the opportunity to 'people watch' and I became aware of just how different London has become compared to the 'Wilds of Kent'.

I lived on the outskirts of London for years , until 18 years ago, but just cannot believe how London and Londoners have changed. Firstly, there's the people. I had to travel into London Bridge and then back out again through Peckham and was able to observe the people in the streets. They all seem to be evolving into the same person. They all look alike and they all dress alike. There seems to be no difference between age, creed or colour. The only slight difference is where gender is concerned, and even then all the women/girls seemed to be wearing cycling short type things that came to their knees and skirts that didn't, giving the impression that they were wearing both trousers and skirts.

Maybe it was the time that I spent at Down House, but I also thought that even the people themselves are evolving, to the extent that before long there will be no distinct ethnic groups. There will be no Black, Caucasian, Asian or Hispanic, all will be replaced with Caublasianic.

Even language. I watch some of the American shows where they subtitle people because without the subtitles, the dialect that they are speaking would be unintelligible to most English speakers. And on the train yesterday there was a group of schoolboys having a conversation. They were of mixed ethnicity, black and white, and I was sat and trying to work out what language it was that they were speaking when I realised that it was English (of a sort) but was so interspersed with 'Ya get me's and 'innit's that it resembled a little known Eastern European language.

I also looked around the areas that we were passing through. The hospital is not exactly in the nicest of areas. In fact, most hospitals seem to have been founded in the poorest areas and getting to the one where I needed to go meant passing through some really depressed areas.

A lot of London was destroyed when the city was bombed during the war, and it seems that the post-war architects felt that the best way to replace the old 'slum tenements' was with shiny new tower blocks. However, what seems to have happened is that these tower blocks have simply turned into high rise 'slum tenements', with there being a greater population in the same area because of the high-rise factor, and the situation is similar to that which can be found in historical records of the differences between the various socio-economical groups in the 19th Century, complete with no-go areas. The only differences are that the lowest socio-economic group is, in most cases, more educated and financially more secure than their historical counterparts.

It is also possible to see how the city has expanded since that time, just by travelling on a train. The hospital where I am having to go was opened in 1840 in an old workhouse and a railway station was opened very close to it in 1865. It is a typical boxy, below street level, urban railway station, like most railway stations that were opened at that time.

I travelled back on what, according to Wikipedia, was originally the London, Chatham & Dover Railway, but is now just another line from London to Kent, but not the 'Mainline'. The architectural style of the stations gives a very obvious clue as to how London has expanded in the 150 years or so that the railway has been around. The majority of the stations in 'old' London are the 'below street level boxy' ones, but as you travel further out, the architectural style changes to a more 'countrified' style. It seems odd to look out of the window at a country station, which, when the train sets off, reveals that its in the middle of an urban sprawl.

When the 'country' does come, its not, as you would expect, a gradual process. There is urban sprawl, there is a clump of line side trees, there are fields. It is here that the country stations look more at home. One station, I forget which, when we stopped at it looked like something straight out of a Sherlock Holmes novel. In fact, the only thing missing was a Hansom parked in the forecourt.

Perhaps that distinct cut-off between city and country is the reason that there seems to be the two types of people that inhabit this part of the world, Londoners and everyone else, but how long before we, just 30 miles away from London, are swallowed up and become just another suburb.

L8rs. Ya get me ma bruvvas and sistas, innit.

Summer is officially over

2008-08-25T14:17:00.003+01:00

When I was a kid, Summer lasted forever. The Summer holidays were six long, hot weeks (it hardly ever rained during the holidays) of playing cricket and generally trying not to get into trouble with friends. Then, as I got older, the holidays, although longer in time (9 weeks when I was at secondary school) seemed shorter.

Not only that, but when there were events during the holidays, Olympics, World Cup, Commonwealth Games etc, they seemed to last the whole of the holidays, although I know that they only lasted the two weeks that they still do.

I think that the first event that I was aware of was the 1976 Montreal Olympics when I was 9. I vaguely remember the 1972 Olympics, but only the scenes when the Israeli athletes were being killed and the 1974 World Cup Final, but Montreal was the first one that I remember from start to finish.

So why is Summer over? Well, firstly, yesterday was the closing ceremony of the 2008 Summer Olympics. Like the opening ceremony, I thought that this was very good. And then they let Britain do their 8 minute spot to promote the 2012 Olympics. I loved the fact that the commentators described it as 'quirky', where as I thought it looked tacky. And then it was on the news today that in amongst the collage during the film was a picture of Myra Hindley. Maybe they could have asked Gary Glitter to join Jimmy Page rather than 'megastar' (wtf!) Leona Lewis.

