tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59695159994241597062024-03-13T15:59:40.057+00:00Peripatetic PyneosaurusIn which our hero bravely attempts to make some kind of sense of the world around us - assuming The Matrix is incorrect.
Plus all of my hobby and interest bits. Enjoy (hopefully)!Trevor Pynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13746390266232054374noreply@blogger.comBlogger6125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5969515999424159706.post-82506112755508604372011-10-22T14:38:00.001+01:002011-10-22T14:38:31.956+01:00Cotton Wool Head<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Tough
one. Haven’t written for a little while,
so don’t know how this is going to turn out.
Plus, I’m feeling as if I’m permanently fighting off a cold, so here
goes – more whingeing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">As
some of you may know I was meeting with a psychologist a little while
back.<span> </span>It was supposed to be a weekly
thing, but it was very seldom that I could bring myself to make two weeks in a
row. <span> </span>I’m not sure why, although this
crushing sense of inaction and <i>ennui</i> could
have something to do with it.<span> </span>He was a
very nice man (shades of Harry Enfield’s two old ladies there) who proceeded to
put me in touch with various agencies to help me get better, which I thought
was great.<span> </span>As much as anything, in these
times where anyone daring to be ill and claim off the state is vilified by the
big business-owned tabloids, and whose words are echoed by the general public (or
at least, those with rocks in their heads), it was wonderfully uplifting to
hear words of encouragement.<span> </span>It helped
lots, too, that I felt that I was being taken seriously for a change.<span> </span>Depression is not like a broken arm; when
your arm is in a sling everyone can see that something is up.<span> </span>They can also work out what it is.<span> </span>When your happiness and well-being is broken
then there is a general feeling among – well… pretty much everyone outside of a
surgery, as far as I can work out – that, as they cannot see what is wrong then
nothing <i>is</i> wrong.<span> </span>Want to see a magic trick?<span> </span>Tell most people that the reason you’re not
working is due to depression and watch their compassion vanish on the spot.<span> </span>Sooner or later – and, believe you me, this
hurts much harder when they call themselves your friends – they will
judge/bully you about it.<span> </span>It’s as if
Sigmund Freud had never been born.<span>
</span>Anyway, to get back to the point, I was referred to two agencies by him;
one was a fitness, gym-based thing and the other was a CBT course.<span> </span>For those of you who don’t know (and indeed,
why should you?) CBT is <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cognitive_behavioral_therapy">Cognitive Behavioural Therapy</a>.<span> </span>From what I can gather, the idea is not to hit
the depression head-on, but to treat the “symptoms”, as it were.<span> </span>For instance, if I were to sit indoors in the
dark watching Jeremy Kyle’s chav-baiting for hours on end whilst eating an
industrial-size bag of Wotsits, the CBT team would look at this then ask me if
I feel it’s bringing me down.<span> </span>The
thinking behind it is that I will look at my behaviour, say “Gosh, yes, it’s
dragging me down very quickly indeed” and open the curtains, turn off the telly
and go for a brisk walk around the park, stopping at the organic health food
boutique on the way.<span> </span>Repeat this often
enough and the activity, the generation of endorphins and (presumably) some
loss of weight from all that veg will make one feel marvellous enough to cease
claiming Incapacity Benefit and jog to the Job Centre Plus and sign on to
enthusiastically look for jobs that aren’t there.<span> </span>I digress, and I’m being too cruel.<span> </span>The staff themselves are caring individuals
who are doing their best to help to cure, or at least alleviate, a crippling,
debilitating condition that can reach into your life and twist it inside-out.<span> </span>It would just make me feel more cheerful if
there were a buoyant labour market in this country instead of the ‘let’s make
stuff in China’ syndrome that our ‘business’ men and women currently have,
leaving a small trail of Mcjobs in their trail, like the crumbs that they are.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The
other key to wellness and freedom is the gym.<span>
</span>Guess what?<span> </span>I haven’t been!<span> </span>There’s a surprise.<span> </span>Strangely enough, I was looking forward to
