Statins again

Picture courtesy of the Alliance for Human Research Protection

I have been overwhelmed by the information sent to me about the problems with statins. Thank you to all the people who did refer me to the right places. Thank you too to my net-friend who has always counselled about their over-promotion and extreme side effects, the inclination for that person to say a big 'I told you so' has so far been ignored and I am grateful for that.

What I have learned though is that these days we can't take anything our medics tell us at face value. I'm not GP bashing here so I hope that NHSblogdoctor doesn't get all irate on me. Our front-line doctors are not specialists that's what they're called GENERAL Practitioners, they are only as good as the information they are given. If the government and Big Pharma is pushing a certain view it is easier and less time consuming to accept that 'wisdom'. I didn't initially think I needed to challenge the advice that WH was given either, and I didn't. Now I have I am shocked.

One piece of my research has really brought the message home. Just watching this was like looking at WH in the litle box, ignoring the northern accent and substituting a deep westcountry burr, is like watching WH in the little tv screen. It could be him up there reciting his experiences. So it looks like this statin problem really has come to haunt us.

It is a sad indictment of these times that patients with complex medical problems now have to research their treatments themselves to ensure that the drugs they are prescribed for 'their own good' are not the cause of much of their wider illness. The drug companies have a stranglehold over the governments, the medics and the public at large the world over and make obscene amounts of money by peddling their 'non cures'. The big question is, how the hell do we stop them?

Happy Birthday to me ?

yes, it's that day again when I turn another year older. I haven't had quite the day I expected but the second half has been pretty good, culminating in a tea party more reminiscent of a five year old's not a fifty something's. The only thing missing was the jelly.

I think from henceforth however, I'm going to ban all family celebrations, as for the last several WH has been ill each time. Today is no exception, he along with oldest step daughter appears to contracting a particularly nasty virus. With his shoulder surgery scheduled in less than a week, it looks like we may be in for a postponement. Sod's law again conspires against us. Maybe not such a good birthday after all.

Statins

I seem to have been really busy the last few days and having WH with a major relapse of depression hasn't helped. All this could have been avoided had he not revisited the statin problem. With statins he is verging on suicidal, without them his cholesterol rises to atomic levels due to his hereditary high cholesterol, he makes it as well as eats it! Of course when he's taking them the whole mood dampening thing kicks in and then he lives on junk food, refuses 'proper dinners' with veg and his level rises even further as soon as he stops them. They also appear to make him extremely tired which dampens the mood further. We've tried the healthy eating kick and the plant ester supplements but it's extremely dificult for someone who a) hates most veg with a vengeance b) detests yogurts and c) would live on meat alone if he could or in a pasty or some other type of pastry if he could get away with that.....It's doubly difficult when my cholesterol level is low to mid range and I exist almost entirely on veg and fruit.

Conversations, if that's what you have with someone who answers only in monosyllables, have been fraught but there do seem to be some alternatives out there without the dreaded statins. My GP said there were 'other choices' but did not elaborate, his says 'take statins or drop down dead', not much choice there then. Next move I think, if I can persuade, him is to seek advice at a higher level, presumably there is a consultant out there who specialises in this type of thorny problem. Until then, we both suffer the horrid side effects. I'm still at a loss to explain however why the GP would put him back on them given the fact he was suicidal on them before, his quality of life on them is rubbish so they're not exactly preserving him for much.

Yesterday he was like a new man, unbeknown to me he had dropped the pills for a few days. It took 3 days for the mood effects to go. Feeling confident that I DID notice the difference, he promptly took one again last night. Looks like I'm in for another crap weekend.

Yet another NHS rant....

Whoops they did it again..... and this time it's not anyone in this household but someone locally using the same GP practice and whose treatment, or rather non-treatment, has shocked us to the core.

About 2 years ago this lady pulled a muscle in her side moving something awkwardly in the stockroom at work. A few days rest with a couple of analgesics a day had failed to improve the dull ache she felt. Six weeks later and the pain was still there. her GP said it would take time to heal, these things always did. A whole year later she was still experiencing pain in the affected side. Still the GP recommended, gentle exercise and to stop thinking about it so much. Eighteen months later and the pain was worse, she became yet another heart-sink patient," keep on taking the pain killers; take your mind off it; maybe you're depressed, have some antidepressants" ad nauseum. A appointment with a second GP, the first being on holiday reinforced the 'non-treatment'. Maybe it WAS all in the mind.

Eight weeks ago when the pain at night was unbearable her husband said he'd had enough and took her to A&E. After a few blood tests and such like she was kept in and had an MRI scan. The next day she was informed that she had something seriously wrong internally, most likely cancer of the liver. The following week she underwent a liver biopsy and another scan. Four weeks later she was finally told they had lost the results and she must undergo another. Last week she was admitted again for the second biopsy. By now weak and quite poorly it was questionable whether she was fit enough to undergo it. She had yet another scan and more tests. The day of scan dawned and she was told early on that she wouldn't be having one. The doctor would be down later to speak to her about it. By then the family was distraught, finally in the late afternoon a junior doctor appeared and bluntly told her there was no point having any biopsies, the cancer had spread to the pancreas, was widespread throughout her system. She failed to take it all in and in case was not told the prognosis in layman's terms, her poor husband had to relay the 'simple' explanation, "He means it's too far gone, they can't do anything". Cue to go home, although it was suggested a couple of days in the hospice might 'help her sort herself out'. A planned course of chemotherapy at the local centre of excellence had been cancelled. 2It wouldn't do you any good". Home she went to face a bleak future, no sign of any additional treatments for the now numerous weakening symptoms.

This week the chemo team rang, "Where are you? You should have started treatment today". On being told that it was all cancelled as it would be pointless all that was rubbished, "Nonsense, we can make you feel more comfortable, deal with some of the symptoms and give you a bit longer with your family. She declined the opportunity unwilling to throw her hat in with the NHS any longer.

National Health SERVICE? If that's what they call service you can keep it.

The honeymoon is over - again

I've had my last GP for just under two years. I've always got on with her pretty well and she has been very supportive of my Lyme treatment within the confines of this practice. I wasn't too impressed that she hadn't spotted the problem with my foot last year, see here, here and here , but then neither did 2 other GPs and a nurse, but overall I'm as happy as anyone relying on the NHS can be. Until yesterday that is.

As I have blogged about recently my Lyme symptom free period has come to an end and I am awaiting a consult with my LLD (Lovely Lyme Doc). Obviously then I have some symptoms to consult about. My hands are like wood which are trying to curl up at the sides as well as along their length and which are very painful most of the time, my feet which are trying to do the same and are painful to walk on, and stiffness everywhere for at least 2 hours each morning and then periodically throughout the day. All in all symptoms of Lyme related Rheumatoid Arthritis. My weight loss has slowed right down too, but given that I am not so active and that Lyme tends to make you put on weight I wasn't too worried about that in the light of my 3 stone loss this year so far.

So, my suggested treatment to help me put up with this lot until I can kill a few more spirochaetes with the appropriate medicines? Go on, have a guess. Walking. A 30 minute brisk walk 5 times a week. It will help me lose weight and keep up the good work. I should examine my diet again too, to rev up the weight loss which of course will make me feel a whole lot better. My carpal tunnel syndrome which only appears when the RA is at it's worst will go because I will have lost weight around my wrists. No mention of the horrid lumps which have formed on the palms and the soles of my feet and which went shortly after beginning the original Lyme treatment. No mention of anything for the pain. And if I want to lose weight even faster perhaps I could come off the beta blockers which I have taken for over 10 years because of strange palpitations, valve anomalies and other Lyme related heart problems, it slows me down and makes me sluggish and stops me losing weight.

