It's amazing isn't it? The coalition government came to power with David Cameron's 'promise' of "No top-down reorganisation of the NHS" and, as practically its first act, carried out the biggest reorganisation of the service since its inception in 1948. Despite the deep reservations of many within and outwith the service, the government ploughed ahead with Andrew Lansley's unworkable plans for 'reform'. Eventually, even Cameron realised that the plans were deeply flawed and Lansley was dropped, Hunt brought in and the plan swiftly reworked into the Health and Social Care Act that we all love so much today (the irony klaxon is sounding in the background at this point). The total cost for the non-reorganisation is estimated to be £3 billion, a not insignificant amount for a government imposing austerity measures on the country because of a lack of funds for public services. Still, if it improves the service, it'd be money well-spent, wouldn't it?
Three years on from the Act and the NHS is in crisis (or not if you are Jeremy Hunt) with several key indicators being failed at local and national levels, month after month; mental health services stretched so thin that waiting lists for 'upstream' interventions are growing which, in turn, contributes to the increased acuity of cases requiring more intensive interventions or admission; staff shortages and low staff morale compounding the problems. But, is this all the fault of the Act? In part, possibly. The Act was, on the face of it, a big change to the way the NHS is organised: cutting out a level of bureaucracy, putting commissioning power into the hands of clinicians and improving quality through a tougher inspection regime. The reality is rather different. Yes, clinicians did take the reins when it comes to commissioning local healthcare, however, such a change could have been achieved without the Health and Social care Act by simply amending the mandated structure of Primary Care Trust Boards and requiring them to include more clinicians and put them in charge of commissioning. No costly, complex Act required. On the removal of bureaucracy and increased inspection, I think the Act has failed in a spectacular manner. Taking out one tier of the command chain but then introducing several new bodies that complicate that fairly simple chain, results in a confusing mess. Responsibilities that lay, in the past, with one body, have now been split between multiple bodies. Control of the NHS, which was previously ultimately in the hands of the Secretary of State, now seems split between several bodies leading to a lack of clarity and focus. Finally, the increase in inspection and oversight by three - count 'em - three regulatory bodies is costing a fortune and acts only to point out where the service has gone wrong. The bigger, more important function - what to do about such failure and how to build good quality into the everyday work of healthcare providers - seems a much lesser aspect of their work. Finding fault is seemingly easier to measure than ensuring quality and success. As at least one commentator on all things NHS has said, "You cannot inspect quality into a system".
So, in part, the act has failed. However, the other, bigger reasons for the crisis in the service are lack of cash and lack of integration with social care. On the latter, the Health and Social Care Act was the ideal opportunity to address the point but it did nothing about integration. Right now, A&Es are failing to meet their 4 hour waiting targets because people ready for discharge from hospital are blocking beds as the services to allow them to be safely discharged are not in place in the community. Health providers need to work much more closely with social care providers, especially in time of cash shortage. On the matter of money, I am not suggesting that merely throwing money at the NHS is the answer. However, the lie that the coalition have somehow 'protected' NHS funding has to be exposed: funding the service with a 0.5% budget increase when inflation is running at 4% sounds to me like a cut in the available cash. The £20 billion that the NHS had to save over the five years 2010 - 2015 pales into insignificance alongside the additional £30 billion that will need to be saved over the next five years if current funding trajectories are followed. Different thinking needs to be applied.
I know that putting together two leaky buckets does not make one good bucket and, by analogy, putting together a cash-strapped NHS with cash-strapped social services will not produce an instant financial miracle, solving the money worries of both parties. However, the announcement of the devolvement of the £6 billion health budget to the control of the Greater Manchester local authorities may, perhaps, allow that co-ordination of health and social care, to produce some economies through shared services such as back-office functions and just, overall, allow us to think about 'health' and wellbeing on a wider scale than just in terms of the biomedical model. There will be problems: council and health cultures are very different, many social care items are means tested and paid-for while healthcare is free and there will, potentially, be redundancies ahead but, overall, the Greater Manchester health and social care partnership would seem to be a positive move.
What really is amazing, though, is that it has taken so long for this partnership model to be tried in some shape or form. In health, we have talked for years and years about 'ensuring no-one slips through the gaps', providing 'joined-up services' and so on and so forth but it has proved to be extremely difficult working across the divide caused by two very different bodies, each covered by very different rules and regulations and with separate budgets that encourages silo thinking. Perhaps - just perhaps - now that health and social care are going to be on the 'same side' in Greater Manchester, patients and the public are going to see some benefits. That is, after all, what this is all about isn't it?
