Have you seen that?

What is it like to live with your most crucial limbs held together by metal and good luck? It’s a question that gets asked probably once a fortnight when somebody spots a scar. On a tattooed man scars are great because they take some spotting but when they are spotted they seem to be a prize. For spotting the sodding great scar you get a free question, apparently….

So the question is always pain related, as humans its our lowest common denominator. They ask ‘did it hurt’ then ‘did surgery hurt’ then ‘ did recovery hurt’ and finally ‘does it hurt now’. Luckily all of these questions can be answered with three letters….’YES’ The wrists are one of the most flexible, and complicated, joints in the body and mine are written off. Every day you make thousands of movements that I can’t but will still try to do. Of course it hurts, look at the X-rays they scream pain on their own without looking at me.

The next thing is always how long it took you to notice. Lets be clear you can’t hide this, when you notice I know that you have, I see the look and the way that your eyes follow the scars. You don’t notice because I will not let you notice unless you see the scars, I will not kowtow to the nefarious Ms Nature because I am better than that. But yes it does hurt and, to be fair, it hurts a lot. When I was typing a social media status earlier an unseen hoard of psychopaths stabbed blades into righty and I actually yelled out in pain. I don’t do this often, wont give her the ground of course, but this is pain, and she managed a level of pain that required my audio support, in short it bloody hurt!

So yes in simple terms it hurts, a lot, all of the time, day and night, but I can still type. The deal that I have struck (ish) with Ms Nature is that I will live with the pain, I will laugh it off on a daily basis, I will wake up every day (and have for years now) and say “ouch” and every now and again she will test my limits. She will test me so hard that I will shout out or, if I am trading, I will drop something . This is not the nagging, grinding, crunching pain that is daily toil  but a special and targeted pain that crucifies me and she knows that she can do it, almost at will.

So when you see a barman drop a glass and you do the comedy cheer think on, one of us is in so much pain that I am close to blacking out. Normally when I drop a glass it takes every single ounce of self-control to recover, this is my battlefield with Ms Nature and this is where she can gain ground. When the simple action of using an optic can bring a grown man to his knees then we know it’s not a battle its a war. I will never let her win I am , after all, an Engineer so I never have trusted nature but don’t be mislead, it is a fight and its a daily/hourly battle. Once again, you wonder why I look tired, every minute of every day I am battling. Just writing this is hurting like you wouldn’t want to believe but I am me and Ms Nature? well she has the long game but otherwise she is just a loser.

 

If it’s not normal then you’re probably wrong….

In a bid to beat the nefarious Ms Nature into submission I have hit upon more aggressive press ups as part of my exercise regime. There is nothing  particularly exciting about these, it’s just press ups performed on chairs, but the elevation allows you to dip the shoulders lower and increase the movement at the wrists (ha take that Ms Nature). I share this with you only because I was sat here earlier merrily talking to myself saying “Oh you really don’t like that do you? Ha better get used to it” and then, when I dropped a can of soda, “Oo fighting back eh?”. Of course I wasn’t actually talking to myself but the dark witch of nature but I wonder if that truly excuses threatening your own body or does everyone do that?

I have maintained steadfast refusal to listen to anything that the medical ‘experts’ say to me and continue to take the fight to Ms Nature but in doing so has my view of the world changed? I read stuff from people far worse off than me who say that pain is a motivator but I am not sure if they treat it the way that I do, as a sign of weakness from the competition. On reflection they probably don’t but how many people have actually read the blog and follow the logic that gives rise to Ms Nature and her dark arts of punishment? If they knew who was responsible perhaps they to would see pain as victory ……

Just in case it is my perspective that is out let me ask you what you would think I meant if I said “somebody was outside calling me last night”, I know it’s obvious but please bear with me. When I had this conversation with Jo she thought that I meant that somebody had pressed the entry buzzer for the flat, I know how mad is that? some people live in a completely strange world don’t they? Of course, as any normal person would realise, I meant that somebody stood on the pavement serenading me whilst eating a takeaway but you knew that because we have a normal perspective. Thank you, that small exercise has confirmed that I do indeed have a normal perspective on the world, nearly had me worried.

As a final note for today’s entry I would like somebody to train my GP in box ticking. As part of my BP review I had to have a blood test and dutifully turned up this morning for the removal of red stuff for test purposes. Doc says that we need to test kidney function as it can be affected by BP meds so I figure one test and probably a bit for luck right? 9 tubes of blood later and we were done! I think he must have either ticked every box or the “all tests” box, I am so concerned by the fluid loss that I may have to thin the remainder with some alcohol!