"How do I walk that much when I'm in agony?" I asked. Answer: Think of the good it's doing you. Walking is apparently much better for you than anything else including hard digging as it raises your heart rate and gets you breathless, you can work your arms too as you walk to increase the calorie uptake. Having done a lot of digging in the last week, (3 hours a day on 3 separate days admittedly interspersed by lots of little rests), I have been removing concrete from the patio, raking and wielding a pick axe then sorting flints and stones for a drainage bed, I realise I was wasting my time I should have been walking instead.

I relayed all this to WH tonight as he dug out part of the lawn for a flight of steps, with the pick axe on our extremely heavy clay. If the doctor can do this at this speed without losing her breath then she's in the wrong job" he retorted, "I do it for a living and I'm still knackered and out of breath".

What is it with these GPs? Are they now only trained in certain illnesses/problems as determined by the latest fads of Her Majesties Government? What happened to old fashioned medicine, compassion and seeking to help the patient? The Hippocratic oath states "I will keep them from harm and injustice", perhaps it no longer applies to todays doctors?

Settling in - part 1

We're a two cat family again since the demise of Goggins a few weeks back and the fur babies are finally settling down. I still think of them as kittens although they were six a couple of months ago. The house was very strange to them at first but now Misty is taking it well in his stride and Nelson is getting there slowly.

The day of the big move I was awol in Exeter whilst WH and mates did all the hard work. Firstly he caught up the three babes (we still had Goggins then) took them round the corner in the van and deposited them in his new bedroom which was all furnished and lovely and complete with their toys, other favourite things, food, water and litter tray he'd made from an upturned manhole cover. So far so good. He shut the door on them and the move commenced. So did the noise. All three started howling as only a cat can and kept it up for a good couple of hours. I'm glad I wasn't here. When all was done about noon, WH duly opened the bedroom door so that they could have a look round. Misty shot off and wasn't seen again, Nelson and Goggins had decamped to either side of the window cill and would not be prised off, not no way. No food had been eaten and the litter tray untouched.

And there they stayed until I got home at about 7pm. Misty was still missing though how he could have got outside was a mystery but then he's that sort of cat. I wasn't so convinced, I was sure he was holed up somewhere and just knew that when his stomach got the better of him he'd re-appear. The other two still stayed put too. Eventually I began to sort out my room and make up the bed, emptying bin bags full of clothes into drawers and all the while talking to myself in a very loud voice.

The scuffling started in the corner of the soon to be second bathroom behind a pile of mattresses, then a whimper, then an anguished cry. Finally a little face peeped out of the side of the pile and the hiding place was revealed. Misty had been there all along, not a metre from the door of the bedroom. Nelson stayed on the window cill but Goggins bravely followed WH downstairs, had a quick, manly cuddle, a mouthful or two of tuna and went out of the back door to explore the garden with WH, down the side of the house and back in via the front door. Piece of cake. He'd got his bearings and went in and out a few times quite happily. Being senile I suppose he forgot where he was and so long as he had WH in his surroundings he was OK.

We tried to feed Misty and Nelson their supper in the hall, hoping they'd come downstairs. They didn't. I took some smelly fish on to the landing and they still stayed put. Eventually we gave up worrying and went to bed. Once in the dark, they shot out of hiding and jumped on my bed, only to spend the entire night as close to my head as possible to make sure it was really me. About 2am they were joined by Goggins who had spent the intervening period walking up and down the landing looking for WH and not quite finding him. I was second choice so I had to do. Needless to say I had no sleep whatsoever although WH did his customary 'head-on-pillow, sleep-for-10-hours' trick. At six am I got up and was followed downstairs by two starving, grey cats. I fed them then let them out into the garden, going with them for a few minutes. Nelson shot back in, Misty shot off over the fence. Nelson retreated back to bed for safety. Later I spent a few minutes showing him where the cat flap was but he hated it, he'd rather go through the patio door. Goggins was fine, had a second breakfast and went to sit on his garden chair which we had thoughtfully moved to the new garden and placed in the sun for him.

At about 10 I thought I'd take some stuff to the other garage, I drove up, parked, and then my neighbour accosted me, just as Misty peered sheepishly out from behind a bush glaring at me and staring at the old house. I must have been on form that day as I quickly grabbed him, shoved him in the back of the car, covered him with an upturned box weighted down with another heavier one, and drove the 200 metres back to the new house. He was mad at me for doing that and kept up a stream of abuse even whilst I got him out and put him back in the kitchen. I gave him some fish to reinforce the fact he was now 'home' and he forgot his anger for the thirty seconds it took him to eat it. Since then he always returns. Now Nelson is the problem. He goes visiting his old haunts and can't remember his way back.

Meet the gang 'cos the boys are here........

We haven't seen many birds in this garden yet. Several reasons 1) it still looks like a building site and at any given time there is likely to be someone out there making a noise of some description 2) the bird feeding station WH had for his birthday was really put in the wrong place, in the centre of an open space backed by a neighbour's eucalyptus tree 3) the resident cats are still staking out their new territory and patrolling fences to repel any potential invaders and 4) there are not nearly so many big trees. Despite the fact we are only 150m as the crow (or any bird for that matter) flies from the old place it really is quite a different habitat to get used to.

Yesterday, however, I took advantage of the good weather to remove the timber mountain from the future lawn, move all my pots of stuff awaiting transplant and had a general tidy up. I had to leave the cement mixer as it is needed later this week but 7 builder's dustbins were moved to the yard along with bags of sand and enough tools to stock a shop. I also moved the feeding station adjacent to the apple trees, with a neighbour's buddleia and a laurustinus nearby for extra cover.

This morning large as life I had a small flock of about 15 long tailed tits casing the joint and sampling the menu. They hung around for about half an hour until a neighbour's cat (thankfully not one of mine) appeared over the fence and looked menacingly at them. I took that as my cue to frighten him off and so the birds went too although half a dozen were back again in less than 5 minutes joined by a couple of great tits and a coal tit. I'm hoping this will be the shape of things to come and that they liked the new restaurant and will bring their mates. I now just need to attract the flock of goldfinches which fly past several times a day but as yet have not seen the niger waiting for them and it will finally seem like home.

Barking Mad

Before I moved I was looking for peace and quiet and a calmer existence than I had in the other house. After 23 years behind a noisy estate, the last 12 of which having noisy dogs next door I thought I was due a little quiet. Well the old adage 'you never know what's round the corner' certainly rang true here. I sit writing this to the sound of a dog frantically barking and whining. This will probably go on all morning. I've started recording the dates and times and find it sometimes barks for 5 hours at a time.

A chat last weekend with my neighbour about this only elicited the response that she'd never heard it and it was 'only' because the dog, a Jack Russell, was caged when everyone is out of the house, the reason being it chews the furniture when it's alone. The problem which became apparent when we were building the extension has worsened, we thought it was due to strange noises and builders being around, we didn't realise it's ALWAYS like this.

My hands are now tied on all this, if I take further action, ie. involving the local council noise people I would have to declare this as an impediment to a sale should I wish to sell the house at a later stage, it's part of these new Home Information Packs. Seemingly I may as well talk to the dog as talk to the owner for all the good that did.

How do I get out of this one? Will my ears ever be free of barking dogs? This one is slowly driving me nuts, I can't think and I can't seem to escape it. Stressed out just doesn't begin to cover it.

So that's how they shorten the waiting lists

This is the diary of someone I know on a NHS waiting list.

Mid January: Patient goes to their GP and is referred to a speciality clinic.

February: An appointment is received for 9 March.

9 March: Patient turns up to the clinic and is told that they had been sent the wrong date by mistake; there was no one there to see them. A new appointment is made.

