tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61194332259591918132024-03-15T05:07:30.419-07:00A giants lifeThe whimsical and,sometime,grumpy meanderings of my mind...Giant68http://www.blogger.com/profile/09801051981426324988noreply@blogger.comBlogger109125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6119433225959191813.post-70476513977991926302024-01-16T02:10:00.000-08:002024-01-16T02:10:38.085-08:00<p> What are your feelings about Facebook? Or any social media? </p><p>Are you someone who constantly watches your feed and loves spending time, or wasting it, looking at pictures of other people's dinner?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS0Cbpms0PAh-6ZkVRUMd06fY23RgKA5rCf6Lzx8LNn0WEftiAy6lgzWY62ALwcB1hA2zm9fOTM2LzfNr5uiYw2JWvfKGvmG6rTsYOazz0avmFds1aFq3fXybdFkfM8QrEcLlgApsHE3_8eFCSmh8Hg-40gg1mC7nHGT5DzzeJLszioEIE0ULOMnMgdv6t/s630/5cd34adf2400003300a8e202.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="315" data-original-width="630" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS0Cbpms0PAh-6ZkVRUMd06fY23RgKA5rCf6Lzx8LNn0WEftiAy6lgzWY62ALwcB1hA2zm9fOTM2LzfNr5uiYw2JWvfKGvmG6rTsYOazz0avmFds1aFq3fXybdFkfM8QrEcLlgApsHE3_8eFCSmh8Hg-40gg1mC7nHGT5DzzeJLszioEIE0ULOMnMgdv6t/s320/5cd34adf2400003300a8e202.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>I used to like it. It was an insight, sort of, into other people's lives. And it still is but it is starting to show another side of people that I really don't like. I am a member of lots of groups on FB. Groups that cover everything from classic science fiction artwork to DIY, to caravaning. These groups were all set up to provide useful information and help to the members, but it seems that they are being taken over by faceless keyboard warriors who like to profess their own opinions and shout down everyone else or just throw insults into the ring. Why is this? It seems to have got worse since the COVID lockdowns. </p><p>Someone posed a question on one of the caravaning groups the other day, asking about something that would, normally, be in the user manual. The poster stated in the post, quite clearly, that they didn't have a manual and most of the responses took that into account and answered the question as best they could. However, one respondee replied with "RTFM". A bit curt, I thought, and proves that the responder hadn't paid attention to, or read, the post. That reflects on the character of the responder not the poster or the group but why respond that way? Can you not read the manual? Can you not download a manual? would have been a more polite way of showing that you hadn't read the post, instead you make yourself look like an idiot.</p><p>There are many other instances of people responding just by insulting the poster, 'Moron!' 'Bell£nd!' and worse. Why? Does it make these faceless keyboard warriors feel empowered? </p><p>And then there are the people who force their opinions on you with no opportunity to debate. As far as they are concerned their opinion is fact and yours does not count. there is no consideration of any evidence, scientific or otherwise. It's like those people who tell me they know all about the Freemasons, satanic rituals, goats etc. When I tell them it's all rubbish they respond with 'Well, you would say that, wouldn't you?' or 'You are not high enough in the order to know that'. People are developing closed minds. Or maybe we've always had closed minds and the propensity to hate our fellow man and now we have the means to spread it without having the consequence of someone punching you in the face. The dildo of consequence rarely comes lubricated...</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfmZwfB3Xek4ceQowJUj-YrH_EBfN4IgrZHt6bVq4XWUXvHxirWJmWwQzH1A32MHl_qbu_QRYuoL3wfinBQC1ZlNvDtNf-3_Nz_yaVBKIBCGgR7EcoLnZxibSyFs89KjR3Ews-baB75lcP7IehhRKUX2TgNzx-z5qv0OXhjR1LnWIWYJhsf7rksFw4F8Vn/s259/download.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="259" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfmZwfB3Xek4ceQowJUj-YrH_EBfN4IgrZHt6bVq4XWUXvHxirWJmWwQzH1A32MHl_qbu_QRYuoL3wfinBQC1ZlNvDtNf-3_Nz_yaVBKIBCGgR7EcoLnZxibSyFs89KjR3Ews-baB75lcP7IehhRKUX2TgNzx-z5qv0OXhjR1LnWIWYJhsf7rksFw4F8Vn/s1600/download.jpeg" width="259" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Also, feel free to tell me that you believe in God, whichever incarnation that may be, good for you! But don't tell me I have to believe in the same one. </p><p> </p><p>And as for Twitter, sorry, X... Since a certain space pioneer took over that seems to have gone downhill as well. I now get notifications about women without many clothes on. Rarely happened before Mr Musk so I wonder what has changed. Maybe the dept that dealt with standards was one of those that was decimated in the takeover.</p><p>Social media should be a tool for good but it seems that more and more, it is just a platform for the haters, the small-minded, and the petty. It needs to go back to pictures of my dinner and other people's cats in fancy dress. And the odd selfie of some scantily clad young lady with a duck pout. </p><p><br /></p><p>TTFN!</p><p>Regards</p><p>Giant68 😉</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjggbuly7ASUgNBW-r7aOkfu5pAkB5szXLVCc46s51tZhiFLsahXlo3t8hyEmgg-DUH4FFdCPzA24qIImtVPbcx1SuuCymShz8UkOD915jDzfiD2DYqv67VHP_cjHy8B5cSSYi2fppRX5joEOS1bmCxFGcYTc0Xdz0Or6mfcjCZHZ7e5AyhX18Hm4C7-ka9/s244/Picture0001%5B2%5D_thumb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="244" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjggbuly7ASUgNBW-r7aOkfu5pAkB5szXLVCc46s51tZhiFLsahXlo3t8hyEmgg-DUH4FFdCPzA24qIImtVPbcx1SuuCymShz8UkOD915jDzfiD2DYqv67VHP_cjHy8B5cSSYi2fppRX5joEOS1bmCxFGcYTc0Xdz0Or6mfcjCZHZ7e5AyhX18Hm4C7-ka9/s1600/Picture0001%5B2%5D_thumb.jpg" width="244" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Giant68http://www.blogger.com/profile/09801051981426324988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6119433225959191813.post-48264259732932840502024-01-16T01:45:00.000-08:002024-01-16T01:45:12.624-08:00Rabbit Holes...<p> I have fallen down some rather deep rabbit holes lately. That's what happens when you are bored and have nothing to do. Not well enough to go out for a walk, or work in the garden, or in the house. It's frustrating. So I potter a bit, do what I can until I am knackered, which doesn't take long then I sit down and jump head first into the rabbit hole that is Youtube. </p><p>Obviously, the rabbit hole in this context is from Alice in Wonderland. She falls down the hole and discovers a whole new world. Which is just what YouTube delivers. From music to unboxers. Who knew you could make money from unboxing something on camera?? Maybe that's what I need to get into before the money runs out. </p><p>It usually starts with something innocuous. A band I like, or a podcast. Then I follow a link and end up at another band I've never heard of so I listen to that. Which leads to another, then another and the rabbit hole gets deeper and deeper. </p><p>The latest was a yearning to listen to music that would've been on the radio when I was getting ready for school. Early to mid-70s, my parent's choice of music. Something that we would all be influenced by. My dad's favorites were a bit older than my mum's, he was considerably older than her. But the track he liked was Lynn Anderson's I Beg Your Pardon, I Never Promised You a Rose Garden. So I started with that. These things always bring back memories, good and bad.</p><p>I ended up looking through videos of bluegrass music. Yeah, I know, weird direction for this rabbit hole. But I quite enjoyed it. There's a band called Southern Raised that were pretty good. That led to the Dead South and then it started to get really weird. At some point, you have to watch the Ukelele Orchestra Of Great Britain...</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9bXc36yYQQfZeggDPwZylttKjd7BIaZQEL6e61DMzRlhHF3S2_xpn2lxMZwO8F1bdpz3ev3ul67489xatUJ_evB-JMRppM7714sKBIX2u2rDb7hkfMfO9aZKRqImWL3k8oE5Lm9mh1xyxJoS1WuYZuebJGVwQ04qt5HS38D_W1-Y-tnWghH1aW9yl7Was/s480/hqdefault.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="480" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9bXc36yYQQfZeggDPwZylttKjd7BIaZQEL6e61DMzRlhHF3S2_xpn2lxMZwO8F1bdpz3ev3ul67489xatUJ_evB-JMRppM7714sKBIX2u2rDb7hkfMfO9aZKRqImWL3k8oE5Lm9mh1xyxJoS1WuYZuebJGVwQ04qt5HS38D_W1-Y-tnWghH1aW9yl7Was/s320/hqdefault.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>https://youtu.be/JYCrBlt9BtU?si=KGkfPl5SttSRyPk8</p><p>https://youtu.be/T0lwr_jcGZQ?si=RYCvpl-u6BWaXRMa</p><p>These all lead to Spotify playlists of some really weird stuff. I have a great playlist of 70's cheese that consists of artists such as David Soul, Leo Sayer, Gilbert O'Sullivan and many others. I bet that whatever music you are into, be it punk, heavy metal or classical there is some guilty pleasure that you will listen to every now and then. 😉</p><p><br /></p><p>Having been originally trained as an engineer I have subscribed to a couple of channels run by amateur engineers. They are quite good although they probably label me as a geek or nerd. Which is probably true. But check out Big Clive anyway.</p><p>Then comes food. I have enjoyed food all my life, not just because it nourishes me but because of the vast range of flavours and textures. So then I subscribed to the Food Review Club. They travel the country checking out fast food restaurants. They did one near me in Southampton not so long ago. Apparently, the deli sandwich was pretty good. They've started doing more upmarket establishments as well now. </p><p>And then there is the funny stuff. Turdtowns is a tongue-in-cheek look at some pretty shitty places. In fact, the guy who does this one finds crap in every town. It seems nowhere is fit to live according to him. </p><p>Sometimes you do start to wonder what drugs some of these people are taking. But if you put enough stuff on the platform and enough people subscribe then you can make some decent money. Maybe that's what I need to do. But I think I need to get a lot weirder before I can do that.</p><p>Till next time...</p><p>Regards</p><p>Giant68 😁</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAGHEvnWdYZNMIm3J52VDGF19QlIgV-TX5GrBiHKNKrHA_G2f_Kxy1XNE4-86Wyc2_dpjVqLPS3toHKV0u6s8-ns9dtPr1zFst8zU9dnhx4IuBtteyDLUsPIQOEGQT_A6BKprQBlsbpK7_C5VV6PmujETEhRorRG0ucearXiC1nx2XwI5ytJqOaAPUknS4/s244/Picture0001%5B2%5D_thumb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="244" height="130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAGHEvnWdYZNMIm3J52VDGF19QlIgV-TX5GrBiHKNKrHA_G2f_Kxy1XNE4-86Wyc2_dpjVqLPS3toHKV0u6s8-ns9dtPr1zFst8zU9dnhx4IuBtteyDLUsPIQOEGQT_A6BKprQBlsbpK7_C5VV6PmujETEhRorRG0ucearXiC1nx2XwI5ytJqOaAPUknS4/w173-h130/Picture0001%5B2%5D_thumb.jpg" width="173" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I think that photo of me is pretty old now. I must sort out another one. </div><br /><p><br /></p>Giant68http://www.blogger.com/profile/09801051981426324988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6119433225959191813.post-51850862826553458342023-09-10T03:03:00.005-07:002023-09-10T03:03:57.062-07:00Road rage? No, Wheelchair rage.<p> If you have been reading my last few blogs you will know that I have been a little poorly. Because of this, I have been left with quite a few medical issues and I am pretty weak. Therefore yesterday was quite difficult.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGW3WFnBwiw836TAaMlPQRCXc_C6Bv4usS59UwfWQeeodEA6UQlnX1Uxa2chSP-sUIYo3_fqBgMyTis-qdMNq32MavPritI4B0KdWXZr-Audi2wtanVFGR0J_eyg47Mzx6e6MeAbvSWr2fdEzSYs12PFn1lncZFYxHgCRoVsF-VbPwLiVfp0r9r_PQroEE/s4080/PXL_20230910_094026782.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="4080" height="147" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGW3WFnBwiw836TAaMlPQRCXc_C6Bv4usS59UwfWQeeodEA6UQlnX1Uxa2chSP-sUIYo3_fqBgMyTis-qdMNq32MavPritI4B0KdWXZr-Audi2wtanVFGR0J_eyg47Mzx6e6MeAbvSWr2fdEzSYs12PFn1lncZFYxHgCRoVsF-VbPwLiVfp0r9r_PQroEE/w196-h147/PXL_20230910_094026782.jpg" width="196" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Yesterday was the day we went to Goodwood Revival. I like to go every year as Mini Giant68 plays a major part in organising this and the Festival of Speed. I like to go just so I can see how good he is at his job, and how proud I have to be of him. But don't tell him that. I am lucky as I have 2 children who achieved great things and 3 grandchildren that, I am sure will go on to do the same.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwp_XPpxtYh5iF3yMFCLplhBs1nBI98fgFsGR9PrD6AFTRb-gU8QXjUjaty6TSHLpXPT8WozLlfXlhdk6LRZFDvtI6S0zJgWnztAQdhAsg1thzSO79Tky4d-9Aq0KVFS0iuBy9AUFJpfA7d2QtCoN_V9ESlS3vzs4jKcKPp3nGRILdaFSXV4mvoEK297jA/s1988/1000008777-01.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1096" data-original-width="1988" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwp_XPpxtYh5iF3yMFCLplhBs1nBI98fgFsGR9PrD6AFTRb-gU8QXjUjaty6TSHLpXPT8WozLlfXlhdk6LRZFDvtI6S0zJgWnztAQdhAsg1thzSO79Tky4d-9Aq0KVFS0iuBy9AUFJpfA7d2QtCoN_V9ESlS3vzs4jKcKPp3nGRILdaFSXV4mvoEK297jA/s320/1000008777-01.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Anyway, Revival. Mrs Giant68 came very close to Mark Webber and then held a snake. We rubbed shoulders with the likes of Jenson Button, Karun Chandhok, Dominic Chinea (Repair Shop, of which I am a great fan), and various others. The benefits of having connections to someone senior at Goodwood mean breakfast, lunch, and afternoon tea in the Drivers Club. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjttjcx9eKNDaFuHUMR4fLHj3xWke1IWqjrXehmdaafRn_Q3XKzkKlHhNSk04X1YSdFiIAodxTOkJGkAWfMYijHHPl2pvMN6aWidHTfanFYb6M2gG9TEMOWwFX48hKQxJSszamDV_GqABeuruvMi4LqDUoTH8Inoqo7Ix_woJuhAJ0QDdF8tWbAtHkHL8WS/s2835/1000008766-01.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1796" data-original-width="2835" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjttjcx9eKNDaFuHUMR4fLHj3xWke1IWqjrXehmdaafRn_Q3XKzkKlHhNSk04X1YSdFiIAodxTOkJGkAWfMYijHHPl2pvMN6aWidHTfanFYb6M2gG9TEMOWwFX48hKQxJSszamDV_GqABeuruvMi4LqDUoTH8Inoqo7Ix_woJuhAJ0QDdF8tWbAtHkHL8WS/s320/1000008766-01.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Usually, when we attend we would expect to do somewhere between 12000 & 15000 steps. At present there is no way that I can do that. I can barely manage 1000 before I am too knackered to carry on and am wiped out for the rest of the day. Also, at the moment, going out for the day is made more difficult due to the medication I must take. In the 16 pills I take every morning are diuretics, quite a few. This means that through the mornings I will be going for a pee, roughly, every 10 - 15 minutes. So to go out for a day means that I can't take these pills. Which leads to all sorts of problems the next day, and later that day actually. </p><p>This time we were accompanied by 2 good friends who, for the sake of argument, we will call Rob and Jill, basically because those are their names. We always have a great time with these two and this time would be the same. Apart from the fact that Rob pushed me around all day in a wheelchair. This is frustrating for someone who has always been independent and able to get about under his own steam, but I had to admit that I had to give in and submit to this. it did make life a little easier, for me if not for Rob.