The healing power of blogging

The following day, after I posted the health moans, I woke up and I was not stiff and aching all over.  I swung my legs out of bed easily and stood up without hurting myself.  This was quite wonderful.   I walked to the bathroom and coped with the steps... and I felt so energised I got up and cooked bacon and eggs and black pudding and anything else I could find (a manky tomato and some shiitake mushrooms, mashed potatoes).

I have continued to feel better, today I went to the Library and back without aggro, and walked down the stairs there.  It's almost normal.  There's a sore pad on my right foot and my left knee (the one I suspect of being "the problem")  was painful but that could have been a result of walking awkwardly for the last few days.   I doubt whether I am ready to start springing about leafletting and canvassing - but at least I am well enough to walk to from the car park to Relate tomorrow (oh, the joy!).

Yes, there's still the gynaecological mystery, but the decline in aching and stiffness is very welcome.  Could it be the anti-inflammatory diet working already?  Can it be sugar and gluten?  I've lost a couple of pounds, but nothing exciting, and my left knee really does hurt...so maybe the knee is an issue of its own.  I managed to damage both my knees in separate teenage accidents, so they always give me intermittent gip anyway.

Perhaps it was blogging about my imminent death that challenged the fates!  Or the "darkest hour is before dawn" being true.  Or Mark's desperate prayers ("Lord, let her get up and do some housework!")

Health Moans

So, as usual, one begins the New Year with a diet and a vow to exercise, a walk to the pool at least.  And then I bought some new, sensible, comfortable shoes and began to walk around in them and they seemed fine.  Then last Saturday, while we were at the cinema, seeing Carol (glorious cinematography, high production values and otherwise a tad vapid), my right foot began to hurt, in a place where it has hurt before, beneath the toes in the ball of my foot.  It's tender and sore and it doesn't tolerate having weight put on it.

On Sunday I wasn't able to walk on it - going to the loo was painful.  I stayed upstairs until Tuesday when I managed to limp downstairs.  By this time the pain was shifting around my foot to different places.  I went to the doctor.  I told her that I hoped it was reactive arthritis, because I also had conjunctivitis.  She said she didn't think it was, but wanted more blood tests as my inflammation
indicator was high.  The following day I had the dreaded blood tests, dreaded because I have weedy, skinny little veins which hide deep in my body, and have to be coaxed to give blood.   I took the precaution of drinking extra water (one phlebotomist told me this helped, another told me it was rubbish: on Wednesday it helped).

I was beginning to feel better, the pain had obligingly shifted to the top of my foot so it was easier to walk, although agony if my foot made contact with any thing like a chair leg or a table...I even walked back from the Library (5 minutes - uphill - an achievement).    On Thursday things seemed set to get back to normal, the pain kept shifting, and I was still limping.  On Friday during a memorial service I found that standing for all four verses of "How Great thou Art" was pretty unbearable... and my back was being difficult too.  Then I went to have a scan at the local hospital.  One of those lovely ones - internal and external, full bladder and empty bladder... the radiologist (or whatever you call them) said my endometrium had thickened, again.  He thought there was "something there".  Well, all my fond hopes that my foot was improving, and that the scan would put an end to my series of health appointments, were dashed, he said he would be recommending further scans and another coloscopy - and reminded me about the "granulation" they found last time, three years ago now?

I found today I was thinking, would I be delighted if I made it to 72?  Would I rather have endless muscle/nerve pain or take the muscle relaxants and painkillers which have been implicated in Alzheimer's and Stroke?   It doesn't matter so much really if I die now.  I doubt whether my books have anything great in the way of insights to share with the world.  It would be sad not to be there to support Finn and Ned and spend time with my grandchildren, but it would at least end my money worries.   And yes, I am being a drama queen, I don't think I'm going to die this year, or even within the next 5 years.  But it's the possibility hanging over one that is upsetting, and the pain I am feeling, which has gone up a level today, with new pain in my left ankle, making walking difficult again, that is reducing me to a state of self-pity and anxiety about the future.