12 March: Patient attends first session at clinic which is basically filling in some forms and a brief 5 minute chat. An appointment is made for to begin a course of treatment in April.

April: The treatment clinic appointment is cancelled by telephone the day before it is due to take place because the patient has been referred to 'the wrong type of person'. A referral to another clinic will be made.

May: Patient calls up and asks why they had heard nothing. They are told that their referral letter has been lost and the clinic will have to ask the GP for another one.

Early June: GP calls the patient and says he has been asked to do another referral, do they still need it.

Mid June: Patient receives a letter for an appointment on 9th Sept .

Late June: Patient receives a phone call saying the appointment date on the letter was wrong and a new one would be sent. Receives another letter changing it to 10th Sept

9 Sept: Patient receives a phone call cancelling tomorow's appointment because the referral should have been sent to the Primary Care Trust and not the Community Health Team so the referral has to be made again.

NHS Choices has this to say about waiting lists:

Since 01 January 2006, no patient in England should have to wait more than 13 weeks from when they see their GP and the decision is made that a referral to a specialist is necessary, and their first outpatient appointment.

Well we know better don't we? This way, the patient gets off the waiting list and has to start again, best of all they receive no costly treatment so are saving the NHS money too. Wonderful isn't it? There is no involvement from any medically qualified staff at all, it can all be managed by pen pushers.

RESULT! A cost saving and a shorter waiting list to boot. And I thought that the NHS was here to treat us.

It's just a shame that NHSblogdoctor is still on holiday, he'd enjoy this one.

Lyme rears its ugly head again

Borrelia burgdorferi, the bacteria responsible for Lyme Disease; Nature,

International Weekly Journal of Science

I stopped taking the antibiotics prescribed by my Lovely Lyme Doctor (LLD) 5 months ago. After the side effects (extreme photo-sensitivity) wore off I felt brilliant. This continued for the next 16 weeks or so. I have done so much this summer that I never even dreamed about.

Now I have to report that a few of the Lyme symptoms are creeping back, notably the Rheumatoid Arthritis which is making life somewhat difficult now. As always it's my hands which are affected worst; on waking every morning my right hand is locked solid and I have prise open my fingers one by one. My left hand is stiff and feels like wood like the right one but at least my fingers do open albeit somewhat painfully. On a bad day I am now unable to use my right hand for much for about 3 hours, having very little movement or indeed grip. Dressing is a pain and recently we have had to resort to WH dressing me, not least because the Depressed Painter has been in residence and he arrives at the unearthly hour of 7.40am; confronted by a partially dressed me, he would be twenty times more embarrassed than me so I HAVE to get dressed. Dancing at the Hayseeds gig the other night had the effect of making both my hands swell up to Michelin proportions after which I had no real movement and certainly no grip, good job then that it wasn't me who had to drive our little party home.

Luckily the crushing tiredness isn't there (touches wood frantically) but I've had the odd bit of peripheral neuropathy and the dreaded crawling sensation across my right shoulder blade. My weight loss has come to a halt too (at 19kg or 3 stones) it's proving almost impossible to get back on track and I so wanted to lose a further 6kg or so before Christmas making it 4 stones in twelve months. I already have my eye on Monsoon's window!

So all this leads me to the conclusion that I will have to start the treatment again, those Borrelia bugs must have come out of hiding in my nervous system and be multiplying again. Got to stop them in their tracks. To this end I am awaiting an appointment with the LLD which neatly leads me to my next revelation. It seems that WH may have Lyme Disease too. He is now in a worse physical state than me with all the symptoms I had at my worst and then some. He is extremely poorly right now and struggles to carry on working. He had an NHS Lyme test a couple of weeks ago and as yet we have no results. For the mean time his GP has referred him to the LLD too. A double appointment (and a big bill) beckons but it will be worth it. I am still overall fitter than I was for the last 16 years, I just hope and pray that WH can improve as much too.

Net Friends

A few weeks ago we travelled north spent two evenings in the company of those Boys from Deer Lick Holler and also had the opportunity to spend some time with a couple of my closest friends. The amazing thing is that one of those, I had never met 'in the flesh' as it were until then. I have known this person almost 7 years here on the net and because of the distances involved and the fact that neither of us are particularly well we had never been able to engineer a meeting before.We originally met on an American run chat site specific to our ailments, or in my case the the 'wrong' diagnosis I was being treated for. Eventually Board Wars caused that site to disperse and we moved elsewhere to another American site. The same thing happened again, so we gave up the chat sites and contact each other directly now. The third member of our little group comes down here on holidays and we endeavour to meet up then, the last time being about 4 months ago. It was a lovely meeting, we all gabled away as though we had been around each other for ever. It felt comfortable and easy, not at all like being in the company of strangers, even the Worst Halves felt like they had known each other a while.

Tomorrow we travel to Bristol to see the band again and will meet up with other friends originally found here on the net. Wonderful to think that our paths would never have crossed had it not been for the internet.

On the last minute

As per usual everything is a mad rush again. My tenants finally move in on Wednesday and WH has just decided to a) change the immersion heater, b) empty out the loft and c) fix the smoke alarms which have been sitting in the kitchen for 5 weeks. Just when I need help to sort out the garden.

Last week I employed the services of a student to help me do my bit, but torrential rain the first 3 days ensured we achieved nothing. WH took the lad to work with him. On Thursday we finally got going and three hours after starting some serious work the lad decided he had a bad back and couldn't do any more digging. I sent him off on his own to cut the lawn and tidy up. Fifteen minutes later he arrived back said all was done and and tidied and he duly went home. Later I discover the lawn looks like it has been cut with a knife and fork, or maybe a goat has had random bites out of it, the few grass cuttings are still in the mower box in the garage and in any case the only bit that has been touched is in the centre. If anything it looks worse than before he started. So today after 2 nights of even more heavy rain I have to set to and get it looking pristine.

Meanwhile all is not well with the letting agent. This is my third agent and the beginning of the relationship looked promising. The manager certainly talked the talk, the adverts went out quickly and tenants were found on the first serious viewing. This was all 6 weeks ago. The paperwork was all to follow. Three weeks ago the terms and conditions arrived and we decided that as we are so close to the house we would manage the property ourselves. We awaited the contract. Two weeks ago I called the office and asked where it was, "Don't worry all the paperwork is coming together, loads of time yet." Last Monday I called again. No-one in the office at all this time so I left a voice-mail. No-one called back. I rang again on Thursday. "Oh it must have got lost in the post." Why did no-one return my (numerous) calls? " It's the school holidays, lots of people are on holiday and several were sick. No problem it can all be done today, I'll drop it off tonight." She didn't. The contract finally arrived on my doormat on Friday morning to the sound of a hastily driven off car. Several key points were wrong, names and address of the Landlord for a starters. A call to the office revealed the Manager was out, again. The secretary said she would sort it and I would be hand-delivered a new agreement on Friday night. I am still waiting.

Why is it that these firms are all very ready to talk up their service and to take your money but when it comes to actually doing anything they fall at the first hurdle? Their attention to detail is absolutely zero. All these systems are in place for instant messaging, voice-mails and good old fashioned secretaries still take messages but no one ever replies. The offices are run by brightly dressed 20-somethings who talk a lot and do bugger all else. No-one checks anything.

I just hope that on Tuesday the Lettings Manager will actually turn up to do the inventory and condition report but at £100 plus an hour I expect she will. Whether it will get typed correctly and delivered to me in time remains to be seen.

