Sharing, secrets, tunnels and Henry

I wanted to share with you the part of this life that you don’t see. You all see the public side, after all this is a public house, and to a large degree you follow my life. On a busy day you see me work hard, on a quiet day you share my time. When I am tired or unhappy you see that and comment on it because this is the person that you own.

It is lovely that so many people pick up on a mood change and are genuinely concerned for me. When the mood of the pub changes or I spend more time checking the CCTV it is great, and somewhat reassuring, that you guys pick up on this and follow my eyes. This is part of what makes this a great pub, you have my back and I have yours, and I will always be proud of that.

I have written before about the fact that, in my experience, most publicans are somewhat shy creatures whose confidence exists in the fabric of their pub, I still believe this and it is certainly true of myself. I don’t believe in ghosts but pubs are social havens, love is found and lost between these walls and has been for hundreds of years. That sheer humanity is almost tangible at night when the pub is empty and images of people past and present flash through your mind. I adore this pub and always will but, just as in the Ship before, she makes a strange bedfellow for a single man.

Despite being such social venues pubs can also be some of the loneliest places around. For me cashing up the till drawer is the worst time, for some reason it is forever linked to the image of scrooge in my mind. There is something about locking a big old safe door in a silent old pub that reminds me of the weight that sits on my and only my shoulders.

You see that is the thing about your landlord, you don’t really know him, he is what you want him to be real people need not apply for this job.All due respect to the acting community but they act for a scene or a show true actors do it all day every day, we know acting. Only a publican invites you into his home on his darkest day and sympathises with you over things which, in truth, even you don’t really care about.

Whilst I miss the mania that was engineering I love what I do now and remain convinced that this was the right thing to do. I have always said that the pub would be all-consuming and that in itself would be a good thing because it removes me from the, eventual, pressures of retirement and then having to find a life outside of work. Nothing has changed in that view but sometimes its very tiring realising that the only sober/sensible conversation you may have for days is with Henry the hoover!

In health news I can confirm that once again Ms Nature makes no sense. Recent changes in temperature seem to have resulted in more aches and pains but again I cannot reconcile that with any reason. Temperature makes no difference to internal joints and metalwork so why should they ache more? I suspect that it is just another opportunity for Ms Nature to act up there is no more logic behind temperature change affecting aches than there is behind buying cards for ‘grandparents day’.

An additional weapon in the nefarious ones armoury appears to be carpal tunnel syndrome although I think I have more carpal canyons than tunnels these days. Both carpal tunnels were roughly hewn out of the mess that I presented to the surgeon so they are what they are but finger tip tingling and numbness are now a regular feature of my day. On a positive note some research revealed that diet does not affect CTS, I know its hard to believe but there is actually something out there that they haven’t got around to blaming on diet and lifestyle!

I can’t leave a health update without touching on the matter of blood pressure (thanks Jo) which I can still tell you is low. When we played with a fitbit in the pub the other day it variously had me as the lowest (by a large margin) heart rate or flat lined, I must say I preferred the former. In fairness measuring anything on the things that I call wrists would be a challenge so I dug out my BP monitor and had a quick check. At 122/78 I can confirm that I am still alive and, apparently, well. This is not the best news for my ex colleagues as it seems to indicate that the previous role had a lot to do with my previously diagnosed hypertension.

 

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Nature, ferries and so near

Well as the moving day approaches I am becoming increasingly conscious that the number of tasks seems to grow as the number of days to complete them diminishes. This weekend sees me travelling to an island that is consumed by festival, a fantastic event and a great opportunity to remind people that there is a little island down here!

En route to the island I am stopping in Portsmouth for a meeting with a supplier this saves him travelling across to the island. Meeting in Portsmouth always brings a little frustration as I sit ‘nearly home’ and watch the ferries departing. This will be one of the last meetings I have where we have to agree a venue, future meetings will always be in my pub.

After a conversation with Dave I am now ready to tackle the second wave of plumbers and understand, hopefully, the relative merits of replacement/repair for the boiler. I guess that it may not be the best of starts that I refuse to call a plumber a ‘heating engineer’ but then I grew up before the lunacy of gas safe and other such regulations.

I should see the garden incinerator delivered this weekend and, if the weed-killer has worked, it will get a good christening. This weed-killer was a more routine product so I have yet to see if it measures up to the might of the ’weed grenade’ but here’s hoping. Between bees, gulls and weeds it does feel like half my time is spent battling nature at the moment and then evenings are spent dealing with Ms Nature’s response to the day time battles.

