Mothers and daughters

On Christmas day, my maternal grandmother had a large stroke; her 5th at least. She's been in a nursing home for a couple of years now and to be honest, we have all hoped that she will have a quick and painless exit from this situation. She's been a lifelong supporter of voluntary euthanasia and had written a living will, but as we all know, providing someone with the means to choose and enable their own death, is not yet permissable in our society. My grandmother was a strong, firm and mostly difficult and unpleasant woman, who exerted a great deal of influence on both my mother and myself. She was often cruel, and never gave my mother the love she deserved. When my mother was ten and her stepfather was killed in an accident, my grandmother repeatedly declared her intention to "kill herself and take them all with her". It is safe to say that we have never been a close family largely as a result of her behaviour throughout all our lives. But all of this simmering resentment, past horror and unforgiven behaviour pales against the sight of an old woman sitting in a nappy, flopping in her chair, eating mush off a plastic plate with a plastic spoon, who is surrounded only by the demented and lonely inmates of the nursing home. My grandmother has ended up where she least wanted to be. She made her wishes known, her whole life. But all we are allowed to do is to watch her slowly deteriorate - made perhaps worse because it is only physical and not mental - and hope that something, anything, will put her out of her (and us; let's be honest about this) out of our misery. Is this the way we want to see our parents, our grandparents - ourselves?? We choose not to see the forgotten population in nursing homes, but it's there, and it's coming for us.

The end of my academic year

Work is over. Pimms Winter Warmer is in the hand. Frank's singing. All is well with the world, as long as you don't look out of the door or turn on the TV. It's easy to ignore it all when you live in the country.

What is less easy to ignore is the slightly scary christmas related visitors who come to your door. Last night there was an almighty cacophony in the street, which turned out to be Santa On A Lorry - I know the picture's crap but if you imagine this really hard, you'll see it. It was actually Santa, On A Sled, On A Lorry. With 100 decibels of SANTA CLAUS IS COMING TO TOWN. If that's not enough to frighten you into making a donation to the scary man on your doorstep (who doesn't look too happy that you're taking pictures) I don't know what is.

What are the Rotary Club all about anyway - and why do I feel like I've just funded something illicit / fascist / terrorist? I know they claim to be about community and promotion of peace and understanding of the world, but honestly, their collectors don't look that peaceful or understanding. They all seem to read the Daily Mail, for a start.

I bloody love this site. Anyone resident in East London will especially appreciate this bit.

You get what you pay for?

One of my little chickens, Carmella, shown here in rather fetching apparel, has been ill for a week. She started off limping and then went 'off legs' yesterday, and couldn't stand. We rushed her to the vet - blue lights all the way - difficult to do a 45 minute journey fast with a chicken in a basket on your knees. (I realise now how wrong it was to put her in a basket - sounds like something you might get for lunch in Mile End).

The vet's surgery is everything you'd want in any health service provider. Clean and cheerful, professional staff, stacks of information, code of conduct, prices displayed, readily available medicines, clear prices and outline of services. The vet was polite, thorough and was neither dismissive or reduced to laughter by our unusual pet and ailment. She did a proper examination, asked questions and listened to the answers, and then gave advice and treatment. It cost £15.

OH said to me "This is better than anything you experience in the NHS". Well - you pay for it - so perhaps that's understandable. But such a shame to return to our beloved NHS, the beleaguered NHS and realise how far from any of this it will ever be.

Hospitals of the future?

I love this. The government’s inspection of NHS financial management has concluded that there has been a ‘failure of financial management’ with ‘evidence of inadequate monitoring and an absence of financial control’. Try telling this to the people of Chelmsford and environs, where the hospital which deals with paeds, maternity and GU medicine was sold (£5million) to help pay for the PFI at the main hospital (PFI already under construction). The Chief Exec then accounted for this income twice (therefore £10 million) and when he was found out, went on long term sick leave. He's not as sick as the rest of us, and of course will still be on full pay. Needless to say, the PFI has been stopped – as part of the wider review of PFIs it would have been anyway – and it’s going to cost something like £28 million in breach of contract fees to cease construction entirely. Putting that in context, the total cost of the PFI was projected at £180 million.

This week there were not enough beds at the hospital and patients were stacked up outside in waiting ambulances. At least then they are not breaking the 4 hour A&E rule, since they aren’t technically in A&E at that point.