At least I am not still with the second agent I had. WH has been working in a property managed by them. They were given carte blanche in terms of the time scale, no one was due to move in for at least a month. Some of the job was tiling, so days were left for stuff to dry and other jobs fitted in between which ultimately gives a better end result and a smarter finish for the customer. By Friday there were a couple more days left to do and then the refurbishment was finished. The painter, returning the key to the letting office at the end of the week, casually asked if a tenant had been found yet. "Oh yes, we always had one, he moves in on Tuesday." We received a frantic phone call from the already stressed painter. Cue much swearing from WH who is now working over the Bank Holiday in order to complete by 8.30 on Tuesday morning.

And they call this property management?

Progress of sorts

Five weeks living in the new house and progress is slow. WH is working everywhere but here and when we do get all ready to start another part of the project someone moves the goal posts and we have to stop, regroup and take a different course of action. Mostly so far it's all been caused by the weather, the major blight over the whole episode so far. Just a few days of waking up here convinced us that our plan to forget installing the central heating boiler until late September/ early October would have to be scrapped. We need it now, temperatures in the kitchen are regularly less than 12 degrees C in the early morning. We also discovered that a lot of the plaster had still not dried out even though some of it was done late last winter. This has made the whole house feel damp and caused us to leave a couple of oil radiators on all night every night, a strategy which is finally paying off. The house of course had not been lived in for almost 3 years and had no regular heating for even longer so I suppose with all the wet weather we have had in this period it was bound to be feeling slightly chilly.

Tomorrow a major progress will be made, the hall and stairs are being plastered along with levelling the kitchen floor allowing us then to decorate within the next month. After that we can get the rest of the carpets down which will be wonderful as we can reclaim the space in the living room where they are currently being stored. They were supposed to have been kept at the shop until we needed them but the fitter had other ideas, it saved him a journey and about 20 minutes of his time, never mind the poor customers who will have been walking round them for 2 months!

Once this part is finished we will have a large part of the house completed and hopefully a reduction in the dust which I spend hours daily attacking. I have employed a student to do some digging in the garden and help get the foundations done for the patio but so far all he has done is go off to jobs with WH as it has been far to wet here to dig anything.

A little light went out today

Goggins

01.08.1991 - 14.08.2008

For his entire life he battled infections, cat flu and lung damage, today he lost his fight. He fought with all the local cats for no apparent reason, guarded anything he took a fancy to, drains, ladders, a space on the floor, a cardboard box he had for 6 years, his special chair and loved his playmate Twilight so much that he never really recovered from her sudden death 8 years ago. This photo was him in May after his last bout of pneumonia. Last week it came back with a vengeance. He was a cat with a real attitude problem who loved the brine out of the tuna tin, freshly cooked bacon and worshipped the ground Worst Half walked on. No longer will they have manly cuddles on the sofa and fall asleep together watching Bruce Willis. When I returned from a six week visit to New York he flew round he room he was so, so happy to see me. The little green chair he fiercely defended sits empty, the drain covers under the trees no longer diligently cleared of spiders and the greys no longer have anyone to smack them down and give them a swift bite when they misbehave.

We are now a 2 cat family for the first time in 17 years and oh boy it hurts like hell.

The start of a love affair

Coming to the end of yet another horrid, wet, English summer which in my book is the second which has beenmruined by all the problems we have had with this house move, I have to face that it's highly unlikely that I will be going to Greece again this year. The downturn in the building trade here means that WH has to work while he still has work and so has been unable to finish our new place. Having given up over 5 months last winter to the build, which with hindsight was a total waste of time given the vagaries of the weather (again) and his fellow workers who let us down in droves, his customers won't wait any longer. I don't mind this, after all he is earning when other local builders are not. What I do mind is having had no real taste of warm weather other then during Grandad's Holiday in late May. I am also missing Greece itself and our usual leisurely stays in the back of beyond places we both love.

My love affair with Greece began as a teenager. My required O' Level English reading, along with a million other kids, was My Family and Other Animals, Gerald Durrell's account of his family's sojourn in Corfu in the 1920's. I was instantly drawn to this strange sounding country where interesting wildlife abounded, the people were strange, views were magical and you were never more than a few miles from the sea. The descriptions of exotic plants which my father had planted in our garden and which we fussed over to keep alive in the English Midlands but which grew wild in Corfu fascinated me. In those days I didn't like the heat so wasn't really bothered on that score. I read and re-read that book a hundred times in my late teens and twenties.

It was not until I took up with WH that I actually got to go there. In 1994, the girls were whisked off by their mother to Ibiza for a fortnight giving only 2 hours notice to WH. He freaked as he had done the previous year when a similar thing had happened and so, like the previous year when he was advised by his GP, we decided to go away ourselves. His house would not seem so empty if we ourselves were not there either. In those days, pre-internet (for us anyway), we abandoned looking for cheap deals on Teletext and called the agent direct. We stood in WH's porch listening to the phone between us, WH did the talking. By then of course, I was sick and not able to walk far, the first holiday he was offered was in Paxos, a villa in the Olive groves up a steep hill. He declined. Further unsuitable offers were also turned down. Finally he was agreeing to one, from Birmingham later that week. By then I had tired of standing and was sitting on the bottom of the stairs unable to hear the 'other end'. Having given all his credit card details the call abruptly came to an end. WH was not over impressed but it was a holiday after all and a cheap one at that. "I don't know what the accommodation will be but they assure me it will be on the flat. Allocation on arrival or some such name, they tell you all the details when you land. Oh it's Corfu, don't know what that will be like". My heart leapt, I was finally going.

We went in late May in a heatwave. Our accommodation proved to be a 2 bedroom apartment in a block of 6 overlooking a meadow of wild flowers just off the centre of Roda. We also had a full sized kitchen, two bathrooms and a shower with a curtain, unheard of in those days. It was on the ground floor, had a terrace giving onto the field and which was planted with bright flowers amongst which lived a whole army of little lizards. In two minutes you could be on the beach; round the corner, down the main street of the old village, past the church, on past the old ladies sitting in a row of hard chairs along their house walls, past the kafenion with it's whiff of ouzo, strong coffee and cigarette smoke and the old men arguing outside and walk through a gap between two cafes, the sparkling water visible through the little alleyway. I loved it. We had a bakery on 'our' corner and we went every morning for bread and pastries, sugary, vanilla-ey and cinnamonney scents teasing our taste buds. In those days a loaf was 270 drachma, about 54 pence, a yardstick I still measure the prices with today, only now the currency is the Euro (Evro) and bread is more than 60 cents (lepta).

We didn't do much on that first trip, we were too much in awe of the place and money was tight. We did hire a car for a couple of days and WH began to hone his skills as a Greek driver. 14 years later he slots in effortlessly. We drove around and everywhere we went Cistus sunroses abounded along with fields of myriad wild flowers. Little churches sat on hillsides, old cottages with tumbledown roofs had yards full of geraniums planted in blue painted feta tins, old ladies in black followed herds of goats for miles on the roads in the hills, men carried bundles of sticks whilst riding side-saddle on dusty, sad looking donkeys, chickens flapped out of hedges. Taking a picture in Sinies village one mid morning the whole school of 14 children fell out in to the street and posed for camera unbidden, along with a tiny sandy puppy clutched by a waif like 6 year old with dark eyes and a coy smile, "Hello" they chanted, "English? Thank you" as if by rote. One of the most brilliant sights was on the road along the the sea front in Roda itself, a piece of waste ground next to a moped rental lot. There were a couple of scrubby trees and chickens pecked amongst the dirt and greenery underneath them, taking to the branches in the heat of the day. One day the place was transformed, the greenery had flowered to become a vibrant square of brilliant red poppies.