Thursday, 26 February 2015
Tuesday, 24 February 2015
Do yourself a favour
I have just been listening to today's broadcast of 'You and Yours' on BBC R4 and it is a wonder that I did not have an accident, so preoccupied was I with shouting - possibly screaming - at the radio in the car. They were taking listener views on the subject 'What have the arts ever done for me?'. Now, I realise from the start that these kind of phone in/Tweet in/text in affairs are always going to produce an overly-polarised division of opinions. Let's face it, they are not going to feature contributions from anyone who wants to put a balanced or reasoned view across. Instead, we get 'tit-for-tat' contributions, first from someone who says the arts are completely irrelevant and then from someone who owes their livelihood, marriage or sanity to the arts. Repeat over and over. Of course, it is meant to be provocative (or at least as provocative as Y&Y can be), but it still riles me every time...
In this particular debate, however, those giving a negative view of the contribution of the arts to society just came across as exceptionally narrow-minded and dull (as in beige) people. The first negative contributor seemed to be convinced that the only people who attend theatre or the opera (he reserved special bile for opera-goers) are the middle or upper classes. In part this may be true: I would guess that the theatre and opera are frequented by those classes to a greater degree than the working classes. In his world, this meant all public subsidy for those art forms should be stopped at once. However, I saw this as a reason why we need to keep public subsidy: God knows a night at the opera or theatre is expensive enough but without any subsidy, it would be prohibitive for all but the rich. If all tickets reflected full cost/no subsidy, the costs involved would prohibit a whole raft of people from ever experiencing these branches of the arts. Just what we want - extending the culture of privilege and exclusivity as opposed to encouraging access and inclusivity! In fact, as the caller went on, it became clear that he could find no place for the arts in the lives of 'ordinary' folk. I found that depressing. Someone who has such a large chip on their shoulder or whose heart is so dead to emotional contact that they are happy to leave theatre and opera to his perceived 'betters', I found to be an awful thought. "Art? It's alright for the likes of them toffs but give me a draughty church hall and a game of bingo anytime. I know my place!" he seemed to be saying.
The next caller was an art therapist who spoke of the use of art in the treatment of physical and mental illnesses. This used to be something that many hospitals provided: it was both popular and found to have positive benefits in terms of aiding recovery and/or improving outcomes. Unfortunately, when money gets tight, this kind of holistic approach to treatment bites the dust and any small move away from the traditional biomedical model of health is quickly ditched in favour of allopathic medicine. The art therapist explained that since health and local authority monies had dried up, she could now only provide her therapy on a private basis. It was now the turn for an 'anti-arts' person to speak so the next caller suggested that, because of the needs of austerity, all arts subsidies should be removed (due to "the mess made by the last Labour government" quoth he) and should instead be spent on something worthwhile "like the NHS". At that point I was definitely losing it as I was shouting at the radio "Have you not been listening to anything the previous caller said? Health is a wider issue than merely giving some drugs to someone or bandaging a limb, you bloody idiot!".
Art/the arts, often seem to be a difficult concept for some. It's almost as if we are scared to explore, to open up, to go out there and learn something about the world or about ourselves. Art is not about 'someone else' - it's about you and me, it's about shared experience, shared emotions; it's about the community in which we live. Yes, it may be a little difficult to get engaged with to begin with and, yes, it may be, unfortunately, overly associated with 'posh people'. But it doesn't have to be that way at all, not by a long chalk. The arts are for all. Treat yourself soon.
In this particular debate, however, those giving a negative view of the contribution of the arts to society just came across as exceptionally narrow-minded and dull (as in beige) people. The first negative contributor seemed to be convinced that the only people who attend theatre or the opera (he reserved special bile for opera-goers) are the middle or upper classes. In part this may be true: I would guess that the theatre and opera are frequented by those classes to a greater degree than the working classes. In his world, this meant all public subsidy for those art forms should be stopped at once. However, I saw this as a reason why we need to keep public subsidy: God knows a night at the opera or theatre is expensive enough but without any subsidy, it would be prohibitive for all but the rich. If all tickets reflected full cost/no subsidy, the costs involved would prohibit a whole raft of people from ever experiencing these branches of the arts. Just what we want - extending the culture of privilege and exclusivity as opposed to encouraging access and inclusivity! In fact, as the caller went on, it became clear that he could find no place for the arts in the lives of 'ordinary' folk. I found that depressing. Someone who has such a large chip on their shoulder or whose heart is so dead to emotional contact that they are happy to leave theatre and opera to his perceived 'betters', I found to be an awful thought. "Art? It's alright for the likes of them toffs but give me a draughty church hall and a game of bingo anytime. I know my place!" he seemed to be saying.
The next caller was an art therapist who spoke of the use of art in the treatment of physical and mental illnesses. This used to be something that many hospitals provided: it was both popular and found to have positive benefits in terms of aiding recovery and/or improving outcomes. Unfortunately, when money gets tight, this kind of holistic approach to treatment bites the dust and any small move away from the traditional biomedical model of health is quickly ditched in favour of allopathic medicine. The art therapist explained that since health and local authority monies had dried up, she could now only provide her therapy on a private basis. It was now the turn for an 'anti-arts' person to speak so the next caller suggested that, because of the needs of austerity, all arts subsidies should be removed (due to "the mess made by the last Labour government" quoth he) and should instead be spent on something worthwhile "like the NHS". At that point I was definitely losing it as I was shouting at the radio "Have you not been listening to anything the previous caller said? Health is a wider issue than merely giving some drugs to someone or bandaging a limb, you bloody idiot!".