This week finds numbness in my right hand thanks to a carpal tunnel that looks more like a 1920s mine shaft than a sleek modern tunnel. In unison with this the shoulder is refusing to play nicely and seems to have engaged the knee in its latest action. Walking to work yesterday involved alternate determined concentration and combination wince/stumbles. I am, of course, presuming that a weekend of hard labour will move some bits about and improve everything, stand to reason doesn’t it?*

I have sample quarry tiles to review this weekend and a selection of those paint colour books to understand some interior choices. I have had mixed reviews on the exterior grey of the pub but think it will return to a more natural cream in due course. I will have to explain what this colour is to Andrew who remains convinced that the grey is in fact pink! Hoping to see something of the sign writer this weekend and looking forward to giving some sneak previews of the new signs.

*Note that author’s definition of “reason” may differ from that of others

Nature’s overtime

It seems Ms Nature is not yet on the ropes. The latest ‘entertainment’ is itching scars. For those that don’t know this feeling it is enough to drive you mad. Scar tissue itself has no feeling, no sensation at all. Like all loss of sensation the mind generates phantom sensation inspired, no doubt, by Ms Nature.

The result is an infuriating itch that cannot be scratched. I awoke several times in the night clawing at lefty and my right hand respectively. Interestingly lefty gets sore but the carpal release scar on my right hand actually hurts. I can’t stop the itching of course and this just drives the frustration, not good when your trying to get to sleep.

Dr Google tells me that this sensation is the result of healing movements under the scar. Collagen moves to reconstruct the scar location and in so doing irritates the nerves. Well I have the same answer for Ms Nature as I gave the plastic surgeon. I am not a young girl, I do not have a disfiguring scar although some may disagree. So leave it alone, stop trying to change it and then I can avoid the weird sensations.

I am convinced Ms Nature works like industry. She has a number of hours to ‘book’ to my repairs so she tickles and messes about. Scars are scars after all, they don’t disappear so why keep messing? It is either about the timesheets or something more malevolent from my arch enemy. . . .

It will learn

Well I have just completed my evening’s 25 press ups, I now do morning and afternoon there’s no stopping me. Obviously twice daily sessions is an increase in overall exercise but the mission that I have is not to increase the reps but to concentrate the energy into the areas that need work. My left hand has moved in closer and after the first couple of cracks and crunches I can get it tucked in tight to my shoulders for the correct press up pose, there’s work to do but it’s clearly succumbing to brute force and ignorance, of which I have plenty.

Lefty is being somewhat more troublesome, I need to get it to an angle that means the fingers are on the floor and not the knuckles but the angle is not there yet. When standing with my hand on a table I can just about get the arm to the correct angle which makes sense as it takes the physioterrorist two hands to bend old lefty back anywhere near where it needs to be. On a positive note I have definitely overcome the solid block of the screws, current theory is that where they were in the edge of what is now my scaphoid and/or lunate bones and that by the subtle* application of my body weight I have split them out of the bone and freed the carpal joints. I will acknowledge that I may not have a complete or accurate grasp of the world of orthopedics but I like to think that I am picking it up quickly, it’s really just mechanics with a little extra blood.

And so this evening I pushed lefty into a finger down press up stance, complaints were plentiful and loud but slowly I applied the load, easing it into the modified bone structure that is my wrist. The heel of my hand started to lower as the newly engineered flex between the carpal rows started to accommodate the load and then a sharp stabbing pain accompanied by a pop signified end of play. I thought that I had dislocated a finger but this was not the case, I checked the various movements of the wrist and think I located the source of the disturbance,  movement around the Ulna joint is  accompanied by new pain. My guess is that I have further freed the joint and it is complaining, obviously Ms Nature has still not realised that I don’t listen.

I have said it before, either medicine and nature can get with the program or I shall do it on my own but there is only one way. Remember people I do this so you don’t have to!

As an aside the wonderful James Patterson has given me much to think about in the last book, Mr(s) Smith could be anyone I must ensure that I keep my guard up at all times. I shall be asking Helen if the pub has had any new additions to the Bingo club or is it more likely that they are in the tea dance club**?

*Subtle is a subjective word

**This subject will receive a post all of its own in due course