What is to be done?
On Wednesday I began to do a bit of research about diet, anti-inflammatory diet seems basically to be a sort of Atkins, no gluten or sugar - lots of everything I like.  Might have to start making my own mayo though.  Of course there are dozens of diets online and mostly US websites, and all have subtly different lists of foods you should eat (mostly herbs and spices I'm happy to say).  The one I like is called Dr. Mercola, a rather handsome bald Italian-American, I was on the website for over half an hour and they never tried to sell me anything.  There is loads of information, and he's quite a health/food socialist in his way.  There are lots of articles (I liked one on Rockefeller and how he made oil so dominant in the US, even infiltrating it into the Food business...(well, not Rockefeller personally - but he seems to have been at the beginning). So, I'm taking advice and seeing how it goes.  M is cynical as usual, he prefers his own untested theories  (the swelling is caused by some sort of blockage in my circulation?).  I am going back to the doctor on Friday, but I am distressed because of the pain and a feeling that I am not better.

I talked to my friend P - who fears if may be fibromyalgia - is that what the mysterious invalid great aunt had?  I just can't quite accept that.   I was so happy on Weds/Thurs when it seemed to be getting better, I felt full of pzzazz... not I am down again.  I have been complaining about brain fog for ages, but during the last week, I don't seem to have suffered it that much, so I'm hoping it isn't FM... the GP I saw (Bonnet) said she thought it might be a nerve thing... oh heck, surely too late to get MS.

Christmas, Cardiff and Impotence

Christmas Day was lovely, the boys were co-operative and we all had nice presents and everyone behaved beautifully.  Our neighbour came in in the midst of present opening which was a bit awkward, as the boys continued opening regardless, so I didn't get to read their excited little faces...Then we went to the beach for a drink and a chat, and mostly chatted with people who'd come around for drinks two nights before - but that was all right!

Then it was home for frantic cooking.  I'd invited A for 2 but he didn't turn up, rather than repeat last year's pointless hanging around, waiting dinner for him, to be polite, I thought we'd have the meal as soon as the turkey was cooked.  So we were sitting down, enjoying our first mouthful at about 2.50 when A arrived.  He claimed he'd thought we were eating at 3.  He had not been paying attention, but no harm there.  So we ate, and enjoyed a reasonably sociable time and A was very smiley and pleasant.  The boys were tolerant.  The huge crackers contained exiguous items... we missed the Queen.  A gave us some very nice pressies, and we gave him something similar back.   He and I had a long talk about Wahabism and Islamophobia etc.  very Christmassy!  He insisted that he would take us out to dinner on 29th to compensate for the long-promised dinner he'd offered to compensate for not turning up at all last year.

On Boxing Day we trekked to Cardiff, getting stuck in terrible traffic only getting as far as Slough by lunch time.  We went to the Palmers' Arms - and sat outside, under an awning.  Unusual in December, but the place was heaving. When we returned to the car we discovered the wing mirror had been smashed and had flown into the road.  M began a rage, I tried to calm him down.  He was pleased because it was my fault. Fortunately I remembered there was a Halfords on the Bath Road and we bought the right mirror and all was well.  We reached Cardiff at nightfall - missing the scenery as we crossed the Severn bridge.

The Campanile hotel had some "sketchy" characters according to Ned and Finn.  The following day at breakfast I realised that the presence of so many, mostly young, men, speaking Arabic couldn't be a coincidence.  Clearly this was also providing emergency housing for refugees.  It was in all other respects a regular Campanile.  Apart from a rabbit warren in the grounds.

We had a good time at Flora's, and went to Cardiff Bay - did a boat trip around the bay in the rain - I nearly died of diesel poisoning - then lunch at Carluccio's, then to Stella and a trip to Cardiff Castle, which was spectacular.  Another nice meal at Flora's, then off to bed, and up again to head for my father's. Feeling sad and trying to make eye contact with the poor droopy refugees, who were suffering 4 days of public holidays with nothing much to do except use their mobiles.