Art/the arts, often seem to be a difficult concept for some. It's almost as if we are scared to explore, to open up, to go out there and learn something about the world or about ourselves. Art is not about 'someone else' - it's about you and me, it's about shared experience, shared emotions; it's about the community in which we live. Yes, it may be a little difficult to get engaged with to begin with and, yes, it may be, unfortunately, overly associated with 'posh people'. But it doesn't have to be that way at all, not by a long chalk. The arts are for all. Treat yourself soon.
Thursday, 19 February 2015
Miscellany (2)
A mixed bag or two rants and a question...
Getting onto the M66...
This rant goes out to the driver of a blue BMW 3-Series Coupe who was getting onto the M66 at Junction 1 this morning at around 8:15. You, sir or madam, are a complete idiot of the very worst kind. Personally, I don't care if you kill yourself through your crazed and selfish driving: that is entirely your own prerogative and I will not stand in your way should you wish to end it all in a mangled wreck of steel and plastic. As I say, your choice. However, if you choose to take the chance to bow out in such a manner, please, feel free to take your car to a track day at a race circuit or, cutting straight to the chase, find a nice sturdy concrete pillar and just drive straight at it. That should get the job done nicely! What I am trying to say is, do not involve me or any other motorist in your suicide plans: we are not as interested in you in shortening our lives. I saw you cut up four cars in the space of around 400 metres and at a speed of around 90 mph. Coming just a few days after a multiple car pile-up on the M40 leading to the death of one man, serious injuries to six people and 45 other injuries, one might have thought that lessons might be learned. Some selfish idiots, however, obviously refuse to be taught anything.
Cartoon memes
I had a thought last night. A couple of things that we might refer to as memes - a picture or a video clip that graduates to the status of cultural references - occurred in cartoons and comics when I was a child and, no doubt, still do today. The ones I was thinking of were the child in the doctor's surgery or casualty with a saucepan stuck on their head and the other was the notion of fixing a punctured bike tyre by 'bandaging' the holed area of the tyre. It got me thinking: where did these memes arise from? Did a cartooninst just think the notion of a child with a pan stuck on his head would be funny or did they know of a child it had happened to? Had it happened to the cartoonist themselves in childhood? Similarly, did anyone ever actually manage to fix a punctured tyre with a bandage rather than glueing on a patch? I'd love to know.
...Getting off the M66
When departing the M66 at Junction 1 (Ramsbottom turn-off), there are two lanes on the slip road. Where the slip road meets the top road (Manchester Road I think it is at that point), the left-hand lane turns left towards Bury while the right-hand lane turns right towards Ramsbottom and Edenfield. It seem logical to me that, if you want to go to Bury, get in the left-hand lane of the slip road but if you are going to Rammy or Edenfield, use the right-hand lane. Simple, yes? No, far too complex for some. The number of people who get in the left-hand lane, drive half-way down the slip road and then switch across to the right boggles my brain and pricks my OCD-like need for order. Yes, some may be people who are coming to Rammy for the first time and do not know the raod layout - I agree totally. Many, however, I know for a fact to be locals who take part in this strange lane switch, probably on a nightly basis. I'm confused...
Victor Meldrew signing off.
Getting onto the M66...
This rant goes out to the driver of a blue BMW 3-Series Coupe who was getting onto the M66 at Junction 1 this morning at around 8:15. You, sir or madam, are a complete idiot of the very worst kind. Personally, I don't care if you kill yourself through your crazed and selfish driving: that is entirely your own prerogative and I will not stand in your way should you wish to end it all in a mangled wreck of steel and plastic. As I say, your choice. However, if you choose to take the chance to bow out in such a manner, please, feel free to take your car to a track day at a race circuit or, cutting straight to the chase, find a nice sturdy concrete pillar and just drive straight at it. That should get the job done nicely! What I am trying to say is, do not involve me or any other motorist in your suicide plans: we are not as interested in you in shortening our lives. I saw you cut up four cars in the space of around 400 metres and at a speed of around 90 mph. Coming just a few days after a multiple car pile-up on the M40 leading to the death of one man, serious injuries to six people and 45 other injuries, one might have thought that lessons might be learned. Some selfish idiots, however, obviously refuse to be taught anything.
Cartoon memes
I had a thought last night. A couple of things that we might refer to as memes - a picture or a video clip that graduates to the status of cultural references - occurred in cartoons and comics when I was a child and, no doubt, still do today. The ones I was thinking of were the child in the doctor's surgery or casualty with a saucepan stuck on their head and the other was the notion of fixing a punctured bike tyre by 'bandaging' the holed area of the tyre. It got me thinking: where did these memes arise from? Did a cartooninst just think the notion of a child with a pan stuck on his head would be funny or did they know of a child it had happened to? Had it happened to the cartoonist themselves in childhood? Similarly, did anyone ever actually manage to fix a punctured tyre with a bandage rather than glueing on a patch? I'd love to know.