it, but there was a bit of a snag; the first one coincided with my lovely fiancée
having a hospital appointment.<span> </span>She’s had
some incredibly unfortunate incidents with hospitals before, so she likes me to
come along for moral support.<span> </span>The first
gym appointment was on this day, along with my first CBT that evening.<span> </span>There was also the fact that the gym cost
£3.40 to attend (not a princely sum, I grant you, but I didn’t have it at the
time) and I had to pay fares to get from one end of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/London_Borough_of_Wandsworth">Wandsworth borough</a> to the
other, as the other rendezvous(es?) were in very different directions.<span> </span>There was also the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edema">water on my feet</a>
issue.<span> </span>This can be indicative of many
things.<span> </span>It is linked to being
overweight, inactivity, too much salt in the diet, anti-depressant and blood-pressure
medication.<span> </span>Guess which box I tick?<span> </span>Full marks to you if you said ‘all of them’.<span> </span>My feet swell up, my boots don’t fit properly
and walking anywhere – even to the local shop, normally four minutes’ stroll
away – becomes agony as my feet, my hips <i>and</i>
my back all join in the complaining.<span>
</span>Still, having said that, I’ve realised that if I start a journey by
walking very, very slowly then I can normally get from A to B on foot – or as
far as the bus stop, at least.<span> </span>I actually
managed two miles in one go on Wednesday, which I didn’t think was too shabby.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Ah,
well.<span> </span>All good things must come to an
end – and so must this blog.<span> </span>It’s all a
work in progress, as you can see – my condition as well as the writing.<span> </span>I want at least some of this to work, as I’m
going through what is quite a low patch even for me.<span> </span>What did Douglas Adams call it – “<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Long_Dark_Tea-Time_of_the_Soul">the long dark teatime of the soul</a>”?<span> </span>Well, teatime’s
gone on for over a fortnight here.<span>
</span>Still, the very fact that I haven’t got my ‘cotton wool head’ today is
something.<span> </span>For those who don’t
understand ‘cotton wool head’ is when my head feels as if it is full up with
the aforementioned substance, and not a bizarre sexual practice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I
leave you all feeling a little more alert than I have been for a while. Thank you for putting aside your precious
time to read this, and I hope that you feel the need to pop out and enjoy the sunshine
that is currently beaming down over the UK. Blessed be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>Trevor Pynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13746390266232054374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5969515999424159706.post-1833720216542054332011-10-07T15:11:00.002+01:002011-10-10T15:19:59.766+01:00Warning - May Contain some Billy Bragg<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">“In perpetrating a revolution,
there are two requirements: someone or something to revolt against and someone
to actually show up and do the revolting. Dress is usually casual and both
parties may be flexible about time and place, but if either faction fails to
attend, the whole enterprise is likely to come off badly”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">-Woody Allen, A Brief Yet Helpful
Guide To Civil Disobedience (Without Feathers), 1972<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TQVd1ympZCE/To8C8iav1jI/AAAAAAAAAK0/ka6vlUOuhMk/s1600/Comerade+Trev+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TQVd1ympZCE/To8C8iav1jI/AAAAAAAAAK0/ka6vlUOuhMk/s320/Comerade+Trev+2.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Bow down, scum.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">©
Trevor R Pyne 2011</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">As I perform my tea and toast ceremony
(very zen) my mind is drawn to the state of the world today. I can hear the groans already – “oh no, Trev,
not more stuff complaining about things”.
To which I reply: tough. If you
don’t like it then go and write your own blog.
This is for me to vent my spleen, and I like my spleen well vented, I
can tell you. To keep things brief: the
world today has far too many people in abject poverty and squalor, not to miss
out the victims of war and <a href="http://www.antislavery.org/english/">modern slavery</a>.