The British team have done extremely well, and the medal tally was the highest in about 100 years. Well done to all the athletes. Can they repeat this in four years? Who knows. The problem is that in the build up to the next Olympics, plus all the ones for the next 200 years, the press will have a field day referring to these games, as they do with 1966 in the build up to every World Cup. If/when the team don't do as well, they will have a field day slagging them off as they always do.

The second reason that Summer is over is that my kids have gone back to their mother. They were here for nearly three weeks and I think that they've enjoyed themselves, I know that I have. Now its back to every other weekend, for a maximum of three days, until the Christmas holidays. One thing that did amuse me was that I had to have some email communication with my ex. I nearly spat coffee on the keyboard at the content. Her email was full of what I call 'therapy speak'.

Now I'd always known that she was not the most stable of people (apparently, that's all my fault), and I also knew, from the kids, that she was undergoing some pretty heavy duty 'therapy' (again, apparently, its all my fault), but reading her emails, the only thing missing at the end of each sentence was the phrase 'm'kay' (if you're not sure what I mean, listen to the Counsellor in South Park).

The third reason that Summer is over is that today is a Bank Holiday. It is the last Bank Holiday until Boxing Day, which is the middle of Winter. The was a petition sent to the Government to have the Monday nearest to November 11th made a bank Holiday, but as yet nothing has come of it. I actually think that nothing will as there is nothing that the Government will gain from doing so, and we all know that politicians are purely in it for whatever they can get.

And the last reason that Summer is over is that in two days, Hannah is back at school. Admittedly, she is going back earlier than normal as this is her first day of secondary school, but she's going back having only had five weeks holiday. Mind you, if the Summers now were like they were when I was a kid, she'd be less happy, but with all the rain I think she's looking forward to getting back to school.

So that's it, Autumn's here, and before long it'll be Winter. Better go and dig out my thermals.

Culture and History

2008-08-22T16:01:00.007+01:00

I think that we are very lucky living here in Britain, as we are surrounded by both of the above. OK, none of the seven wonders of the world are here, and there are an awful lot of more cultural and historic sites elsewhere in the world, but I still think that we're lucky. At least we're luckier than the Australians, New Zealanders, Americans and all the rest of the 'new' countries whose histories are not as old as ours.

And, in Kent and Sussex, I think that we have more than our fair share. Most of these sites are very ably looked after and preserved for posterity by two superb organisations, English Heritage and The National Trust.

So, where am I going with this. Well, I have been a member of both organisations since the time that I was married. In fact, we had family membership, and I have carried that on since I got rid of her. This has been great during the time that the kids have been here.

Obviously I needed to find something to keep the kids out of trouble and trips abroad were out of the question without passports, so we have been visiting some of the historic houses that are local to us.

The first place that we visited was Chartwell, the home of Sir Winston Churchill. This is a fascinating place with both the house and the gardens open to the public, and the kids are of an age to understand who Churchill was and what an impact he had on Britain, as well as the rest of the world, in both the World Wars.

A few days later, we visited Down House, which was Charles Darwin's family home. Again, absolutely fascinating, and the kids were able to appreciate the controversy that Darwin caused at the time of his Theory of Evolution first coming to light. Both of the kids are church going 'Christians' and I suppose their mother could be said to be 'Born Again' (I think that she thinks that being a 'Christian' means that she can lie to judges, the police, social services etc with impunity). There was also an interesting documentary about Darwin just a few days after we'd been to Down, where even the kids could not believe that there was a teacher of science at a well known British grammar school who refused to acknowledge that the earth was older than 6,000 years because that's how old it is in the bible. But at least he wasn't as bad as the American loonies, who in the past have prosecuted teachers for teaching evolution.

The third place that we visited was Batemans, which was the home of the Kipling family. I think that the main thing that struck all of us was that of the four places that we visited, it was the least 'homely'. We all agreed that it felt uncomfortable and very unlived in. I know that the death of John, his son, during the First World War affected Kipling very deeply, and that may be why the family home is so unhomely.

The fact that Batemans scored so low was more of a surprise considering that the last place we visited was Quebec House, which was the childhood home of Major General James Wolfe, victor at Quebec, and also was the property that had gone longest since it was last used as a family home.

In the last fortnight we have been to four places, and obviously we've been to others prior to that, and in Kent and Sussex alone, there are 58 English Heritage and National Trust properties, so we'll always have opportunities during holidays and at weekends.

When we haven't been out and about, the kids and I have been watching the Olympics. This is the first one that they've really appreciated, as they were 6 and 9 during Athens. But their interest has also been grabbed by the fact that Britain has done so well, in fact their best performance since the London games of 1908.