Approximately painful dream wars

I would like to start this post by assisting train operators with some linguistics. When a service is in a timetable the timings are fixed, in truth that is the purpose of the document. Announcing that the service will arrive at “approximately” does not diminish the delay and there is a danger that you will soften things too much. I arrive at the station in time for the departure not approximately on time but actually on time that is the nature of the game.

I have stumbled upon another potential venue option and am, once again, astounded by how much enthusiasm it sparks. This option is a large building on the Southerly edge of a busy town. The building sparks that interest of gradual change, seeking the right use for each part of a building that was designed for a different time. One thing that really fascinates me about older pubs is working within their fabric to adapt to modern demands. For me this can’t be an instant change, it is not best suited to corporations this should be a slow evolution and a partnership between building and business.

Whilst I am not yet ready to restart my search the mere hint of a venue finds me scouring the web. I have a history for this building, I know when it ceased trading, I have approached it from every angle thanks to streetview. I spent an evening sketching floor plans and considering trading areas last night, it’s just what I do. I am lucky that the trade still holds my attention so much even as I move slowly back to being able to re-enter it, I guess in life we all need something to aim for.

In other news I have an update from the war of attrition being waged by Ms Nature. A recent retreat was just a distraction, she has returned with a renewed vigour of late. My left knee is swollen today having collapsed a couple of times over the week. The walk to work has become a more choreographed activity as I noticed that the stiffness in the knee is translating into an ache in my hip. Clearly I have been letting my gait slip in difference to the knee pain and that has to stop.

Leftie has developed a new trick and I have already developed a countermeasure of sorts. Over the course of several hours the ever present ache in Leftie grows to become quite a distraction the same being true if I get up in the night. The solution to this appears to be to manipulate my left wrist with my right hand so as to ‘crack’ the wrist. This is only possible once the pain has built to a level, I can’t prevent it happening but I can stop it at a lower level.

Before anyone makes reference to arthritis let me remind you that if inherited arthritis wasn’t enough it comes free with the injuries. I think that there may actually be a hidden benefit to this with regards to the doctor’s battle with my blood pressure. When you crack your knuckles it’s the result of moving liquid through the joint so, if my wrist cracks, there must be fluid there. Any fluid not in my veins will result in less to pump and therefore lower BP, Ms Nature didn’t see that one coming did she!

Finally the shoulder injury has developed a habit of putting my arm to sleep. Obviously I accommodate the pain in my sleep by moving, apparently to just the point that the arm goes to sleep. Well this one is a royal two fingers at Ms Nature because I am right handed! Now that I know what is happening I take no notice whatsoever until I get up in the morning.

In summary, Ms Nature may be vicious but she hasn’t got the determination of my stubbornness.

Philosophical bottle tops, damn them

I’m not a big philosopher, well actually I’m not a big thinker but hey sometimes thought is overrated! Tomorrow is day one of another three week window of ‘opportunity’. Hopefully during this period I will get the opportunity to confront the legal system and understand the timeline of my progression back to life as I knew it. It is a strange, and somewhat counterintuitive, scenario where you desperately hope for the chance to do something that you equally desperately don’t want to do, funny old world eh?

I read an interesting piece whilst browsing the superb and sublime musings of Lesley Carter click here , Lesley doesn’t tend to share links anymore than I do but she had shared this click here and it struck a chord. That’s two worthwhile links shared, must be me done for a year at least. The list of thirty things is really valuable, its nothing you don’t know but hey sometimes a memory jog is good right? It doesn’t take long to read and I guarantee that you will gain something from the effort. I would like to add a twist of my own, well I would wouldn’t I? Picture yourself and your friends as you read it, I was astounded how many of the items screamed out to me for friends and that is, in part why I am sharing.

I believe that we all tread our own path, blame is a negative emotion that serves nobody. The person blaming wastes their time and the person blamed is, for the most part, unaware. Who cares? Each moment of time that you live is a historical thing, if its happened then by definition it is in the past. Where do you want to spend your energy? Studying the past or grasping the future, no contest right? Just like blame excuses are pointless, if you’re crap at something or couldn’t be bothered I don’t care why excuses only serve the author. If I make a mistake, and I’ve made many, then they are mistakes or bad decisions shit happens, tomorrow is another day. My life is the result of my decisions, my failures are the result of my decisions but my successes are all the sweeter for being the results of my decisions.