...Getting off the M66
When departing the M66 at Junction 1 (Ramsbottom turn-off), there are two lanes on the slip road. Where the slip road meets the top road (Manchester Road I think it is at that point), the left-hand lane turns left towards Bury while the right-hand lane turns right towards Ramsbottom and Edenfield. It seem logical to me that, if you want to go to Bury, get in the left-hand lane of the slip road but if you are going to Rammy or Edenfield, use the right-hand lane. Simple, yes? No, far too complex for some. The number of people who get in the left-hand lane, drive half-way down the slip road and then switch across to the right boggles my brain and pricks my OCD-like need for order. Yes, some may be people who are coming to Rammy for the first time and do not know the raod layout - I agree totally. Many, however, I know for a fact to be locals who take part in this strange lane switch, probably on a nightly basis. I'm confused...
Victor Meldrew signing off.
Wednesday, 18 February 2015
Who would Jesus vote for?
The furore over the pastoral letter published by the Church of England's House of Bishops threw up some interesting views. The letter urges Christians to ensure that they vote in the upcoming general election (so far, so neutral) but then goes on to point out some of the areas that people might want to consider when voting such as poverty, welfare reform and nuclear weapons whilst adding that "our democracy is failing" and noting the growing need to find scapegoats in society. Cue apoplexy on the Right...
The Sun, that balanced and ethical source of news and tits, screamed that the Church of England has "revealed its hand as the religious wing of the Labour Party"! The Times, another Murdoch rag that toes the Dirty Digger's party line on all matters, called the letter "political" and "nakedly partisan" whilst adding that the "tacit criticism" of the government contained in the letter had left the Prime Minister "incensed". The Daily Mail, another completely balanced and fair organ, called the letter "narrow-minded and insular" and advised bishops that if they wished to get political, they should throw away their mitres and stand for election. Finally, the Telegraph, although more accepting of the right of the bishops to say what they said, still felt that it gave the impression that left-wing ideas are more moral than those of the right.
The latter point is probably the crux of the whole matter: were the bisops being openly political in publishing their letter and if so, to what end? My answer would be of course they were being political: there is no way that any pronouncement of this kind cannot be extrapoloated to have a political resonance. We are in the (protracted) run up to a general election so anything that can possibly be interpreted as having 'meaning' or influence on it's outcome will be siezed upon by the press, especially a press that is a) in the majority right-wing and b) scared that a future Labour government will implement the recommendations of Leveson and rein in some of the excesses of Fleet Street. Consequently, anything that may give the faintest boost to Labour has to be stomped on, even when the message that the bishops wrote in the letter was always going to contain those sentiments, regardless of who is in power.
Yesterday, in an interview, Nadine Dorries (I know, I'm invoking all that is best on the Right today, aren't I?) said of the letter "[t]here is a very definite left-wing leaning to their message". And right there is the problem. The job of the church, in my simple mind at least, is to put into action the teachings of Jesus. Now knowledge of the bible is not my strongest suit but I'm pretty certain that much of what Jesus said and did was about ensuring that the needs of the poor, the sick, the vulnerable - those who are being left behind, especially when times are tough generally - should be at the forefront of our minds and should inform our actions. Jesus did not say - and neither are the bishops saying it - that making money or running the country well is anti-Christian, merely that part of the responsibility of those two activities should be ensuring that those less fortunate are properly cared for. In her comment, Ms Dorries exposes the fact that, rather than the bishops' comments being driven by any political bias, they are pro- the poor and vulnerable and, thus, contrary to the mood that the Coalition is currently promoting with their constant demonising of the poor as feckless scroungers.
Just as the Mail challenged the bishops to stand for election, I'd say the same to the editors of our so-called "free" press, a press which, in the level of political influence it seeks to exert, has become an enemy of the democratic process in this country. Peter Oborne in resigning from The Telegraph over its failure to properly cover the HSBC tax avoidance scandal (he called it a "fraud on their readers") is to be congratulated. In doing so, he is highlighting the current, debased role of the press: it is now less about telling us what we want to or should know but, instead, is much, much more about telling us what a bunch of newspaper owners want us to know and how we should be voting to best support their interests. I'd rather the bishops point out a few home truths every now and then if it wipes the endless diet of celebrity and showbiz gossip off the front pages for a while.
The Sun, that balanced and ethical source of news and tits, screamed that the Church of England has "revealed its hand as the religious wing of the Labour Party"! The Times, another Murdoch rag that toes the Dirty Digger's party line on all matters, called the letter "political" and "nakedly partisan" whilst adding that the "tacit criticism" of the government contained in the letter had left the Prime Minister "incensed". The Daily Mail, another completely balanced and fair organ, called the letter "narrow-minded and insular" and advised bishops that if they wished to get political, they should throw away their mitres and stand for election. Finally, the Telegraph, although more accepting of the right of the bishops to say what they said, still felt that it gave the impression that left-wing ideas are more moral than those of the right.
