Cocaine Help Line

I expect you can already see where this is going. I saw the advert in a newspaper and thought I would drop them a line. A second career in stand-up comedy fails to beckon.

Carbon Dating

I signed up to a carbon dating website. Met a real diamond.

End of Crinology?

Endocrinology is that part of medical science which is concerned with the ductless glands and their secretions. This blog is nothing if not educational, although I am not sure that one needs to be too concerned with secretions this early in the morning. Given this little nugget of information, does it not seem incongruous for the hospital's endocrinology department to be joined to the main hospital building by a long corridor? Are there more incongruities in the way our hospital departments are configured? I would love to know. Please feel free to leave comments - I would hate to think my profound insights are being secreted into the ether without touching humanity. Oh, a hard day ahead!

Wind farm in autumn

A lovely moment as I drove home towards the weekend early this evening. The theme music from "Hawaii Five O" was playing on the radio and the sails of the wind turbines moved slowly against a clear autumn sky. Difficult to explain how the moment contained a strange and gentle symmetry, a glimpse of harmony and order amidst the usual daily hustle and bustle.

One day I will wander with my basket through a wind orchard, picking up the windfalls and discarded breezes, the not quite good enough little gusts...I will bring them home and make jam that will drift above my toast for breakfast.

The Sauce of the Tartar Landlord

You never know what delights await you when you venture out of the city into the myriad villages that lie like buckshot spread across the Northamtonshire landscape. It was on one such Saturday lunchtime venture that we found ourselves in a village pub with a reputation for good food. But why so empty? Whither the slug who left its silvery trail on the carpet beneath our table? Whither the person(s) unknown who had first used the paper napkin placed carefully at one of our place settings?

The serving of tartar sauce that arrived with the fish (soggy batter, unskinned fish) seemed to bubble strangely. A lively dish indeed. When we complained at the end of the meal, the landlord was affronted. "It cannot be! They just opened a new large jar in the kitchen". He then proceeded to take one of our knives, dipped it into the sauce and tasted it - not once but twice. And declared the sauce to be fine.

Now, I may be just a simple soul, but this behaviour seemed odd on two accounts. Firstly, you would normally graciously apologise that not everything was to sir and madam's liking (as I said, I am a simple soul without pretentions!) - not dispute the fact. Secondly, using a used knife seems a little lax on the hygiene front - and who is to say that he did not use that same dish of sauce for the next unwitting diners?! The sauce of the man, and he with gastronomic pretentions!

A Life on the Ocean Wave

So, a number of Royal Navy personnel were found to be positive to cocaine during a random drug screening test. It certainly gives a new twist to being on the high seas. If they had been in the merchant navy, it would also have given a new meaning to the P & O Line. I bet they felt like right Charlies.

Trick Cycling

Heartening to hear on the radio news this morning that Great Britain's successful Olympic cycling team have a psychologist on board, only figuratively in the saddle. This adds new meaning to the old description of psychologists as "trick cyclists".

Another thought occurred to me... with the government's new-found enthusiasm for "talking therapies", perhaps we should have a tag line - not a tag race - along the lines of "Trick cyclists not Tricyclics"?

Ice Cream Leakage

Another lovely traffic report - a leakage of icecream from a tanker on the A1 today. Can this really be a measure of the pleasure I find each day? The only thought I could come up with was the hope that any delays did not create a ripple effect.

Fantasy Folk Museum

The theme of misnomers continued when we had our holiday in Bulgaria and visited the small village of Bulgari, nothing to do with the designer scent of that name. But there was a distinct whiff of alcohol. We met a chap in the neighbouring village who was well set up for the day by lunchtime. As we waited in the local bar for our kufti, beer and chips, he swayed gracefully as he waited to board the small bus back to his bar-less village. When we arrived sometime later in the said village, he was there to greet us, beer in hand. I had a fleeting thought that he might have been dually employed by these villages to serve as their resident inebriated person to entertain the tourists, which at that time consisted of the five of us.

It was a cunning plan. He must have alerted the proud owner of the local folk museum that gullible people had arrived in the village. She approached us with a hungry smile, her eyes rolling with leva and sejinki signs (the local currency). She escorted us to the folk museum. An architecturally interesting building not far removed from the gingerbread cottage in Hansel & Gretel, and clearly a museum because the sign proclaimed it to be such. We entered to see a sad collection of old things, bits of agricultural equipment, some old costumes, all labelled with hand-written signs which explained nothing. Underfoot, old folk lino. We made appreciative noises so as not to offend, but our enjoyment clearly had a price out of all proportion to the experience. Such a contrast to the kindly woman in the local church.