To make an emphatic point here, I am not talking about wage slavery,
although that’s pernicious and life-draining enough, I’m talking about conning
workers from poor countries into a rich one , then stealing their passport (I
was going to say <i>confiscating</i>, but
that dignifies it far too much), paying them barely or not at all so that they
cannot get back to their homes and (unfortunately, with a huge ‘of course’
here) threatening them, and subjecting them to, violence. It goes on in the UK, probably in other parts
of Europe, too, and on a huge scale in the Middle East.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">We also have a world of so much
stuff and money, too. I was partaking in
a modest pub crawl with my fiancée and one of my many cousins the other day (I
have a <i>huge</i> family). Being both very lucky, and yet, not as lucky
as some, it was but the work of half an hour or so to get to the City of
London, that well-known financial district and home of pubs that shut at the
weekend. We started near <a href="http://www.jdwetherspoon.co.uk/home/pubs/hamilton-hall">LiverpoolStreet</a>, moved to near the <a href="http://www.jdwetherspoon.co.uk/home/pubs/the-liberty-bounds">Tower of London</a> and wound up in the <a href="http://www.skdocks.co.uk/">relatively-new</a>
<a href="http://www.dickensinn.co.uk/">Saint Katherine Docks</a>. I was both
delighted and appalled. Delighted,
because a former grimy, industrial district was now scrubbed clean and had
become, with its marina and twee chandlers, restaurants and glossy pubs, a rich
person’s playground. Appalled, because a
former grim – I’m sure you can join up the dots. What would I have replaced it with? A shudderingly bleak, thrice-grey estate of
tower blocks, whose blueprints I would actually have purchased from the former
Soviet Union to make sure that they were really, truly from the time of Josef
Stalin. Ha! Or possibly (hold onto your hats here) something
not totally dissimilar to the, admittedly, pleasing low-rise flats already
here, but built by… (lowers voice so as not to shock) The Council! I am fully aware that it is not <i>de rigeur</i> to expect one’s local municipal
authority to be responsible for the crafting of one’s dwellings, but that’s how
old-fashioned and out of touch I am. Basildon,
in Essex, might not strike most folk as an example of architecture in harmony
with its surroundings, but, from 1979 onwards the estate at <a href="http://www.basildon.gov.uk/CHttpHandler.ashx?id=3215&p=0">Noak Bridge</a>, to the
north-west of Basildon <i>propre</i> was
built. The houses were designed in a
post-modern vernacular; not only styled after older houses without slavishly
imitating them but also creating meandering roads and cul-de-sacs that
positively encourage a sense of community and belonging. In effect, the best of both worlds and, for
reasons to this day that I cannot fathom, almost completely unknown and
untrumpeted. I would bring in architects
whose work is similar to Maurice Naunton and George Garrard, the enlightened men
whose work Noak Bridge is, to create my socialist Utopia on the banks of the
Thames.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">However (as I am wont to say),
this is right off course and no mistake.
Revolution. Yes. Well, a short time ago, perhaps even last
year, I would have pooh-poohed such a thought.
An uprising, in this day and age?
What with state-of-the-art government surveillance and computerised
everything? You can even be tracked by
your mobile phone, so any ringleaders can be found post-haste, rounded up and
thrown in the clink, thus leaving the revolutionary vanguard without a guard
for its van, so to speak. Plus the fact
that the rabble cannot be roused, as its constituent members far prefer <i>X-Factor</i> or football to the real world –
and, in some ways, who can blame them?
Government, for virtually all of its inception in any country, has been
about serving the interests of a self-appointed élite and (big surprise, this)
not about serving the needs of the majority of the hapless citizens trapped
within its boundaries. Stuff like “The Pharaoh
wants to be buried in a <i>what</i>? <i>How</i>
big? Right, boys, get the whips”. Even when the revolutions have started out
socialist, some rotter comes along and creates a gigantic dictatorship. And, unfortunately, not a dictatorship of the
people (do you see a pattern here?) but of himself (for the life of me I cannot
think of a female tyrant that usurped the uprising of a nation)? These are just some of the reasons that I felt
that a revolution would never come about.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The Internationale, sung and interpreted by Billy Bragg</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">But hark – what’s this on the
horizon? Crikey, if I didn’t know any
better, it appears to be the sound of some grass roots – and they seem to be
organising! What’s more, they’ve knocked
this pesky “thanks for the revolt, people, you can go back home – I’m in charge
now” issue on the head by having minimal organising and no leaders! Step forward the “<a href="http://wearethe99percent.tumblr.com/">We Are The 99%</a>” movement,
previously known as the Arab Spring, the <a href="http://www.99percent.org.uk/">British Summer</a> (always stormy, that
one) and demonstrations in Greece, Italy, Spain and so on. In one sense, the powers-that-be (but, very,
very hopefully that-won’t-be-much-longer) were right. Educating the masses and then letting them
communicate with each other is a no-no if you want to stay holding onto your
cash cow. Especially when those who have
just been educated realise that they have no shiny pot of gold and a company
BMW at the end of their hard work and ridiculously huge student debt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Obviously, it’s early days. I hope fervently, however, that the seeds
have been sown. It’s one thing to have
some bunch of robber barons at the top of a pile that, at least, has a
reasonable amount of affluence. One can
overlook the fact that some have a huge portion of the pie if the sliver you
have still represents some comfort and an acceptable standard of living. It’s quite another for <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2011/oct/05/david-cameron-conservative-party-city-of-london?fb=native&CMP=FBCNETTXT9038">the political wing ofthe City</a> to pass around more champagne and roast cherub to their mates, then
tells the rest of us that there will be a mouldy crust for the rest of us to
share (all of these food references – I’m getting hungry, now) because times
are hard but hey “we’re all in this together”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">So I raise a glass to the future,
whilst hoping and praying that, this time, we get it right. Does clenched-fist salute and exits to the
strains of “Won’t Get Fooled Again”.</span><o:p></o:p><br />
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Trevor Pynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13746390266232054374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5969515999424159706.post-65295159907212758802011-09-30T12:12:00.000+01:002011-09-30T12:13:12.727+01:00Painful Pins<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Agony.