That was the week which really kindled the fire. We have returned to Corfu 6 times since together and WH even took the girls on an 18 to 30's holiday in Kavos on another occasion, just Dad and 3 teenage girls. Together we have always stayed in the north and love the quieter more laid back spots. We've also been all over Greece since some years going 3 times. We want to live there eventually but sadly probably not in Corfu. We love the quieter, totally Greek places now and somewhere sleepy on the mainland beckons, maybe somewhere in Pelion although that is getting quite touristy now, maybe on the Amvrakikos gulf, Amphilochia perhaps, where we once had a wonderful Sunday lunch and not a Brit in sight (or sound), maybe near Volos airport at Nea Anchialos, the centre of a growing wine region. Wherever we end up it will always be that first holiday to Corfu we will remember the most, the week that sowed the seeds of a dream.

Studying the natives

I have lived in this house all of 28 days. A few things have been achieved but I still have a rudimentary bathroom and a very basic kitchen, cooker, sink, dishwasher and 2 shelves. We are getting stuff done though, I have repaired almost single handedly a hole in the floor, put up shelves, cut down trees and cooked basic meals. WH has rewired, plumbed in, put up ceilings and generally fixed. Our neighbours find us fascinating with our pot garden, temporary parking space on the front lawn, garage full of tools and missing side gate and fencing. Not however as fascinating as we find them.

We only moved about 400 metres but this neighbourhood (should I say road?) is just soooo different. For a start we have more neighbours, there are 4 more houses and the residents are generally younger, have more kids and and all have driveways in front of the garages attached to their houses. My last abode was one of only 3 which had a front driveway, in my case attached to someone else's house but at the front all the same. Here because we all have front drives much more family life is evident to the casual observer. They also have far more vehicles here, all except 2 have at least 2 cars per house, a couple of houses have 4 cars. This raises the question where on earth do they park them? Mostly in the road, in the turning spaces and on the pavement. The whole place looks like a used car lot. And there's always someone polishing one, or mending one, or cleaning one or just plain admiring one.

EH?? Yes this last one, in fact all the afore-mentioned car-related activities along with a whole heap more are carried out by one of my more immediate neighbours on a daily basis. WHAT??????

I think this guy is a teacher. He's definitely a sad case. Married with one child, he's really in love with his car. He changes his car with extreme regularity we are told although we've only seen 2 in the 12 months we have owned this place. He has a day-van too but that's a whole other story. This guy, a sad, boring, extremely rude (well the way he talks to his wife is, he doesn't seem to speak to any other adult, EVER) cleans his car, hoovers it out, removes the seats and wheels to clean them of any hidden, lurking specks he missed the first time then polishes the whole thing with an electric polisher gadget until he can see his face in it. Every other day. Now the school holidays are in full swing he can spend all day every day doing it, not just the evenings. It's rained a part of most days except for about 4 in the last 28, and he still cleans his car. The polishing and shining are relentless. He must have something wrong with him surely. He appears to have no life away from his car, spending upwards of 6 hours a day on his driveway.

When he got this latest one, brand new about 5 weeks ago, he was still sitting in it at 11.30pm admiring it on the day it arrived. I know, I saw him as I left from a curtain hanging marathon and frightened myself to death as he had all the lights off and as I pulled off this drive I saw something move in his car in my headlights.

All the time this cleaning is going on his 3 year old child is told to stay indoors and behave. His dog is tied up lest it interrupts. He appears to be the main child-carer in the holidays, his wife going to work in the day-van early each day. I heard them arguing at 7 am one morning out in the street, and he told her categorically that she is NOT ALLOWED to drive his car YET, she changed gear too roughly and frightened him, let alone the damage she had done to his beloved gearbox.

Reading this you probably wonder if this guy is for real. Well yes he is and living in my road and teaching some hapless kids at a local school. God help his class. He's a real nutter but he's so, so interesting to observe, a psychiatrist would have a field day.

Ah, now I have a plan to fund my longed-for designer kitchen. Any psychiatrists out there want Bed and Breakfast and the opportunity of some fine behavioural studies? I'm taking bookings now!

Summer, what summer?

We went to a barbecue this afternoon. We sat under a gazebo in a back garden in coats, hats, long trousers and fleeces. Great food, drink and company but Oh, what about the weather?

It rained for 3 hours non stop including some extremely heavy downpours. By 7pm we were all frozen and so the party split. I came home and got straight in the shower and there I stayed for 30 minutes until I was warm again. If we had a bath just now I would have had a bath. I'm now dressed in thermal socks and a very large winter fleece top over my regular clothes.

I am reliably informed that the hottest temperatures of the year usually occur in this first week of August. Well where the flippin' heck are they? Our winter is long enough without it starting already.

What a difference a week makes

The weather is warmer, possibly heatwave stuff here, meaning I can almost be too hot when I have so much to do. Not a thing I'm used to saying.

Anyway, I now have a sink and some worktops. The main kitchen is still a work in progress but I can cook a reasonable meal now and it even looks half like a kitchen! I've also ordered a dishwasher as my hands have lost the battle between me and the all invading plaster dust, gloves don't help as it's everywhere, not just when you get wet, so after half a century on this planet, I get to enjoy what other people take for granted: my own dishwasher. I can't wait until Tuesday when it comes.

The rest of the house looks almost respectable except for the bathrooms. One is currently a store room and the other a disabled shower room but it's usable and with my super homemade temporary net curtains (amazing what you can do with 4 nails, a stapler and a length of net) and a few hooks screwed into odd holes in the wall it's quite functional too.

The depressed painter rang to see what progress had been made in the hall and was told not a lot. "Oh, still waiting for the plasterer are we?" Well no, actually we didn't even get that far, we still have no hall ceiling and WH is being somewhat tardy getting it put up. Maybe it was something to do with the garage fire door, he started that on Sunday night, abandoned it having lost his temper because the brickwork wasn't true and hasn't looked at it since, feeling an urgent need to do jobs for everyone else every evening so far this week. So no change there then.

The other bit of good news is that I finally have a tenant. The old house has been spring cleaned, the kitchen and one bedroom re-painted, new blinds and lights fitted, smoke detectors purchased and the garden manicured to perfection. Result 4 viewings in 3 days and one successful applicant. They move in next month and my bank account will be looking slightly healthier.

Tonight I can't move, 3 long evenings this week of gardening in the wilderness we call the back garden has given me aches in places I didn't know I had. We can see the whole garden now and the cats love it. I have a huge pile of cut down shrubs and stuff and it's been so hot it might be dry enough to burn over the weekend, otherwise I'll have to load it into the jalopy and take it to the local tip. Hand-weeding most of the original borders has unearthed some gems, seedling broom bushes, 2 Rosa glauca bushes, an Acanthus, which one I don't know, and a load of other stuff. Next week I can start making some flower beds.

As the painter said when he surveyed a large hole I had dug in the kitchen floor where an old pillar had to be removed, insulated and cemented over, "You couldn't have done this twelve months ago." No I couldn't, but now it seems the more I do the more I can. Great isn't it?

Normal service may be resumed.....

next week sometime.

After an exhausting telephone marathon yesterday with my ISP and BT I think maybe I got some answers. BT especially were a hard nut to crack, particularly, and I don't want to sound racist here, as the call person was from the Indian sub-continent and I could barely understand a word she said. She wasn't able to understand me either and eventually got quite irate when I asked to speak to the engineers or whatever that service is called these days. After a protracted discussion about why I couldn't speak with 'the ingenious man' I suddenly realised that it was actually the engineers I was not able to speak to. I DID understand that BT were not able to help and were not even able to provide someone I could talk to who understood exactly what the problem was, due not to a difficult technical problem but more a question of semantics and pronunciation.

Having friends from several ethnic backgrounds and normally considering myself as pretty tolerant I begin to get rather annoyed when a previous corner stone of our society is being run from another country entirely. I spent 17 minutes on the phone when in fact the call should have taken no longer than 5.