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglraBYXiek3qiScX6SzQJI5BkowCnAYHsj6w2ZPmHBRy4o5ShWnEkRADSWhrKlxLCBS7CaTtB8Ljyd8Pa7AzSkRpdba949MAibEjTo9vdSWaXgQSUpS0_k08xUNip87x4hWByoeyZgcnE4ImaCesyNH6Q85NMnU15U-t6SRa9PxmQV741G03EZIDL9JSWp/s1864/375465536_10161479165791180_8684935470490539813_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1864" data-original-width="1481" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglraBYXiek3qiScX6SzQJI5BkowCnAYHsj6w2ZPmHBRy4o5ShWnEkRADSWhrKlxLCBS7CaTtB8Ljyd8Pa7AzSkRpdba949MAibEjTo9vdSWaXgQSUpS0_k08xUNip87x4hWByoeyZgcnE4ImaCesyNH6Q85NMnU15U-t6SRa9PxmQV741G03EZIDL9JSWp/s320/375465536_10161479165791180_8684935470490539813_n.jpg" width="254" /></a></div><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> Image shamelessly pinched from Mrs giant68<br /></span><p><br /></p><p>This gave me a different perspective. I have been 6'8" since I was 14 years old. For 44 years I have looked over the top of crowds of people. This time my eye level was at about the same height as most people's backsides. Some were quite admirable, some not so. But, either way, the experience made me feel quite claustrophobic. I didn't enjoy the experience of being hemmed in. There were massive crowds of people there. This is where the wheelchair rage comes in. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5y4wFDqi_a1Ev0-4viLRdQrfNm8jiB22y6orzi-aPo5CATbC5tKr2jP0c1YWLcOQlXxuhG-aI5lf7qEqWbSO9IkPRt7LRZKXupLXuRWJZyPuR4oTN5xHDAS9fw9vIJei4RGubhvZSkg-0P3Yckvj1guIqEk7eTYCHmvvzX6i_Vw8d2FgDleLu2_a-gUv4/s2048/376697266_10161479166016180_1515095054649559353_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5y4wFDqi_a1Ev0-4viLRdQrfNm8jiB22y6orzi-aPo5CATbC5tKr2jP0c1YWLcOQlXxuhG-aI5lf7qEqWbSO9IkPRt7LRZKXupLXuRWJZyPuR4oTN5xHDAS9fw9vIJei4RGubhvZSkg-0P3Yckvj1guIqEk7eTYCHmvvzX6i_Vw8d2FgDleLu2_a-gUv4/w148-h197/376697266_10161479166016180_1515095054649559353_n.jpg" width="148" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">A<span style="font-size: xx-small;">nother image nicked from the missus.</span></span></div><p>People are, quite often, frickin' ignorant and rude bastards. While I expected no favours just because I was in a wheelchair I was quite surprised how many people would not get out of the way, would actively get in the way, and would get so close that I felt they would sit on my lap. I had my walking stick with me and it was so tempting to start hooking ankles with it. Rob did an excellent job of navigating all the obstacles but it was infuriating, especially for someone like me who gets annoyed when people stop, suddenly, right in front or walk slowly while taking up the entire path. So now, to add to the pedestrian rage, I have wheelchair rage. And that was just one day. How do regular wheelchair users survive without losing it and going postal? They have to deal with much more than I did. They have to get on and off buses, and trains. etc. They have to get around busy shops. I admire them. And will watch out for them now. Make sure you do as well. In fact, if you see someone in a wheelchair struggling, actively help. Actually, be helpful to anyone struggling, that makes more sense. </p><p>I am now going to carry on sitting on my sofa, watching the TV while trying to recover from yesterday's shenanigans.</p><p>Regards</p><p>Giant68 :-)</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi77vy57tzZT5nP8QilGEgNB4Qz9sOHOw1qbtDeGrTj2qVpIrcqzJlsVZ9YyHgrT_KuKYEDUrEuwiy4Zt8OuHodLqHn1LtWA8saN03RDvuuMfkhMqXkoRx5Iy17le-XL3CKK2CNhROphH3jpr97mU5UeyM45_5JcvOy9iPH_OskvzFfrrZpfl7sISzuaOUR/s244/Picture0001%5B2%5D_thumb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="244" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi77vy57tzZT5nP8QilGEgNB4Qz9sOHOw1qbtDeGrTj2qVpIrcqzJlsVZ9YyHgrT_KuKYEDUrEuwiy4Zt8OuHodLqHn1LtWA8saN03RDvuuMfkhMqXkoRx5Iy17le-XL3CKK2CNhROphH3jpr97mU5UeyM45_5JcvOy9iPH_OskvzFfrrZpfl7sISzuaOUR/s1600/Picture0001%5B2%5D_thumb.jpg" width="244" /></a></p><br /><p><br /></p>Giant68http://www.blogger.com/profile/09801051981426324988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6119433225959191813.post-9070499832437585142023-09-06T02:36:00.003-07:002023-09-06T02:36:15.266-07:00Let's talk about food.<p> Yes, let's talk about food. After spending all that time in hospital with only hospital food to sustain me I have a few opinions.</p><p>The food in hospital is, I would've thought, carefully thought out so that it will sustain patients and aid in their recovery. The standard portion size, to my mind, is far too small. It took me a while to realise that if I wanted to survive I could ask for a larger portion. But a larger portion of what? Some of the food is quite nice, there was a chicken casserole that was delicious. Some of it is quite bland. Some of it is just what it looks like, grey, brown, white, and tasted the same. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5-hIhM6qkbEWn3su8gSWauaLrRs9FXJLoEExYDMUoo_cWvDqEl-WbPhsZpoXiqtasZ5pStYP2CfwYxXDT1JeP3nTGcrJMF_lFV3qV14CWTL_JhAArfc5osu5kCP17girwRVk5LOtIL6U-4uKsVEq2G0df5vGNT5DKE0ipTL8OBkiU9hoxOzzvUmvlF6zS/s4080/PXL_20230814_163545336.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4080" data-original-width="3072" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5-hIhM6qkbEWn3su8gSWauaLrRs9FXJLoEExYDMUoo_cWvDqEl-WbPhsZpoXiqtasZ5pStYP2CfwYxXDT1JeP3nTGcrJMF_lFV3qV14CWTL_JhAArfc5osu5kCP17girwRVk5LOtIL6U-4uKsVEq2G0df5vGNT5DKE0ipTL8OBkiU9hoxOzzvUmvlF6zS/w148-h197/PXL_20230814_163545336.jpg" width="148" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>It struck me as strange that, as a diabetic, the menu was not particularly diabetic-friendly. Lots of carbs. I had to keep my blood sugar down but with the choice of meal on offer that was pretty hard to do, unless I ate a salad 3 times a day. </p><p>In the end, I asked Mrs Giant68 to bring me food that she had cooked at home. There was a small kitchen by the nurses' station where she could heat it up for me. That was heavenly. Mind you, one evening I had a salad purely because I wanted a treat, Bakewell tart and custard. That was amazing.</p><p>Moving out of hospital I find that, sometimes, I am a bit perplexed by food. Some years ago I created a small blog page on Facebook called Hairy Fannies. It was a mix of Hairy Bikers and Fanny Craddock, it tickled me to think that people would find it and be completely disappointed about what they found. It was all about food and my opinions on it. It has sunk into the background of Facebook as I didn't really have the time or the inclination to carry on with it. </p><p>These days there are many people who do similar things and much better than I can do. Have a look at the Food Review Club on YouTube, its informative and entertaining and reviews food that real people want to eat. </p><p>But what about the posh food? I have always fancied having enough money to go to the fancy, multiple Michelin-starred, eateries to see if the food they serve is as good as it's made out to be. I rather think that it's not. My cousin and her husband are currently holidaying in a caravan in the Lake District. They have a restaurant near them that serves the poncey, posh food. For a mere £200 (ish) per person you can have a main course. Another 100 quid you can have a glass of wine to go with it. I would want the best and largest slice of steak & kidney pie, the fluffiest mashed potatoes, the finest Brussel sprouts, a bottle of malt whiskey and a troupe of dancing girls to entertain me for less than that!</p><p>But the menu consists of such delights as 'aquadulce bean wafer, horseradish vinegar, aynsome juices and herbal oil' </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVUdHWM4kkKGn7INXpj_sJyKtnkfa7j868ctIBMzQCrOaq-eeo6LBxQyIdxqPq4-M3AkWuhzZHEYJ1TOL4LJKp-DROE-iYEEU2G6RtM9hqKymx9gdUxmRr62skcot6sYBbkfC8jZ_DuEIb3mMpG1Krfxu1A1riPy5xWL0mjYdltFsrZwoGAqJw74oAUOd2/s468/article-0-0271DFDD0000044D-141_468x349.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="349" data-original-width="468" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVUdHWM4kkKGn7INXpj_sJyKtnkfa7j868ctIBMzQCrOaq-eeo6LBxQyIdxqPq4-M3AkWuhzZHEYJ1TOL4LJKp-DROE-iYEEU2G6RtM9hqKymx9gdUxmRr62skcot6sYBbkfC8jZ_DuEIb3mMpG1Krfxu1A1riPy5xWL0mjYdltFsrZwoGAqJw74oAUOd2/s320/article-0-0271DFDD0000044D-141_468x349.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Now, I have no idea what all that is. It sounds like a group of made-up words, something from a Dhal story. </p><p>Or the following delight: ' Rowlands summer succulents, juice of the shells, yoghurt, salted cobnut and marigold' WTF??</p><p>You look at the images of the dishes and think 'that's not enough to keep a sparrow alive let alone a grown adult'</p><p>It seems that food has become an art form. It has to look pretty, the plate must be decorated with a skidmark of 'ju' and then you can have a Michelin star. </p><p>And then there are the burgers that are so high, with 6 patties, cheese, onions, truffles, pineapple, a roasted quail etc. A burger so high that you have to dislocate your jaw like an egg-eating snake to be able to eat it. Has nobody thought of making it wider? Years ago, I used to frequent a little Greek takeaway in Southampton during my lunch break. It sold burgers with a couple of patties, cheese, eggs, onions and chips. It was served in a bap that was about 6" across and you could easily bite into it. That's what we need.</p><p>Go and have a look at the Food Review Club on YouTube, they show some amazing, and eatable foods that are satisfying, fit in your mouth, and in a perfect world would get a Michelin star.</p><p><br /></p><p>Regards</p><p>Giant68</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX0jeg4ahr-1HnJisg8AmH-GWl6XKQrrRPMRhRRKQ-v9pZz-GThvhP7Yh80l1Npt7czxhCWbdvK8yoorPzACTkcR96LxVq4PsaaMr6BlUYRzb0QLIc5XIDFrzV4HlD5s8A6mQYI8pA7ZqM2qyUYiN4iLTM0eq7sQNmyuuQShOjddaMT5ZQdiX_dWv4VJtK/s244/Picture0001%5B2%5D_thumb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="244" height="121" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX0jeg4ahr-1HnJisg8AmH-GWl6XKQrrRPMRhRRKQ-v9pZz-GThvhP7Yh80l1Npt7czxhCWbdvK8yoorPzACTkcR96LxVq4PsaaMr6BlUYRzb0QLIc5XIDFrzV4HlD5s8A6mQYI8pA7ZqM2qyUYiN4iLTM0eq7sQNmyuuQShOjddaMT5ZQdiX_dWv4VJtK/w161-h121/Picture0001%5B2%5D_thumb.jpg" width="161" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p> </p>Giant68http://www.blogger.com/profile/09801051981426324988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6119433225959191813.post-31754032841019230112023-08-24T09:32:00.002-07:002023-08-24T09:32:37.126-07:00Homeward bound...<p> </p><p>I have finally got home after being in a hospital bed for two and a half weeks. It took a while from being told I could go home to actually going home due to a wait for the drugs to be brought up to the ward. In fact, they were going to be so late that I went home without them and returned the next morning to collect them. </p><p>Now this has got me thinking. I can understand where some drugs come from. Ancient man found that when he had a headache he could chew on a branch of the willow and it would ease. And there were many others, witch hazel, etc. But some I just don't get. Ancient man would look at a plant with nice berries and think 'They look tasty' and eat a few. The next morning he could have a dose of <strike>diaorh </strike> <strike>dearo</strike> the shits and think ' I wonder if it was those berries, I won't eat them again' Or he could wake up dead. His friends would gather round, look at him, dead on the floor, and say ' Right, chaps, let's not eat those berries.' </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHyBnx5__mznsEWImrz2zpg-MbVSGk4CRUK8wqU9H3DHtS0lJa-7D1V7ei9zS4ooGMc0yERxsB9nHbVvom1fDynZUGvHxgQtj-B6x43KCYV6YqHIZ_ZEvyAM6Yff5EP-VFuNEefPCi-5U_D_qkzJZNiOfvSjF59VkHeo0OTzMa0g-2xjiPX3UQ0eTafcpk/s1618/964e8d41f89f609b2f602676d64baf1b.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1608" data-original-width="1618" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHyBnx5__mznsEWImrz2zpg-MbVSGk4CRUK8wqU9H3DHtS0lJa-7D1V7ei9zS4ooGMc0yERxsB9nHbVvom1fDynZUGvHxgQtj-B6x43KCYV6YqHIZ_ZEvyAM6Yff5EP-VFuNEefPCi-5U_D_qkzJZNiOfvSjF59VkHeo0OTzMa0g-2xjiPX3UQ0eTafcpk/s320/964e8d41f89f609b2f602676d64baf1b.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>Sensible. Trial and error, typical early science. You start to wonder where the plans to boil stuff and see if you can remove the poisons and see if you can make it edible came from. Rhubarb, rich in vitamin A, a substance that can kill you if too concentrated? Who eats rhubarb anyway, horrible stuff. </p><p>I have come out of hospital with lots of new drugs. One of which needs to counteract the effects of another drug. I am on large doses of steroids and that can lead to osteoporosis. Therefore I have to take an alendronic acid tablet once a week. It must be taken on an empty stomach, with a full glass of water and I must remain vertical for 30 minutes after taking it. This is down to the fact that if it sticks in my oesophagus it will eat its way through. How many times did they feed it to volunteers before they found a method of taking it that wouldn't ruin the patients' food pipe??</p><p>'Oops, let's try it with half a glass of water...'</p><p>'Nope, burnt through again. Brig in the next <strike>victim</strike> sorry, patient'</p><p>' Full glass of water seems to work but it still wrecked his oesophagus. I wonder if we should get him to sit up for 10 minutes?'</p><p>'So 10 minutes didn't work, nor did 20. Let's try 30 minutes. Next!'</p><p>There are probably many other drugs like this, chemotherapy drugs, for example. It is a good thing that these have been discovered but there must have been a lot of trust and mistakes along the road. </p><p>Only a short one today, only because my brain was overthinking stuff.</p><p>Regards</p><p>Giant68 :-)</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3rQlltgll1oJCoF7X_Lqi90PJNC-6wv3co5kdrSna7TeiGoVIE2gURaKdaRqf2U_4aHnVbOHEhFC5vHN1CjVguAs74rh4vLc4F0FRfK7rSHwF3vz7Ev2sgUm6TgOa_QBVhBV-77rs_x8nsXESvKkIiljkI3_IRYT0XpidmI5RSzz4NNRfMIV0iNM2bK0J/s3648/PXL_20230823_145159530.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="2736" height="130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3rQlltgll1oJCoF7X_Lqi90PJNC-6wv3co5kdrSna7TeiGoVIE2gURaKdaRqf2U_4aHnVbOHEhFC5vHN1CjVguAs74rh4vLc4F0FRfK7rSHwF3vz7Ev2sgUm6TgOa_QBVhBV-77rs_x8nsXESvKkIiljkI3_IRYT0XpidmI5RSzz4NNRfMIV0iNM2bK0J/w97-h130/PXL_20230823_145159530.jpg" width="97" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Giant68http://www.blogger.com/profile/09801051981426324988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6119433225959191813.post-80008448887074229242023-08-16T01:48:00.000-07:002023-08-16T01:48:02.321-07:00Still here...