Now we have plans to add a museum feature to our fantasy B&B. We have many old things, some of them we might even know something about, and plenty of sticky labels and marker pens. We can add more artefacts from our visits to the local car boot sale, thus providing an ever-changing display of old things, strictly within a folk tradition. We just need to put up the museum sign and we're in business. Come early to avoid disappointment.

Fantasy Bed & Breakfast

We were disappointed when we arrived at our pre-booked B&B in what appeared to be a small suburban area rather than the village location we expected. Our mood was not helped by how quickly we perceived that the place was neither a "bungalow" nor a "farm" as it's name had aspiringly suggested. We made our excuses and left, preferring to drive around for hours in the darkening evening to find somewhere else - which in the end turned out to be our own home.

If we decide to turn said home into a B&B, we clearly have free rein to call it whatever we wish. I like "Sea View", quaintly aspiring in the heart of landlocked Northamptonshire. Other possibilities include "The Old Granary" [we have a wooden bread bin] and "The Old Rectory" [there is a bible and prayer book somewhere].

Full English Breakfast (we will buy cheap cereals and put in branded boxes- similarly with the jams and sauces). Lots of lacey things and knitted covers for the spare bog rolls (sorry, toilet tissues). Rates on request - why not book your luxury weekend away from it all right now?!

Easy as ABC...for the Alpha Betically Challenged

It began with an early morning call to make a payment to my credit card account. Trying to get through the security left me feeling rather insecure about my cognitive faculties. "M is the second letter in the name Smith. What is the number of the letter z in your mother's maiden name? Please key in your answer." I hung up, not fully understanding what was required. Although I was at my office desk, I was clearly not yet fully awake - not an unusual occurrence, I must admit.

The next episode was a couple of days later when I unusually took the train to work (I mean, travelled by train, not actually bringing a train into the workplace - maybe that's for a future posting). The announcer announced, as was in his nature and probably job description too, that the carriages were configured in a not exactly alphabetical manner (I am paraphrasing here) - don't you hate it when trains come into the station in reverse alphabetical order, as if commuting wasn't stressful enough already? The icing on the cake was when he announced that people with reservations for carriage A would find them in carriage L. Thankfully I did not have a reservation. But I was secure in the knowledge as to where the "z" came in my mother's maiden name. We have to hold onto these little lifelines.

Beer Spill

A wonderful (or amazing; cf high vis jkts) traffic report on the radio yesterday. A lorry had shed its load of beer cans near a motorway junction. I tried so hard to come up with some appropriate witticisms, but the barrel clearly needs changing or the pipes need clearing. I imagined all those drivers caught in the long queues foaming at the mouth - if it had been Stella Artois, then it would have been "reassuringly inconvenient". The advice that "all good things that come to those who wait" would not have been well received, even by the Guinness drinkers. The lorry driver himself was probably feeling bitter about it. Further suggestions? - your round, I believe.

People Not to Invite to Dinner Parties

Obviously this is a slightly personal and biased view - please, do not totally exclude these people from normal social interactions. Today I speak only of the men - for yea, often they are - who provide the long, ponderous commentaries for the kind of historical re-enactments one sees in castles and other such historical places throughout the summer months. Full of dates and circumstantial detail, bereft of emotion. And the obligatory warning not to try this at home - how often have I felt like letting off a cannon in my back garden - never mind the neighbours, that would be no bad thing, but that's another story..! - or trying a bit of jousting with my beloved - now, there's a thought, if I can get the armour, a sort of armour d'amour...but I digress.
I have every respect for the enthusiasm of these people and all those who do the re-enactments, I am sure it brings history alive. But please, not at my dinner table.

Fluorescent Display

I suppose to be chemically correct, I should refer to "high visibilty jackets". A caller to the local radio station described how he had seen about ten men wearing said jackets on a motorway bridge he had just passed under. They had clipboards - half were looking at north-bound traffic, half at southbound. The caller described this as "an amazing sight". Mmm. I am not sure if Wordsworth would have got far with "A host of men in golden jackets..." I guess we all drive to a different muse.

Beltane Braces

Rather late in the day, Beltane greetings to all. I can't justify the title, other than I liked the sound of it. Maybe it is about bracing myself to compose this post. A combination of a late night last night and a busy day ahead precluded me from greeting the sunrise this morning, and I daresay a burst of enthusiastic drumming to greet the dawn would not have gone down too well with the neighbours - but no bad thing!