The latter point is probably the crux of the whole matter: were the bisops being openly political in publishing their letter and if so, to what end? My answer would be of course they were being political: there is no way that any pronouncement of this kind cannot be extrapoloated to have a political resonance. We are in the (protracted) run up to a general election so anything that can possibly be interpreted as having 'meaning' or influence on it's outcome will be siezed upon by the press, especially a press that is a) in the majority right-wing and b) scared that a future Labour government will implement the recommendations of Leveson and rein in some of the excesses of Fleet Street. Consequently, anything that may give the faintest boost to Labour has to be stomped on, even when the message that the bishops wrote in the letter was always going to contain those sentiments, regardless of who is in power.
Yesterday, in an interview, Nadine Dorries (I know, I'm invoking all that is best on the Right today, aren't I?) said of the letter "[t]here is a very definite left-wing leaning to their message". And right there is the problem. The job of the church, in my simple mind at least, is to put into action the teachings of Jesus. Now knowledge of the bible is not my strongest suit but I'm pretty certain that much of what Jesus said and did was about ensuring that the needs of the poor, the sick, the vulnerable - those who are being left behind, especially when times are tough generally - should be at the forefront of our minds and should inform our actions. Jesus did not say - and neither are the bishops saying it - that making money or running the country well is anti-Christian, merely that part of the responsibility of those two activities should be ensuring that those less fortunate are properly cared for. In her comment, Ms Dorries exposes the fact that, rather than the bishops' comments being driven by any political bias, they are pro- the poor and vulnerable and, thus, contrary to the mood that the Coalition is currently promoting with their constant demonising of the poor as feckless scroungers.
Just as the Mail challenged the bishops to stand for election, I'd say the same to the editors of our so-called "free" press, a press which, in the level of political influence it seeks to exert, has become an enemy of the democratic process in this country. Peter Oborne in resigning from The Telegraph over its failure to properly cover the HSBC tax avoidance scandal (he called it a "fraud on their readers") is to be congratulated. In doing so, he is highlighting the current, debased role of the press: it is now less about telling us what we want to or should know but, instead, is much, much more about telling us what a bunch of newspaper owners want us to know and how we should be voting to best support their interests. I'd rather the bishops point out a few home truths every now and then if it wipes the endless diet of celebrity and showbiz gossip off the front pages for a while.
Monday, 16 February 2015
Sleep deprivation
The dream ends suddenly and I am catapulted from the depths of sleep to being wide awake, all in the blink of an eye: from forty winks to raring to go in less time than it takes for a Porsche to leave you standing at traffic lights. I fumble for my specs in order to read the display on the radio, hoping desperately that the hour is reasonable. Perhaps I have woken up just before the alarm goes off. Perhaps I have slept through that alarm and can savour the feeling of relief, knowing that the need to get to work on time no longer applies to me. I have no such luck: it is 2:15 in the morning, barely four hours after I went to bed and my brain is now in a high gear. I know that simply shutting my eyes and pretending that sleep will come quickly to reclaim me is pointless. I might as well just go with the flow...
I pick up my phone and open Facebook. In the past, being a member of a couple groups on FB where the opinions expressed were - how shall we put it? - very challenging, looking at FB would have been a total no-no. By the time I had responded to the racist UKIP bilge posted by some members, my chances of being calm enough to sleep would have completely disappeared for the night! Now, no longer a member of those blood pressure-elevating groups, FB is a safer place to go. After a little wander on that site, I move to Twitter. Now this really is a little more dangerous. It is possible to end up reading racist UKIPpery, misogynist bile and other assorted idiocy that, once again, can get one's brain working overtime on some 140 character put down that will win the day (it rarely materialises). I know I should leave it alone, but I can't help myself! Unlike FB, where nearly all my contacts are in the UK and thus are probably enjoying the sleep I am denied, Twitter is global and just keeps on going, new posts appearing all night. No good when trying to tear oneself away from the screen.
Eventually, I manage to close Twitter only to see the little siren that is the Candy Crush icon, beckoning me to play just one teensy tiny little game. With Candy Crush, whether you complete a level or fail a level, the result is the same: you need to play "just one more round" either because you are sure that this time, you'll manage to clear all that bastard jelly or, if you have just completed a level, you must be on form and ready to clear a few more before bed. Either way, that's another few minutes wasted..
I check the clock once more: three o'clock. Time to try sleeping again. I lay down and, after a while telling myself that I'll never get back to sleep, I start to drift off when loud voices rouse me from imminent slumber. Two lads and their partners are having a conversation that, despite their probably being about three feet from each other, is conducted at the tops of their voices, either amplified by drink or from having had their ears deadened in a club all night. Then I hear one say "The car's here!" and I hope to God that at least one of them is sober. I hear the car door slam, and immediately look at the clock: 3:25. I think briefly about picking up the phone once more, but I know that that would be madness, Instead, I resolve to try to sleep once more.