<p> Two and a half weeks later I am still tied to a hospital bed, although there is light at the end of the tunnel and I may be out of here by the end of this week. </p><p>My breakfast this morning consisted of a bowl of bran flakes, a glass of apple juice, a coffee, 16 pills washed down with another 3 disolved in a cup of water. Seems like this is my life now. If I want to stay alive and functioning i have to take pills. </p><p>But that is not what this is about. This is about this place, the hospital. A place where I have seen the best and the worst of humanity. </p><p>The best? Docrors, nurses, cleaners, the helpers who bring the dinner round. They are the carers and in a perfect world, with an unlimited pot of money, they would all be given what they deserve. And they deserve a lot, in money and respect. </p><p>A collection of consultants worked to keep me alive. Very focused individuals, Very clever people who stood and scratched their heads and hoped what they had done was enough t get me through the night. They admitted that the next morning. They are people who understand how the drugs work and how they interact with other drugs. If they gave me this one it would effect that one so I would have to take this as well which would stop that one working... They worked it out in the end and I am still here. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCQzvCb15J6eEllnLQqofuiIIAZ3dOne4JHQsl_N0XHQjW8A9pV9xNZOKK-l9qwUcuJpvD3xKMDDqNn1ZF7D-1mscORINObUVGXtKaNzfC2-F4qkIXL9wYss0u3z5ecs_rO8uO3HAWolnzurj5B-271D8AW-OH3pftOfHNO3lyzrauo-Zh6DnJpFJj6QTS/s3648/PXL_20230804_143112296.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2736" data-original-width="3648" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCQzvCb15J6eEllnLQqofuiIIAZ3dOne4JHQsl_N0XHQjW8A9pV9xNZOKK-l9qwUcuJpvD3xKMDDqNn1ZF7D-1mscORINObUVGXtKaNzfC2-F4qkIXL9wYss0u3z5ecs_rO8uO3HAWolnzurj5B-271D8AW-OH3pftOfHNO3lyzrauo-Zh6DnJpFJj6QTS/s320/PXL_20230804_143112296.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>The nurses. They are the ones who understand how to get these drugs into me. I watched a consultant fiddle with a drip, upping the amount, while three nurses looked on in horror. Once he'd gone they set it properly. The nurses who had to clean me up after a particulary hazardous use of the commode. It's a humiliating thing, the commode. But they were reassuring while they cleaned me up and made me feel a little less humiliated. They were chatty first thing in the morning as they come round to do the first obs of the day, blood pressure, oxygen saturation etc. we had a giggle over the fact that I quite like the potassium supplement when everyone else thinks it's disgusting. The nurses who change the beds every morning to ensure our comfort. The nurses who suddenly have to go running as the alarm sounds as someone has a heart attack. The nurses who rarely sit down during their shift. I'm a big fan of nurses, and not just because of the outfit. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjfqEPh6uph8YWygyG9LcPS_5AykQxwyg957YfuUNWQ5NkICj-a7Q6Yilh1yaY_Y6gMlu41tb_gy7uEqml0Vnhn8f8jm76nPOLpGwHr7YyHcbIBpj3nso0zudwAOz6w24w1nlAEXbEbKWA8dwsNt05Vk5SekoI037LFHnHmfPGrQMi7m0F19BsOrkw9LgK/s527/ihaveseenterriblethingstoilet1.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="527" data-original-width="503" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjfqEPh6uph8YWygyG9LcPS_5AykQxwyg957YfuUNWQ5NkICj-a7Q6Yilh1yaY_Y6gMlu41tb_gy7uEqml0Vnhn8f8jm76nPOLpGwHr7YyHcbIBpj3nso0zudwAOz6w24w1nlAEXbEbKWA8dwsNt05Vk5SekoI037LFHnHmfPGrQMi7m0F19BsOrkw9LgK/s320/ihaveseenterriblethingstoilet1.webp" width="305" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>The cleaners who ensure that there is an infection free environment, or as close as you can get to one. Here for 12 hours in a soul destroying, monotonous job.</p><p>The people who deliver our breakfast, lunch and dinner after a kitchen has taken some ingredients and turned them into something quite inedible. </p><p>And a special mention for Valentin. An old curmudgeon, perfect word for him. He is a nursing assistant who has been working nights while I have been in E3 ward. He is in his 60's, Jewish and very grumpy. He told me off for something n the first night I was in here. But it turns out that he has a very dry and cutting sense of humour. He makes sure that we are all comfortable, making sure that we are all moving and not laying in the same position all night, pressure sores. I was awake in the early hours the other night and he gave a quick thumbs up to make sure I was OK. And he makes us all hot chocolate before he turns the lights out. It's very 'Cider House Rules' I can almost hear him saying "Goodnight you Princes of Maine..." </p><p>As for the worst... I have spent some time waiting in A&E for a bed to made available for me. In there are the drunks and the yobs. The people who are just wasting the time of the medical staff. Shouting and being aggressive to people who are trying to treat their wounds. Wounds recieved because they got drunk and decided that a fight would be a great way to end Friday night at the pub. Although there was one that made me laugh and that was an old lady, grubby dress and greasy, grey hair who stormed through A&E with her zimmer frame yelling " get out of the way you f#cking f#uckers!" </p><p>Next time I will probably be back to the grumpy, stupid stuff, but this one felt right.</p><p><br /></p><p>Regards</p><p>Giant68 (-:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3q1CYtM2A4-qd4LybIwITXVs37PJH-MJujah-hBbWrI-JOaNClEHu1vT8gGPkJ4kh87c8BHDHPP6ZdT68OsqHsUFx732KiOUg4sRfL-1UVaNJBy2L_hFKYKgaUe66Tpahel5irLi0agvCWHN-MgtqBBMPFsVHriASGa0zgCOBSThw-zxGzTCFlGeUwZo8/s4618/IMG_20200720_132715.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3464" data-original-width="4618" height="127" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3q1CYtM2A4-qd4LybIwITXVs37PJH-MJujah-hBbWrI-JOaNClEHu1vT8gGPkJ4kh87c8BHDHPP6ZdT68OsqHsUFx732KiOUg4sRfL-1UVaNJBy2L_hFKYKgaUe66Tpahel5irLi0agvCWHN-MgtqBBMPFsVHriASGa0zgCOBSThw-zxGzTCFlGeUwZo8/w169-h127/IMG_20200720_132715.jpg" width="169" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Giant68http://www.blogger.com/profile/09801051981426324988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6119433225959191813.post-48539672487074093272023-08-09T07:00:00.001-07:002023-08-21T03:22:59.707-07:00Sex and drugs and rock and rock and roll, blood and soup and wee!<p> Strange title for a blog, I know, but I have had a bit of a strange time just recently. This is not a blog that will dwell on a dark time, although it could and I think that I would be justified. I don't want sympathy, although a week ago i would have liked someone just to grab me in a big hug and say "Everything will be alright" even though it patently wasn't. I was in hospital and expected to die. A team of doctors were very worried and I heard conversations about me that should not have been heard. </p><p>However, it appears, obviously, that neither God nor the Devil wanted me that night and the Grim Reaper left my hospital room without any company.</p><p>I have, currently been in hospital for a week and a half and while I have been in here I have had time to contemplate, make some life-changing decisions, and observe. </p><p>The observation is generally about things that have happened to me. But first I must say that my stay in a Cardiac High Dependency ward has shown me that a: Doctors are the most focused people I have ever met. A whole team was working on me, trying to figure out what the feck to do to save my life. And b: Nurses are the most amazing people on the planet. A doctor will say "Right, what we need to do is get these drugs into this patient" They have no idea how that will happen when every space is already taken up with cannulas. The nurse will look at the patient and say " OK, I think there is room for just one more cannula on the end of his penis, stick it there, next to the catheter pipe..." This is not so far from the truth, to be honest. And the answer to "How much rubber pipe can we get up this old man?" is quite a lot. How many of you now have a strange look on your face and watering eyes? How do you think I felt with all that garden hose up my bits???</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbMJHn07BMnRmE26SbkWdLGR68KwpXCWrzSQ2feuEzSgv80AqvcRL3XbRAf8OVp8L9LlcatXtkhI_tOtaUCTKPmW3R2GDRl4FRDh4sGBEEMTZJL-7ADLfQqvZldl9etZ_OztHjr6fIodO3FfJEvUe4WRIPca5f0gfwIzbyDftwfnWG4ApVfq0A9JyFnbHs/s3648/PXL_20230804_143112296.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2736" data-original-width="3648" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbMJHn07BMnRmE26SbkWdLGR68KwpXCWrzSQ2feuEzSgv80AqvcRL3XbRAf8OVp8L9LlcatXtkhI_tOtaUCTKPmW3R2GDRl4FRDh4sGBEEMTZJL-7ADLfQqvZldl9etZ_OztHjr6fIodO3FfJEvUe4WRIPca5f0gfwIzbyDftwfnWG4ApVfq0A9JyFnbHs/s320/PXL_20230804_143112296.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Anyway, back to observations. There is a tendency to not finish anything. In the middle of the night busy nurses would come in to do the hourly obs, turn the lights up to a point of burning out my retinas and then not turning them back down again when they were done. I would then be forced to press the buzzer and call them back to turn them off. Wasting more of their time than if they had just turned them back down in the first place. But that wasn't the worst. I had a catheter up the todger. Not the most comfortable thing. You'd think it would be good. wouldn't you? No desire to go for a pee, just let it keep flowing... </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMTtn7nzsg2rDVxmJi1UODVQyCRag5pPBax6-JVkOc9ooHRoH_1HAsQf7brjmmaZS5yZy-3OoAVryAp8LuBwYY5XMPCLhVqqmsfHXh-m8uWBvn7JuA-hKufiFNXmtn9vWTNVx2b6JeD_grdWFjOU4ONgel3mWBLZqdczBLeORAUcx3cGOk9XjBsoRIObcl/s3648/PXL_20230804_143119997.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2736" data-original-width="3648" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMTtn7nzsg2rDVxmJi1UODVQyCRag5pPBax6-JVkOc9ooHRoH_1HAsQf7brjmmaZS5yZy-3OoAVryAp8LuBwYY5XMPCLhVqqmsfHXh-m8uWBvn7JuA-hKufiFNXmtn9vWTNVx2b6JeD_grdWFjOU4ONgel3mWBLZqdczBLeORAUcx3cGOk9XjBsoRIObcl/s320/PXL_20230804_143119997.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Very true. However, nurses would come in and move the bag so that they could empty it. Invariably they would hang it quite high for ease of draining it. Then they would leave it there. Higher than my kidneys... Can you imagine the discomfort of the back pressure? I bet you can't. Again, one of those things that waste even more time than just putting it back in the first place. </p><p><br /></p><p>Drugs. Jeez! I can't believe the amount of drugs that have been pumped into me. Dopamine, noradrenaline, Furosemide, Potassium, magnesium, oramorph (nectar of the Gods!). The tablets every morning and evening. I even had some being pumped straight into my heart.</p><p>Rock and roll. Not really. There was no rock and roll here, sorry. </p><p>Blood. Lots of blood. I had two cannulas pop out of me and spray blood everywhere. I had an arterial line in that decided to leak all over the floor. </p><p>Soup. That was the staple food while I have been in here. Pea & ham, chicken, veg, it was all very nice and not too heavy. Too much food and I would be forced to use the commode. I had to a couple of times and it is humiliating. The nurses have to clean you up and they never do it quite right. Not their fault. The second time, I filled it. Literally. That was the biggest walnut whip i have ever seen! I felt sorry for the nurse that had to take that away and beat it with a stick to get rid of it. I also thought that I had got away without making a mess with the soup. Unfortunately I had spilt quite a bit down my gown.</p><p>Wee... While I was unfortunate to have the catheter in there were a couple of times where it just let go. With the back pressure it would force its way around the pipe and I would be soaked in urine. At least it was my own I suppose...</p><p>Once I'm out of hospital I shall insert some pictures but for the moment you will just have to use your imagination.</p><p><br /></p><p>Regards</p><p>Giant68 (-:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7UrDauxsYccZxBO_ILm_edEejL4WUT-iGyFF6W41ryEUHHhbBWNUzhYMnBdzkDCHMfb5IpkLR4uW81UUoUG0hdP8P0uEEY4qvhoAX-yjKXcWW0xD9eQjH9tEJly7r22AxFat4xLVXmNBRtmFU1jqpHtQ3YKVo2TBL9IDHRQaJ0dZV5svXIzlc3FA8ly1K/s3648/PXL_20230809_091404356.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="2736" height="86" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7UrDauxsYccZxBO_ILm_edEejL4WUT-iGyFF6W41ryEUHHhbBWNUzhYMnBdzkDCHMfb5IpkLR4uW81UUoUG0hdP8P0uEEY4qvhoAX-yjKXcWW0xD9eQjH9tEJly7r22AxFat4xLVXmNBRtmFU1jqpHtQ3YKVo2TBL9IDHRQaJ0dZV5svXIzlc3FA8ly1K/w65-h86/PXL_20230809_091404356.jpg" width="65" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Giant68http://www.blogger.com/profile/09801051981426324988noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6119433225959191813.post-12918608703385165692022-08-11T23:31:00.000-07:002022-08-11T23:31:19.110-07:00Canadian Pacific, carry me 3000 miles... We know a song about that...<p> It had been a long time coming but we finally made it to Canada for our 30th wedding anniversary celebration, now our 33rd.</p><p>You will remember that a few years ago I was taken ill? Well, this caused us to miss out on the big holiday. Then COVID happened and it seemed that we would never get there. But we did. A couple of weeks ago we flew out from Heathrow and after a long flight, we landed at Vancouver International airport. I must say that airports in other countries are much more attractive than ours. Heathrow is a functional building, all concrete and melamine, whereas Vancouver was carpeted and there were native artworks and projected images all over the place. </p><p>Anyway, to cut a long story even longer, we were picked up in a large SUV and taken to our hotel. 23rd floor, corner suite, open the curtains and there was a view out over downtown Vancouver that took our breath away.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaGXQZZoy3YVMar0a4HrU83n6B7BYszbN1wmH_KsBoZvcEkdsAAVIONK5hYnIdv0n2HyQYQgolgU23JnoM2qLhb5wOiGxUPr5dQnvpVYPzITXoQhdHKxd-eknsbkCTfZzFne0q9KwdNq2WbBWu7twqkc71yICzRTVt1hld96LHamgc88h_mznztjdnZg/s4160/IMG_20220728_060459.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3120" data-original-width="4160" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaGXQZZoy3YVMar0a4HrU83n6B7BYszbN1wmH_KsBoZvcEkdsAAVIONK5hYnIdv0n2HyQYQgolgU23JnoM2qLhb5wOiGxUPr5dQnvpVYPzITXoQhdHKxd-eknsbkCTfZzFne0q9KwdNq2WbBWu7twqkc71yICzRTVt1hld96LHamgc88h_mznztjdnZg/s320/IMG_20220728_060459.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now to people like us who have only ever been to London this was a sight that was special. It ranked alongside our first view of the banks of the Nile when we went to Egypt. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'm not going to go on about what we saw or did, you'd get bored. I could show you the hundreds of photos we took, bored...🥱</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This time I am going to wax lyrical about food, beer, and the ever-polite Canadians.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Food. North Americans seem to be able to put together a burger that is almost perfect. When I present a burger at a BBQ the minute that you bite into it all the filling tries to escape out of the back. Canadians put together a burger that stays inside the bun, almost as if it wants to be eaten. It is full of fresh ingredients, I even liked the pickles! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I have found my spiritual home. The first menu I looked at almost made me cry with joy! Brussel Sprouts! As a starter, crispy and spicy and lovely in their cloak of green joy. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Then there is breakfast. It seems that Canadians aren't big on brekkie. They seem to prefer brunch. However, there is Canadian bacon. Maple cured bacon. Crispy and tasty...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaBw0rhk3PE6x4lSwDkzkR5o8wjji4MwiBxuMDZ-usDVMqtpxKvce-9z63xQYVrGbMnIpLs8miLwwDbDBtpwuFQTaAAXf7jwJQxveGxjg_dzYBS4aYY6iqiTVVhHFJRIEOKle7SdtbeHfCy52icyTRWJy-wUlhjG49AYKEYbmIwRopkboK9n02BBXCOw/s4000/IMG_20220728_092522.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaBw0rhk3PE6x4lSwDkzkR5o8wjji4MwiBxuMDZ-usDVMqtpxKvce-9z63xQYVrGbMnIpLs8miLwwDbDBtpwuFQTaAAXf7jwJQxveGxjg_dzYBS4aYY6iqiTVVhHFJRIEOKle7SdtbeHfCy52icyTRWJy-wUlhjG49AYKEYbmIwRopkboK9n02BBXCOw/s320/IMG_20220728_092522.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now to beer. In England we have mass-produced beers. Lager, cold and fizzy. Ale, warm and insipid, sometimes harsh and bitter. Occasionally we get some good ones, I'm rather partial to Blandford Fly but, on the whole, they are pretty average. Even the microbreweries seem to make rather bland stuff. cloudy and dull. Feel free to prove me wrong.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But Canada seems to be able to brew beers that are fit for the Gods themselves. Sweet or sharp, cloudy or clear, fizzy or not. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho5BugH8D25vpAyoYPvjkI_HsuozpSIawb5gcRt4bxyaW9PzXWPY05B1LyvnUUASZGIDrt36y2Yc2PIdC50zew2AedtY2xY0KExczLYeCuu1hgfVZ8WfDWmkpOzUa72dqpW-BvTq74oh_VEagPTPHc4JStsTIYJU9NZI9Wa8gdeup_rvZDu_IwGvTtMQ/s1946/IMG_20220801_200812.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1946" data-original-width="1849" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho5BugH8D25vpAyoYPvjkI_HsuozpSIawb5gcRt4bxyaW9PzXWPY05B1LyvnUUASZGIDrt36y2Yc2PIdC50zew2AedtY2xY0KExczLYeCuu1hgfVZ8WfDWmkpOzUa72dqpW-BvTq74oh_VEagPTPHc4JStsTIYJU9NZI9Wa8gdeup_rvZDu_IwGvTtMQ/s320/IMG_20220801_200812.jpg" width="304" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It just seems to me that British brewers are missing a trick. Maybe they are trying to be too clever or just aiming to keep the tradition of warm, bitter brews. The rest of the world has great beer, we have warm, insipid, brown liquid fit for the older gent with a beard and a cardigan. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Canadians themselves are amazingly polite. Those in hospitality especially so. It may be an act as they want a tip at the end of your meal, but if it is, it is a well-practiced one. The act never seems to drop. They will seat you, automatically placing drinking water on the table, take your order and be polite and friendly all the way. Imagine that happening here. Everywhere we ate we would go back to in a heartbeat. From the Steamworks in Vancouver to the Umbrella bar at the top of Whistler Mountain. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_eeyQYP0Fn1163mIP8s3x1tAEeNb9KONQQyI5PGDCHjpooVrJnC3-_kyvIqdpHicnPuJYq4pjYy9rzg4-ZpB_ZjKP0L4tywF9pufD7Bemf2j0nvBUtkTCBAktztZL2Xt5hION0K4QTm_HmM_n8VgtAHbu7h-u05UoT7P2JNIJm2Uk39WAVLniiqUWIw/s4000/IMG_20220809_134054.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_eeyQYP0Fn1163mIP8s3x1tAEeNb9KONQQyI5PGDCHjpooVrJnC3-_kyvIqdpHicnPuJYq4pjYy9rzg4-ZpB_ZjKP0L4tywF9pufD7Bemf2j0nvBUtkTCBAktztZL2Xt5hION0K4QTm_HmM_n8VgtAHbu7h-u05UoT7P2JNIJm2Uk39WAVLniiqUWIw/s320/IMG_20220809_134054.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">In the meantime, I need to get my act together and lose the weight I have put on with all this beer and burger.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Next time, spectacular places, bears, eagles, seals, and upgrades.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Have a great day!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Regards</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Giant68 :-)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu88DJpHP-IGNSmNLm1OCH7SxI7B1euKVEskp7sPRW3Gbzls0ohevwf-1EjN8HV1orA9uW_YQIaMQZtA7xSvEU4SB8wuXJ6O8_RofqMNnwUOwvV-F8GxzWsu1l42yVNkR5Ism1ogeYsMS8Vvaa2akXvUYQCpsZp_bpZFEXXtA2nTy39UquJGs9fzExSA/s640/Picture0001%5B2%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="106" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu88DJpHP-IGNSmNLm1OCH7SxI7B1euKVEskp7sPRW3Gbzls0ohevwf-1EjN8HV1orA9uW_YQIaMQZtA7xSvEU4SB8wuXJ6O8_RofqMNnwUOwvV-F8GxzWsu1l42yVNkR5Ism1ogeYsMS8Vvaa2akXvUYQCpsZp_bpZFEXXtA2nTy39UquJGs9fzExSA/w141-h106/Picture0001%5B2%5D.jpg" width="141" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p>Giant68http://www.blogger.com/profile/09801051981426324988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6119433225959191813.post-31938246697889380882022-05-15T08:13:00.005-07:002022-05-15T08:13:35.239-07:00<p> I feel that I have been disowned by Half Portion, or Mini Giant68. He reckons that I have turned to the dark side. </p><p>What have I done to earn this? I am now the proud owner of a caravan.</p><p>For years I have been in agreement with Jeremy Clarkson, not something that many people will admit to, it seems. But caravans have been the bane of any driver's life on the road since the wheel was invented and the caveman decided to use it, or them, to hitch a box to the back of a dinosaur and go on holiday. But I have now joined that group.</p><p>Some years ago, we started out with a tent. We would load the contents of our house into the car, unload it in a field then, a couple of days later, load it all up and take it back home. I got tired of that. All that sleeping on an inflatable mattress on the floor was getting more and more difficult. So we moved up to a trailer tent, or folding camper if t=you want to be technically correct. It had sofas, proper beds, sort of, and a kitchen. That was great. It was like moving from a flat to a mansion. I could sit on the sofa, in the morning, with a coffee and my book while waiting for Mrs Giant68 to wake up. </p><p>But we still had to get out in the night and go for a walk in the cold if we wanted to use the loo. </p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijceVQG7FsPks8ssksnKpEEsax3LCMBQ5-x3wKiYMUS_yB0rVm3VcZfg8BWDobl30gfqyGJ1CKouu0IWj9oSOTC9rXZtMhakU2mFjDsa0IrJMpZmz7g9_aF0Taxm_HiHLIK41v8BQGUrp8kDkfCNUe6lC1FjUgAN0htpo-3oPuhZaSOPAaY5X4ijfbeg/s4618/IMG_20180831_185552.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3464" data-original-width="4618" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijceVQG7FsPks8ssksnKpEEsax3LCMBQ5-x3wKiYMUS_yB0rVm3VcZfg8BWDobl30gfqyGJ1CKouu0IWj9oSOTC9rXZtMhakU2mFjDsa0IrJMpZmz7g9_aF0Taxm_HiHLIK41v8BQGUrp8kDkfCNUe6lC1FjUgAN0htpo-3oPuhZaSOPAaY5X4ijfbeg/s320/IMG_20180831_185552.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Sometimes you don't want to have to wake up too much at 2am. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So we decided that we needed a caravan...with a toilet. We went and bought one. So now I drive around the countryside at the weekend dragging a tin box behind the car. It hasn't just got a toilet. It has a bathroom. With a shower. We have hot water, heating, beds, a cooker with an oven. And it is great. Waking up in the countryside, great views, birds singing, the smell of frying bacon. what more could a man want? Beer. Actually, a man would also want beer. Or copious quantities of alcohol, be it whiskey, brandy, rum or just plain and simple wine. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I won't have a TV. There comes a line that, when crossed, you may as well stay at home. And the TV is on the other side of that line as far as I can see. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We went to a site in Canterbury a while back and there was a camper van that had a bigger TV than I have at home in my living room. While they were all sat around inside watching Eastenders, or whatever, there was a marvelous sunset going on outside. The stars were starting to come out, as were the night creatures. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">One thing I have found; since I started towing this box around, is that it is not the caravans that are the problem. It is, generally, ordinary drivers. People who have no idea how to enter a motorway from the sliproad, forcing other drivers to either slow down or dodge them as they force their way on. I was under the impression that the sliproad onto a motorway is a lane where drivers should accelerate to match the speed of those already on the motorway. Several times lately, I have been forced to slow down to ridiculously slow speeds because some dickhead is joining the lane at 30mph. I have a caravan on the back, I can't always move over to lane 2 to make room, I know why truck driving friends get so stressed out. I can almost imagine what it is like to have 44t under my right foot. It is bad enough with 3.5t. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">With the caravan on the back, I am restricted to 60mph. Any faster and it becomes unstable. I am not permitted in lane 3. And there are other rules and problems. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But in the end, I have a caravan. No.1 son thinks I have sold out. But I get reasonably cheap holidays. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeXtOncYdYbMS15pkZycxhZ1RnMaJQn7zhQxn0Yt-zHR15RyIIqCw0yFCAD31qAlq8VHgVSlFMWaUQFgPBZzao-tJfd5JHBKu3cin1mcanApEti1oiMb-_eiN2PwJJJyviT19uQt-ES3y8H4yVpx1OPgygb6VrnNB0q7GCF82T9gf-6R0WeFqQjZs37w/s4000/IMG_20220502_181830.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeXtOncYdYbMS15pkZycxhZ1RnMaJQn7zhQxn0Yt-zHR15RyIIqCw0yFCAD31qAlq8VHgVSlFMWaUQFgPBZzao-tJfd5JHBKu3cin1mcanApEti1oiMb-_eiN2PwJJJyviT19uQt-ES3y8H4yVpx1OPgygb6VrnNB0q7GCF82T9gf-6R0WeFqQjZs37w/s320/IMG_20220502_181830.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;">And, more importantly, I have a bathroom in that metal box.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFhv55vKtoi4vtgw_0O2jpxnmoQHcHBdBOlV_F9sWcgjQ9iyPrpROBLcmjwoOMPyU1ou7PDO8gFwFTkfPpiCc40aautRa6eAaTA20014B24FETPp9BwInsR38rg1mZDdG8tgc2aA3AIYSJ07eYP5KlQLbDaBPK6K1RU1lsxBUTzkf16klRvXspuuU0MA/s640/Picture0003%5B2%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="137" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFhv55vKtoi4vtgw_0O2jpxnmoQHcHBdBOlV_F9sWcgjQ9iyPrpROBLcmjwoOMPyU1ou7PDO8gFwFTkfPpiCc40aautRa6eAaTA20014B24FETPp9BwInsR38rg1mZDdG8tgc2aA3AIYSJ07eYP5KlQLbDaBPK6K1RU1lsxBUTzkf16klRvXspuuU0MA/w182-h137/Picture0003%5B2%5D.jpg" width="182" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Regards</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Giant68 :-)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /> <p></p>Giant68http://www.blogger.com/profile/09801051981426324988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6119433225959191813.post-25550812374160481772022-05-15T07:11:00.005-07:002022-05-15T07:11:52.639-07:00Big Chief Eagle Crest<p> It's been a long time since I have written a blog, life seemed to get very busy, even with all the restrictions of the pandemic. But here I am giving it a go again.</p><p>Some time ago I wrote a blog about the stories that my grandmother used to tell when I was a young boy. They were all remembered, not written down, so once she passed away I thought that they were lost forever. Not so. You have already read about Bobtail Bunny and now you can read about Chief Eagle Crest. Bear in mind that these stories came from a different time, the world has changed and Indian means something different. Today we would refer to native Americans. But it was of its time. </p><p>I feel that there should be more of it, that there is an ending missing from this but I'm not sure what it is. These stories were told to me over 50 years ago when all things were different.</p><p>Here it is:</p><p><b><i>Chief Eagle Crest</i></b></p><p><b><i><br /></i></b></p><p><b><i>Dick found this box beside his bed</i></b></p><p><b><i>One morning when he woke.</i></b></p><p><b><i>“For the big Indian Chief,” it said.</i></b></p><p><b><i>It really was a joke.</i></b></p><p><b><i>He cut the string and peeped inside</i></b></p><p><b><i>And gave a whoop of joy!</i></b></p><p><b><i>An Indian outfit, fine, he cried</i></b></p><p><b><i>“I am a lucky boy!”</i></b></p><p><b><i>In half a minute I’ll be dressed</i></b></p><p><b><i>And then I’ll be Chief Eagle Crest!</i></b></p><p><b><i><br /></i></b></p><p><b><i>Chief Eagle Crest has spied a Joe,</i></b></p><p><b><i>“Your doom has come!” he cried.</i></b></p><p><b><i>And fixed an arrow to his bow</i></b></p><p><b><i>Straight to the mark it flew.</i></b></p><p><b><i>The wounded paleface has to yield</i></b></p><p><b><i>It’s just a scarecrow in a field.</i></b></p><p><b><i>Then mounting on his trusty horse</i></b></p><p><b><i>The great chief rode astride</i></b></p><p><b><i>Until he reached a watercourse</i></b></p><p><b><i>A river deep and wide.</i></b></p><p><b><i>“I’m coming now to rescue you!” </i></b></p><p><b><i>Called out the Indian brave.</i></b></p><p><b><i>“I’m paddling in my small canoe</i></b></p><p><b><i>Your life I mean to save!”</i></b></p><p><b><i>The maiden was indeed distressed</i></b></p><p><b><i>She’d fallen from the bank.</i></b></p><p><b><i>But just in time Chief Eagle Crest</i></b></p><p><b><i>Arrived before she sank.</i></b></p><p><b><i>He hoisted her in his canoe</i></b></p><p><b><i>She looked a dreadful sight.</i></b></p><p><b><i>And paddling swiftly to the shore</i></b></p><p><b><i>He took her to dry land once more</i></b></p><p><b><i>For she was dripping wet right through,</i></b></p><p><b><i>Her cheeks were pale with fright.</i></b></p><p><b><i>He set her on his trusty steed</i></b></p><p><b><i>And swiftly rode away.</i></b></p><p><b><i>“A squaw” he said “is what I need</i></b></p><p><b><i>So maiden you shall stay”</i></b></p><p><b><i>“And in the wigwam you will dwell</i></b></p><p><b><i>And hear the tales I have to tell”</i></b></p><p><b><i>He helped the maiden to alight </i></b></p><p><b><i>Within a pretty glade.</i></b></p><p><b><i>A box of chocolates they shared</i></b></p><p><b><i>They are delicious each declared… </i></b></p><p><b><i><br /></i></b></p><p>Maybe one of you, out there will know how this ended. But, like Bobtail Bunny, it remains a Googlewhack.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlgr-wBk6qJJjlQW3KqpofnGwsv2TL4oQC_gcW3pajQcKSXOMCds2huhJVceJJ_jCPxXrCvJ-RL7LaR4y_vhC2y2etFL1p9-tB3oXdVNp3iyJIw99BVY-8EY8ir-KlKDupFm44UN_Z1aUnmuTnL0bl6tSucSwIf9lgY7PYNVpFHf7eFhn_68Qq15OTJA/s640/Picture0003%5B2%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlgr-wBk6qJJjlQW3KqpofnGwsv2TL4oQC_gcW3pajQcKSXOMCds2huhJVceJJ_jCPxXrCvJ-RL7LaR4y_vhC2y2etFL1p9-tB3oXdVNp3iyJIw99BVY-8EY8ir-KlKDupFm44UN_Z1aUnmuTnL0bl6tSucSwIf9lgY7PYNVpFHf7eFhn_68Qq15OTJA/s320/Picture0003%5B2%5D.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Regards</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Giant68 :-)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Giant68http://www.blogger.com/profile/09801051981426324988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6119433225959191813.post-75330613041902512592021-02-13T04:07:00.004-08:002021-02-13T04:12:22.658-08:00Seagulls to Newton<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Random
blogpost today. Possibly a bit surreal as well, sorry.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yesterday I
was walking around the school, you know I work in a school, right?, and I heard