However, it looks unlikely that this feat will be repeated when London again hosts the next games in 2012. Already, there has been talk that the budget will be nowhere near that of the Beijing games (which in the current climate is not such a bad thing), but there also seems to be less support for certain sports.

There has been lots of talk of support for the 'Formula 1' sports. My understanding of this is that the sports where the athletes/participants were likely to or are winning medals will get financial support to the detriment of those that aren't. Surely, though, the events that are not medal-winning never will be without support in the first place.

Putting on my cynical head, I wondered if some of this was a political move. The bid was made and awarded at a time when Britain had a Labour Government. At the moment, we still have a Labour Government, but it is all going horribly tits up for them. Between now and the 2012 games there has to be a General Election and if recent by-election results are anything to go by, we are more likely to have George W Bush as President than we are to have a Labour Prime Minister.

So, could it be that this lack of funding to the Games in general and to certain sports in particular is a way of the present Government ensuring that the next Government is left with the disaster of the 2012 Olympics being underfunded and the participants being less successful than this year and making political gain out of it.

Personally, I think that we have been lucky in these Games to have been so successful, and that we have also seen the best of British, summed up beautifully by 20 year old Daniel Adwe. He didn't win any medals, he came 21st in the Decathlon. But, as he was being interviewed, he raised his arms and said 'I'm an Olympian'. And that's how it should be, and what the Olympic ideal was at the very beginning of the modern Olympics, that the participating was more important than the winning of medals.

Now the worst of British, which has been dragging on for much of the week, Paul Gadd aka Gary Glitter.

For those who don't know, this guy was a well-known 'Glam' Rocker in the 1970's who had all sorts of sob stories going on about his personal life and bankruptcy etc. Then in 1997 he took a computer to be repaired and the hard-drive was found to have child pornography on it. In 1999 he was sentenced and spent two months in prison, leaving the country on his release. He seems to have then moved from country to country until the country where he was staying found out who he is and kicked him out.

He was then arrested, in 2005, in Vietnam, where he had applied to live permanently, and charged with molesting two girls aged 10 and 11. Had he been charged and convicted of raping them, he'd have faced a firing squad (no loss there). As it was, he was sentenced to three years.

Bizarrely, the BBC were allowed to interview him in jail in 2006, where he claimed that he'd been set up as he was unaware that the 'age of consent ' in Vietnam was 18 (suggesting that his victims were over the age of 16, the British age of Consent rather than the 10/11 they actually were) and he also conveniently avoided any mention of his previous conviction.

So, on 19th August, this sexual predator was released and deported by the Vietnamese. He was supposed to return to the UK, but refused to get on a connecting flight and eventually flew to Hong Kong where, surprise surprise, he was refused entry and sent back to Thailand.

Finally, we have now got this creature back in the UK, where he's claiming that his Vietnamese conviction was a 'travesty' and is apparently unhappy that he has to sign the child sex offenders register.

I think that there was a simple way that all of this could have been avoided. All it needed was for someone from the embassy to visit Gadd when he was in the airport in Hong Kong and hide 5kg of heroin in his luggage before he flew back to Thailand..........

How to create a logo

2008-08-18T01:16:00.009+01:00

Is the world going mad?

2008-08-16T16:41:00.004+01:00

I went over to the local supermarket today and was really surprised by the newspaper headlines stating that Russia was about to nuke Poland. Now, my geography is not the best, but I was sure that Poland was nowhere near Georgia, I was unaware that they were involved in that conflict and anyway, the news last night was reporting that a ceasefire had been agreed. However, on closer inspection I discovered that it was nothing to do with Russia's Georgian holiday. Its all to do with the former Soviet satellite state, Poland, joining NATO and having US missiles on its territory.

It seems that the Russians are a little unhappy with this as it makes them feel threatened. Or do they feel threatened because they are concerned that if they invade another country in the way that they have with Georgia, there is now a potential military response nearby.

It has been said on various news programmes today that it looks as if the Cold War is back, and with all the rhetoric that is being used, it does. Although the 'Warsaw Pact' broke up in the early 1990s with the coming down of the Berlin Wall, it seems that democracy has not infected all Russians, particularly those in power.

Is it possible that the Russians are concerned about internal security, particularly the fact that the South Ossetians may want unification with the (Russian) North Ossetians, or is it, as some believe, that the Russians are using this to send veiled threats to the former Warsaw Pact nations to say that if they look to the West, rather than the East, they (the Russians) will not be happy.