At CP another huge meal, more presents, and total exhaustion.  I would have liked to have a quiet, restful day to recover from all this, but A had insisted on 29th as the day - so we got our togs on and went out. Our lateness was commented on, but I didn't rise to this, he's been late for meals etc at our place so often, that I admit I didn't rush to be punctual on this occasion.  Also, I was v. tired.  All started affably, but after a delay in going to the restaurant, because he'd met a new chap who was clearly more interesting than us, we eventually got to sit down.   He began to speak, he was slagging off various things dear to our hearts, eg "liberal teachers" and museums, subjects on which he is not well informed (although he's an absolute compendium on world news).  Occasionally when his views consisted of massive generalisations, we tried to put a different case.  He began to be irritable, and then accused of Mark being "aggressive" of "raising his voice" although he was in fact the only person doing that.  Eventually he became extremely angry, and after paying the bill and treating us to a final tirade which concluded with the words "It's the white liberals who are the real racists!" he stormed out.   We received sympathetic looks from other diners, I gave them a jokey wave and said "Hi, we're the white liberals!"   They smiled, and order was restored.  We sat there, drinking coffee, mystified by it all.  The way the whole thing had erupted was quite irrational, we had been disagreeing with him, yes, and he'd picked on Mark, rather than me - I frequently disagree with him, but perhaps because I'm a woman my views don't count.

Strangely, the evening confirmed what I'd recently begun to suspect. i.e. that A is suffering from our favourite personality disorder.,  Of course reading about a personality disorder, one immediately begins to see it everywhere, but this one has some very classic symptoms, all of which he manifests to a high degree.  It was remarkably similar to another spat with a friend, who has some similar traits (they affect one percent of the population).

 Our relationship has changed over the last few years, when I first met him I thought he was interesting and a bit lonely, and he asked me to introduce him to nice people.  I did my best to supply nice people, but that didn't seem to take.  He came to endless events at our house, usually late, and often virtually insisted that I visit him. If we went out to a public event, a concert or a play, he would disappear for a fag and never come back.  I found his friendship increasingly oppressive.  While I was occasionally allowed to give advice on some matters, the whole conversation was always about him and his experiences.  I doubt whether the phrases "What have you been up to? Or how is your work/writing going?" have ever been uttered by him in the last 5 years.  I am a polite product of the bourgeoisie, and as a woman I still know what people like A think my place should be... however, I had become tired of it in the last year or so, of having to play a role that has never fitted me.  Why should all our conversations consist of me drawing him out?  I once actually insisted on telling him what I'd been doing... he didn't take the hint.  He used to call me "The most intelligent woman in Ramsgate" - deeply irritating and untrue... one of a group of  bright people, although in my case somewhat fogging up at times.  I certainly didn't let him steamroller me, I would query his statements and get him to revise his generalisations, but somehow, the reality of M and I both doing it was too much for him.   I would like to make it clear that I've never felt any sexual interest in him, and I am quite clear that he only likes young women with "beautiful bosoms" so I would be languishing in vain if I had.. I don't think sexual jealousy is involved, he just didn't like his opinions being questioned, and when he began a rant about Nicholas Serota, I was painfully reminded of the other rant, which focused on another well known public character.  Is jealousy of public figures another symptom?   I need a good book on the subject.

Why did I use the word impotence in the title?  I suppose it's because for some years I thought I could cheer this guy up (he is often depressed and unwell, and this elicited some sympathy) and help him towards the more sociable time he claimed to want.  I realise  now in the face of his condition, that nothing can be done.  Sitting and attempting to converse with him has resulted in mounting frustration, and now, perhaps with some relief, dissolution.  I am angry with myself for not having used the time more constructively.   However, I can certainly sublimate him into a book, so all is not lost!  I almost know where he will fit in, there is definitely something Balzacian about him!

Thanksgiving

I don't do Thanksgiving - being a Brit - and I have tried to keep a gratitude diary (I think on here) but it ran out of steam.  It was a bit repetitive and I got bored:, health, nice house, influx of money, by having these things as a given and not feeling the lack of them, it tended to shift the focus onto the things I wanted, that I hadn't got, such as a publishing contract, and a clear brain every day!  So it stopped being very thanksgiving. Today I saw one of my cousin's blog about Thanksgiving
https://sophiecaldecott.wordpress.com/2015/11/27/how-to-feel-grateful-when-you-dont-think-you-can/

I think her idea about a "beauty blog" is a good one. It reminded me of when I was depressed, and I finally realised that I was coming out of it when I started to notice small things, like a sparrow hopping along a station platform, spring flowers etc.  It is those small things that recall one to life, and make one spontaneously grateful for beauty and small happinesses and the wonder of things such as loosestrife. 