the sound of two arguing seagulls. This was quite quickly followed by the
sound of something hitting the ground. It was an apple. It appears that these
two gulls were arguing over the fact that one of the birds was holding an
apple. WTF!!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEvVt33XKcM8XDWqktFa4j-lXBsAQKYkuIIeyfBzho1ovZ4T2Ri0Pr2_9N612tCD8EufXaXJbfdoB1FKsL2bioz6MujOUCfEA9ivneFsl6m7pw6xG-SiVYA2eRmkeobHYzHUBGANMifzxf/s982/PRI77304304.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="726" data-original-width="982" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEvVt33XKcM8XDWqktFa4j-lXBsAQKYkuIIeyfBzho1ovZ4T2Ri0Pr2_9N612tCD8EufXaXJbfdoB1FKsL2bioz6MujOUCfEA9ivneFsl6m7pw6xG-SiVYA2eRmkeobHYzHUBGANMifzxf/s320/PRI77304304.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I wonder
what possessed a seagull to pick up an apple? ‘Ooh! Look! An apple! I feel a
bit peckish and I fancy some fruit, I’ll grab it in my beak and take it up to
the top of that lamppost and eat it…’ You will notice here that I am not really
concerned with the fact that this falling apple, caused by Isaac Newton inventing
gravity in 1687, could fall on a child’s head and kill them. I find it more
intriguing that a bird, not known for eating whole fruit, has flown off with a
rather large apple in its mouth. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Were they
arguing over the logistics of the apple transport and ingestion when it was
dropped? ‘Look, George, you can’t possibly eat that thing, it’s far too big.
What do you intend to do with it when you get it home, peel it and slice it? ‘<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">‘Ung uun
ung un… Sorry, couldn’t talk with that bloody thing in my mouth. I thought it
might make a nice change from all the usual shit that we eat. We could get some
flour and sugar and make an apple crumble. If you could lay some eggs we could
make custard.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">‘You are a
feckin seagull! What, on Earth, did you think we were going to make it in? We
haven’t even got a kitchen!’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">‘I didn’t
think that far ahead. And now, because of that bloke Newton inventing calculus,
I’ve lost the apple. And that big ugly bloke has picked it up.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">'I think you
will find that the principles you wanted to refer to was gravity, not calculus.
We need to be aware of why we don’t plummet to the ground rather than how we
can figure out our change in delta v.’<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-2eQ5Zlvui72LhVRIbijWoSEiKPTvxNg9dex9XDaqkYBJ26rohH5g01dvvWWQdUde70wtS8GcV67S15fpBIIgUGDIRhKpYoOhDt2FEDdwZ5GSZZtNmgjEvZc5jIHYydBv8Sj2FkFfMz1x/s253/newton.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="253" data-original-width="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-2eQ5Zlvui72LhVRIbijWoSEiKPTvxNg9dex9XDaqkYBJ26rohH5g01dvvWWQdUde70wtS8GcV67S15fpBIIgUGDIRhKpYoOhDt2FEDdwZ5GSZZtNmgjEvZc5jIHYydBv8Sj2FkFfMz1x/s0/newton.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">‘Sorry. I’ll
stick to nicking chips in future.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I’ve got to
admit to being very surprised at the size of the apple. I wonder how that would’ve
looked on the RIDDOR report form? I blame Newton.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Regards<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Giant68 <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span face=""Segoe UI Emoji",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol-ext; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: "Segoe UI Emoji";">😊</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfvANSjV7htuKCCuvOT9FnaP7NVCXsJxKoqn8m6ZSG0x7mJ7DC2-qr0yWVqGXnPCB5BzwoVs4tB0MqHpZuJbXXQEbVbCd-Fi9Q7jPSY3WwcbGv5n1o7tmWf92UV9dAu1MTgqCrDzrOhIl0/s640/Picture0001%255B2%255D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="137" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfvANSjV7htuKCCuvOT9FnaP7NVCXsJxKoqn8m6ZSG0x7mJ7DC2-qr0yWVqGXnPCB5BzwoVs4tB0MqHpZuJbXXQEbVbCd-Fi9Q7jPSY3WwcbGv5n1o7tmWf92UV9dAu1MTgqCrDzrOhIl0/w183-h137/Picture0001%255B2%255D.jpg" width="183" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><span face=""Segoe UI Emoji",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol-ext; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: "Segoe UI Emoji";"><br /></span></p>Giant68http://www.blogger.com/profile/09801051981426324988noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6119433225959191813.post-4059201738384525462021-02-07T04:51:00.000-08:002021-02-07T04:51:05.900-08:00Your entitlement...<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I am going
to state, right at the beginning, that I am a grumpy old man. But then, you
should know that already. I may have slipped a bit just lately but the grumpiness
remains. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I am
warning you now that if you don’t like what I write hereafter, tough. I don’t
think that I am a bad person, just grumpy and getting more opinionated as the
years go by and as the pandemic carries on.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A few days ago, Capt Tom passed away. We all know that he raised a phenomenal amount for the NHS
by walking 100 laps of his garden before his 100<sup>th</sup> birthday. People are
now mourning him as If he was their father. Fine, nothing wrong with that. But
are we doing it for the right reason? Yes, he raised a shitload of money. Yes,
he walked 100 laps of his garden when he was approaching his 100<sup>th</sup>
birthday. Others could’ve done that and, indeed, they did. One lady was 104
when she walked to raise money. Capt Tom was the first and he captured the
nations attention. His attitude was that of a generation that lived, and
fought, through a world war, rationing and hardships of many kinds. He never
implied any sense of entitlement or of being cheated out of anything. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My grandfather
left school at 14 to work down a mine. Some of the money he earnt was used to
pay for night school courses that led him to become a civil engineer. He became
chief civil engineer in Nottingham. And on his journey through life he earned
an MBE for services to the country during the war. Apparently, he planned dummy
airfields for the Germans to bomb. He worked hard. He took only what he could
earn in a world that was harder than it is today. And he died before he could enjoy
his retirement. He asked for nothing. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Today I see
on the local news that prisoners in an open prison are complaining that they
have missed out on the furlough scheme. I see teenagers claiming that they have
been cheated because they have been ignored by the government and their
education is suffering. What are we becoming?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">At one
point this country was producing some of the best scientists and engineers in
the world. Our armed forces were the envy of the world. Now? Not so much.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">If you have
been affected by anything contained in this blog feel free to sob to yourself
in a corner.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal">Regards</p><p class="MsoNormal">Giant68 </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFKIpOZYfJkU5qRxMg6Z3-pOkQtSeOnUWYL-1W6RgrtwhMyj81LY5bBE1Hz4tmx6DmA1da4Ywlu8UyApsbqF4oJTb21F3F4nlQAVpF46snReJBIa1UQVKHtwsUZojQG-WijTJLOoGmB4Bk/s640/Picture0001%255B2%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="101" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFKIpOZYfJkU5qRxMg6Z3-pOkQtSeOnUWYL-1W6RgrtwhMyj81LY5bBE1Hz4tmx6DmA1da4Ywlu8UyApsbqF4oJTb21F3F4nlQAVpF46snReJBIa1UQVKHtwsUZojQG-WijTJLOoGmB4Bk/w135-h101/Picture0001%255B2%255D.jpg" width="135" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>Giant68http://www.blogger.com/profile/09801051981426324988noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6119433225959191813.post-54461490115737754272020-04-26T05:53:00.001-07:002020-04-26T07:12:18.678-07:00Giant68 - The Plague Years<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">What did
you do during the plague? Were you someone who thought that measures brought in
to control the spread of the virus didn’t apply to you? Did you stay at home but
whine about it? Or did you stay at home and follow the guidelines with the good
grace of an adult with a sense of compassion and community spirit? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Either way,
this virus caused all sorts of fear and panic. Death rates rising, stocks of
toilet rolls plunging. Different kinds of rhetoric heard daily on the streets
and on the TV.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLr_zUeIdnBVVBpTWykaDR_AVk6x8vJgN6cgqycVNUTZK99LGFkpghnwcYrb24yh2W-VoNnF2TpvclG6zyx0d-PR6Bs9s2HrSlhzonqMQ2eRHqW0E148QFiIciNhgcGXdbfg5eDl4WL-7Y/s1600/angry-businessman-screaming-loud-speaker-young-handsome-holding-isolated-white-background-45984599.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLr_zUeIdnBVVBpTWykaDR_AVk6x8vJgN6cgqycVNUTZK99LGFkpghnwcYrb24yh2W-VoNnF2TpvclG6zyx0d-PR6Bs9s2HrSlhzonqMQ2eRHqW0E148QFiIciNhgcGXdbfg5eDl4WL-7Y/s320/angry-businessman-screaming-loud-speaker-young-handsome-holding-isolated-white-background-45984599.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Me? I was
lucky, in a way. I still went to work every day. Mrs Giant68 went to work every
3<sup>rd</sup> week, until she managed to dislocate her shoulder while playing
cricket on the school field, MiniGiant was furloughed on 80% pay and No.1 daughter
was furloughed on full pay. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Myself and
Mrs Giant68 were classed as keyworkers and put in a bracket just beneath
nurses, along with the binmen and shop workers. I don’t feel that we compared in any way to healthcare
professionals, I was just doing the job I was paid for. Yes, I am a little
scared of catching some virus that could kill me, after all, I am a 55-year-old
man with heart disease and diabetes. But if you let the fear take over you may
as well lock yourself away and never venture out ever again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I am full
of good intentions. While I am still working, I have plenty of spare time on my
hands. We can't go shopping, or go out anywhere much, so what to do with all
that spare time? I can finally get to teach myself how to play that ukulele,
I want to learn Makaton, I can sign up for another online learning course….<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">4 weeks in
and, while the garden is now tidy, I have done none of the rest of what I had
so naively planned. But I have had video calls with friends far away and
nearby. I have watched Starlink satellites float past overhead and photographed
the moon and stars through my telescope, renewing my interest in hobbies surrendered
to lack of time. So while I have learned not a lot I am still happy that I have
come away with something. I reacquainted myself with the peace and beauty of
the heavens, the peace and tranquility of a garden on a sunny afternoon and the
pleasure of<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>good book. I hope that you
have all gained something.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuQr57QncGJtTzsuVg68O6vvDlQoqETDLBccE1cx7wyXROLW834hisdOhwg-IApnT_9MdXVhFK5l0W2Hz4JnquUYra546RtXH4bF0kSNDsW2Cq_cQI3CJvc4hD91c1Vnaodf0Mni3YCwK-/s1600/IMG_0095.CR2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuQr57QncGJtTzsuVg68O6vvDlQoqETDLBccE1cx7wyXROLW834hisdOhwg-IApnT_9MdXVhFK5l0W2Hz4JnquUYra546RtXH4bF0kSNDsW2Cq_cQI3CJvc4hD91c1Vnaodf0Mni3YCwK-/s320/IMG_0095.CR2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Although I
have seen and heard things that haven’t been so pleasant. I have watched
friends fall out over differing opinions, either scientific or political. It
seems that in times like this everyone becomes an expert, or knows someone who
knows someone who works with someone who…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Everyone
seems to know better. Everyone seems to believe the rubbish that is published
in the media, regardless of its source. I worry for friends when I see these
arguments and I hope that when this is over they will kiss and make up. Me? I
sit here and follow the guidelines given through official channels. I believe
only those things I know as incontrovertible
truths and I wash my hands and only go out for exercise and shopping. I will,
however, achieve my goal of the Couch to 5k. Started yesterday and today I am
buggered! But I will persevere.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Situations like this bring out the very best in some and the very worst in others. Ask yourself what its brought out in you. hopefully, it is the former and not the latter. Think Capt Tom rather than the Trumpster. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And it has brought out some amazing examples of the dark humour of the British. I have laughed quite a bit. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Look after
yourselves. Follow the guidelines. Socially distance. It will pass. Things will
get better and we will meet in the pub for a pint again. Stay healthy. Love you
all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And I really hope that my friends, newly moved to Somerset, finally see a Starlink satellite...</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Giant68 </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "segoe ui emoji" , sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol-ext; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: "Segoe UI Emoji";">😊</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "segoe ui emoji" , sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol-ext; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: "Segoe UI Emoji";"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "segoe ui emoji" , sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol-ext; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: "Segoe UI Emoji";"><br /></span></div>
<br />Giant68http://www.blogger.com/profile/09801051981426324988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6119433225959191813.post-10505289336315510142020-04-17T05:33:00.000-07:002020-04-17T05:37:58.033-07:00<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Interesting times at the moment, don’t you think? Virus,
lockdown, no pubs, no restaurants, nothing really. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have been lucky that I can still go to work, others, like
Mrs Giant68, have to stay at home and try and avoid going stir crazy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So what have you all done to try and relieve the tedium? I
guess that those with kids haven’t had much chance to suffer the boredom of
being home as the young’uns will be taking up most of their time while the rest
is spent chucking gin down their throats. But I haven’t done a lot really. I
have been off work for a couple of weeks, working in a school I still get the
school holiday off this time. I have binge-watched a few things on Netflix and