But what do they expect. Bear in mind that the Warsaw Pact countries were puppet states of the Russians/Soviet Union. Poland, for example, was invaded from the East by the Soviets at the same time that they were fighting the Germans in the West in 1939. And as for Ukraine (another of the countries that has annoyed Russia by wanting to join NATO), look at what happened when the Soviet Army re-occupied the country after it had been under German control during World War 2. At the end of the War, there was no democratically elected Government in an of the Warsaw Pact countries, they were all appointed by the Soviets.

The biggest problem is that Russia is using the playground bully tactics that it has used since the days of the Tsars, which in this day and age tend not to work. Perhaps they think that as most of the 'old' NATO countries are too busy in the warmer, sandier climes, they can get away with it.Maybe they will, as the USA appears to be going soft, at least some of its publishers are. It was also in the news last week that an author has been told by her publishers that they are not going to publish her latest book, about Muhammad's wife, because it may upset muslims. So much for the Americans' freedom of speech.It seems to me ridiculous that people are so worried about upsetting people of any religion. We live in a world that to, a large extent, has freedom of thought and expression. This means that igf I wish to believe that the Supreme Being is a one-eyed, six-eared purple munchkin, I can. But it also means that anyone who disagrees with me can do so with impunity. A good example is the Catholic Church, which was unhappy about the Da Vinci Code, but they put forward their objections in a civilised manner (after all, they abolished the Inquisition in 1834). Did it stop the publishers from distributing the book? Or the film makers from releasing the film? No. But then the Catholic Church wasn't likely to send suicide bombers to the offices of the publishers in the way that the extremists of the 'Religion of Peace' would

Maybe that's what Russia should do. If it became the Islamic Republic of Russistan, no-one would annoy it!

Fakery

2008-08-13T15:19:00.004+01:00

Its been revealed that there has been a certain amount of fakery in the (spectacular to watch) opening ceremony for the Beijing Olympics. No! Really?

Listening to the news reports suggests that nothing like this has ever happened before and that all previous Olympics have been completely above board, both as a spectacle and as a showroom for world sportsmanship.

So, what are the crimes that the Chinese have committed. Firstly, as the Chinese national flag was brought into the stadium, a very cute 9-year-old girl sang an anthem. It has now been revealed that she was in fact miming. And not only was she miming, but she was also miming to the voice of another little girl. And why was the the 7-year-old not singing in person? The Chinese reason is that they felt that although she had a great voice, she did not 'portray the image that they wished to portray', which I think is Beijing 2008-speak for 'we think that she's a minger'.

Maybe someone from Amy Winehouse's management company could take a leaf out of the Chinese book.

Crime No.2. The firework footprints that 'walked' from Tiananmen Square to the birds nest stadium. It now transpires that, other than the one directly above the stadium, the rest were generated by computer graphics.

I would ask how much less the cost of computer graphics were compared with the cost of real fireworks in a country where their population is relatively poor.

I would also ask why has this come as such a surprise to so many people? When the modern Olympics were founded in the 1890s, the ideal of the three major 'players', Baron Pierre de Coubertin, Evangelis Zappas and Dr William Penny Brookes was that all the countries of the world should become closer through sport in a hope that future conflicts would no longer arise.

Sadly, they were very misguided, and the Olympics, from 1908 onwards, in my opinion, has turned into an international political pissing contest, the participants being used purely as political pawns by their governments (1936 Berlin, 1980 Moscow and 1984 Los Angeles being just three examples.

However, it did give the Russians the opportunity to invade Georgia (for any natives of Tennessee that are reading this, its not THAT Georgia). Now I am aware that the situation there is complicated and I am also aware that the Georgians are far from blameless in all this, and I am aware that this has been ongoing for some time. But I still think it rather cynical that the Russians chose to invade when most of the world's attention is focused on Beijing.

President Mikheil Saakashvili of Georgia made comparisons between this invasion and the annexation of the Sudetenland by the Nazis. However, he could have made more modern comparisons such as the Soviet invasion of Hungary in 1956 and of Czechoslovakia in 1968, but at that point Georgia was part of the Soviet Union....

On a lighter note, here at Villaramble things have been relatively peaceful. Julie and Hannah are away in the Isle of Wight for a week, which has left me with time to devote to my kids.

Unfortunately, as I said last time, because of the passport situation, there is no possibility of a trip abroad, so what we have done is dug out the National Trust and English heritage books and decided to have day trips to various locations near by. But we have the fall back of when the weather is really bad (this is summer in the UK) then the kids have models to make.

Drew had received, for birthdays and Christmases, various model aircraft kits, and he has taken the opportunity to complete/make some of these. By the time Julie gets back, his room will probably look like a busy WW2 airfield!