Bloody aching and hurty ankles. Painful
shoulders and neck. Still finding it
difficult to move around after yesterday’s exertions. “Crikey, Trev”, I hear you chorus, “What did
you do? Swim the Channel? Run a marathon instead of eating one? Cycle across England again (I’ve actually
done this twice when I was younger and, consequently, more mobile and the sheer
thought of such a thing didn’t reduce me to a gibbering mass)? To which the answer is no, none of the
above. So, what was this Herculean task
that I undertook that reduced me to this crawling, agonised, whimpering (that’s
a good word) lump with bones in?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I walked to the shops. I know, I know. Walked to the bloody shops. I can hear the laughter welling up, so stop
it now. It’s over a mile each way, you
know. Why is this such a big deal for
me, then? I shall tell you (after all, I’ve
got to do something to shut you up). I
now weigh over 20 stone (131kg, I think).
This, coupled with my distinct lack of height, means I have a Body Mass
Index similar to that of Jupiter and could, according to the many and varied
healthcare professionals who drift into my orbit (and quite a few helpful,
public-spirited passers-by) stand to lose the odd gram or two. Quite.
How did you get in this parlous state, Trev, goes up the cry? To which I reply “Apart from the <a href="http://cathy-smith.suite101.com/british-food-meat-pies-for-all-a20240">pies</a>, you
mean”? Well, gather round and I’ll tell ‘ee
a tale.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">To begin with, I was astonishingly
sylph-like up until <a href="http://www.whsb.essex.sch.uk/">grammar school</a>. For
some reason (probably not being too bothered about playing <a href="http://www.whsb.essex.sch.uk/?page_id=53">rugby</a>, which seemed
like legalised maiming to me – and still does, for that matter) I began to put
on weight. Add to that my passion for
reading, especially science-fiction short stories and the works of Arthur Conan
Doyle, and the compulsory doing of lots of homework, and now I think we’re all
beginning to build up a picture. This
brings us to the pies. I love pies so
much that I might give them their own post – maybe not on here but on my other
blog, going into the history and that.
When I say “pies”, I mean steak and kidney, pork, etc.. Not fruit pies. A home-made apple pie is alright, I suppose,
but it’s not really what floats my personal aquatic surface transport. No, it has to be proper, meat-filled pies
with absolutely none of this “pastry crust on a bowl of meat”, oh no. That’s not a pie – it’s a lie, as I forget
who said. There’s even a Facebook group
on the subject. Mind you, there’s
probably a Facebook group about that cat that looks like Hitler. Anyway, I’m sure you comprehend the visual depiction. If there’s any foodstuff that can be
guaranteed to turn one into a turnover then it’s the pie. Then there’s my thyroid. The more faithful of you, my dear reader(s),
may have read my post on this very blog about how <a href="http://www.patient.co.uk/health/Hypothyroidism-Underactive-Thyroid.htm">hypothyroidism</a> (the
under-production of the thyroid hormone) adds to such a scenario as being able
to work as a department store Father Christmas without padding. These, of themselves, are bad enough. “What about all this cycling, though?” I
would shout if I were you (actually I wouldn’t be that rude, but we’ll let that
pass for now). That fell by the wayside
when we moved to London. My ex-wife and
I used to cycle lots; the <a href="http://www.visitessex.com/discover/rural/">Essex countryside</a> (yes, it exists. It’s not just <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Romford">Romford</a> connected to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Southend-on-Sea">Southend-on-Sea</a>,
you know) the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Isle_of_Wight">Isle of Wight</a>, the Coast-to-Coast rides above and a few times in
France. One day we moved to the Smoke
and, by some means or other, that was that.
