Gauloise

I miss smoking, I know it was killing me quickly, but I loved the silly theatre of rolling my Gauloise tobacco; the forays into Belgium to buy the cheapest supply; sitting in a corner of a French brasserie, slowly rolling my own, watching England v France at the rugby saying things in my limited French "C'est un bon equipe ca?"; what amazed me was just how friendly the French are in these circumstances (I am not talking about Paris). I have never failed to be astounded by their civility and their acceptance. I have had meals bought for me, been left bottles of vintage wine behind the bar and generally been treated like an honoured guest in a country whose food and wine culture I deeply love. And part of this was the theatre of the roll-up.

What non-smokers don't understand is that there is a visceral pleasure in smoking that is as close and tight to the addict's cortex as the love of food is to sane people and, in some cases, the two are very closely linked. This, like food, is associated with people and memory and, more profoundly, in some respects, a sense of self. To give up smoking is like saying, I am not that person. It is denying yourself and therein lies the core of probably the most insidious addiction. That visceral connection leads your subconcious mind to continually provide excuses (aka reasons) for which giving up is not convenient, sensible etc. Why is why I'm proud to say that four and a little bit years ago I burnt nearly 1 kilo of hand-rolling Gauloise. I decided to give up on find out that my lung capacity had shrunk to 22% of what it should be and that my shot arteries and veins were going to spawn ulcers at increasing rates. Sorry to be graphic, but that's just one of the effects of smoking. And I'm also celebrating my book-keeping exam pass (first class, no less)!

Seasonality

Odd really; I know the theory of when the seasons come and go, but my feelling is:

Winter = December-February (includes two of the darkest months of the year)
Spring=March-May (latter only occasionally is sunny and rarely hot)
Summer=June-August
Autumn=September-November

Once, in the 70s, I used to take my holidays in September and go at least every second year to France. For many years, the weather in September and sometimes even October, was glorious, but since the millenium that has proven in the years I've been there not to have been the case.

I feel sorry for you if you have never been to the Dordogne in the 70s and even 80s; the food was eccentric to say the least, often wonderful, sometimes abysmal...

The strangest meal was one which was served at Chez Jeannot [in Beaumont-du-Perigord], which is no longer there (in sad circumstances); a spectacular 11 course meal for 110 Francs - approximately £11 at the time, including aperitif, vins, et digestif. There were trestle tables and bench seats and you rather expected there to be small portions. Nothing of it; the four centre courses were virtually meals in themselves. One of these, which was a stunning lamb dish in a rich gravy had one piece left in it which others suggested we should eat "for the honour of the English" (there were Dutch and Danes also there), so I obliged wondering about the remaining courses... Jeannot appeared with his wife (the chef) obviously delighted that this dish had been finished. With another of the same course... an amazing place. But I couldn't eat there again!

When we left we were given a bag of sweets, a bottle of the wonderful, dry peach aperitif they had served and a huge slab of saffron cake. We then drove back down an unlit very twisty (hairpins) narrow road to where we were staying. Not ideal!

Shopping Trolley rant

I need to vent!

A real annoyance for me, is the way able-bodied middle-aged or elderly people leave shopping trolleys all over the place. By the time I've finished my shopping, my knee is screaming at me (I'm not young), but I still put mine back in the trolley shed. So 6.50 a.m. yesterday morning, there I am, and a bloke about my age with a stick, unloads his trolley and sticks it into the middle of the parking spot next to him. I says "Why not be a human being and put it in the shed?" he does a double take and says "On your bike." To which I respond, "Well, allow me to put in the correct place for you, so you know what to do next time." to which he responds "F*** off", and as I approach gets in his car and drives off. Oh, and he had a very heavy Glaswegian accent, so I guess I was lucky he didn't chin me. But I hate these unmentionable people; they pollute the world without a thought for anyone else. You just know that this guy regards his waste as someone else's problem.

Me? Victor Medlrew? Surely not!

Masterchef the Professionals

Dunno if anyone else has commented, but last night's Masterchef Professionals was easily the closest that's there's been. And the best. Three stunning chefs and Clare Hutchings at 22 was absolutely phenomenal for her age... Beautifully constructed programme series and genuinely heart-warming to see them have their group hugs. A really uplifting thing to watch and how happy I would be to pay money to eat their food. But Ash Mair really deserved to win; his food was consistently brilliant, but also a real gentleman in every sense of the word.

Sorry I've been so quiet, but I've been studying accountancy (which has been painful at 60+), so here's a picture of one of my poppies this year that bloomed continuously from May to November; the photo was taken in November. Seems and age ago in the current snow and wind.

More NHS rant

For some time, I've been ordering my repeat prescriptions 4 weeks before I need them. This is after the experience of having the supplier to the pharmacy change the tablet size resulting in a 3 week delay and lots of aggro with everyone. Initially, the PCT, blocked one of the items saying I was ordering the items early. I responded in writing with an official complaint, copies to surgery and pharmacy that this was because they couldn't get their act in gear and supply the required medicines in a human lifespan. Silence from the other end, missing item supplied.

