Travels with my mother

 I'm going to do something different this time. Every now and then I'm going to blog about where me and my mother have been, or gone, or going. 

At this point I must explain that my mother passed away at the end of 2023 after a relatively short battle with cancer. She was 84. She'd had a good life, married twice, once to my father and then to Geoff after my father croaked. She loved to travel. As a child we travelled all over the country, to live and for holidays. She loved travelling so I have decid d to take her with me when I go anywhere, or part of her at least. She would laugh at the idea of this and, I know, that as humour this may seem to be pretty dark, some of you won't appreciate it, some will laugh with me. It makes a change from having her ashes stuck in a cupboard or on the mantle piece over the fire. 

All I need to do is get something to transport her in. A, sort of, travel urn, as it were. I have just done a quick google search and they do exist...😳 

I'm hoping that this gets me back in to blogging again. I seem to have lost my blogging mojo over the last couple of years and while I enjoy it I just need something new to write about. 

So, in memory of Ruth Margaret Venn/Cowdrey watch out for the first episode of 'Travels with my mother's

Regards

Giant68 😉( I really must update this photo, it's quite old now a bit like me)

A New Age of Communication

 It seems that we are back to the things that make my blood boil. Communications this time. I have recently had reason to attempt to communicate with different organisations and it hasn't been easy. We are in the 21st century now, when things were supposed to be better. In the 1970's programmes such as Blue Peter (if you are reading this outside of the UK you will not know that reference, sorry) were holding competitions where children would try and predict what life would be like in the future. They came up with flat TV's, mobile phones and cities under the sea. SciFi  authors such as Clarke and Heinlein have written about instantaneous communication. But the reality is different. 

People will blame all this on COVID but, and let's face it, that is complete and utter bollocks. We have become lazy and selfish. Corporations have decided that the customer is not king anymore. They will do anything to save money and make more of that money for their shareholders. This means that call centres are short staffed or outsourced to foreign climes. People would rather converse by text message and email than face to face.

I am looking to buy a motorhome. I have found a nice one and decided to have a look at what the insurance would cost me. All insurance quotes these days are done online via comparison sites so off I go, boot up the laptop and login to my preferred site, the one with the meerkat.

I type in the registration of the van and it tells me it doesn't exist. Bugger! I go to the DVLA website and it does exist, it's taxed and has a current MOT. Check again with the meerkat and a couple of other sites and it still does not exist. So we talk to the current owner and it is insured with, strangely enough, the same company that insures my car. Great, I'll phone them. I look online for a phone number. There isn't one, it all has to be done through the customer portal. Customer portal tells me that the vehicle doesn't exist. I'm sure that you can sense that my frustration level is increasing. Still no phone number but there is an option for an online chat. Online chat eventually promises me a call back from a sales agent which, two days later, I am still waiting for. I guess that they don't want my business.

I decide to perform an online search for customer service phone numbers for vehicle insurance and come up with a few and phone one of the more well-known ones. I get an answer, after a few minutes on hold, from someone with a very thick Asian accent asking me how they can help.

'I would like a quote to insure a motorhome' say I.

'This is the wrong number for home insurance, we only deal with vehicles.'

'Yes, I know, I want to insure a motorhome'

'Home insurance is a different department, I can transfer you now'

I hang up and try another number where the conversation follows a similar path. Both calls are, apparently, recorded for training purposes. Hopefully they will be used to train people whose primary language is not English to understand those whose primary language is. 

Our lives are supposed to be made easier by all the modern methods of communication. The insurance companies use the DVLA database for reference so that method of communication didn't work. The online chat method does not work, probably because we are talking to 'bots. Software designed to mimic a human response and save the company from employing more humans. But that form of communication is a very limited method as, I expect, no company wants to buy the licence for software that would give Alan Turing a run for his money, far too expensive. 
Also, no company wants to pay the rates to employ people in this country who can understand the quirks of the English language. That's not picking on foreigners. A few years ago I was in hospital and the Spanish doctor explained what they were going to do to me. I couldn't understand her so the Phillipno nurse explained it to me. The one person you really want to understand is doctor, or an insurance agent in different circumstances,  but it seems that is not always the case. 

I, eventually, found an insurance quote that was reasonable but the whole process took me 4 hours. And that was relatively quick compared to the process of trying to get my driving licence back. 

I had to surrender my driving licence due to my internal defibrillator activating. I could have it back after 6 months but I had to send a form to my cardiologist for him to tick a box, send it back to me and I would send it to the DVLA. Needless to say the form got lost at the hospital. I had to contact the DVLA for a replacement. Phoning resulted in me being put on hold for half an hour and then getting cut off as there were an unprecedented number of calls. I tried again half an hour later and the same happened. I went online and searched their website for assistance and, again, found a webchat option which pointed me in the direction  of several articles that might help. No they didn't. 6 hours later I found a replacement form.

Is the modern world easier to navigate? no it f#cking isn't!

 What are your feelings about Facebook? Or any social media? 

Are you someone who constantly watches your feed and loves spending time, or wasting it, looking at pictures of other people's dinner?

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. 

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.

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? 

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...

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. 

 

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.

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. 

TTFN!

Regards

Giant68 😉

Rabbit Holes...

 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. 

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. 

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. 

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.

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...

https://youtu.be/JYCrBlt9BtU?si=KGkfPl5SttSRyPk8

https://youtu.be/T0lwr_jcGZQ?si=RYCvpl-u6BWaXRMa

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. 😉

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.

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. 

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. 

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.

Till next time...

Regards

Giant68 😁

I think that photo of me is pretty old now. I must sort out another one. 

Road rage? No, Wheelchair rage.

 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.

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.

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. 

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. 

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.

                                                                                        Image shamelessly pinched from Mrs giant68

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. 