I am not burdened with a family network, it’s just not something that I do. I am in fact a self proclaimed orphan, I don’t have am extended family to support me nor do I have one to criticise me. Every step that I take, I take in my shoes, by my own volition, I may not be able to control how many steps I take but I do choose the direction. I would like to add one point that seems to be missed by so many people today, celebrate small achievements. Life is not a television show, it’s not a movie, oddly it’s real life. Things don’t happen overnight but every step that you take to your goals is a victory, a success, an achievement. If you measure your success by every move towards your goal then you will keep the faith.

In everything there is a positive. My accident brought me a lot closer to some real friends and reminded me of others, love you guys. Rather than see the whole experience as a horrible grinding delay to life’s plans I see every day as a step closer to the plan. I remain fully committed to my pub, there is not a doubt in my mind that it will happen, it is as part of me as the metal that holds my hands on! So times are tough, look each day square in the eye and tackle it head on, somewhere out there is your future the rest is just trivia.

On a mechanical note some of you may remember the humour of leaving hospital, some 15 months ago now, and finding beer with twist off caps in the fridge. Well that is the gift that keeps on giving to this stubborn old man I can tell you. My hands are close to lacerated from trying to open the same brew this weekend but I will not give in! If I could video the experience I would because this is mechanics for beginners. I have very poor grip because of my rearrangement of my hands, which means we are down to levers and the bottle is the larger. So bottle turns cap in hand and cap chews skin because hand can’t resist the turning moment. So I attempted a different grip, kind of overhand, bad idea the sound was astonishing as elbows, shoulders, wrists and even hands cracked and popped.

The bottle survived this acoustic onslaught and stubbornly beat me into using a tea towel, even then it took a few minutes of cursing and maneuvering. That’s the thing with small gains I will not use a bottle opener, as I did 15 months ago, I will fight and beat every bottle because I can. So maybe I can’t open a bottle with a deft flick of the wrist but I’m one step up on the disabled idiot that took ten minutes to fight the cap off with a bottle opener, little victories.

Hyenas, heels, and the avoidance of a creeping dawn

Having had a long day yesterday I retired early, in affect taking my seat for the theatre of a Saturday night. I have lived between the town and the ‘late pub’ for so many years that I see this as entertainment rather than annoyance, well mostly. Around 11pm the walk started and I know it would be a busy night. The two young women walking unsteadily past would need to move from shots to juice if they intended to retain what faculties they had. But behind them, like some unbalanced stalker, came a group of men discussing the merits of their view. It would seem that the drunken lurches synchronise so that, to the drunks, they seem sober.

Then came the couples, the second time around couples that is. Overweight older men with slim younger women who have clearly never studied physics. They can’t support the weight of their partner when he lurches into them but years of experience has taught them to roll with him, rather a bruise than a broken heel. Common sense would say it was far better to call it a night but these women know that they can enjoy the rest of their evening while the men disintegrate in a corner.

The youth quintet were keen to declare their love to each other. Not the insincere proclamations of lotharios or the heartfelt statements of lovers but the over earnest pledges of groups of girls. Nothing could break these bonds, no man could come between them, sisters against the world, for now….

Bringing up the rear a trio of confused pre-loaders. Already drunk they were still convinced that they needed more alcohol to avoid the costs ahead. Despite the desperate protestations of juvenile livers they necked retail alcohol rapidly, discarding bottles like a trail of breadcrumbs to be followed home later. I would point out that I didn’t sit and study the crowds, these were just the voices that made me look up over my book.

There are some nights when I hear a returning group, after closing, and smile. There are some nights when I hear a returning group and growl. Just occasionally there are the nights when I feel the need to check off the groups, last night was such a ‘bingo’ night. In ascending order of proximity to dawn, the scale will make sense later, I watched them return and alcohol was no longer their friend. By the early hours of the morning alcohol was the voice at the back of their head that scorned them for losing all their money or for not keeping up, laughed at them for the stains on their clothes and spun their internal compass at every opportunity.

The early young girls were in a bigger group in the return. The hair, makeup and clothes that had taken so long to prepare for the evening now disheveled and streaked. Hanging on to each other they stumbled forward avoiding the more lewd comments from their drunken stalkers. Whilst clinging to their strength in numbers they were clearly not as emboldened as they once were, eyes forward they marched on ignoring the calls.

The stalkers, for their part, were more confused than emboldened. Like a scene from Cinderella the pretty girls who they had been buying drinks for and dancing with had become a crowd and disappeared as the lights came up and the bar closed. Having convinced themselves that they were making inroads they were each convinced that if they could get ‘their’ girl alone she would stay with them. Of course whilst this made sense to drunken minds it looked like a pack of drunken hyenas looking for any sign of weakness in the pack.