But the girls didn't want to be left out, so last week we went out and bought them a couple of model car kits, which Maggie has been completing with guidance from her big brother.

Finally, following on from my last entry, I have now received some of the photos from the the barbecue at Barry's. But, the pictures aren't from Barry, oh no, James, having flown back to New Zealand and recovered from his jet lag, took the time to email me the pictures. Admittedly, Barry too has been in contact.

"Dear Mr sarcastic, owing to problems with my steam driven pooter I am unable to e mail the photos. I will, however, download to disc and post to you. So stick that on your blog."

Still nothing received. I guess I'll just have to keep waiting.

Some things just don't change

2008-08-07T15:24:00.011+01:00

That can be both a good thing and a bad thing. Part 1 is the good thing.

This post was delayed a bit as I was up in Derbyshire (not Nottingham) meeting up with a couple of friends. The plan was that the post was illustrated with pictures, which I thought would 'enhance' the experience. However, I went into mong mode and left my camera at home. But, both Barry and James had cameras and promised to email me pictures.

So, four days later, still no pictures. I suppose that James might have a bit of an excuse as he flew back to New Zealand on Tuesday.

I met James and Barry in 2003. I was supposed to be going to a warm sandy place at the time, but for various reasons, I didn't and found myself stationed in a barracks on the outskirts of Nottingham. Both of them were already there.

On my first evening I went for a drink in the mess, where these two were already. Its strange to think that at that point James was a tee-total vegetarian, and was sat with his glass of squash. Barry was Duty Officer and therefore not supposed to be drinking, so had arranged with James that if the Adjutant appeared, they would just swap drinks. The Adj wasn't fooled for a minute.

And by the time James and I did go to that warm sandy place, all pretence at being a hippy was gone and James was well and truly a burger eating scotch drinker!

But, in the five months that we were in the barracks, we spent the majority of our time with aching ribs because we laughed so much, and I think that both James and myself were quite sad to leave in the November.

In the five years since then, James and I had visited Barry (who was still stationed there) on several occasions and our visits always culminated in copious amounts of alcohol being consumed and thousands of 'rounds' of air rifle ammunition being fired. However, that all changed in 2006 when James married his Fairy Sparkle and they emigrated to New Zealand. In fact, we weren't expecting to see James for a while, but he and Carol became parents, and the Grandparents insisted that they visit (Check out the Farmers Palmer in my blog list)

Then, in June of this year Barry's contract finished and he moved into a house in Derbyshire and this was the first visit that we'd all had.

The first thing to say was that, having looked at some of the old photos, it was obvious that all three of us were much lardier, one of our number has a lot less hair and another's was far more 'bouffant'. And of course James and I didn't laugh at all when we found out that Barry had his own hairdryer to maintain the 'bouffancy'.

Other than that, it was still pretty much the same. Lots of alcohol, a great barbecue and the air rifles/ pistols were broken out and anything became fair game, including a gnome that had survived five years on the roof outside Barry's room at the barracks.

I think that the neighbour left at the end of the evening somewhat bemused.

Sadly, I too had to leave early the following morning, complete with my aching ribs, to head back to Kent in time for my kids to be dropped off by their mother. Now we come to Some things just don't change (Part 2)

I made it (just) only to discover that they were running slightly late, but that was not a problem. What was a problem was that I had planned to take the kids on a series of day trips whilst they were staying with me, including some to Europe.

However, my ex-wife has always decided to be as awkward as possible, and despite the fact that we are divorced, continues to try and run (or should that be ruin) my life.

There had been much discussion about my taking the kids abroad. She was demanding that she had all the details of time, place etc. This is because two years ago, she absconded with two of the kids and had to be tracked down by Police and Social Services. As a result of this, she is convinced that everyone is as psychologically unstable as her and will do the same. But, because I wanted to talk to the kids first to find out where they wanted to go, I was unable to tell her. So the kids arrived without passports but with instructions that I would have to jump through all sorts of hoops to get them. I can no longer be bothered to play her rather pathetic and childish games, but unfortunately that means that the kids will miss out. She meanwhile, is unhappy that it is down to her that the kids can't go abroad, and seems to be insinuating that I tell them it is down to me. Truly deluded, but nothing that a long spell of ECT wouldn't cure.

So that's the good and the bad (and the ugly?)

In the meantime, myself and the kids will carry on as normal, and they can enjoy the break.

Exaggeration, boredom, paranoia and annoyance

2008-08-01T12:20:00.005+01:00

No, its not the name of some boring, arty film, but it is what I've experienced over the last month, to the extent that I think I may be turning into a grumpy old man.

It was Mark Twain that said 'The report of my death was an exaggeration', but it is a quote that I've used several times this week.