Cultural diary

I have been out a bit recently.   I am not going to go into detail, but I have seen the following.

The film "Suffragette" which I liked more than the critics, because - hello? - it's not a history, it's the film equivalent of an historical novel, so is allowed to appeal to our emotions and depict misery and injustice and get us worked up about it.

The film "The Lobster" which is not to be recommended if your marriage is less than robust.  It is funny and also horrifying.   Worth seeing.

The operatorio "Saul" about which I have been almost incandescent.  The singing and music were glorious, but the production, by Glyndeborne is totally absurd and bore little relation to the music, the words, or the intentions of the composer.  Handel would have been gobsmacked (even if delighted to see it still being performed).

The film "Straight out of Compton" which we took Finn to, a rare opportunity to go to the cinema en famille.  I enjoyed it a lot, and found Dr Dre a particularly appealing character.  Mercifully, a friend explained that Dr Dre has a lot of form as a wife beater, and isn't that nice really, thus ensuring that the best biopic traditions of airbrushing inconvenient truths are being upheld.  The film was a little overlong, but enjoyable.

The film "The Lady in the Van" which was simply enjoyable, great cast and acting, lovely familiar scenes of North London, and Broadstairs - what's not to like?  Specially enjoyed the overheard comment (at another screening) "I didn't know Alan Bennet had a twin brother".

The exhbition "Goya: The Portraits" which includes this picture of "The Dowager Marchioness di Villafranca" - a beautiful picture, this is from a reproduction on a board outside the National Gallery.  The 24 year olds who compile the catalogue notes describe it as "A moving demonstration of his ability to portray old age with respect and sympathy."   To me this looks like a fabulous portrait of an intelligent, interesting woman.  What's with the old age?  She's probably only in her 50s and looks better than sprightly!  

Islam and Christianity not quite the same - shock!

Devastating and loathesome though the Paris shootings were, with implications that will extend far into the future I fear (just as their roots lie some way in the past), the aspect that has struck me is the one which effects me personally.

My chief sources of news and opinion are Radio 4 and Facebook.  Facebook has been full of (a) pious quotes from the Quran, and people saying, yet again, that Islam is a religion of peace  and (b) The posts saying all religions are equally wicked and the cause of all human misery, and the #PrayforParis thing is rubbish because prayers are just nonsense.

I agree with the (a) because belief systems were created, inter alia, to ensure stable societies and promote harmonious co-existence. All religions would probably make that claim.  Sometimes they did this by excluding dangerous elements (foreigners, infidels, homosexuals, adulterous women for example) which they felt would disrupt their societies.   I disagree with (b) the "Christianity is just as bad" idea that often accompanies these posts. I don't recall organised Christian terrorists massacring lots of people (no, the crusades don't count, they were 800 years ago, I'm talking about now).   A lot of the people who are promoting the "Islam is a religion of peace" idea on FB are not themselves Muslim, but actually secularists.    It seems that no one on the left in the UK either likes, or, more significantly, knows much about, Christianity, especially its history and development.

My politics are informed by my Christianity and vice versa.  Religions are formed by cultures and cultures are shaped by religions, they are interdependent, and I am sure there has been plenty of better-informed stuff written on this topic.

I personally believe we would not have had the Enlightenment without the teaching of Jesus and St Paul saying "In Christ there is neither slave nor free, neither male nor female" or words to that effect - i.e. that we were all equal, indistinguishable in value and significance.  The much derided and seldom read Bible, provided a great deal of the intellectual underpinning of the beginnings of the Enlightenment.  Its translation into the vernacular brought about immense intellectual changes for ordinary people.

Christianity was about 16-1700 years old when its Enlightenment began.  We had to do it ourselves, intellectually, creating new thinking about human relationships, economics, religion etc.  We did not have anyone else's ideas to work on (obviously erratic classical philosophers had come up with one or two ideas that were recognised anew during this period).   Nevertheless, we created a Europe (and, subsequently, to a lesser extent, a "Western World") where these values became dominant as we gradually trudged towards where we are now.  It was not, and is not, all onwards and upwards.  In the UK for example we have had a terrible regression in the last 30 years (which is nothing to do with religion!).