Once more, the fuzzy feeling of limbo is upon me when I am wrenched back to life by the pealing of the parish church's bells that are announcing that it is four in the morning and all is well! I gnash my teeth, plump up the pillows and try to sleep once more. My night, now so disrupted, is never going to produce anything more than fitful dozing sprinkled with vivid and disturbing dreams which is punctuated every 15 minutes by my awakening by the quarter chimes from the church. Finally, just when all is lost and I am about to give up any idea of sleep, I drift off into a blissful deep, satisfying sleep....which is rudely terminated by John Humphrys' dulcet tones announcing "It is six o'clock and these are the headlines...".
I throw the duvet aside and swing out of the bed. I look down enviously at Elaine who has slept on through all of this. Oh well, I can always have a bit of a nana nap on the sofa this afternoon...
I pick up my phone and open Facebook. In the past, being a member of a couple groups on FB where the opinions expressed were - how shall we put it? - very challenging, looking at FB would have been a total no-no. By the time I had responded to the racist UKIP bilge posted by some members, my chances of being calm enough to sleep would have completely disappeared for the night! Now, no longer a member of those blood pressure-elevating groups, FB is a safer place to go. After a little wander on that site, I move to Twitter. Now this really is a little more dangerous. It is possible to end up reading racist UKIPpery, misogynist bile and other assorted idiocy that, once again, can get one's brain working overtime on some 140 character put down that will win the day (it rarely materialises). I know I should leave it alone, but I can't help myself! Unlike FB, where nearly all my contacts are in the UK and thus are probably enjoying the sleep I am denied, Twitter is global and just keeps on going, new posts appearing all night. No good when trying to tear oneself away from the screen.
Eventually, I manage to close Twitter only to see the little siren that is the Candy Crush icon, beckoning me to play just one teensy tiny little game. With Candy Crush, whether you complete a level or fail a level, the result is the same: you need to play "just one more round" either because you are sure that this time, you'll manage to clear all that bastard jelly or, if you have just completed a level, you must be on form and ready to clear a few more before bed. Either way, that's another few minutes wasted..
I check the clock once more: three o'clock. Time to try sleeping again. I lay down and, after a while telling myself that I'll never get back to sleep, I start to drift off when loud voices rouse me from imminent slumber. Two lads and their partners are having a conversation that, despite their probably being about three feet from each other, is conducted at the tops of their voices, either amplified by drink or from having had their ears deadened in a club all night. Then I hear one say "The car's here!" and I hope to God that at least one of them is sober. I hear the car door slam, and immediately look at the clock: 3:25. I think briefly about picking up the phone once more, but I know that that would be madness, Instead, I resolve to try to sleep once more.
Once more, the fuzzy feeling of limbo is upon me when I am wrenched back to life by the pealing of the parish church's bells that are announcing that it is four in the morning and all is well! I gnash my teeth, plump up the pillows and try to sleep once more. My night, now so disrupted, is never going to produce anything more than fitful dozing sprinkled with vivid and disturbing dreams which is punctuated every 15 minutes by my awakening by the quarter chimes from the church. Finally, just when all is lost and I am about to give up any idea of sleep, I drift off into a blissful deep, satisfying sleep....which is rudely terminated by John Humphrys' dulcet tones announcing "It is six o'clock and these are the headlines...".
I throw the duvet aside and swing out of the bed. I look down enviously at Elaine who has slept on through all of this. Oh well, I can always have a bit of a nana nap on the sofa this afternoon...
Monday, 9 February 2015
Sick
I suppose it is one of those fairly inevitable things: as we age, we become more infirm or susceptible to illness. I say 'fairly' as, until now - touch wood - I have had a pretty illness-free ride as an adult. My bout of depression two years ago and a broken ankle last year aside, I've been pretty much OK. The depression and the ankle were my first real brushes with conditions that limited one's ability to function fully in the way that one would wish. The depression was very much work-related and led to a real difficulty in going into the workplace that had become so entangled with negative thoughts and feelings. The broken ankle physically stopped me going to work as well as making every task in life something that had to be carefully considered before being undertaken: because of the exertions involved in getting up and down the stairs at home, trips to the loo became something that was put off until the last moment (although not too last moment, if you catch my drift).
It was a bit worrying then on Friday when I sat down in front of the computer to type up some notes for Elaine and found that I could not focus on the screen in front of me. It was not out-of-focus in the way that it woukd be if I had no glasses on (that really would be blurry!), but it was clear that something was very wrong. I checked the lenses of my glasses for any sticky finger prints - nothing. I then checked to see if the problem was in one or both eyes. Covering my right eye showed that the left eye was fine, but covering the left eye revealed the problem was isolated in the right eye: the vision through that eye was really quite blurred. I found this probably a lot more worrying than I let on to Elaine. Despite my abiding love of music, both playing and listening, and the sound of my own voice (as some might say!), I think I could deal with deafness better than I ever could blindness. Consequently, any problem that arises with my eyes, I will, of course, convince myself is the start of a major problem (despite the fact that my attitude to contact lens cleanliness can be rather cavalier - more of this later).