That settled I then tried the ISP, their centre I think is in Dublin and certainly all the, again protracted, automated system messages are in a heavy Irish accent. I finally pressed my 8th choice of options and was connected to an African with a very heavy accent. He was kind polite and helpful was easier to talk to than the uptight Asian I had earlier. Whether or not his information was correct remains to be seen, either way it wouldn't be his fault.

In Brief

The move went OK. The phone line was moved but not the broadband and we won't have it for at least another 3 weeks. Dial up is like wading through treacle, very slow and a right pain so my time here will be very limited and mostly confined to reading.

Steg, I'm following in your footsteps!

All packed up and ready to go

Well not quite but getting there. It's amazing how much stuff I have accumulated over the last 23 years. Considering I was half packed last October, this week I have moved an incredible amount of boxes, most of it single handed ad therefore rather slowly. WH of course has most pressing work elsewhere even to the point of doing a favour for someone last night and working until 10pm. This did not go down too well with me as you might guess. With no kitchen, not even a temporary one as yet, and no proper bathroom, we have a lot to do before Friday.

At least the office is all set up and reasonably shipshape. All I have to do is move the pc and connect to the internet when the phone line is switched on Friday. It sounds simple but I bet it won't be. Meanwhile I have a couple of new bookcases to assemble and a tv stand. Of course you can do them I was told, you did the last lot. OK, OK but that was 26 years ago.

So tomorow my lovely helper Ms T is coming again for some serious kitchen packing and the we get to move it all down the road and annoy the depressed painter whilst we unpack it all again in the new place. Getting it all to fit will be no mean feat as only half the place is habitable as yet. The rest as they say is still a work is progress.

Been there, done that, got the t-shirt and guess what?

Don Wayne Reno signed it. Just for me.

Watch him here at Holmfirth the following night. Just as well we didn't get to see Dale Reno in his undies at Mansfield on Saturday, might have made me blush!

Reality check - pinch me if I'm dreaming

We finally cleared the new house of tools and rubbish last night prior to the carpet fitter arriving this morning. We now have painted bedrooms, all the light fittings and curtain rails. I am just about to load my car with all the stuff I need to clean windows, wipe down doors and paintwork and hang curtains. After 16 months it barely seems real. My stallwort friend and lifesaver T is arriving later to help. What I would have done this last twelve months without her support I do not know. OK she started as the 'hired help' but as in all the best stories she's now a part of the family and a great friend to boot.

My other 'dream' scenario is my energy level. Over the weekend I moved a lot of bricks and some builders sand which I was sick of seeing. Since then I have cleaned as though my life depended on it. I keep waiting for the crash and it doesn't come. Even 6 months ago I could not have done all this, so now I am testing myself daily to see how much more I can do. The results are amazing not just me but everyone around. For this I have to thank my Lovely Lyme Doc and his faith in my treatment.

And just to put the icing on the cake of this upbeat post, the nightingale has arrived and is singing not 20 metres from my window. What a joy.

It's the final countdown

Just 12 days to go until the big move. I'll be going from a place of undeniable comfort to somewhere with no kitchen and a temporary bathroom. That's the least of my worries. I'm now wondering how WH and his gang are going to fare moving us in my absence, I have a long standing engagement elsewhere and will be awol on the big day. I'm sure they'll be fine and get a great job done, whether I can ever find anything again remains to be seen.

Psychiatrists play God - Again.

Cartoon unashamedly pinched from Dr Speedy's Nice Blog

NHS Blogdoctor is on the case again, this time railing against the influence Psychiatrists have on the NHS in a post with a wider theme, that of the Rise of the Healthcare Professionals.

This quote from the Times yesterday (26.06.08) particularly took my eye:

People suffering from mental illness are frequently being misdiagnosed or receiving inadequate treatment, according to a group of leading psychiatrists. The doctors say that patients with serious problems are often referred to psychologists and social workers rather than clinicians and do not receive the medical therapies they need.

“If a GP suspected a patient had cancer, he wouldn't dream of referring him to anybody other than a cancer specialist. A cancer patient might need jollying along, but what he really needs is the correct diagnosis and treatment. That's what he gets from a specialist. But patients with mental illness are not automatically referred to psychiatrists. If they only see a social worker, there's every chance that mental illness, or underlying physical illness, will be missed. Patients are getting a bum deal.” (Professor Nick Craddock)

Now substitute the words 'mental illness' with ME. See what I mean? Looks like now the psychiatrists are too busy treating people with ME, which of course as we all know is 'all in the mind', to be bothered to treat their own patients.

Education in the kindergarten

My back garden has been renamed the nursery right now. Baby birds of all descriptions are vying for position on the feeders, teetering on the edge of branches and pestering their poor parents to death. At first it was the blue tits which caught our attention, six babies and their two extremely harassed parents, flew wobblingly from washing line to willow tree in turns. There were lots of crash landings and several false starts. Goggins lying in the sun on his favourite chair looked up, puzzled. He seemed to be saying 'Did I chase those once? Should I remember what they are? Are they something I should be interested in? Never mind I'll just go back to sunbathing.' The babies didn't know about cats anyway and just ignored him too. Even I stood less than 3 feet away and they just looked at me as though I was some sort of mobile perch.

Next up came the sparrows. Their training ground was fence to washing line, washing line to magnolia, magnolia to fence. 'Whoa there, maybe I'll try a suet feeder. Missed it, Oh OK I was really trying for the mock orange. Overshot that, OK, fence it is then." Their parents found a ready supply of kid-sized meals on the suet feeder and flew backwards and forwards from feeder to gaping mouth all day long.

The greenfinches were in hiding lest Misty and Nelson should find them. Apparently my wayward cats prefer the taste of greenfinch, or at least they did last year. So far this year there have been no catches at all, my tellings-off must have done some good. When temptation got the better of them, the greenfinches too brought the family to feast at the all night diner. More aggressive then the sparrows, they dislodged them and ruled supreme for a few hours until their arch rivals the starlings flew in.

Starlings, now that's another proposition entirely. Since they appeared, the garden resembles Saturday night at a rough wedding reception. They don't fight the other birds however, the stupid starlings fight amongst their own family. Drunk , or overstuffed with peanuts and suet, they squabble, taunt, push and shove. The noise is amazing, you'd think from the sound there were fifty out there, but no there are only 5 at the most. The parents try to bring them into line but their wayward children peck them instead. squawking and hissing and flying at each other. Then a fight between three of them breaks out and away they fly in winged combat, leaving the feeders in peace, just right for the little coal tits to fly in, grab a nut and retreat to the top of the willow before the angry starlings return.

In the midst of this mayhem, the goldfinches swing on the niger feeders and watch everything. No one else likes their food so they're happy. Well mannered and cheerful they ignore the rest of the rabble and twitter to each other companionably. Two little siskins too remain from the flock which arrived in late December, they must be breeding here but no sign of any babies yet.

It's been a real education this year, more babies than we have ever seen. It's hard to believe that 23 years ago no bird ever visited, there were no trees, no cover and certainly no free food. poignant then that this will be my last season in this garden. The new one awaits, barren and cheerless save for a lone robin who defends his territory from the apple tree. Time to make some changes then and ensure that next years babies are just as well fed.

To Let

I just knew it was too good to be true. My much longed-for, stress relieving, poorly managed property let has fallen through. In fact I am now told it was a non starter at the outset. So why did it take the agent 4 days to tell me?

Answer being he is hopeless. What to do now, that's the question, leave it with the second, even worse agent or move the agency again? On the one hand it might be third time lucky. On the other it's all so much hassle.

