Relate

We've been going to Relate, which, for non-Brits, is a service devoted to helping people with relationship problems.  Arguably we should have gone to it in about 2008, but it took a while to get around to it.  I tried in 2010 - but it went horribly wrong - and then we kept passing each other the contact details but neither of us did anything about it.   Then in December himself took the plunge, just in time for the New Year's Eve row...

So in early Jan we turned up at the Canterbury office.  It was exactly as my friend said, a waiting room with a gas fire in a nice old building.  In the consultation room I found myself wondering what had happened to the broken mouldings.  Our first appointment was a general "what do you want to get out of this?" session.  About 40 minutes in the counsellor suggested "So you really want to discuss ways of parting amicably?"
I wondered whether this was a "trick" question, to elicit a response.  3-5 years ago I might have said "Yes" but I'm more cautious now, and I like my house.  The truth is, we want to find out whether we do want to separate or not, because I don't know any more.  M was quite excited by the prospect a while back but he's calmed down a bit now.   There is a nagging feeling - did she ask that question to get that response?  Or was it what she had really concluded from our responses?   It reminded me of when James and I went to Westminster Pastoral Counselling and got the "We think your marriage is over" answer from the gang there.  I think this woman thought the same, but unless someone I love comes along and commands my love and affection, I am likely to remain in this situation until some people come to remove me in a box.  M is casting about, and if he gets this job in Portsmouth perhaps we'll get the trial separation. The experience of going to Relate is not an unpleasant process, because to a great extent we already know all this stuff about each other, although I occasionally find myself digging up horrifying examples of bad behaviour that I have buried and forgotten and forgiven and feeling surprisingly upset by them..

Tonight, to celebrate a new job, we went to our local Italian. We hadn't been for ages, but the waiter was immensely apologetic because there was no lamb "I am so sorry, and last time you were here I made a mistake..."  I assured him that I couldn't remember the mistake, only the good experiences (the limoncello, the flavoured butter, the nice food).  I felt remarkably cheerful (Citalopram and the anti-inflammatory diet!) and we had a second bottle of wine.  I walked there and back, which is extraordinary, I never used to do that even in my healthy days!  I must be getting better.  We decided not to go to the pub afterwards, as we had had our bout of sociability (our lovely Spanish teacher turned up along with Ned's old boss J - a married man, scandaloso!) and feared that A might be there (although we believe him to be in the Far East). That's the trouble with small towns, but also the delight.

Good bye to all that

I've been thinking about decluttering, because we have far too much stuff, and some of it I am very attached to but there are also items that are endlessly being moved from place to place.  Two ideas have come together: I heard someone say that one should get rid of one item a day. Years ago when we wanted to get rid of the kids' toys someone suggested we photograph them before getting rid of them, so the boys could always have the memory years after they had grown out of the toys.   So, I am thinking of trying at 365 day blog on the topic.   This is a test post, I needed to see how easy it is to use my tablet to photograph things and upload them here. It is extremely easy. So here is today's object. My old shoes:

  These shoes were bought in 2009, early in the year.  I was wearing them in April that year when I went to a rather fateful private view in Oxford.  They are Clarks shoes and were really comfortable for the first few years.    I stopped wearing them in winter 2014/5 by which time they had been mended about 3 times, and the upper was tearing away from the base of the shoe, again, and the cobbler refused to do them again.  I wore them all the time.  They weren't in the least lovely.  For a while I kept them near the back door for use in the garden, but they were too far gone - my feet got wet, the unlovely rubber clogs were more practical. 

I don't know if this picture does them justice - the backs weren't crushed like that - I was using them to slop about it indoors before I finally decided that my slippers were better.    A couple of weeks ago I bought some new winter shoes.  They are less lovely to look at than these, being lace up Hotters with thick soles and a slight hint of "surgical boot" about them.  

The only decision is whether to give the items their own blog, or to keep them here.  I think it's own blog might be more fun.  Yes - this is the address for the other blog   http://schmoozydeclutter.blogspot.co.uk/ but the first post is basically this, only written slightly more elegantly. 

Corbyn, McDonnell and lefty claptrapping...

I don't know what you call that automatic applause that occurs at socialist meetings whenever certain trigger words (currently "NHS", "Junior Doctors" and "refugees") are mentioned, but it's bloody annoying.   In the last six months I've heard Corbyn speak (in August) at the Winter Gardens, and this week, the Shadow Chancellor, John McDonnell, at the King's Theatre in Ramsgate and I've heard a hell of a lot of this. For some reason I think it's clap trap - but it can't be can it?  Perhaps claptrap is what the politician says to provoke applause and I noticed McD commented on something at the beginning of his speech, saying he hadn't said it to promote applause.

There was an awful lot of "spontaneous" applause on Tuesday night.  Not just for McD - but for every word that issued from the mouth of another speaker, and a tremendous deal of it for the striking junior doctors present. Yes, we want to show our appreciation, and Raushan, our local socialist restaurateur definitely deserved it for her work and her kindness but actually a lot of the claptrap is counter-productive since it slows the flow of the speech and the ideas.  And a great deal of what is being said to provoke it isn't especially new or interesting - usually a re-statement of long-held positions.

Both Corbyn and McDonnell said one, different, interesting thing which I wanted to applaud.   At the Corbyn thing I applauded and people followed (it was an attack on the supremacy of the market - seldom mentioned) and McDonnell said the new mantra for the LP should be "invest, invest, invest!"   This received zero applause.  Was it because it was a new idea and people weren't sure about it?  Is it because a lot of socialists actually are economically illiterate?  Or frightened of investment because it has capitalist overtones?  I don't know, but I found it disconcerting.   It was an enjoyable speech and quite funny, when he dealt with personal anecdotes, but I was much more interested in HOW Labour would implement policies, which McD was trying to explain.  I was glad to hear about all the advice they were taking, they sounded as if they were getting it sorted and using a diverse number of people,  many sensible former civil servants etc. as well as everyone's favourite comedy game theorist, Yannis Varoufakis.   As a former fan of Mr V. I was thrilled to hear that, nevertheless, I feel applying too much game theory to negotiations has not been a success for the Greeks, so God forbid a future Labour government should make too much use of him.

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.