Islam - which like Christianity - is made up of diverse sects with differing beliefs, is only about 1300 years old now.  If it were starting from scratch we  might not expect an Enlightenment in the immediate future.   However, the example of Western Enlightenment could offer some pointers, even if a lot of Islam doesn't want to accept the whole package. Unfortunately, in many Muslim countries, a wholehearted desire for liberal democracy is something of a minority interest.  In addition, there is the fundamentalism of certain groups such as the Wahabi, which is encouraging people to stay in their boxes, not to get out and look around and see what the world has to offer, to see how their religion could be enriched and enhanced by adopting more liberal attitudes.   The phrase "live and let live" doesn't seem to be widespread in this worldview.   This form of intolerant Islam is spreading through Africa and Asia.  It is a form only supported by tiny minorities in Western Europe, but like all extreme forms of thinking it is often seen as having more integrity or authenticity by idealistic young people.  It seems to me that not enough commentary has focused on the very recognisable tendency of some young people to search for "truth" - to want something to believe in that is pure and uncompromising, and that just as some of us find it on the far left/anarchism/evangelical or charismatic religious practice/far right-racial purity etc. others will find it in extreme Islamism . It is probably not going to stand the test of time.  Any young Islamist who doesn't die for the cause will probably grow up have a family and settle down... just as most "teenage delinquents" turn into good citizens.  A lot of the moral panic about British teenagers fighting for Daesh is exaggerated.  At the same time, elsewhere there is definite evidence of an Islamic Enlightenment getting underway - and perhaps this is why the extremists are fighting so hard, they need to win before the whole thing slips out of their fingers

I have written elsewhere about the idea of a caliphate, as a Golden Age, a utopian world where people lived according to the Quran.   But it seems that Daesh are not just wanting to bring in this Golden Age, but also to ensure the destruction of everyone else in the process.  In fact some of them are behaving like a Doomsday cult.  Like the Jonestown people, they kill themselves when they are in danger of capture.  A good many of them are not even devout Muslims - any more than the UVF were probably keen churchgoers either.  It is chilling because a lot of this stuff is happening in the area where the Book of Revelation prophesied Armageddon (well, a couple of 100 miles away). I do not take that seriously as a prophecy... nevertheless, it is hard to escape from the resonance.

For all sorts of reasons it looks as if there will be some sort of war with Daesh.  It will not be easy to pick them off, the collateral damage will be appalling, so many innocent people will be killed, and yet, part of me wants us to go and duff them up as quickly and effectively as possible.  Not because I support the idea of war, but simply out of desperation, they are so appalling, they are intellectually enslaving and imprisoning people, denying them any sort of free will (a theological concept!), that most Europeans feel "they must be stopped!".  It's hard to see what else we can do, yes, arm the Kurds, get in more training, advice and whatever else will help.  Bombing probably not the best thing, but let's find what works.  In the words of the archetypal taxi driver "it's the only language these people understand!"




Transgender  equiv to transnational stuff - if you are brought up French but live in England all your adult life - what are you?

Moribund cat

On Hsllowe'en an old, manky, black and white cat came and sat outside the kitchen door in the little area next to the kitchen loo.  Finn gave her some food and said she looked ill.   The next morning she was still there, food untouched.  I noticed she was breathing strangely, and was sure she was dying. She had a worn red plaited collar with a bell on it, but no address (well, cats don't do they).  I looked at her sadly, but had no idea what to do.  She wasn't ours, so what could we do?  It was clearly to late for the vet.  A bit later she shifted, and I thought perhaps she was feeling better.   Then she went, but only into the darkness of the outside loo.  Later she disappeared, and I was rather glad, that she had clearly gone off somewhere else to die.
There just was something rather depressing about it, that a creature will come to your house to die.  I know cats do this, Aphra went off somewhere else to die, so someone else must have found her and disposed of her body.  It is also the fact that you can't offer any comfort apart from a little stroke or scratch.  I didn't want to pick her up, because of the way she was breathing, I though it might cause pain.  I also feel sad for her owners, who probably realise what's happened, but would still have liked, perhaps, to tend her through the last hours.  So now she is in the great catnip fields where she may frolic at will.... I have never really thought animals had an afterlife - but dog owners in particular are vehement on this topic.  .