Festive spending

I see that sales of my record (I say ‘my record’, well, you know what I mean) didn’t rocket after my revelation the other day. Can’t blame anyone; the track listing, after all, would be enough to put any sane person off. All I can say is that it is at least suitably thematic, being both biblical and apocalyptic.

That represents the experience of Christmas shopping in Chelmsford, if nothing else.

Patsy and the Plague

The Orwellian nightmare of Hewitt’s NHS continues*. Around the country, 29 hospitals are to close but in case you were under any illusions (ie. that this might have adverse effects on the health service) it’s actually going to “improve patient care”. This year the NHS is to make a surplus – yes, a surplus – of £250 million. Meanwhile we’ll spend £20 billion on the Trident replacement.

I’m no economist - I don’t even really know how many millions make a billion (isn’t it different depending on where you come from anyway?) but it doesn’t sound like a good sense to me.
* Interesting description on Google: "George Orwell's 1949 novel decries a totalitarian government bent on total manipulation".

On a smaller scale, I’ve just spent £8.50 buying a record that I appear on (with my dad). You won’t ever want to hear it; it’s called Plague Songs. It really is what it says on the tin.

Lyrical spamming

As an appreciation of all the spam email I receive, I've decided to make some of it into a poem.

Why be an average guy any longer
his tinted glasses; and fabulous hostelries. highly stylized fixtures.
Separate yourself from other men
She will love you more than any other guy
skittish wane
Whatever you do, keep this on the lowdown!

Do you want a prosperous future
They’ve sat through New software uploaded by Harry on Nov 19
Not for me, shopping before daybreak, but lines form.
I want to ask when he does finally come down off of this, what can I really expect
This is what I was talking about
The twentieth century, that ache in the world

Nobody likes being told what to do.

That's the end of my poem. I think it's very poignant.

Tuck shop teenagers

Just went to the village shop to get some milk. Our village (where we’ve lived for eighteen months to be closer to Nearest and Dearest’s work at the local hospital) is just lovely and I don’t want to leave, but we will have to when this SHO rotation ends in July. Take the shop, for instance (the only one in the village). You could walk in and see any of our local characters - Mrs Brant, characterised by her barking at the counter assistant “PAPERS FOR BRANT!!” or Milly, Chantilly and Lily with Jake, Blake and Drake from the local boarding school arms full of Pot Noodles, Mars Bars, Pringles and Coke for a tuckfest later. Another notable is 84 year old Horace, cycling every day up to his allotment amid the 4x4s driving their kiddies to the prep school. Someone must be smiling on him because cycling in wellies doesn’t necessarily make for the straightest lines.

Also, this village is excellent for festive house displays. Currently four houses are covered in flashing icicles, illuminated snowmen and neon messages of goodwill. If you like lights, and I do, this is the place to be.

Sad to think we will be leaving here, but even sadder not to have a clue where our next location will be. Nearest and dearest can apply for 4 geographical areas/1 specialty, or various combinations thereof. Choosing only 1 geographical area/4 specialties could mean a move to any corner of this Deanery, none of which are particularly desirable. At least we only have chickens - for those with families and mortgages, this particular bit of Hewittery must be unfathomably difficult.

Sometimes only fairy lights can help

I feel really stressed tonight. I don’t know if it’s the effect of interviewing all day and then driving home in howling wind, rain and darkness with the glare of oncoming lights obliterating everything around me. I’m not the world’s most experienced driver, so this might not be surprising. Having a 4x4 up your jacksy with its lights obscuring all vision doesn't help.

But also, the lurking cold I have been fighting is making itself felt and my head feels swimmy and overloaded. Everything is a just a bit more effort that I can quite muster at the moment but that won’t stop me trying. To make myself feel better I’ve found some of my favourite fairy lights and hung them on the new tree that I rescued from a night out in the cold at Wyevale. Ahhh ... fairy lights. Things are starting to look brighter.

Merry hens

Trying to work out how I could get the hens to wear Santa hats so I can make Christmas cards with pictures of Christmassy chickens. No amount of bribery with grapes and/or Wensleydale is going to make this happen in real life, but luckily I can pretend to myself that I succeeded, with judicious use of a computer.

I’ll have to make do with Omlet’s own range of cards, which does, at least, benefit the Battery Hen Trust.

A red ribbon for World Aids Day

Friends. Be safe, be sensible and donate what you can. Or do whatever feels good to you for someone in need. There's lots of volunteering that can be done on this issue.

Avert (international charity)
Terrence Higgins Trust
Aids Alliance