Amazon. I subscribed to the Disney channel so that I could watch The
Mandalorian which, I hasten to add, I quite enjoyed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Back in the 1970s there was a TV program called James
Burkes Connections. I vaguely remember watching it and enjoying it. It seemed
to be the start of the popular science scene that has lead to Brian Cox. In the program, James would follow a
twisting trail linking one scientific discovery to others. It would start with
a Roman Chariot and end with the space shuttle, or it would if the shuttle had
been around in the early seventies…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I like all this popular science stuff, not that keen on
Brian Cox to be honest, but the science is good. I read an interesting book
recently that showed that the origin of the production line and mass production
goes back to the American War of independence and the musket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I used to watch Tomorrow's World when I was a
kid, I bet a lot of you won’t be old enough to remember that or it’s original
presenter, Raymond Baxter. Yes, I am old.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The other day I found a series seemingly based around the
concept of the James Burke program. It is called Revolutions, presented by Jim
Al Kalili. It shows that the telescope could have been in existence a thousand
years before Galileo made one and found that Jupiter had moons and Saturn had
rings. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But the most interesting thing I have discovered via this
program is that Hedy Lamarr, film star and once voted the most beautiful woman
on the planet, was also an inventor. She devised a way of guiding torpedoes to
their targets during WW2. She also came up with the spread spectrum method
which allows our smartphones to work without clogging up the airwaves. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ4-sR4whpss5W8P6V0lx_PYu69JsH_CNyMH5DKeyYitXuXCOlHGtrKZht7S7P6nkErE8owtn0PBCsuc1wuSKeabn4U3u-SjivzCeu6I8GWN0vqvKE24eVk7FfCv64x30yAgmTjrt4pEFF/s1600/lamarr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="258" data-original-width="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ4-sR4whpss5W8P6V0lx_PYu69JsH_CNyMH5DKeyYitXuXCOlHGtrKZht7S7P6nkErE8owtn0PBCsuc1wuSKeabn4U3u-SjivzCeu6I8GWN0vqvKE24eVk7FfCv64x30yAgmTjrt4pEFF/s1600/lamarr.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am a sucker for trivia like that. These things stick in my
brain. For instance, the first traffic lights were in Parliament Square in
1868. Gas-powered with semaphore like flags as well as the red and green
lights. Unfortunately, the next year they exploded and killed a policeman. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Voyager 1, launched in 1977 is now in interstellar space,
having left the solar system in 2012, and is just short of 14 billion miles
from home. In 40000 years it will be near<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="background-color: black; font-family: inherit;">AC +79 3888, a star just over 17.5 light-years away</span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #333333;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: inherit;">. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKS40-xlIAYiTGXwLjfkcaOgoik_Yv2DGPBb2T2BnACyi_HJIRsnSIC1Pytmz6Ehf2BY3RVV6bSKpGNslYulheMTAposivDWNMBHyB3Z0MwNrLy3SGPqYxxwvyNDnk68TiN_mB-uFA5-NA/s1600/voyager.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKS40-xlIAYiTGXwLjfkcaOgoik_Yv2DGPBb2T2BnACyi_HJIRsnSIC1Pytmz6Ehf2BY3RVV6bSKpGNslYulheMTAposivDWNMBHyB3Z0MwNrLy3SGPqYxxwvyNDnk68TiN_mB-uFA5-NA/s1600/voyager.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: inherit;">Now, you can’t deny that those facts are fascinating, can
you? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #333333;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: inherit;">What I should be doing is learning the ukulele, something I
have been trying to do on and off for a couple of years. Or maybe taking
advantage of the many offers of free online diplomas. But where’s the fun in
that?</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Regards<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Giant68 </span><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "wingdings";"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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I really need to change that profile pic!</div>
Giant68http://www.blogger.com/profile/09801051981426324988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6119433225959191813.post-54363345382283544682020-04-06T08:10:00.001-07:002020-04-06T08:10:10.059-07:00I have always been a bit of a social distancer...<br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">So, how are
you all doing with this social distancing? The world has become a bit of a
strange place at the moment and there is no real sign of normality, at least
not in the near future. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In a way, I
have been lucky. I am one of those that still have to go to work and, while the
threat of this damned virus scares the living crap out of me, I am thankful
that I can still get out of the house. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But there
is one thing that will keep me sane(ish). And that is my collection of books. I have been an avid reader for
many, many years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I discovered science fiction
and fantasy at quite an early age when I found Destination Mars by Hugh Walters
in the school library, previous to this I had read all of Willard Prices books.
From then on I regularly got criticized by my English teacher, Mr Mouncher, who
felt that I should be reading Dickens or Austen; ‘Stop reading that Star Trek
rubbish’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Needless to
say, I didn’t stop reading it. And I was encouraged by my maths teacher who lent
me books by Cordwainer Smith and Arthur C Clarke, thanks Mr Cobley! I
worked<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>my way through the Hugh Walters
books, powered my way through Clarke and Asimov and then discovered fantasy, in
the writings of Robert E Howard and his creation, Conan the barbarian. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS0-UjIsCL5RGwRWxpHAQfQEwb64JFXNOBNjGbUI05JD8s8MpVtRTGbrlqz1AiYeTiPgw1FDWvWzu6Z1nszRplesauif6RVxS8ANQ11bzTxcasiwwPQhyphenhyphenOMgDiXOEx2tLzKdi_9McLyCcD/s1600/asimov_foundation1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1256" data-original-width="788" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS0-UjIsCL5RGwRWxpHAQfQEwb64JFXNOBNjGbUI05JD8s8MpVtRTGbrlqz1AiYeTiPgw1FDWvWzu6Z1nszRplesauif6RVxS8ANQ11bzTxcasiwwPQhyphenhyphenOMgDiXOEx2tLzKdi_9McLyCcD/s320/asimov_foundation1.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Over the
years I collected many books. It wasn’t enough to borrow them from the library,
I had to have my own copy. I didn’t read a book and then get rid of it, I kept
it to read again. I ended up, a few years ago, with thousands. As you can
imagine, Mrs Giant68 was never that impressed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Then she
bought me a Kindle. I think there was hope that I would get rid of all the
novels piled up around the house. And I did get rid of them. As I replaced them
with the electronic version I would send the physical book to the charity shop. I am now the proud owner
of thousands of ebooks. I still have some ‘real’ books, those with some
sentimental value and signed copies. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCqzmYi-GyqTkzR1mw_b1Grt1jJu42sbH4-sfZsW-49fh03N6aIXn_CGSfapzd_3vcKepmDh8hJQa6GzXD4xoMqah9cjaRLphfKjm-W64zmQQ0McrEFrsLjoCgd_pIeeswM1EdmDFLU6ES/s1600/conan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="123" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCqzmYi-GyqTkzR1mw_b1Grt1jJu42sbH4-sfZsW-49fh03N6aIXn_CGSfapzd_3vcKepmDh8hJQa6GzXD4xoMqah9cjaRLphfKjm-W64zmQQ0McrEFrsLjoCgd_pIeeswM1EdmDFLU6ES/s1600/conan.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Back to the
current situation. While I have been sat, social distancing, I have had a
chance to scour Amazon for new books to read. Amazon is a great place for
people like me, especially in this day of self-publishing. There is a myriad of
books at knockdown prices. I rarely pay over 99p for a book. There is, however,
a drawback to self-publishing, and that is that some of them are absolute
shite. But in amongst the dross there are some absolute gems and these range
from proper ‘pulp’ scifi to some that would hold their own against literary
classics. And there are a plethora of sub-genres to choose from, steampunk, urban fantasy etc. In
the old days of paying over a fiver for a paperback, I would finish every book I
bought. I was going to get my moneys worth. Nowadays, if I have spent 99p on a
book and it proves to be crap, I don’t bother. Life is too short to read
rubbish books. I tend to avoid ‘zombie’ novels as they all follow the same
idea, and I feel that it is lazy writing and authors without the imagination to
write something original. Apologies if you are one of those writers but please
feel free to convince me otherwise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Currently, I
am waiting for Neal Ashers latest episode from his Jain series, The Human, to hit
the shelves. The previous books being absolutely amazing and unputdownable. But
then that is what I have come to expect from Asher, as well as Peter F
Hamilton. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have discovered
fantasy from the keyboard of Justin Lee Anderson, The Lost War. A story that could
rival the writing of David Gemmell. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I am
currently reading The Atomic Sea by Jack Conner and loving it. It looks like it
is a long series so I am not sure how long I will stick with it before it
starts to bore me but at the moment it has captured my imagination with the
imagery it contains. Next in the reading queue are books by Steve McHugh,
excellent urban fantasy writing, something by Michael Anderle, real pulp
fiction but, like the others mentioned here, good for losing yourself in for
several hours.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In a way we
are in a golden age of writing, more so, I think, than in any other time. The
opportunities that the ebook have presented to budding authors seem to be
without limits. Anybody can live one life but a reader can live thousands of
lives. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I expect
that Mr Mouncher, the old English teacher, has long since passed to the great
library in the sky but I wonder what he would say to me now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br /><br />
In the meantime, and while you are self isolating, get along to Amazon and check out the offerings of Neal Asher and Peter F Hamilton for vast, sweeping space operas with complex plots and even more complex characters. Or Justin Lee Andersons Lost War if you are into well imagined fantasy. For the urban fantasy fan, try Steve McHugh and his Hellequin series. I make no apology for plugging these authors, they write some great stories, but remember that Amazon has a vast catalogue of books in all formats, why not try something new?<br />
Stay indoors. Stay safe. Stay healthy. Read a good book and stay sane.<br />
<br />
Regards<br />
<br />
Giant68 :-)<br />
<br />
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Giant68http://www.blogger.com/profile/09801051981426324988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6119433225959191813.post-70790083877985867012020-02-15T08:05:00.001-08:002020-02-15T08:08:04.170-08:00The naked and the recovering.<br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I am a
little late in writing this, sorry. We went to Spain in October and it is now
February. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">So there we
were, sat on the beach, and what a nice beach it was too, I was reading my
Kindle, and I look up and there are two naked people walking past on their way
to the sea. What is wrong with this? I hear you ask. Nothing, apart from the
fact that, being English, I am more used to seeing naked people looking like
their birthday suit needs a good iron or it has been overstuffed. These 2 were
quite good looking, not that I really noticed, or was looking…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I think
that the gentleman was affected by the coldness of the sea… Anyway, I went back
to reading my book, lets face it, I was recovering from a quintuple bypass. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">There is
nothing quite as good as blue sky and sunshine to help a recovery from major
surgery, or anything, come to think of it. We had retired to the Costas for a
week and it proved to be worth it. October ½ term and the weather at Platja D’Aro
was mid 20’s, blue sky, hardly any people. We stood on a beach on the first day
and were the only ones there. Paradise. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It’s also
strange what you can learn about a place if you put your mind to it. There are
paddy fields in Spain. They grow rice, who’d have thought it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We were in
a good hotel, quite multinational but mainly Germans. They have weird things
for breakfast. I<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>saw people collect just
a plate of eggs, I get that, but then there was the guy who collected a massive
plate load of cake and a bowl of milk and proceeded to dunk the cake in the
milk, weird but each to their own, or </span><span style="background: white; color: #222222;">chacun<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"> à </span>son
gout as the Europeans might say, not that we are European any more but that is
another story and not from me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222;">Spain is a beautiful place but,
seriously, who paints a building this colour and puts orange blinds on it??<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Do you see why myself and Mrs Giant68 picked
this place for the mental recovery from surgery? We both needed it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Regards<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Giant68 </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "segoe ui emoji" , sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol-ext; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: "Segoe UI Emoji";">😉</span></div>
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<br />Giant68http://www.blogger.com/profile/09801051981426324988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6119433225959191813.post-30757550420515909652019-11-16T10:07:00.001-08:002019-11-16T10:13:10.595-08:00Up, Down, Up, Down...Now the other eyelid...<br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">18 weeks down
the line from a few heart attacks and quintuple bypass surgery and, on the
whole, I feel pretty good. What? You didn’t know I’d had a heart attack? Where
have you been? If you had been following my blogs you would know all about it.