Obviously, I'm off sick at the moment, but I have gone into the hospital a couple of times this week. And this is where I've heard the exaggerated rumours.

Apparently, I was rushed to London and surgery was performed straight away, as I was so ill; I have leaking heart valves and am at death's door; I arrested twice and am in intensive care; I discharged myself and am pretending that there's nothing wrong in the hope that it will 'go away'; I have heart and lung failure; and my personal favourite, I'm dead.

When I was told about the latter, I did tell my colleagues to carry it on, start a collection, and then, when I'm fully fit, we could have a department night out on the proceeds. Apparently, we can't do that. Pity.

There is a saying about the tabloid press, or is it all press, that they will never let the truth get in the way of a good story, and I think that this is the case in hospitals. People aren't sure what the truth is, so they make it up, and because hospitals are hotbeds of gossip, it will spread like wildfire.

I have proof of this from years ago. At the time I was working in a really small hospital (five wards, an ITU and a rehab centre). I was on nights, it was very quiet and I was bored. So myself and one of the other guys that was working decided we would make up a rumour and see how long it took to spread around the whole hospital. I don't remember what the rumour was, but we were visited by someone from another ward and told them the rumour.

One hour and seven minutes later, we were visited by someone from another ward who said 'Have you heard about...' When we phoned around, the entire hospital had heard and were really disappointed that we'd made up the story.

Which brings me onto the second thing, boredom.

I'm used to being reasonably active. And now I'm not. Being off and not having to do anything sounds good, but its not. Yes, initially, its good to be able to sit around and catch up on the DVDs and books that I've been meaning to watch and read, but you can only do that for so long. And there is only so much 'tidying' you can do.

The other problem is that when I was off the other week, I put on a fair bit of weight, which I need to lose before having my surgery. However, going to the gym is out of the question, and walking the two miles a day that I'm supposed to walk won't work that well, so there's the risk that because I can't exercise in the way that I'd like, I could end up putting on more weight.

As for the paranoia, its insidious in the way it has struck. We all experience aches and pains, either when sitting still or through activity. We also all experience palpitations at various times, for whatever reason.

Four weeks ago, I wouldn't have given any of this a second thought, because it happens. However, in the last three weeks, I have become acutely aware of every single palpitation, as well as 'twinges'. Is that twinge in my chest because I've overstretched when trying to get a plate out of the cupboard, or is it cardiac in origin?

All this is probably made worse by the boredom and the fact that I can't exercise as I would like, which would reduce the 'twinges'. So the combination of the last two is really pissing me off.

The good news is that this weekend I am going to Nottingham to meet up with some friends that I haven't seen for a while, so that will take my mind off everything, and when I get back on Monday, I have my kids for three weeks, so they'll keep me busy.

Mind you, I think that they already thought that I was a grumpy old man.......

Smoking

2008-07-27T16:25:00.007+01:00

Its bizarre. As I said in my last post, I recently gave up smoking (13 weeks on Thursday). I'd smoked for nearly 30 years, although I had given up for periods ranging from 2-4 weeks, this is definitely the longest length of time.

So why give up now? I'd been wanting to for some time, but kept putting it off (as most addicts do), and then, thirteen weeks ago, I got sick, to the extent that I was faced with the decision of 'smoke or breathe'. I chose the latter.

Now for those that don't know, the most addictive 'element' of smoking is nicotine. And all the research that I've done says that it takes the body between four days and two weeks to purge itself of the nicotine. Five days after I stopped I was admitted to hospital, where I remained until eleven days after I stopped, so I was actually in hospital during the period that I should have been experiencing the worst withdrawals, so I missed them.

However, that didn't stop me from having the occasional craving. What was odd was that, although I'd smoked 20+ cigarettes a day for many years, the cravings that I actually got were for cigars, that I would sometimes smoke on high days and holidays. But, these cravings were never that intense and I never acted on them.

So why, having had occasional cravings for the first eleven weeks have the cravings for nicotine been so great in the last two weeks. Not just that, but these have been cravings for any format of nicotine, pipe, cigar or cigarette. Without wishing to appear smug, I can also report that I haven't acted on these cravings whilst awake (I have dreamt most nights in the last two weeks that I've been smoking and woken up feeling guilty).

One thing that did make me laugh in my research is that 8 hours after giving up smoking, a persons chances of having a heart attack are reduced. Just as well I gave up then.

Now, as you may or may not be aware that the Government in this country introduced a smoking ban in all public building on July 1st 2007 and its also reported in many papers that hospitals have reported a fall in the number of heart attack cases since the ban. However, there are no figures to confirm or deny that the people that would have had MIs have died of pneumonia because they now have to stand outside in all weathers to have a cigarette.