The youth quintet was next but now as two groups. Stopping regularly to exchange abuse and yell at each other about lost money and dancing with ex partners. The proclamations of sisterhood distant memories as they offered to tear faces off and ridiculed each other’s dress. Their tantrums will either be forgotten in the cafe in the morning or will develop into a growing chasm as they feed an anger based on nothing more than confusion.

I nearly missed the pre-loaders as they crawled along the sea wall but then the sound of vomiting alerted me to them. Like an assassin with hiccups they slid along the shadows of the sea wall to avoid contact with other people. Successfully hiding from the fight club that the quintet had become until their stomach let way and, as if caught in a searchlight, all eyes turned to them. Brilliantly fight club was too drunk for much more than a leer and some shouts, if they had crossed the road I’m not sure that they could have made it back!

The couples, older so always last to leave stopped outside my flat. Holding their shoes protectively the women tried to convince the men to get a cab. They may as well have asked the tide to change direction, drunk men always dial up the macho after all. None of the men were prepared to acknowledge that the stroll home was too much for them and they set off at a lurch again. Not quite at the running stage but at the point where the kerbstone seems to be at least two foot high.

As the street scene quietened I settled down for the night listening to the uninterrupted sounds of the ocean. I was awake at 6am to a glorious breaking dawn and I realised then that I had missed one of the returners. One of the two young women that I had seen early I had not been in the crowd. Was this my photographic memory at work or some subconscious ‘lassie’ call that somebody was in trouble? No it was the hurried but wobbly footsteps rushing past the flat, the walk of shame. No makeup, hair a mess, last nights clothes and shoes in hand the need not to see anyone was almost palpable. Somebody didn’t switch to juice, somebody didn’t wake up in a happy place or certainly not a place they could stay.

David Attenborough could get a series out of my views of the world from here. For me it suffices to watch the ocean and the disappearing back of that young lady, drink my coffee and say a silent thanks for not being young anymore.

Box of voices and doggy greetings

I shall start this post by saying that everyone needs a job and some of them, well they are just rubbish. Not for one minute do I begrudge a person a wage or criticise them for earning it neither do I try and make it harder for them. There are enough people in this country living off welfare as it is, anyone that tries to earn a crust should be encouraged. I am the sort of person that is polite to the traffic officer that wants to fine me for not wearing a seat belt or driving with the window down or whatever stupid rule he can enforce. This is not a job for me, but then I like people and don’t see the fun in the challenge of making every living thing detest me, but hey each to their own.

I can understand that some, rather stupid, companies believe that there is a place for ‘direct marketing’ or as we know it ‘cold calling’. These are companies that have not moved with the times but that is no crime, they are not alone. Just turn on the TV for more than an hour and you will be assaulted by the moron that owns a window company yelling his catchphrase at you. Seriously this fella does his own advertising despite looking like a paedophile that hasn’t washed in a month! But, back to the case in point, they have now farmed call centre work to the third world so you are never quite sure if the call originates in Calcutta or London since both sound the same these days.

Now if you are calling from another continent I don’t believe that I should feel obliged to give you the same respect as I do the locals. I hate cold calls but I have noticed that they are becoming harder to deal with. I was told, years ago, by a friend that if you were offensive they had to block your number for staff welfare reasons. The Judicious, if embarrassing, use of offensive language did indeed deal with the issue for some time but then it stopped. The reason it stopped was that when they shipped this work overseas they empowered the operators, now they fight back. But how can you tell if you will get a fight or offend somebody? Well, thanks to an early hours call yesterday, I know how.

I have a few means of dealing with cold calls, I adjust them according to the caller. When I receive calls for my ex wife I patiently and emotionally explain that since she has passed away she can’t be reached on this number. This is most successful especially if you upgrade it with a distraught “if only you could speak to her, you could tell her how much we miss her”. The blatant sales calls sometimes have some entertainment value, I’ve enjoyed explaining to SKY that I don’t possess any televisions. After some tenacious debating the girl gave up when I started whispering that I couldn’t have a TV since the voices in the box “told me to do those terrible things”. If you get the ambulance chaser call then it’s always a challenge, should you have time, to come up with a new ailment that they can assist with. If you get this technique right you should be able to get the caller to laugh, my favourite that was ever since I walked into a street lamp I had an uncontrollable urge to sniff dog’s bums. This caller held it together, with sympathy, until I explained how I had to learn to surreptitiously stroke their bum and then sneak off for a sniff then she broke.