So go back and read the previous couple of blogs, but be warned, I have been
told that they made a few people cry. Anyway, back to being 18 weeks on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have
spent the last 8 Fridays at Cardiac Rehab. Basically, for people like me, heart
attacks, bypass and heart failure, it is 8 weeks of exercise and talks.
Exercises to help with the recovery and beyond, and the talks to give me the
information I need to be able to live a life that doesn’t see me having another
heart attack and shuffling off this mortal coil. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Week 1 was
a bit of a shock to the system. I turned up to find that I was the youngest
there, 54 and the youngest, who’d have thought it? But I wasn’t the fittest, by
far. The first set of exercises took me 3 days to get over. Everywhere ached. I was
shuffling around like the old man I thought I was. Georgina, 84, was fitter than
me! It was explained that the amount of muscle mass and stamina lost is considerable
during the 8 weeks post-op, that time when I can do nothing but let my body try
and recover from what is some serious butchery. Over the following weeks I
gained some stamina and a little strength. It was a real surprise to me as I
never thought I was unfit. Fine, I could not run a marathon, or even sprint
100m, but mere weeks before the heart attack I was carrying railway sleepers on
my shoulders. Suddenly I was as weak as a baby. Mind you, I still pulled…
Georgina, 84, and Jill,69, seemed to like me, oh dear! By week 8 I was running
and using weights. Not a Charles Atlas yet (I bet that not too many of you are
old enough to remember him!) but improvement nevertheless.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Talks were about
things that affected us, drinking, smoking, diabetes, medication, exercise, etc.
The whole process from surgery to this point had seemed to fly by. And there
were things I should’ve known that I didn’t. One of those things was the
medication I was now taking for the rest of my life. And that was stupid. We
should all understand what we are putting into our bodies, and why. We all know
that smoking and drinking are bad for you, I think that is a given, as well as
the fact that exercise is good for you. But what were Ramipril and Bisoprolol
doing to my body? Why was I taking an aspirin in the morning and a statin at
night? I know now. I know why some of them are having their doses increased and
why I will, eventually, stop taking Furosemide. The practitioners who ran the
rehab program ensured that all of us had the knowledge and tools to live the
best life we could from this point. And we were like a little family. Having
had a shared experience of the heart attack, regardless of whether we were stented
or, like me and Georgina, cabbaged (<b>C</b>ardiac <b>A</b>rtery <b>B</b>ypass <b>G</b>raft
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>or CABG, cabbage.) and as had been
explained me at the beginning, in A&E, there is no such thing as a mild
heart attack or severe heart attack. There is just the heart attack, it can
kill anyone, or act as a warning if you are very lucky. I will miss Fred, Frank,
Mark, Georgina, Jill and all the rest. I wouldn’t say it was fun but we laughed
quite a lot. Megan, the practitioner who got us moving was a tyrant. But she
was good. By the time the sessions ended I was knackered and sweating, fit for
nothing else, but improving. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Another
thing I have learned, and this makes me seem very ungrateful, is that I am still
looking for an upside to all of this. I have yet to discover the fun. Everything
I eat I have to investigate to make sure that there isn’t too much salt or sugar
or saturated fats. Alcohol still reacts with my meds to affect my blood
pressure. Sneezing still hurts my chest, as does coughing. Rolling on to my
side in bed still makes my ribs ache. And all sorts of other things. I should
be grateful to be alive but I am still pissed off that I didn’t get to Canada.
When I finally get the money back from ATOL (Thanks Thomas Cook!) I will have
spent £12000 on a holiday that I haven’t been on. Yes, full grump mode has been
restored.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Next time I
might talk about Spanish autumn and nudists…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Regards<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Giant68 </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "segoe ui emoji" , sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol-ext; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: "Segoe UI Emoji";">😊</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />Giant68http://www.blogger.com/profile/09801051981426324988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6119433225959191813.post-9775017066630706752019-09-11T10:01:00.001-07:002019-11-16T10:16:07.665-08:00Hospital food and a police raid...Hospital food. The mere thought of it strikes terror into my alimentary canal. Having spent a couple of weeks in hospital recently I can attest that hospital food is not exactly cordon bleu. Breakfast was a choice of soggy cereal or soggy toast and a cuppa. Lunch, a prepacked sandwich or a bowl of soup. But the finest cuisine was saved for dinner. Several times I had a plate with some brown stuff, green stuff and, a sort of, cream-coloured stuff. Yum! I wondered if it was deliberate in an attempt to, either, kill patients off or get them to go home as soon as their taste buds start working again. I was not surprised that the guy in the bed next to mine was constantly stuffing his face with bag after bag of crisps. Indeed, I did cheat one day and send a friend down to Subway to get me a wrap with lots of chicken and salad in. I didn't think it would be appropriate to have a steak & cheese while recovering from heart surgery.<br />
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I'm not sure about STD chicken...</div>
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I since heard that the government have drafted in Prue Leith to help sort out hospital food. Didn't they draft in Heston Blumenthal a few years ago, how did that work out? Obviously not well otherwise we would have decent hospital food. I don't understand why the government doesn't employ those with skill and experience in feeding lots of people. The Army Catering Corps. Surely those who can feed thousands on a battlefield a hot, filling meal can sort out this problem. <br />
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Along with filling yourself up, there is the issue of getting yourself empty. Now, nurses seem obsessed with bowel opening. Every time they came round with the medication they asked everyone if they had opened their bowels. I was determined not to use a bedpan. Not dignified. I would lie and say yes each time. Unfortunately, they are wise to this and kept giving me laxatives anyway. In the end, you have no choice. The pressure built up so high that I had no choice. I could've easily hosed down the whole ward. Not fun. I am sure that the nurses get used to it, but I was feeling a little sorry for myself at that point, especially when I was still going ½ an hour later...<br />
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As for the police raid, well, we were all by the window watching as several police vehicles came screaming into the hospital grounds and slid to a halt outside the Eye Unit. Coppers jumped out and ran inside. We watched for ages but saw no one come out. Disappointing. We would see the Air Ambulance landing but that wasn't excitement, for that to be landing here meant someone was having a really bad day. </div>
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There's not a lot funny happening in hospitals. They've even changed the nurses' outfits to be more practical so I can't make any sexist comments about those. Although I still flirted shamelessly with them when I could. One poor nurse, a bloke, had the unenviable task of checking my backside for pressure sores. You've got to feel sorry for him! You can imagine them drawing straws for that job. </div>
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Now I am home, I have been sat around at home for weeks, slowly building up my strength by walking every day and working my way through Netflix. No one can understand my burning desire to get back to work, although I think that my boss and my team will be glad to see me. </div>
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I still have to attend the Heart Failure clinic, can't they give it a better name?? and cardiac rehab. The insurance company has paid out for our Canada trip that had to be cancelled, so we can go and rebook that for next year. Things are starting to look brighter. Apart from the fact that I have nearly finished Netflix...</div>
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Regards</div>
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Giant68 :-)</div>
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Giant68http://www.blogger.com/profile/09801051981426324988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6119433225959191813.post-47684915851284239182019-09-11T08:45:00.002-07:002019-09-11T08:45:54.188-07:00When did we become so impatient and so unconcerned with the plight of our fellow man? Or is this an attitude that we have always had, waiting inside, ready to spring out?<br />
Having spent a couple of weeks in hospital I have seen some amazing behaviours, some good, look at what our surgeons and nurses do, and some bad as shown by Joe Public. I was tempted to make this blog a funny one, lets face it, the last couple were nothing to laugh about, but I thought about what I had seen and decided that human behaviour is nothing to laugh about. Humans are selfish, out for what we can get for ourselves.<br />
I was amazed, while being pushed around in wheelchairs and beds while in hospital, the number of people who won't give way or will barge through, almost forcing the porter to run them over with said bed or wheelchair. The worst was when I was recovering from the operation. It was only a couple of days after having my chest cracked open, but the medics like to get you on your feet quick, it helps your recovery, and a physiotherapist came to see me. She got me up and off we went. Now at this point, I am not very steady and the physio is supporting me as we stroll through the corridors. At one point we came across a group of people coming towards us. At the narrowest point in the corridor they forced their way past me, pushing me into the wall. If I had been fully fit they would have bounced off of me, or I would have punched someone. But no, they carried on without an apology.<br />
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And one night I actually told a healthcare worker to fuck off. I know, bad language from me, who'd have thought it?<br />
I am not sure that she was a nurse, wrong colour uniform. But she was doing work that I would have thought a nurse would do. She looked like an ageing European drag queen, a cross between Sticky Vicky and Danny La Rue, bandy-legged with blond nylon hair and a better moustache than mine. Apart from not being able to stop a pig in a passageway, she was a bit impatient. Having just fallen asleep one night, she decided that she would update everyone's patient notes. The notes were in folders wedged in at the bottom of the bed. Me, being a bit of a big fellow, filled the bed and my feet were across the notes. I had also just fallen asleep, and if you have ever been in hospital you will know how hard it is t get to sleep. Along comes Helga and shoves my feet out of the way to get the notes out. Now I am awake.<br />
About 5am I decide I have to go to the loo, the pressure on my bladder has got too bad to ignore anymore. So off I go. This is not an easy trip as getting in and out of bed when you have had open-heart surgery is not an easy process. To start with, you can not use your arms to push yourself up, you have a sternum that held together with a bit of stainless steel wire and you don't want the bomb bay doors to burst open. Anyway, off I go to the loo. I do the business and head back to the ward. Helga is now following me down the corridor, pushing the weighing chair, and is anxious to get past. "Excuse me, I need to get past!" My, my, she is impatient, "Sorry love, you are going to the same place as me so you can wait" I totter back to the ward and start the process of getting back into bed, almost as hard as getting out. She decides that as I am awake she may as well take my weight. Why she didn't ask before I started getting back into bed, I have no idea. I refused to sit in the chair until she put the brakes on, she tutted at me then. Now the process of getting up, whether it is from bed or a chair, is to start rocking back and forth to build up a bit of momentum, then using legs only push up while hugging a rolled-up towel to your chest. This stops you from using your hands to push up and keeps the rib cage reasonably stable. When I did this to get up she decided to help by putting her hands under my arms and lifting. Painful. That's when I used some inappropriate language, for which I do not apologise. I feel that anybody working in a cardiac care ward should understand what has happened to the patients in it.<br />
It was odd that I never seemed to see the same nurse twice. It was as if there was no consistency in the care given. When I was given the all-clear to go home it took twice as long to get out as different nurses were trying to find things out and not coming back to me. 'Why are you not wearing a Post Thorax vest?' I was asked several times. To which I responded with 'I don't know. No one has told me to wear one or, indeed, given me one to wear.' The nurse would then go to find out why I wasn't wearing one and not come back. Eventually, 2 days later, a nurse did come back, with a vest, and I escaped.<br />
Don't get me wrong, these bad experiences are only a small part of the whole. The majority of the people who work in the NHS are dedicated professionals who give far more than their fair share to look after the patients in their care. The surgeons who cut me open and restored my failing body are phenomenal. The nurses who followed them are heroes. I couldn't do what they do. I refuse to get drawn into the politics of their pay and health service funding, but they deserve far more than they get. All they can have from me is my undying gratitude.<br />
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I will try and write a funny one next time.<br />
<br />
Regards<br />
Giant68<br />
<br />
PS: considering I had a quintuple bypass after 3 heart attacks, I am hoping to go back to work at the end of this month. So I am doing ok, just in case you cared.<br />
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Giant68http://www.blogger.com/profile/09801051981426324988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6119433225959191813.post-9842647311444441752019-07-28T09:49:00.000-07:002019-07-28T09:55:14.228-07:00Deaths near Giant68 experienceSo, now we come down to some real changes in perspective. Not the imagined changes in the last blog, I assume you've read it? The reality was something quite different from what I thought it would be.<br />
You read how I was having these funny turns, and that it was probably angina, good job I am not a doctor. I phoned the surgery on Monday morning and asked for an appointment to discuss chest pains with my GP. I was told to go to A&E. 'No, I haven't got them now, I've had them over the weekend. I just need to talk to a doctor about it'<br />
'You MUST go to A&E. Now.' That was it, final. As I was at work I told my boss how the conversation had gone. I was told to go to A&E.<br />
So off I toddled, picked up the car, picked up Mrs Giant68 and off we went to A&E. The Accident & Emergency depts at hospitals are not places where I want to spend my morning but once booked in they whisked me through quite quickly. They insisted that Mrs Giant68 stay behind in the waiting room.<br />
Next, I am connected up to various machines and blood is taken and I wait for the results. A cardiac care nurse turns up and gives me some aspirin. I wait a little longer. Meanwhile, I have texted Mrs Giant68 and suggested that she go and find a coffee and as soon as I know what is going on I will let her know.<br />
Several people turn up at my bedside and one says 'It appears that you have had, at least, one heart attack. Probably more, and another is imminent.'<br />
All of a sudden shit has got real.<br />
I was given more aspirin, along with many other pills to fend off any more heart attacks. Looks like I am not going home today. I texted Mrs Giant68 with trembling fingers.<br />
I thought that I knew the symptoms of a heart attack. Crushing chest pain, pain down the arm, possibly pain in the neck and jaw... But I had been told that I had suffered a heart attack. No crushing pain, no pain in the arm, bit of an ache in the jaw. Obviously, there was some mistake here. They would do more tests and they would be proved wrong and I could go home.<br />
It wasn't to be. I stayed in overnight, with the promise of an angioplasty the next day. They would insert stents into the cardiac arteries and I would be home by the end of the week.<br />
Bad news seemed to haunt me this week. I had the angioplasty, fascinating procedure to watch, all under local anesthetic. More bad news. The cardiac arteries are too badly blocked for stents to help. I would have to have bypass surgery.<br />
Have you ever been scared? Properly scared, I may die type scared? I have, and it is not a feeling I want again. I was now paying for all the fun I had during my late teens and twenties. The drinking smoking and general good living. The dirty burgers and bacon sandwiches, all those things you eat and do when you are young and immortal. Then comes a point when you are no longer immortal and that thread of life becomes very thin and frayed.<br />
Surgery is booked for a couple of days hence and I am taken back to a ward.<br />
All this time I am being looked after, poked, prodded, drained of bodily fluids, flirting with nurses etc, but what of those nearest and dearest? I am in hospital being looked after, how does Mrs Giant68 feel when visiting time is over and she has to go home to an empty house? And there is the possibility that 'Deaths near Giant68 experience' may become the real thing? I hope I never find out, it must have been a nightmare.<br />
Surgeon visits my bedside and confidently tells me that they are going to do a quadruple bypass, not a triple, more bad news.<br />
Eventually I am taken away to be given the milk of amnesia and carved open. I was taken just after lunch, about 12:30. I was woken at 5:30 the next morning, having had a quintuple bypass, or cabbages x 5 as they referred to it. Took me a while to find out what cabbages referred to, CABG or Cardiac Artery Bypass Graft.<br />
I am now recovering nicely. Every day a little better. I feel good. Death did not come for me this time but he was close, watching from the corner of the room with my lifetimer in his hand. I was very lucky that he decided to turn it over rather than let the sands of life dribble away to nothing. But it gives you a different perspective. The sun seems a little brighter now, the cuddles from my grandsprogs are worth more, those moments with Mrs Giant68 much sweeter. It may sound very cliched but it is true, it is just a shame that you have to go through something like this to make you realise it. I don't mind admitting that when I got home and I was on my own, all the visitors had gone, I cried like a baby for 5 minutes when it all came crashing down into thoughts, just what had happened and what could've happened.<br />
I am not going to turn into someone who bangs on about good living. Once I am recovered I will enjoy a glass of wine, or a beer. It's all about moderation. The Heart Failure team I have to see regularly, have explained this to me. Anything in moderation is fine, apart from life, grab that with both hands and wring everything you can get out of it. I intend to live to a ripe old age and, together with Mrs Giant68, see and do things that we should have done years ago.<br />
Right, that's the serious stuff done. The next blog will be about being in hospital, laxatives, aging European Drag Queens and a police raid on the Eye Hospital. And maybe a few comments on hospital food.<br />
<br />
Regards<br />
Giant68<br />
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<br />Giant68http://www.blogger.com/profile/09801051981426324988noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6119433225959191813.post-50609341588597636892019-07-14T08:36:00.000-07:002019-07-24T04:04:58.087-07:00Changes in perspective.This is a piece I wrote last weekend, in the early hours of the morning not realising how my life would change over the next few days.<br />
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I haven’t written for
a while. I guess that the original premise of this blog has changed. I started
it as a grumpy bloke, writing about the things that, generally, peed me off.