It has also given Nanny, as the current Government is affectionately known, the opportunity to introduce more people to keep an eye on the general public and report back.

For example, in Tunbridge Wells we have the litter wardens, who issue fixed penalties to people who dispose of litter anywhere other than bins, including cigarette ends, and hence their nickname of 'Butt Nazis'. They are employed by the council, and generally seem to be the type of people who are too stupid to ask 'Do ya want fries with that?' or to whom English is either a third, or even fourth, language.

Whilst I agree that something needs to be done to improve the environment, I don't think that this is the solution. I would imagine that these people are on minimum wage, but can get a performance related bonus, ie. the more tickets issued the more they will be paid. This leaves the system open to abuse. However, at least we were not the town where the self-employed decorator was issued a fixed penalty this week whilst having a cigarette in his own van because the warden decided that he had broken the law by smoking in his place of work.

Personally, I would have used the money to buy more dustbins and ash bins. One off cost, minimal upkeep, cheaper than a warden. However, there would still be people who would litter, even with more receptacles. Simple. Traffic wardens are already 'double-hatting' alongside the litter wardens, so pay them a little more and get rid of the waste of wages that are the litter wardens. Or better still, there has been talk recently of those on benefits having to do community work to carry on receiving those benefits. Why not have them 'litter sweep' their local area.

However, I don't think that this will ever happen. Why not? Its all to do with money. If you do just buy more bins there is not the on-going revenue coming in that there is by having the litter wardens.

And why is this so important? The reports claim that since the smoking ban was introduced, more than 400,000 people have given up. If one imagines that each of those people smoked 20 cigarettes a day, then there are 400,000 less packets of cigarettes being sold daily, which is 146 million less packets being sold each year. Bearing in mind that the tax on a packet of cigarettes is about £3.27, that means that the Government are receiving about £477.5m less each year in tax and they have to make up this shortfall somehow.

In the meantime, I shall ignore the cravings and promise not to turn into one of those 'holier than thou' ex-smokers. Why? Cos I could just go for a ciggie at the mo.

Who'd Have Thought It

2008-07-15T22:21:00.012+01:00

So there I was, 2.30 last Thursday afternoon, sat in my office drinking coffee and booking tickets for the cinema to see Prince Caspian with my kids.

No sooner had I booked the tickets than it happened. Chest pain. Not like in the adverts that you see on billboards with the guy who looks like there's a belt tightening around his chest, but chest pain nonetheless. Bugger!

So, being the consummate Health Care Professional that I am, I snuck over to A&E and into resus and attached myself to a monitor. Now, you can't tell from just three leads whether the rhythm is truly unpleasant, but it gives you some idea. The rhythm and the fact that I felt like crap suggested that I was compromised. Next stop Coronary Care Unit (CCU), 'cos if you're going to arrest, that's the place to do it.

By the time I'd got there, the pain had gone, so I sat down and joked about having chest pain hence my being there. Clearly, it had been a false alarm.

WRONG! Unfortunately, ten minuutes later, the pain returned. This was a bit more like the guy with the belt so I asked the staff if they'd mind doing an ECG on me. Now, because of my somewhat warped sense of humour, they thought I was joking, but I eventually convinced them that I wasn't. Just as well, really, as when the ECG was done, it showed that there were 'ischaemic changes indicative of a myocardial infarction (MI)' (For the non-medical 'not enough blood getting to the heart muscle making the squiggly lines a bit more squiggly, which you might see if someone was having a heart attack').

The next couple of hours were a bit of a blur, with needles being stuck in me, blood being taken, drugs being given, echocardiagrams being performed etc. It was made more of a blur with the addition of diamorphine. How anybody can take this recreationally, I do not know. It made me feel really odd, and I couldn't keep my eyes open.

At 5.10pm, I was loaded into the back of an ambulance, with the A&E staff waving and laughing at me, and I began the 50 minute journey to London (only that short a time due to the lights and sirens) and four hours after my first bit of chest pain, I was in the cardiac catheter lab of a London hospital having a stent placed in my Left Anterior Descending artery (one of the coronary arteries).

After this I was transferred to the CCU at this hospital and told that I would have to stay in bed for 24 hours!

Unfortunately, on Friday, I was told that not only did my blood tests show that I'd had an MI but that it had also been noticed that I had a narrowing in one of my other coronary arteries (the Left Main Stem), although they were sure that it would be fine on investigation, and that I would have to stay in hospital until at least Monday! Another 'bugger!' as hospitals at weekends are very boring.