Then the doctor decided he wanted to see me about the colonoscopy mentioned earlier, the report for which showed that there was, as predicted, nothing wrong. The prescription was shorted again. Again the note to patient was on the original receipt which I don't see. When I got in, I pointed out that they a) have my work and home phone numbers, b) have my email address and c) that I never see the b****y prescription because of the way the system works. He apologises, but then tells me it's good news and proceeds to read me the consultant's report. I point out that it says on it cc: and that I have already read it for myself and that being a graduate, I've actually managed to master the art of reading a letter, so why a) short my prescription and b) take my time and his to do this? Silence and a shuffling of papers.

The latest episode with my local surgery is to do once again with my repeat prescription. The prescription is collected by the pharmacy and dispensed by them ready for collection. I never see the prescription. I have a lot of medicines: 5 sets of tablets, 2 sets of inhalers, 2 sets of unguents and 'surgical hosiery' - the latter I make last as long as possible, whilst still effective.

The pharmacy, as usual are short an item that takes until my next visit to get. It's only when I get home and unpack the two bags and check that I find that I'm missing my asthma inhalers - the blue ones used to relieve an attack. No note, no nothing. I try to ring the pharmacy for five days to find out if there was a note on the thing. No reply. So I have to take a trip to see them. They can't find it, but: "Couldn't have been on the prescription." Now, as you know, this shorting has happened before, so I go into the surgery. "No reason not to have supplied according to your medical record here?". I fill out another request. I go home, I check online and check the history; the prescription is flagged "partially approved"". I call the surgery and ask to speak to my doctor; he rings back and says he'll write me a prescription. I point out that there is an obvious flaw in the system and that unless it is fixed, I will permanently get my prescriptions one short. He says he'll get it faxed to the pharmacy. I respond that that is not the point, that 3 weeks after the original request, a visit to the surgery, umpteen phone calls, two visits to the pharmacy, another phone call to/from him that the SYSTEM ISN'T WORKING. That because I have so little faith that's why I order early. That this is in fact taking them and me and the pharmacy more effort than me going into the surgery, seeing him once every two months, and hand-delivering the prescription and collecting the medicines. He says he'll get someone to look into it.

Not a happy bunny, so I call the practice manager; I point all this out and she admits this isn't the first time it's happened. I respond that if someone puts a flag on a computer record and doesn't remove it then it will go on for ever; that this flag is not in my medical record so it must be the admin person responsible for flagging the online record directly. I am assured that this will be resolved. We'll see in about 5 weeks time. It's not just the waste of my time that makes me angry, but also the waste of everyone else's time, all because the scrofulous, semi-literate, incompetent person dealing with their IT used a persistent and not a temporary flag.

Down-sizing

I found myself arguing about SF with a bunch of commenters; most people read SF for the ideas rather than the writing (although where E E 'Doc' Smith fits into that I don't know). I wrote my dissertation on the History of SF (how the hell did I get away with that?)... which meant I had to read everything written and boy, that lets you know how much rubbish does get published.

I lived near a second-hand bookstall from which I hoovered up all the sf; I ended up with 6,000 paperbacks and a divorce! There are very few authors who are totally irredeemable; witness Moorcock, whose slapdash writing, but pyrotechnic ideas finally ended up in the masterpiece Gloriana (which is stupendous).

Philip K Dick is very competent as a writer, but where he really scores is his ideas, which are frankly very dangerous. When I got to the end of Do Androids ... at 2 in the morning, I found myself wondering whether what I was looking at was real and short step on from that whether anything is real. So SF is the literature of ideas rather than literature per se and much more interesting because of it.

I am preparing to downsize (my home/accommodation/premises - choose your own) and have been weeding my collection down to bare essentials, all books to friends or charity shops - I cannot bear to sell the ones going:
C J Cherryh (The Chanur and Foreigner sequences)
David Brin - Sundiver onwards in the Uplift War sequence
Patrick O'Brian - the brilliant Jack Aubrey
Guy Gavriel Kay - The Fionavar Tapestry
LIndsay Davies - the Falco series
J R R Tolkien - The Lord of the Rings
Ian M Banks - The Culture series (I'd read these just for the ship names)

and that's it apart from my collection of historical atlases!

Theoden

Tomorrow will be, fingers crossed, a Lord of the Rings Day. Every two or three years I do my best to get all the chores out of the way to clear enough time to watch all three extended Lord of the Rings films one after the other. I've read the books about 30 times and I've seen the films nine times - tomorrow will be the tenth. Lots of smiles and tears, and plaudits to Peter Jackson who with his wife and Phillipa Boyens did a colossal job. In honour of this:


Theoden

Son foul slain by orcs
Hope dead with his only heir
Still for honour fought

I love haiku - reminds me a lot of the finnish and icelandic verse that I read in my teens and Tolkien studied.

Haiku like hope's frost
In the morning air lights bright
the wet spider's web

;¬) As a bit of light relief; I found this in a teaching video top-ranked under ehow; there is something very funny and clever about the following:

Haiku is easy,
But sometimes, they don't make sense.
Refrigerator