Children being taken to stately homes, bad drivers, selfish people, you know
the sort of thing, all those things that annoy a lot of people but because we
are British we keep to ourselves. With the dawning of the new job that changed.<o:p></o:p></div>
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All of a sudden I was
a different person. No longer so grumpy but realising many things about myself.
One thing is that I am a mediocre person. I know a lot of things about a lot of
things. I can talk about Shakespeare or quantum physics, interested in
everything but never really picking one subject to be good at. If you talk, and
act, with confidence people will believe you know what you are doing. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I work in a primary
school. 400 + kids who, mostly, seem to believe that I am indestructible. This
enormous, giant of a man who strides around as if he owns the place. I can fix
anything, and if I can’t I know someone who can. Strong as an ox and knowing
more than their teachers (but only because I am older than them). For example; there was a block of flats being built
opposite the school. The fencing around it was supported by sleepers, 9ft long
chunks of solid timber. When they started to take it down I figured that some
of those sleepers would be useful to make things for the school. I wandered
over and asked the team taking them down if I could have some. ‘Sure. Help
yourself.’ I picked one up and shouldered it. Now this was school kicking out
time and the kids were streaming out of the school. And there was me, with this
massive lump of wood on my shoulder, crossing the road back to the school.
‘Wow! you are really strong!’ I heard one shout at me. Another one who saw me
in the false light. I made some comment and carried on into the school. What
the kids didn’t see was me dropping it just round the corner and wondering if I
needed to call the office to bring the defibrillator. All of a sudden I
realised that I am no longer 24 but 54. Past middle aged, a grandfather heading
to old age .I<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>made a joke about it and
people laughed. So did I.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Now I am sitting
here, at my keyboard, at 00:30 feeling my mortality again. I have had a few
funny turns just lately, walking down to the shops, it’s woken me up for the
last two nights. Now that is probably why I am awake at this time of the night.
That tiny piece of the mind that is scared of the dark, of the monsters that
could be hiding in dark corners has taken control because there IS something in
that dark corner. Took me a little while to work it out, but these are the
symptoms of angina. A symptom of the fact that I am getting old. I am
definitely not 24 anymore. All of a sudden I feel 94.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But I am invincible
and indestructible. Intellectually, I know that the doctor will do his tests
and if it tells him that I have angina he will put me on tablets, maybe statins
and a spray. I am immortal, with a little help from medical technology. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Giant68http://www.blogger.com/profile/09801051981426324988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6119433225959191813.post-4442326044765398432018-12-17T12:27:00.000-08:002018-12-17T12:29:44.219-08:00Flying socks and an impossible bridgeNearly 2 years in the job and, while I am still learning all the ins & outs, I feel that my feet are under the table, so to speak.<br />
I don't miss the stress of the old job, the chest pains, lack of sleep, you know the sort of thing, but I still want a little more. I have tried to throw myself into this job, extra time there without putting in overtime claims etc. One thing I have done is to start running an after school club. 'Why, on Gods Earth, would you want to do that?' I hear you say. Or maybe you don't say, but I am going to tell you anyway.<br />
Over the last couple of years the small people that populate the school have appeared to get used to me hanging around. On gate duty in the morning they expect a high five, in the hall at lunch they expect a high five, if I am doing a roof inspection they want to know how I got up there ( I flew. Like Superman, not like a bird.) The teachers here impart knowledge to these kids every day of the week, apart from Saturday & Sunday obviously, they influence young people in many ways. It may be that these youngsters never realise how they were influenced, or they may, like me, only realise after many years.<br />
We are all the sum of our learning, our experiences and the people we interact with over the course of our lives, be that our parents, teachers, friends etc. I look back over my life and think of the work ethic my parents instilled, the knowledge that teachers instilled etc. I wish I had paid more attention to some, especially my old latin teacher who turned out to be a highly decorated communications expert during World War 2. In my arrogance, maybe, I would like someone, somewhere, sometime in the future, to look back and remember that a certain site manager once told them something that changed their lives. It probably won't happen as I am trying to teach them that engineering can be fun, that Leonardo Da Vinci didn't just paint the Mona Lisa.<br />
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We have built a bridge that uses no fixings, bar gravity and friction, to hold it together. We have built catapults that flung a rolled up pair of socks across the classroom. And we have made paper airplanes. We also watched what happens when engineers get it wrong, search for the Tacoma Narrows Bridge on Youtube...<br />
Maybe one day one of these small humans will have a part to play in the human race expanding from this small blue & green planet. And, maybe, they will think back to the time that I tried to explain the difference between kinetic & potential energy, saying ' One day, when you are sitting in class in your next school, your teacher talking about kinetic & potential energy you will think back to being bored to tears by Mr Giant68'<br />
In the meantime, I repair things, clean things, assist teachers with weird projects, set out chairs for nativity plays and get frustrated by some peoples stupidity.<br />
So, is it arrogance? Probably, but it is all I can offer.<br />
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Back to my G&T...<br />
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Regards<br />
<br />
Giant68 :-)<br />
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<br />Giant68http://www.blogger.com/profile/09801051981426324988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6119433225959191813.post-85946865409459847262018-04-28T13:03:00.002-07:002018-04-28T13:03:09.172-07:00What is the point...What is the point of a burger that is too big to take a bite from? Why is there a penchant for restaurants to serve a meal on a roof slate or a spanky paddle?<br />
<br />
When I order a super, half-pound burger with extra cheese, bacon, mushrooms, pineapple etc, I want to be able to eat it without having to dislocate my jaw like an egg-eating snake. All that happens is that I get a splat of burger sauce down the front of my shirt and a mixture of grease and cheese in my beard. Now I imagine that somewhere in this world there is someone might have a particular fancy for that but I just get a bit fed up with it.<br />
Many years ago, when I started working for my previous employer, remember them? the ones that cast me on the scrap heap? there was a small Greek kebab shop that used to sell the most marvelous burgers. The bun contained 2 burgers, bacon, cheese, fried egg, chips. Massive. But it was served in a wider bun so that it wasn't a stack the size of the Empire State Building. Some miles from where I live there is a burger van on the top of a hill that serves similar burgers, although you will get dive bombed by seagulls due to the twats that feed them. The Gutbuster burger is a particular favourite...<br />
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Just give me a burger that I can get my laughing tackle round, for Gods sake! I am not Scooby Doo! I can't swallow something the size of a truck tyre, although i knew a woman once who...no, that is another story.</div>
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And what the hell is this trend for serving meals on whatever is flat and can be found in the average workshop or building site? Before long we will be served our dinner from a bricklayers hod! Call me old fashioned but I would like my meal served on a plate, or in a bowl.</div>
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Regards</div>
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Giant68 :-)</div>
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Giant68http://www.blogger.com/profile/09801051981426324988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6119433225959191813.post-83880193445593146222018-04-28T12:53:00.001-07:002018-04-28T12:56:10.883-07:00Faceless healthJust lately I have been ill. And it is this illness that has highlighted how little we care for human interaction in this modern world. The phrase 'my door is always open' has been supplanted by 'my door is closed, if you want to see me then ring the bell and I will eventually respond'<br />
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This is how my doctors' surgery has changed, and probably others as well. It used to be that there would be a receptionist sat at the counter. You would come in and make an appointment with her, or book yourself in for an appointment with her. I don't go to the quacks very often so the change came upon me by surprise. No receptionist. An empty counter and a shut door. A sign tells you to use the touchscreen to book yourself in and if you want some human interaction you must ring the bell. When I first started using this surgery there were two receptionists, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. Now there is a whole team of them, all with the purpose of keeping you away from the doctor and from themselves. I doubt that it is their fault, or their intention, they have work to do and don't want to be disturbed from that task by members of the public distracting them.<br />
But i feel that a doctors surgery is one of those places where you want to see a friendly face. People who are ill may be scared, certainly nervous, over what may be wrong with them. This is where the receptionist was a friendly face with a little compassion and a smile for you, they knew your name and knew whether your appointment was a vital one or just a check-up. Obviously, this was before the time that they were told to keep the great unwashed from the door.<br />
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It seems, these days, that it is almost impossible to make an appointment. My surgery will allow you to make an appointment up to 2 weeks in advance... But there are usually none left when you need one. I have been told that I need to phone for an appointment at 2pm on a Tuesday as that is when the next set of appointments become available. 'Become available??!' In the past, the receptionist had a diary for each doctor, she could make an appointment for you a year in advance if you wanted. Why, now in the age of the spreadsheet and online calendars, have we lost this ability? Surely. it should be easier now? We should be able to make an appointment 100 years in the future if we wanted to? The only way I seem to be able to get to see the Dr is if I start phoning at 8am and keep going until I get through. However, I haven't got the time to do this as I am at work and I think my boss wouldn't be happy to see me sitting with the phone in my hand for an hour. And even when I got through it would probably be an automated voice, remember, the door is closed...<br />
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Healthcare for the modern times is a faceless thing that will just become less and less human as time goes by.Giant68http://www.blogger.com/profile/09801051981426324988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6119433225959191813.post-29779491121135149612017-05-21T11:42:00.000-07:002017-05-21T11:45:50.931-07:00Only 16 years till I can retire...<div class="MsoNormal">
There have been a few changes in my life over the last few
months. Please don’t worry, though, as I am still a grumpy old git, as this
will prove. From being made redundant after 30 years with the same employer,
having a great summer, the Malta wedding for Half Portion and his delightful
young lady, working for a friend for a couple of weeks after falling foul of
the Dept for Work & Pensions (Lord forbid that I should enjoy myself on the
pittance that Her Majesty’s government saw fit to pay me!) and finally settling
into a permanent job.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So, a permanent job. This was a bit of a shock after 30
years of working in a flour mill. I suddenly found myself working in a school.
I had to have an interview, show my CV and all that rubbish. I have never
really written a CV before, I had just been promoted, or shifted sideways,
depending on what was needed and what I wanted to do. But now I had to go and
sell myself to people I didn’t know. Scary stuff, or what? I must’ve done
something right, or the other candidates were really crap, because I now find
myself almost 5 months into a job. I am now the site manager of a school. A
primary school as well. I will let you into a little secret here. I love it.
Every day throws different challenges at me, and it is a great place, with some
really great people. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Now, for years I have always wound up a friend of mine over
teachers working time, all that time off in the summer, yada, yada, yada… But
now I have first-hand experience of what these people do with their day, and
the challenges that they face. I have the responsibility of keeping the staff
and pupils safe and secure, the teachers have the responsibility of taking
small people, with developing minds and filling those minds with information
and the ability to use it. They do it, sometimes, in difficult circumstances.<o:p></o:p></div>
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There seem to be a number of parents who pass all
responsibility for the upbringing of their children on to the school. They also
set the worst examples to their children. They have no self discipline, they are
quite happy to smoke around their children and others. They disregard the
safety of others by parking their cars in dangerous places with no thought for
anyone else, blocking driveways and, in one case, the entire road. There are
times when I would dearly love to grab one of these parents and shout ‘What the
f… do you think you are doing! Have you no common sense or care for anyone
other than yourself?!’<o:p></o:p></div>
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I am, however, continually, amazed by the fact that most of
these small people that inhabit the building I work in, for several hours every
day, generally come in smiling and leave smiling. And I think that is great
testament to the teachers and teaching assistants who spend their days,
sometimes very long days, educating our future leaders of industry, government
ministers, rocket scientists and even footballers. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I will still wind up my friend over the hours he works, as I
will occasionally those I work with, just because I can. But considering I
hated every minute of school when I was younger, I am now back at school and
will happily work there until the day I retire, or drop down dead (whichever
comes first… and with the current state of our government it will, probably be
the latter)<o:p></o:p></div>
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In the meantime, I will continue being a grumpy old b@$£@rd,
the kids will still wave at me as I walk round the school and teachers will
continue to work long hours. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So, parents… teach your kids to use a knife and fork, talk
to them, read to them, give them some of your undivided attention before you
send them to school. One day your son or daughter may be in the government that
sets your benefits…<o:p></o:p></div>
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Regards</div>
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Giant68 :-)</div>
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Giant68http://www.blogger.com/profile/09801051981426324988noreply@blogger.com0