Although we were due to be setting off for Birmingham, we agreed that a trip to the hospital was probably more important. After a three hour wait in A&E, the consultant who saw me said that the cause was unlikely to be a major blood vessel burst, but it might be a smaller rupture and the possibility of a degree of detachment of the retina! This is not what I needed to hear as my brain has begun to project forward on that basis and, of course, is imagining a deterioration in that condition until I lose the sight in the eye...you know, just the way we men are supposed to extrapolate from something tiny. Anyhow, he organises a trip to see an ophthalmologist that evening at Rochdale Infirmary.
When I finally get to see the ophthalmologist, she confirms that the back of the eye is fine (thank you, higher power!), but there is the start of a viral infection on the cornea of the eye. When I think back to my bout of shingles a few years ago which ended with the left eye getting infected, the visual impairment was very similar. I am packed off with painkillers, anti-viral and anti-bacterial eye creams (covering all the bases) and a warning not to use my contact lenses - the probable cause of the problem (I am crap at rubbing them clean each morning and night) - for "a very long time". I ask the ophthalmologist what constitutes "a very long time" and I can see in her face that she wants to say "Never again!" but, instead, she advises two weeks which will co-incide with my follow-up appointment. So, I am now applying one cream five times a day, the other twice a day and my vision is now affected by a constant coating of gloop on my right eye. Hopefully though, it will do the trick.
On Sunday morning, having finally arrived in Birmingham, I suddenly realise that my balance is a bit dodgy and my head continues to feel as if it is 'moving' after making any sudden movement and then stopping. I think this viral infection may actually be a little more widespread than just my eye...
It was a bit worrying then on Friday when I sat down in front of the computer to type up some notes for Elaine and found that I could not focus on the screen in front of me. It was not out-of-focus in the way that it woukd be if I had no glasses on (that really would be blurry!), but it was clear that something was very wrong. I checked the lenses of my glasses for any sticky finger prints - nothing. I then checked to see if the problem was in one or both eyes. Covering my right eye showed that the left eye was fine, but covering the left eye revealed the problem was isolated in the right eye: the vision through that eye was really quite blurred. I found this probably a lot more worrying than I let on to Elaine. Despite my abiding love of music, both playing and listening, and the sound of my own voice (as some might say!), I think I could deal with deafness better than I ever could blindness. Consequently, any problem that arises with my eyes, I will, of course, convince myself is the start of a major problem (despite the fact that my attitude to contact lens cleanliness can be rather cavalier - more of this later).
Although we were due to be setting off for Birmingham, we agreed that a trip to the hospital was probably more important. After a three hour wait in A&E, the consultant who saw me said that the cause was unlikely to be a major blood vessel burst, but it might be a smaller rupture and the possibility of a degree of detachment of the retina! This is not what I needed to hear as my brain has begun to project forward on that basis and, of course, is imagining a deterioration in that condition until I lose the sight in the eye...you know, just the way we men are supposed to extrapolate from something tiny. Anyhow, he organises a trip to see an ophthalmologist that evening at Rochdale Infirmary.
When I finally get to see the ophthalmologist, she confirms that the back of the eye is fine (thank you, higher power!), but there is the start of a viral infection on the cornea of the eye. When I think back to my bout of shingles a few years ago which ended with the left eye getting infected, the visual impairment was very similar. I am packed off with painkillers, anti-viral and anti-bacterial eye creams (covering all the bases) and a warning not to use my contact lenses - the probable cause of the problem (I am crap at rubbing them clean each morning and night) - for "a very long time". I ask the ophthalmologist what constitutes "a very long time" and I can see in her face that she wants to say "Never again!" but, instead, she advises two weeks which will co-incide with my follow-up appointment. So, I am now applying one cream five times a day, the other twice a day and my vision is now affected by a constant coating of gloop on my right eye. Hopefully though, it will do the trick.
On Sunday morning, having finally arrived in Birmingham, I suddenly realise that my balance is a bit dodgy and my head continues to feel as if it is 'moving' after making any sudden movement and then stopping. I think this viral infection may actually be a little more widespread than just my eye...
Tuesday, 3 February 2015
Miscellany
A collection of bits and pieces that have been hovering around my brain. No thematic links, just some random stuff...
What's good for the gander...