After 23 years I am sick of sight of this house, the sooner I am out the better, at least round the corner I won't have to see it, even if it now remains empty for a while. At least I will be spared the awful cleaning up for viewings I have endured over the last 12 months of letting, selling, then letting again. So I'm still moving folks, but I'll still have the worry (and the bills) of this place.

Peaches, Pelion and English Pubs.

Sinking my teeth into a juicy peach from my latest grocery delivery I noticed that they had come from Greece. This lead me to thinking about last year's holidays and driving round the peach orchards in the Koropi area of Pelion. The smell was fantastic although we wouldn't have been able to scrump any if we'd wanted to, all the trees being behind 2 metre high wire netting fencing. We did buy loads from road-side stalls however and peaches were the dessert of the day, every day, at our bolt-hole in Kalamos.

I'm missing Kalamos a lot. Even our recent trip to Corfu hasn't deadened the ache. It's probably all made worse by the fact we can't go back to that actual little villa, the owner needs it for his own growing family now they have fled the nest and will be using it for weekend visits in the same way as all the the other local houses are used.

We also both miss Argalasti, where we often found ourselves in the dying light of the day, sitting in the square with a hundred other families, lazily eating dinner or sipping the local sour cherry juice. It was noisy and boisterous. Whole families of locals sitting at adjoining tavernas, shouting at each other as only the Greeks know how. Just imparting a bit of local news has all the outward signs of an impending argument to English eyes. All the children played in the central part of the square watched over by parents of all descriptions. The younger ones ran round the tables and screamed, the older group played a kind of Greek 'What's the time Mr Wolf'' lead by two precocious 10 year old girls who both wanted to be in charge. Young teens hung around on the outside of the gathering, giggling in the shadows, the boys taunting the girls and tinkering with bicycle gears, the girls posing on the walls and looking coy. A short distance away the late teens sat outside the Gyros Pita takeaway, eating, laughing, smoking and listening to loud music, breaking rank occasionally to hail friends roaring past on mopeds. Everyone knew each other. News was imparted and confidences picked over, meals were shared and served out by the elders, children were called to eat and stuffed with fish and bread, only to run off again cramming their mouths with chips as they went. The men collectively sighed over football results and the local elections, old established positions reinforced. Diatribes on the state of the nation given by old men, ouzo glass in one hand, cigarette in the other as they shared plates of octopus, olives and hard cheese. All the time the kids ran round, one fell over and four mothers rose as one to comfort the injured party, two more speaking harshly to the unfortunate scamp who had pushed him.

We love it there, every night this place comes alive as the whole community comes together as one body to enjoy the warm evenings. Contrast this then with last night in our local pub here. A fine Sunday night in the only pub in the village. It was near empty, a sanitised version of 'Ye Olde English' with formica, Farrow and Ball and Madonna on the stereo. We chose from a menu which has not changed for at least 20 years other than the addition of pre-packed chicken curry. Our fellow inhabitants of the lounge were a family having a sort of mini reunion, some lived here, others had moved away. We did know them all but they preferred not to mix outside their own group, speaking in hushed tones lest we should hear what they had to say. They kept themselves to themselves and so did we, not wishing to be seen to be intruding. Across the counter a glimpse of the other room, the bar, usually inhabited by the youth of the area. Two chaps in their 30's sat baiting the usually terse landlord. Suddenly a loud voice from an unseen other, "When did Sunday night in the pub get to be so bloody quiet? And boring." There was no answer. We finished our meal and left, there was nothing to keep us there.

That's the sort of time I miss Greece the most and this year, especially, Kalamos and Argalasti. I've got to go back, permanently. Watch this space.

PS Blogger formatting seems to be playing up AGAIN. If this post looks odd it's them not me, honest.

On the move

It's official, after 12 months of total insecurity, disillusionment with the housing situation and the inability to sell my house, I'm actually moving. In less than 3 weeks.

After having very poor service from my letting agent yesterday I called them up to give them the proverbial rocket. Just as I was about to fire them completely, they actually decided to ring the lady who had viewed last week and get some feedback. Wow, some feedback! She wanted it and had been unable to contact them. So I do have a tenant after all. Really she wanted to move in by July 1st. Given that is only 10 days away I postponed until 14th. So yesterday afternoon finds me buying carpets for a whole house, re-jigging schedules and chasing the depressed painter and the singing plasterer. WH press-ganged his usual support team for the move itself.

This weekend I am away at a show and in 2 weeks time we are both off on a jolly involving those Hayseed Boys, some relatives and meeting a close and much treasured friend in person. That gives me one weekend to pack the house and the other one to move. We have no kitchen and no bathroom at the new place so we'll be camping for a while.

One thing is certain, it's going to be busy round here.

Braindead

I don't have the brain power right now for a lengthy post, suffice to say I am probably busier than I have been for the entire last twenty years. Last weekend I was at a marathon festival locally, it didn't rain and the weather was almost pleasant. It could have done with being a tad warmer but otherwise it was OK. Now I have the clearing up, a house which looks like a bomb site and WH's dreaded VAT to do. We *might* be actually moving house shortly too. Now there's a thing. More news on this later. Tomorrow we will have owned our second house a whole twelve months, it would be nice to live in it sometime.

All this and I am actually feeling reasonably well. Tired maybe but not that desperate bone crushing, nerve tingling, fiery pain I had for so long. I've been off my treatment for almost 3 months now and things are definitely looking up. I'm well on my way to a 3 stone weight loss too, necessitating some serious clothes shopping. My new hobby perhaps, but right now I just don't have the time.

If I could just slow down I might come to appreciate that feeling of doing stuff, wells loads of stuff really, and afterwards feeling, well, OK. It's taken me almost 16 years to achieve this and I want to savour every moment.

More snippets from last week

"I'm singing you my butterfly sitting in the car song" - Grandaughter aged 4.

We found a dormouse living in an olive tree in the garden.

In a restaurant the waiter insisted in calling me Momma. Was it my size or my organisation skills which prompted that? Or maybe because I paid the bill, for 11.

Grandaughter managed to turn upside down in her inflatable in the pool. "I forgot my arm bands wasn't I silly?" Dad jumped in fully clothed and hauled her out whilst the assembled group breathed a huge sigh of relief. Daughter 3 remarked he had managed to preserve his cigarette which was still between his lips. "Well you try and relight that then".

Asking for a 'Greek' breakfast in San Stephanos we were offered 'Full English' full stop. What on earth is going on?

Two cats spent the night on a chair outside my window. They hung around for breakfast and shared a lizard. After that we never saw them again.

Collecting the hire cars we were given the keys in order of the driver's name. 4 days later we discovered we were all driving the wrong cars! Note to self: In future check the documents as well, even if they are in Greek.

One whole watermelon is just about big enough for 11 people for a whole week. The pips get everywhere though.

In 30 degree heat I can walk and walk and walk. And swim and swim and swim. Am I better than I was? You bet.

What I did on my holidays

Went on a glass bottomed boat.

Watched the sun rise, twice.

Listened to scops owls.

Ate chicken souvlaki at a restaurant I hadn't been to for 8 years and it still tasted the same.

Swam at Sidari beach and it really is the warmest water in Greece.

Went lizard hunting with the Grandkids.

Watched a young jay drink from our pool.

Taught some of the Grandkids how to hold a crab.

Ate hot cheese dip and crackers.

Sat 2 hours in a restaurant waiting for a power cut to end. Dinner never tasted so good.

Watched my 3 stepdaughters giggling and laughing together like they hadn't for years and years.

Went to Mouse Island and Pontikonisi.

Sat on the Liston with a frappe and people watched.

Saw a Grandad with the biggest smile ever.