Anyway, when I finally went solo from the marriage, I only ended up
cycling a couple of times. The traffic
didn’t worry me unduly but I never regained my enthusiasm. Then there is also <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vitamin_D_deficiency">depriving yourself ofvitamin D</a>. If you do not expose the body
to small yet regular doses of sunlight (and we’re talking face and forearms
here – not mankinis in the street) one’s body stops making vitamin D and the
<a href="http://www.vitamind3-cholecalciferol.com/vitamin-d-benefits.htm">many enhancements it brings to one’s life – including less depression</a> – are not
present. I hope you see a pattern
forming. The final step was the PC. My PC is used, as I’m sure most of yours are,
for lots of different functions; games, blogging, staying in touch with friends
and family, music, films, finding out about local events, etc., etc.. Let’s recap, shall we? I don’t cycle any more, I eat food which
piles onto my midriff with no steady release of energy and I don’t feel up to
going out thanks to those twin Dementors, Hypothyroidism and depression. So, the inevitable happens. I inflate.
I also become acclimatised to hiding in a corner and vicariously attempting
to exist through the computer. What happens
next? Well, what <i>did</i> happen next? I spent most
of the last fifteen years (!) or thereabouts as solidly glued to the wall of my
flat as mould – only considerably less cheerful, decorative and fun to be with. It still astonishes me that I managed to find
and become engaged to the love of my life in that time. Why, then, am I now starting to move around,
attend dietician’s meetings, go up the shops and some such? Why now, Trev?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Things sometimes have to get worse
before they get better. Last year I told
my GP that I felt a tad down yet again and they put me on to a new initiative known
as the Wandsworth Psychological Therapies and Wellbeing Service. They are fairly new, having been formed
within the last two or three years. The psychologist
assesses one, treats one then suggests other bits and bobs to help. Whilst it’s true that my GP also recommended
some of the same treatments it is completely different when someone expects you
to actually – say - walk to a meeting as opposed to suggesting that it might be
a good idea at one time or another. It
was as a direct result of this intervention that I started to move around and
to schedule meetings with other medical folk to get my physical health looked
at some more. These folk include Wandsworth Council’s own physical
activity scheme and the NHS Dietician, to whose tender mercies I have subjected
my diet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">It’s astonishingly early days,
yet. I still haven’t got the gym
sessions (which were supposed to have started this Monday just gone) sorted out
as my feet are retaining water and currently look like a pair of novelty foam slippers
on my normal feet and, if I may refer you to the top of this post, hurt even if
I go down the shops. I’ll e-mail them (thy
gym; not my feet) when I’ve finished this.
The diet, though, is (if I say so myself) starting off okay, with veg
outnumbering everything except bread (which is wholemeal, at least). Please may I ask you, then, to cross your
fingers, pray to your gods and wish me well in my quest for happiness AND
fitness. I thank you and although you
haven’t asked I’ll keep you informed as to my progress. No, no, don’t thank me – oh…</span><o:p></o:p></div>
Trevor Pynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13746390266232054374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5969515999424159706.post-32252178532104655782011-09-25T09:53:00.000+01:002011-09-25T09:55:50.111+01:00Mixed Baggage<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; line-height: 21px;">It’s another murky
Sunday morning, and I’m up and about – although not in a meaningful, energetic
way. It’s more of a stumbling, lurching
way, to be precise. To mitigate myself
(is that English? Too early to tell) I
am waiting for my tea to brew. Being
completely and utterly up myself (no, I’m not a contortionist) the tea is
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lapsang_souchong">Lapsang Souchong</a>. It’s a black Chinese
tea smoked, originally, over pine needles, apparently to dry it faster as it
was very popular. It tastes quite a lot
of the smoke, so (uh-oh – ponce alert) it complements the English autumn’s wood
smoke notes perfectly in my ‘umble opinion, guv’nor. Now, one should partake of this fragrant, oriental
infusion after letting it brew for a short while and one should drink it <i>au naturel</i> – without such vile and
disgusting adjuncts as semi-skimmed cow’s milk and sugar. Guess what?
Both of the previous <i>and</i> I
used a teabag. No wonder my life is so
execrable – I’ve made powerful enemies of the Gods of Tea. Maybe I can make amends by sacrificing a Tory
MP, possibly over a… covered in… smelling of… – nope – the Gods of Tea are
right, as always. There’s no beating a
basic good idea. It would be gilding the
lily.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">To fill in (I must
stop these puerile innuendoes – and at 52, it’s going to be hard (did you see
what I did there?)) those of you remember me more than half my lifetime ago may
recall that I collected different teas.