Fortunately, my beloved visited me on Friday and brought some DVDs and a portable player, as well as a book. Better than staring at the four walls.

She also visited on Sunday as did my friend H, who was much better than when I telephoned her on Thursday evening to tell her where I was (she lives just down the road from the hospital). Now maybe it was that she had been to a Garden Party and had a bit of champagne, but when I texted her, she called me back and gave me a full scale bollocking! At least she'd calmed by Sunday!

At last, Monday arrived. The day that I was going home! All I had to do was wait for another angiogram to check out the 'dodgy' artery and I could go. At least that was the theory. Unfortunately, that wasn't to be the case. Instead, it was found that the blockage in the Left Main Stem was more severe than expected and that the only solution was a Coronary Artery Bypass Graft (CABG). Bugger No.3! Also, because I'd had more ischaemia during the procedure I was told that I couldn't go home.

Having worked in Cardiac for many years, I know everything that goes on during a CABG, and have to say that it is something that I'm really not looking forward to. But I will allegedly feel better once its done, and having met the surgeon this morning, I feel a bit more reassured. I also know that I will be having it done in early September.

Moving on to my 'friends'! I use the '' as the reaction from most of them when I have called them and told them is initial disbelief, convinced that I am winding them up, followed in most cases by amusement. At least they have a sense of humour, unlike one of the hospital staff.

I gave up smoking nearly 11 weeks ago after nearly 30 years of addiction to the weed. Since then, I've had a large pulmonary embolism and now an MI. So, I told one of the doctors that clearly smoking was better for me than non-smoking and that on discharge I would have to catch up and therefore smoke 60 a day instead of my previous 20. Cue tumbleweed and lead balloons!

So, here I am, back at home, still alive, and better go to bed as its getting late and I have had a heart attack you know

Veterans

2008-07-07T13:09:00.004+01:00

I saw a lot of veterans this weekend. I was playing soldiers and spent Saturday at an event at the Historic Dockyard in Chatham. Melt down all the medals that were on display and you could build an aircraft carrier.

It was also interesting talking to many of the veterans and hearing about their experiences, not of the conflicts in which they'd been involved, but of their experiences since leaving the service.

Although there were a lot of men and women there wearing their Second World War campaign medals, the majority were those that were wearing the decorations from the numerous small wars and conflicts that the British Armed Forces have been involved in since 1945.

But all agreed on one thing. Whilst the WWII veterans did not always come back to the 'land fit for heroes' that they'd expected, they felt that they had a much better deal than those that served after them or are currently serving.

Two of the recurring themes were firstly the way in which veterans are treated in other countries, particularly the US. None of these old (and not so old) boys and girls felt that the country owed them a living, but all felt that, having served that country and in most cases risked their lives, there should be some benefits other than a not particularly good pension and a small veterans badge, something along the lines of the US Veterans Administration.

The second recurring theme was the frustration that they felt, having served their country, in seeing illegal immigrants or clerics preaching hatred against Britain whilst enjoying the freedom to do so because he was living in Britain, receiving better treatment and more benefits than they were. As one WWII veteran said, if it hadn't been for his generation fighting as they did and destroying the fascist German regime, many of these people would have been exterminated as 'Enemies of the Reich'.

Whilst in the UK we are seeing more of a recognition of the commitment and sacrifice that the Veterans have made, it has been an uphill struggle. Will we ever see something similar to the VA. Unlikely, as it may mean MPs giving up the 'John Lewis list'.

The second thing that was mentioned impersonators, 'Walts' in military jargon after the character in the film 'The Secret Life of Walter Mitty'. As I have said, there were a lot of gongs on display oat this event, and it was assumed that all were genuinely earned, but this is not always the case. There are people who will swagger around with a chest full of medals bought from e-bay, because in this country they can. In many countries, to pass yourself off as a serviceman or woman, past or present, is illegal. In the UK, at present and as far as I can establish, it is not. Many of the veterans felt that these people devalued the awards that they had received as well as insulted the memories of those who had died in service.

So why will the Government not have a law put on the statute books. they seem keen enough to vote through lots of nannying laws that impinge on individual freedoms. Again, many of the Veterans saw the lack of action as a real slap in the face.

Rant over.

2nd Attempt

2008-06-30T15:25:00.004+01:00

This is my second attempt at this blog thing (or is it my third). Anyway, last time, I managed to keep it going for about a year, I think that about three people read it, including my other half, and then I just got bored.

However, lots of friends are 'blogging' and some have been for ages, so I thought that I would add my two pen'orth to cyberspace. The problem is that I've never been one of those 'keeping a diary' types, so this may be intermittent in its appearences, or not, depending on what happens.

Watch this space...