Strange....a vivid nightmare a couple of nights ago, perhaps presaging today - my shed and garden fence were consumed by flames. What could it mean? Burning fences rather than bridges? I watched in a detached way from my semi-detached bedroom window, and at the last minute decided to try and connect the garden hose to deal with the blaze - but too late. A hole where once the shed stood. The link with fire is clear - did I recount my memorable fire-walk of three years ago? Did I speak of my almost psychotic obsession with a local pagan woman in the build up to Beltane 5 years ago? The heart burns in a strange way.

Mexican Yawn

The three of us, my two daughters and I, sat on the sofa at the tail end of a Saturday and yawned in sequence. To be fair, I needed to prompt the youngest to complete the wave. And who said that families no longer make their own entertainment?

Plumbing New Depths - further misadventures in DIY

I think the passing of a fortnight has given me sufficient distance to record my ill-fated attempts to install a new tap in the kitchen. It all looked so straightforward, once I had worked out a contorted position that was not too painful to gain access to the securing nut. It all fell apart as I started to disconnect the flexi bits, only to find they had been installed in a rather strange way, the whole system under the sink looking very Heath Robinson-ish. Needless to say, I somehow or other caused a leak I could not stop, resulting in having to call out an emergency plumber - not a good idea for an incompetent delusional DIY-er to attempt something like that on a Sunday. At the same time, unwittingly I had turned off the water to my neighbour's house - no bad thing, but that is another story.

Dream Oranges

Oh the weirdest of dreams last night, arising from unknown depths. I moved my car from a parking space and somehow manoevered it into another space, by which time it had become a white van and was axle deep in oranges. I was pleased with my efforts, but when I returned to my vehicle to go home, I realised that I was completely stuck.

This is a fragment of a larger dream which was emotionally charged and vivid, the emotional vestiges of which remained with me all day. I tried to understand it in terms of being stuck in a jam - which might have worked if I was axle deep in strawberries, for example, but being stuck in marmalade seemed a bit strange.

London Trip

A wonderful day out in London with my daughters culminated in a spectacular trip at St Pancras International station. The train was a few minutes from departure time and very crowded, so worldly-wise and much-travelled dad suggested we all step it up a gear and run to the front part of the train. A deft change of direction and sudden acceleration, couple with some temporary miscommunication between brain and feet, led to the fall. My left arm shot forward in Superman style, my spectacles (not X-ray alas) remained on my head but not necessarily over my eyes, my wallet and tickets left my grip, my bag stayed with me. My mobile phone in my trouser pocket survived the impact at the cost to me of a large bruise on my thigh. We laughed about the predictablility of such an event once we secured seats on the train, thankful that I narrowly missed cracking my head on the pillar which necessitated the slight change in direction.

The event triggered memories of earlier falls, the most similar being when I went sprawling at Welllingborough station as I tried rather rashly to change carriages in icy conditions. Thankfully I remained attached to my brief case, otherwise it would have ended up under the train.

Have you ever fallen in public? I suppose one becomes inured to it in time.

Half a Mind

Posting the previous blog reminded me of the signs I saw in Boots during this year's January sales. Items on rows of shelves were being sold for "Half Marked Price!". Helpfully, strategically stuck on some of the shelves were "ready reckoners":

Marked price ....................................... Sale price
£1 ....................................................................50p
£2 ..................................................................£1

and so forth.

I had half a mind to complain about being patronised in this way..... surely anyone who needed this simple reckoner should not have been allowed out with their own money?

Semantically Suspect Shop Signs

The re-emergence of my pal Alliterative Al! The following sign caught my attention yesterday as I rushed through the shopping centre at Luton:

"Every garment £10 and less".


Surely it must be "or less"? Or am I just too pedantic to be let loose in a shopping centre?

When Socratic Questioning Goes Wrong

One of my patients explained she was nervous about telling her husband of her newly discovered pregnancy. In an attempt to help her realise that her husband had played a part in bringing about such an outcome, I asked her who was responsible for the pregnancy. She looked at me in a state of bewilderment, until I explained that I was not for a moment suggesting that it might have been anyone else other than her husband!

More Oranges

In the week of St Valentine's Day, it was pleasing to find that my daily oranges were in fact blood oranges. There was something special about this juxtaposition, and drinking the richly coloured juice was a lovely way to start the day. It made feel feel quite sanguine.

And this was beautifully counterpointed by an orange sun penetrating the early morning fog that curled over the fields on my journey to work.