Collecting lots of the same one would just be weird. Not <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Herbal_tea">tisanes</a>, I hasten to add. Tisanes – fruit teas with no tea in them -
are kind of okay (and in some circumstances, positively habit-forming – ginger “tea”
- lovely), but they are the country wine to the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ch%C3%A2teau_Lafite_Rothschild">Château Lafite</a> of actual,
proper teas – entertaining, but ultimately irrelevant. I possessed such arcane paraphernalia as a
strainer (back to the oo-ers), a cosy and (hushed expectancy) – a teapot. I took the pot to the kettle, added one for
the pot and I timed the brewing process for five minutes before “being mother” –
and by the end of that lot it was emotionally (not physically I am most
grateful to add) like giving birth. That’s
why the British say “Shall I be mother” when they serve tea. That, and the transvestism. They <i>love</i>
it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">So, here I am, now
sipping my ruined tea and enjoying it immensely, I might add. I also have to make the toast in a
combination microwave, oven and grill, as our old toaster decided it wasn’t
warm enough and set light to the bread.
It might have been a protest for all I know, as I was shamefully unaware
of its politics and/or grievances. I’d
be a tyrannical employer, me. It’s quite
good way to make toast in a lot of ways but it takes 10 minutes. “Go out and get another” I hear you massed(!)
readers shout “they’re dirt-cheap these days!
Bloody hell, they even do them in Sainsbury’s, near the laptops and
flat-screen TVs”. Have I informed you of
how utterly, massively under organised we are?
Have I mentioned how our living quarters are living proof of chaos
theory? Of any chaos, come to that? Making some toast and a cuppa, then writing
this missive has conspired to make my head ache already. I should be running around exercising or some
such. Nipping up to the building that,
in modern Britain, replaces the cathedral for our Sabbath genuflection – the DIY
store – and purchasing job lots of Magnolia paint and some more dining-room
chairs and stuff. I won’t, however, and
(I suspect) it will come as no surprise to you.
For data about my inactivity, please let me refer you to my previous
blog. These, you will find most of the
information you will need about why I do not whizz about in the fashion of that
most proverbial of entomological entities, the blue-arsed fly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">Right. Here we are, then. Tea.
Toast (two slices smeared with low-fat olivey spread and Brussels pâté). Starting to flag already. The quacks have been very busy on my behalf,
lately, however. I have appointments
with dieticians, the gym (yes, even that’s prescribed) and a let’s-choose-something-you-want-to-improve/do-in-your-life-and-support-you
group. Now, this may surprise some of
you, but I (despite my tone) am an optimist.
I reckon that, if I keep going to stuff like this, then, one fine day,
it’s bound to have a positive effect on my life and get me running hither and
yon. I have even sought out <a href="http://www.wpf.org.uk/">my own counselling</a> in the past rather than wait for the NHS, bless them, to catch
up. Bit of a non-sequitur here. I rate the NHS very highly indeed and think
that we’re incredibly lucky to have it.
I have an astonishingly limited amount of patience for the “experts” who
think they can change it for the better and absolutely none for the shameful
and disgraceful shenanigans being currently perpetrated by this mistake of a “government”
under the umbrella of change. They need
an umbrella, or cover of some kind, for their illicit and wicked <a href="http://www.independent.co.uk/life-style/health-and-families/health-news/private-sector-firms-invited-to-bid-for-1bn-slice-of-nhs-2317180.html">co-opting of NHS budgets for their fat-walleted friends</a>.
However, I digress (moi?). Lately
they have an approachable and multi-faceted approach to mental healthcare,
which is (in your scribe’s ultra-nano-humble opinion) to be lauded. It really is about time. It is also extremely encouraging that such
luminaries as Ruby Wax are putting in lots of planning and energy into
encouraging scrutiny of the nation’s mental health. It could just be a clever way of seeing which
way the wind is blowing and taking advantage of it, but I honestly doubt
it. We went to one of the last “<a href="http://rubywaxlosingit.co.uk/">Losing It</a>” talks at the <a href="https://www.menierchocolatefactory.com/Online/default.asp?doWork::WScontent::loadArticle=Load&BOparam::WScontent::loadArticle::article_id=B41D03D0-FBDF-47A1-968E-99CDF9814147&sessionlanguage=&menu_id=661D5739-AF17-451C-9F8C-3A0BFB570B90">Menier Chocolate Factory</a> (quirky place in Borough – it’s got
an art gallery attached, too. I went
into the gallery and completely alienated the lovely assistant by saying that
the paintings all looked the same. I’m a
charmer). The key speaker was <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/J._Mark_G._Williams">Professor Mark Williams</a>. His talk about
<a href="http://mbct.co.uk/">mindfulness</a> in the treatment of mental illness was quite an eye-opener in a
good way, along with his opinions about young, single mothers. The charity <a href="http://www.sane.org.uk/">SANE</a> is very
involved and provide plenty of support.