The latest ploy is to place the phone on speaker phone and leave it on the side. This technique will either lead to the call terminating when they realise that you are not responding or, more interestingly, will lead to abuse. If you have a foreign call centre this technique often drives them over the edge and they start to yell and call you names. Now let me share something with the foreign call centre staff, a little secret from me. If you call me and wake me up to talk rubbish then don’t for one minute think that you are angry when I don’t respond, I am the angry one. In truth you have suffered no inconvenience whereas I have and I’ve suffered it because of you. If you want to learn offensive English language step right up because you are in for a top notch lesson.

I share this because I think sometimes we all need a carefree rant to clear our thoughts. If you are the most timid or shy person then give this a go, remember the other party is on another continent and paid pennies so he’s not going to chase you. Best of all because they start the argument all you are actually doing is following their culture, you are actually being multicultural. Go on get stuck in and do your piece for world peace!

This post was brought to you by some god forsaken claims company at 6 am on Saturday!!

People, places and pain

I have some people watching to share this morning, I think it’s a good way to start the week. I start with the couple walking along Frinton high street yesterday with a pushchair. The cut on his forehead was either the result of falling over or falling into a frying pan. Either one was the brought about by alcohol and my guess is that she was babysitting. I swear that the cut was actually throbbing as she talked at him. Clearly a punishment trip, window shopping on a Sunday morning when most of the shops were closed. I wonder if he remembers regaling the lads on Saturday night with manly plans. Oh if they could have seen him, but of course they were suffering their own bespoke punishments.

The same street brought me a well dressed older lady with one of those precisely groomed rats that pass as dogs. I slowed my pace when I realised that she had hit somewhat of a predicament. The animal had passed whatever fancy food stuff she fed him and the result was not good. Suffice it to say that she needed a doggy mop not a scoop. The look on her face was priceless, stranded in the high street as I approached she couldn’t walk off and leave the mess. The elaborate efforts to extract a bag and ponder how to attack the mess were almost painfully extended as I slowed my pace. I knew that she had no intention of clearing up the mess but took great delight in stretching her embarrassment. I am sure that as I passed the dog gave me a smug look, as if he had shown who was boss.

The real treat came yesterday afternoon in the local pub. Three guys in their 50’s came in and it quickly became clear it was a jolly boys outing. I pegged them as North London from their dress and demeanour. Like a slice of history childhood memories came flooding back. In the characters I could see so many from childhood. In the short leather jacket and the faded jeans I could see so many of my father’s friends. Even the shoulder shuffle, the choice of songs and the drinks were reminiscent of days long past. As they left the pub, far worse for wear than they had intended the immortal line “quick wash and freshen up then back on it” sealed the deal.

An update to yesterday’s post, lefty is fighting back. Since late yesterday afternoon it’s been giving me real pain. Despite a hot soak and painkillers I had a most uncomfortable night. My resolve remains strong though and I am sure it will tire first.

Nothing to see here

I am told by friends that not only was Elaine confused by the young gay couple in the pub on Friday night but that later that evening a positive flock, if that’s the appropriate word, descended on the late night watering hole of the town. I have nothing against those women that enjoy the company of women over men, hell in some instances its a positive service to mankind after all, but I have noticed a trend among younger ‘converts’. Friday night was a good example, we have a young couple, one of which has moved from opposite to same sex relationships which I am sure was a big moment in her life but you know what? It’s not that big a deal for the rest of us. In my quiet local pub this couple did not make a significant impact by holding hands so they moved up to wrestling, embracing and all out tonsil battles, none of which garnered any more attention.

The thing that confirms my theory is that the couple were later ejected from another pub because one of them was trying to pick a fight with some local lads. It seems to me that, like young children, they want to shock, they need to see that look of disdain around them because it marks the momentous choice in their life. Here the theory branches somewhat as I am not sure of why they actually need the attention, is it because they want to be able to berate the ills of society for not accepting them? Do they want to confirm that they are special and different? Or are they just baiting men with the ‘look but don’t touch’? I would like to publicly declare that there isn’t a man on earth that has not, in some studious capacity, observed two women together and to be fair the educational material normally provides a more aesthetically appealing demonstration, were not bothered ladies crack on.

Friday’s later exploits bring some very interesting observations that I feel are worthy of publishing. The first is that when you bring several all girl couples to this sleepy Essex backwater and add alcohol, they don’t turn upon each other they direct their anger at the guys, is this a macho thing?or do they implicitly trust other gay women? The second observation is one for the guys to keep in mind when their partners are bemoaning their discomfort around homosexual men, after all every girl loves a gay guy and they can never understand If a guy finds that uncomfortable, well the straight girls weren’t dancing and were ganging up to go to the toilet, turns out its only non threatening when its the other team.