Andy Murray's finacee, Kim Sears, got an awful lot of covergae in the press because she swore when watching her other half win in the semi-final of the Australian Tennis Open. Had the tone of the articles been that swearing in public places such as tennis matches is perhaps to be frowned upon, I could just about understand it. Instead, the reproting seemed to fixate on either a) Kim is a woman publicly swearing during the course of a sporting event or b) referring to the opponent's nationality in one of her rather excellent swears was somehow 'racist'. In the case of the 'racism' charge, I think "Fuck you, you Czech fuck!" hardly constitutes a slur on the fellow's nationality, let alone his 'race' (there was no mention of his being a "Caucasian fuck"). We don't tend to have any offensive slang terms for the Czech in the way we do for the French, Germans, Italians and so forth. This meant that Kim was left with only one option which was to call him 'Czech' which cannot really be offensive as the player is...Czech. On the first point, however, had this been a male spectator saying these things, eyebrows would not have been raised and it would have been acknowledged to be a normal occurrence during a tense sporting event. It may not be polite and it may not be appropriate, but it is no worse because a woman has said those things. I think we can all agree that we have moved on a little from the days of the ladies being the 'gentle sex'. Equality means women being able to behave in the same way as men in showing their support at a sporting event without triggering acres of newsprint debating the rights and wrongs of the issue.
Whiplash
What a top film! I can completely understand why J.K. Simmons has been nominated for an Oscar as his performance is a masterclass in portaying the bullying manipulation meted out by his music teacher character. Miles Teller playing the pupil at the centre of the story is also excellent. It is a nice study of what lengths we will go to, what sacrifices we are prepared to make in order to achieve greatness (and I don't mean the kind that comes from winning X Factor or The Voice) and what constitutes legitimate encouragement: can a constant stream of haranguing belittlement be acceptable/successful as a training method? The final showdown and the last couple of shots are priceless! Oh - the music is pretty good too! Do yourself a favour and see this film.
Murray (slight return)
There is nothing we do better in this country than making snide little attacks on those who, ten minutes ago, we were building up to be the best thing since the proverbial loaf separated into manageable portions. Andy Murray is a case in point. Yet again, the media has lapped up his performance throughout the Aussie Open and hailed the "British' player's success. However, once he crashed out in the semi-final, he had reverted to being "the beaten Scot" (the BBC no less!). This is pretty low, guys and needs to be sorted soon. Either he is British in victory and defeat or he is a Scot in both cases: it is unfair to cherry-pick only the good times on behalf of the wider country. Sometimes I can understand why the Scots are frustrated with (euphemism for 'dislike') the English...
What's good for the gander...
Andy Murray's finacee, Kim Sears, got an awful lot of covergae in the press because she swore when watching her other half win in the semi-final of the Australian Tennis Open. Had the tone of the articles been that swearing in public places such as tennis matches is perhaps to be frowned upon, I could just about understand it. Instead, the reproting seemed to fixate on either a) Kim is a woman publicly swearing during the course of a sporting event or b) referring to the opponent's nationality in one of her rather excellent swears was somehow 'racist'. In the case of the 'racism' charge, I think "Fuck you, you Czech fuck!" hardly constitutes a slur on the fellow's nationality, let alone his 'race' (there was no mention of his being a "Caucasian fuck"). We don't tend to have any offensive slang terms for the Czech in the way we do for the French, Germans, Italians and so forth. This meant that Kim was left with only one option which was to call him 'Czech' which cannot really be offensive as the player is...Czech. On the first point, however, had this been a male spectator saying these things, eyebrows would not have been raised and it would have been acknowledged to be a normal occurrence during a tense sporting event. It may not be polite and it may not be appropriate, but it is no worse because a woman has said those things. I think we can all agree that we have moved on a little from the days of the ladies being the 'gentle sex'. Equality means women being able to behave in the same way as men in showing their support at a sporting event without triggering acres of newsprint debating the rights and wrongs of the issue.
Whiplash
What a top film! I can completely understand why J.K. Simmons has been nominated for an Oscar as his performance is a masterclass in portaying the bullying manipulation meted out by his music teacher character. Miles Teller playing the pupil at the centre of the story is also excellent. It is a nice study of what lengths we will go to, what sacrifices we are prepared to make in order to achieve greatness (and I don't mean the kind that comes from winning X Factor or The Voice) and what constitutes legitimate encouragement: can a constant stream of haranguing belittlement be acceptable/successful as a training method? The final showdown and the last couple of shots are priceless! Oh - the music is pretty good too! Do yourself a favour and see this film.
Murray (slight return)
There is nothing we do better in this country than making snide little attacks on those who, ten minutes ago, we were building up to be the best thing since the proverbial loaf separated into manageable portions. Andy Murray is a case in point. Yet again, the media has lapped up his performance throughout the Aussie Open and hailed the "British' player's success. However, once he crashed out in the semi-final, he had reverted to being "the beaten Scot" (the BBC no less!). This is pretty low, guys and needs to be sorted soon. Either he is British in victory and defeat or he is a Scot in both cases: it is unfair to cherry-pick only the good times on behalf of the wider country. Sometimes I can understand why the Scots are frustrated with (euphemism for 'dislike') the English...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)