It’s probably the best time to look for treatment and support of the
middle range of mental health issues in a long time, this “government” and the
Dailies Mail and Express notwithstanding.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">Crumbs (toast-related
pun there). I swerved right off
breakfast there, didn’t I? I suppose
because, unless you’re on the International Space Station or [insert disliked
politician’s or media character’s name here]’s brain, nothing exists in a
vacuum. There we have it – breakfast to
depression. Let’s hope the next stop has
something more positive for us to alight to (it’s alright, Trev, you can stop
with the eye-watering metaphors – they’ve gone).<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Trevor Pynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13746390266232054374noreply@blogger.com025 Bolingbroke Grove, Wandsworth, Greater London SW11 6, UK51.4512184 -0.165640451.4413229 -0.1853814 51.4611139 -0.14589939999999998tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5969515999424159706.post-6071043447569397472011-09-19T14:12:00.001+01:002011-09-19T14:13:02.743+01:00My First Post on This Blog by Me aged 52<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Okayyyyy. I've finally bitten the
bullet and started to write. Mind you, in keeping with the title of this
web log (remember that?) it's biographical and candid or, if you so prefer,
self-indulgent and whiny. Oh no, I hear you cry, another <a href="http://onlythatinyou.wordpress.com/2011/09/18/liz-joness-impossible-life/"><span style="color: blue;">Liz Jones</span></a>! Well, quite possibly. I
will let posterity judge this one.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">First things first. Why now?
Why not earlier, Trev, you old lazybones? It's just a keyboard,
after all. No heavy lifting or strenuous manual labour (although I might
be using a modified version of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Difference_engine"><span style="color: blue;">Babbage's
Difference Engine</span></a> with brass keys and a cast-iron chassis -
doubtful, though, as Argos have stopped stocking them). Where's
the challenge, you cry? It's just: sit down; start PC; open relevant
software; sip delicately from mug full of tea and write. We'd have
finished our one novel that everyone has in them by now. Get a
grip. Cuh.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Well, I have to admit that these are
all good points. Very relevant and so forth. Excellent. Yes.
Except for several things... Firstly, it's the old-fashioned Black
Dog. Famously (that is, famously in mental health circles; I've can never
remember seeing it quoted outside of a depressive illness context) Winston
Churchill wrote of being bedevilled by depression, which he referred to as his "<a href="http://www.mind.org.uk/blog/2117_is_this_discrimination_of_the_first_order"><span style="color: blue;">black dog</span></a>". It's the main one of the
things that can slow me down. "Hang on a minute, Trev" I hear
you cry, (as we're on first-name terms already; doesn't time fly)
"Great Britain's beloved ex-leader was quite well-known for whizzing
around and, well, for doing lots. Why aren't you"? To which I
can only reply that it affects different people in different ways. But,
unless the General Medical Council have been playing a little bit of a jape at
my expense for the last (oops - goes into finger-ticking mode as tries to work
out just when it was that I stooped being a person and became a condition)
fourteen years then it's the main factor. Although they hadn't diagnosed
my thyroid deficiency at that stage. Indeed, it wasn't even considered as
a possibility until (off the top of my head, which isn't an instruction to
hairdressers - it'll fall out unaided, thanks) two-and-a-half to three years
ago. I dare say at this time even the readers who have stayed
this far out of politeness (which is nice; not enough of it these days) or
friendship (ditto) are frothing at the mouth and shouting at their monitors
"Oh, come on! No-one knows what the thyroid is ANYWAY! You're
just making this up now". I wish that I were, good people. I
wish that I were. I never knew myself that <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thyroid"><span style="color: blue;">the
thyroid</span></a> is responsible for how energetic we are. It turns
out (for those of you too idle to check out the link - and to think you
criticise me) that it's very, very, VERY important indeed in this role. Let's
put it this way. I was collecting my prescribed medication at a friendly
local chemists, you know, just lining up the fork-lift so as I could get it all
home, when the pleasant chap who dishes out the drugs pointed out to me that I
can get my <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Levothyroxine"><span style="color: blue;">Levothyroxine</span></a> (as it's known) that does the
work of the missing thyroid-generated stuff for nothing, even if I work.