Another image nicked from the missus.

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.     

I am now going to carry on sitting on my sofa, watching the TV while trying to recover from yesterday's shenanigans.

Regards

Giant68 :-)

Let's talk about food.

 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.

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. 

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. 

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.

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. 

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. 

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!

But the menu consists of such delights as 'aquadulce bean wafer, horseradish vinegar, aynsome juices and herbal oil' 

Now, I have no idea what all that is. It sounds like a group of made-up words, something from a Dhal story. 

Or the following delight: ' Rowlands summer succulents, juice of the shells, yoghurt, salted cobnut and marigold' WTF??

You look at the images of the dishes and think 'that's not enough to keep a sparrow alive let alone a grown adult'

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. 

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.

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.

Regards

Giant68

   

Homeward bound...

 

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. 

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 diaorh  dearo 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.' 

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. 

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??

'Oops, let's try it with half a glass of water...'

'Nope, burnt through again. Brig in the next victim sorry, patient'

' 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?'

'So 10 minutes didn't work, nor did 20. Let's try 30 minutes. Next!'

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. 

Only a short one today, only because my brain was overthinking stuff.

Regards

Giant68 :-)

 

Still here...

 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. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

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.

The people who deliver our breakfast, lunch and dinner after a kitchen has taken some ingredients and turned them into something quite inedible. 

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..."  

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!" 

Next time I will probably be back to the grumpy, stupid stuff, but this one felt right.

Regards

Giant68 (-:

Sex and drugs and rock and rock and roll, blood and soup and wee!

 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. 

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.

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. 

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???

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... 

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. 

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.

Rock and roll. Not really. There was no rock and roll here, sorry. 

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. 

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.

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...

Once I'm out of hospital I shall insert some pictures but for the moment you will just have to use your imagination.

Regards

Giant68 (-:

Canadian Pacific, carry me 3000 miles... We know a song about that...

 It had been a long time coming but we finally made it to Canada for our 30th wedding anniversary celebration, now our 33rd.

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. 

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.

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. 

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...🥱

This time I am going to wax lyrical about food, beer, and the ever-polite Canadians.

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! 

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. 

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...

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.

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. 

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. 

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. 

In the meantime, I need to get my act together and lose the weight I have put on with all this beer and burger.

Next time, spectacular places, bears, eagles, seals, and upgrades.

Have a great day!

Regards

Giant68 :-)

 I feel that I have been disowned by Half Portion, or Mini Giant68.  He reckons that I have turned to the dark side. 

What have I done to earn this? I am now the proud owner of a caravan.

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.

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. 

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. 

Sometimes you don't want to have to wake up too much at 2am. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

But in the end, I have a caravan. No.1 son thinks I have sold out. But I get reasonably cheap holidays. 

And, more importantly, I have a bathroom in that metal box.

Regards

Giant68 :-)

   

Big Chief Eagle Crest

 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.

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. 

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.

Here it is:

Chief Eagle Crest

Dick found this box beside his bed

One morning when he woke.

“For the big Indian Chief,” it said.

It really was a joke.

He cut the string and peeped inside

And gave a whoop of joy!

An Indian outfit, fine, he cried

“I am a lucky boy!”

In half a minute I’ll be dressed

And then I’ll be Chief Eagle Crest!

Chief Eagle Crest has spied a Joe,

“Your doom has come!” he cried.

And fixed an arrow to his bow

Straight to the mark it flew.

The wounded paleface has to yield

It’s just a scarecrow in a field.

Then mounting on his trusty horse

The great chief rode astride

Until he reached a watercourse

A river deep and wide.

“I’m coming now to rescue you!” 

Called out the Indian brave.

“I’m paddling in my small canoe

Your life I mean to save!”

The maiden was indeed distressed

She’d fallen from the bank.

But just in time Chief Eagle Crest

Arrived before she sank.

He hoisted her in his canoe

She looked a dreadful sight.

And paddling swiftly to the shore

He took her to dry land once more

For she was dripping wet right through,

Her cheeks were pale with fright.

He set her on his trusty steed

And swiftly rode away.

“A squaw” he said “is what I need

So maiden you shall stay”

“And in the wigwam you will dwell

And hear the tales I have to tell”

He helped the maiden to alight 

Within a pretty glade.

A box of chocolates they shared

They are delicious each declared… 

Maybe one of you, out there will know how this ended. But, like Bobtail Bunny, it remains a Googlewhack.

Regards

Giant68 :-)

Seagulls to Newton

 

Random blogpost today. Possibly a bit surreal as well, sorry.

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!!

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.

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? ‘

‘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.’

‘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!’

‘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.’

'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.’

‘Sorry. I’ll stick to nicking chips in future.’

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.

 

Regards

Giant68  😊

Your entitlement...

 

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.

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.

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^th 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^th 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.

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.

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?

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.

If you have been affected by anything contained in this blog feel free to sob to yourself in a corner.

Regards

Giant68 

Giant68 - The Plague Years

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?

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.

Me? I was lucky, in a way. I still went to work every day. Mrs Giant68 went to work every 3^rd 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.

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.

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….

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  good book. I hope that you have all gained something.

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…

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.

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. 

And it has brought out some amazing examples of the dark humour of the British. I have laughed quite a bit. 

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.

And I really hope that my friends, newly moved to Somerset, finally see a Starlink satellite...

Giant68 😊

Interesting times at the moment, don’t you think? Virus, lockdown, no pubs, no restaurants, nothing really.

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.

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.

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…

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.  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.

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.

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.

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.

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  AC +79 3888, a star just over 17.5 light-years away.

Now, you can’t deny that those facts are fascinating, can you?

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?

Regards

Giant68 J

I really need to change that profile pic!