My blood ran cold. Not only had I suddenly remembered that
maddening song by the J. Geils Band, whose lead singer's sensibilities were
shattered into a thousand pieces when he saw the girl he fancied at - oh, I
don't know, was it school - flaunting it all in a gentlemen's periodical, but
also I realised that the government don't tend (despite what readers of the
Daily Mail think) to give stuff away. Why such altruism from such people,
I fretted. When I finally stumbled indoors, frantic with worry,
I lurched over to my trusty PC and fired it up (these Babbages
are made to last, I'll give them that). I found this. "<span style="background: white;"><a href="http://www.netdoctor.co.uk/medicines/100002574.html"><span style="color: blue;">Once the thyroid gland becomes unable to produce thyroxine,
it will generally not return to normal function. This means that once thyroxine
replacement is started, it usually needs to be taken for the rest of a person’s
life</span></a>". Great. What happens if you take too much?
Hopefully, won't I be Captain Energy, known throughout Christendom as the
man who Makes It Happen? Won't I? Ah. Apparently not.
It's not outside of the boundaries of possibility that I could be known
as <a href="http://endocrine-system.emedtv.com/levothyroxine/levothyroxine-overdose.html"><span style="color: blue;">Captain Dead</span></a>. So, let it be known that
I, officially, walk a fine line. I can only do stuff, pretty much at
all, with a mixture of manufactured chemicals in my body. The worst part
is that, when I was having the initial dose adjusted, I suddenly found this
"energy" that the earth people spoke so much of (presumably 'cos they
had - well, you know - energy). It was fantastic, but only tended
to last three to five days, then I was back in bed again until the next
adjustment. Confusing, and not fun.</span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: black; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">So there we are.
My <a href="http://www.gmc-uk.org/"><span style="color: blue;">General
Medical Council</span></a>-endorsed reasons for not being
a literary powerhouse. This is without going on about my gout,
which I shall save for you lucky readers for another time. For those with
thyroid-related issues then please <a href="http://www.thyroiduk.org.uk/tuk/index.html"><span style="color: blue;">click
this link</span></a>. I feel for you if you don't feel up to it.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: black; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Thank you all for
making it this far. As a reward, feel free to print out the attached
coupon for a free <a href="http://www.rolls-roycemotorcars.com/#/drophead_coupe/"><span style="color: blue;">Rolls-Royce Phantom Drop-Head Coupe</span></a>. They
might not honour it as I haven't been in touch with them yet, but they seem
like very nice people (when I was a design student at Coventry University -
Lanchester Polytechnic, as it was then - we went along as a class on a Press
Day to the very first NEC Motor Show. Probably the nicest treatment I received,
as a penniless student and with only a vastly outside chance at being a
designer for them, was from the avuncular chap on Rolls-Royce's stand. He
not only chatted in a friendly and encouraging fashion about their expensive
and well-built cars but he also insisted I sit in their most expensive models
at the time. They were the Camargue and the Phantom V. Fantastic.)
so it might be worth a try.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; color: black; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Ciao, people.
It's been real. Who knows, I might even write something else here
at some stage...</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Trevor Pynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13746390266232054374noreply@blogger.com0Wandsworth Common, Dorlcote Rd, Wandsworth, London SW18 3RT, UK51.4512184 -0.165640451.4413229 -0.1853814 51.4611139 -0.14589939999999998tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5969515999424159706.post-4065631750839964412011-06-26T08:35:00.002+01:002011-06-26T09:35:09.050+01:00A Few Words on my Opening (oo-er) CeremonyYes, folks. I am deeply ashamed to say that the above title gives you an accurate idea of what to expect from this blog. Mostly puerile, some of it will be politics as, like it or not, it affects our lives vastly. I have many thoughts on this - some of them even coherent. Some of it will be <i>au sujet de</i> Mental Health. This is because I have what my psychologist refers to as chronic depression and, therefore, it is something that I ponder quite a bit. Keeping on health, a smidgen of this space will be about that miraculous gland, the thyroid. Mine doesn't work properly and consequently contributes to tiredness, weight gain and depression (see earlier). A fair part will be comments about the News of the Day, although to be frank, reading too much of it can set off my chronic depression. Should I just abbreviate it to CD, or will that confuse the music fans? Cuh. Decisions.<br />
<br />
Why a blog? Well, it's supposed to be good for you to get your frustrations written down. Plus the fact that I thought why not bring a few more of you down to my level? After all, don't they say that misery loves company?<br />
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So, without further ado, I declare this column (first an opening, now a column. Make your mind up and stop being so rude) open. May God bless it and all who yawn at it.Trevor Pynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13746390266232054374noreply@blogger.com0