Fell asleep to the sound of waves on pebbles.

Snatches of conversations

"Nanny, can I have a oghurt and semonade to drink?"

"All the little houses are getting bigger and bigger through this window"

"Is that a shark or a sardine?"

"I've turned some stones over there, I looked under some here as well, and do you know what Nanny? There aren't ANY pigging crabs"

" Ugh, it's all antsies and they're carrying their Magnix all over"....."Yes I know they look like eggs, I just said, they've got their Magnix"

"Well he can just put that big lobster down and show someone else, I don't want to see it."

"Of course I tried some new food, I had 4 sorts of hotdogs and funny bread, so that's five."

"Do you know, Denmark and Germany get all their electricity from windchimes."

"I'm so brave I'm going to jump in that stream and catch a turtle right now. Oh no I don't think I will, it's all slimy"

"I'm going to live here for ever, well if I can bring my own bed and a tv"

"Aunty, you can just get straight back in that pool and come out the proper way. BY THE STEPS, right."

The holiday is over, now the memories start.

Grandad's holiday

Tomorrow we head for Corfu. All 11 of us. It has seemed like a military operation to organise this even more so at the last minute. I think I've got all bases covered but you never know.

WH has finally finished work and has started the wind-down, chill out phase. His grin is getting bigger and he can't wait to show the Grandkids all the things he loves about being abroad. So far it looks like our hunch paid off, it WILL be the best way to celebrate his milestone birthday. He doesn't like receiving presents, he doesn't do parties with their false gaiety and little awkwardnesses, he has no need of the usual trappings of Grandfather status, over-priced trinkets, mementos and and men's gifts. He's a giver not a receiver. A shared experience is what he would have chosen for himself.

To mark this special trip Middle Daughter and I spent a whole day designing and printing t-shirts for the whole party. A bit silly possibly, but we wanted the 4 smallest ones to have a tangible reminder of this week. The daughters themselves went to Florida when they were similar ages and all 3 still have all their keepsakes, aged Disney t-shirts and childish 'souvenirs'. They can still tell you what they did from day to day on that long 6 week adventure, about the crabs that ran over their feet in the dark, the beach picnics, the English restaurant with Roast beef and having Strawberries for breakfast. Although I wasn't part of their lives then, that came just a year later, I feel like I was there. I've seen the videos, the photographs and been proudly shown all the treasures, again and again and again.

Hopefully this next 7 days will make some new memories to treasure and some which the next generation will remember with such excitement. So if you're off to Corfu this next week and you see a shortish chap wearing zany outfits and a huge grin with 4 little kids hanging on his every word, you'll know, Grandad is finally on his 'special' holiday.

A trio of birds and some badgers.

It's getting really wild around here and I don't just mean the weather. Last night I saw the local badgers nosing round my car again. I had heard from a neighbour that they were back again, her pampas grass had disappeared overnight and was trailed across her garden and round past the shed to hole in the stream bank 10m away. I haven't seen them for about 18 months but obviously that set is still in use. I'll have to try and get up about 2am again tonight to watch them although I was going to get some sugar puffs to put out for them but I forgot. I'm hoping the sugar puffs might lure them slightly more into the light away from the garage wall so they can be seen more easily.

Another oddity is that after going nightingale watching several evenings recently, the last time with the grandkids in tow as well, we now have a resident one at the bottom of our road camped out in a huge fir tree. I have lived here for 23 years and the birds here generally have vastly increased in numbers but I have never heard a nightingale here at home until now. Middle daughter and I spotted him on Sunday through the binoculars although he has been around since last Thursday. All that fuss to drive a couple of miles to go and listen to one and I can lie in bed at 5am and hear one plain as anything.

We have a strange jackdaw too. These have been increasing year on year and last year we had one with a distinctly craoky off-key voice. He seems to have returned again, or maybe he was silent all winter, so now we get this strange almost honking noise from about 7am. I know it IS a jackdaw as I have watched him through the bins too.

The third 'new' bird are flycatchers who sit on the telephone wires at the back of the house and then do a lovely tumbling display catching their next meal. They appear to be nesting in the eaves of a house in that direction and though I have looked for the fledglings I haven't seen any yet.

Either this spring is distinctly odd or else this village has suddenly become a magnet for a great influx of wild life.

Eurovision

WH missed his favourite TV programme of the whole year last night whilst were dining with friends locally. On our (slightly tipsy) return we had to look at the Eurovision Song Contest website and see who had won and listen to the top 3 songs. Today he's going to download it from BBCi and watch the whole thing. Personally I preferred the song which came second, the Ukranian entry and thought that should have won, but no doubt I will be regaled with WH's judgement later in the day.

I have long learned to live with his slightly odd-ball (well in the UK, the rest of Europe LOVES it) obsession with this annual bunfight which was brought to a head the year we watched it in a beach taverna in Lefkada. Greece won that year and the whole island went crazy with firecrackers and guns going off, free drinks and a general riot of celebration. The highlight of WH's viewing is however the commentary by an increasingly inebriated and out spoken Mr Wogan. Now Sir Terry has suggested that he might not be covering it again as he dislikes what he sees as the political slant to the voting.

Life will never be the same again.

Two week rule part 2

WH got his appointment through yesterday for his urgent test. 24th June. You will recall his GP referred him under the Two Week Rule as his symptoms were consistent with a possible cancer. This will be 45 days since he presented with those symptoms.

This is the NHS's own statement on the subject, taken from their document 'Choose and book: implementation guidance for urgent referrals for suspected cancer two week waits'

2.1 The two week wait standard
The two week wait (2WW) standard for all
cancers was introduced in 2000 and guarantees
that everyone with suspected cancer referred
urgently by their GP will be able to see a
specialist within two weeks. It is an important
milestone to achieving the 62-day target from
urgent referral for suspected cancer to first
definitive treatment, set in the NHS Cancer Plan.
Compliance with the 2WW standard has been
achieved for some time, and Trusts are now
focusing on consistent delivery of the 62-day
standard.
(my italics)

Oh no, not in this area seemingly. The NHS has done us proud once again. WH now has to wait another 4 weeks until he has this test, with all the attendant problems, worry, lack of efficient pain medication, lack of sleep etc etc. Once again the patient is the last consideration.

I don't think Alan Johnson would be looking so smug if that were him.

Two week rule, don't make me laugh, I'm already crying

The NHS apparently has a two week rule that means that if you present to your GP with some new, serious, possibly cancer-related symptom, you get tested and see an 'expert' within 2 weeks. 3 weeks ago WH did just that. Although the GP thought there was a slight chance of it being related to medications he is taking, nevertheless he was referred immediately for an endoscopy to have his gut checked out and stopped from taking any of his regular medication.

Seeing another doctor in the practice last week about another maybe-related-symtom and being in excrucuiating pain with the lack of pain relief, this guy also expressed surprise that the endoscopy had not been carried out. He promised to chase it urgently. On Monday two phone calls from different practice nurses had WH rushing to the surgery for a consult about yet another new medication. Again the GP was astonished that the endoscopy had still not been carried out and said she would chase it immediately. Now 3 days later WH still hasn't heard anything, and still can't take any arthritis medication which is leaving him is severe pain and unable to sleep at night.

I know the NHS is strapped for cash and I know that many doctors are unconvinced that this system is any good but does anyone consider the poor old patient? We go on holiday in 8 days, a holiday planned specifically for WH's enjoyment. WH has been told he has a potentially serious condition and needs an urgent test. He hasn't had the urgent test, can't take his usual meds so is feeling 10 times worse than usual and there is no apparent end in sight. The prospect of a holiday with 10 other people whilst feeling in this state is not appealing to him, never mind the worry of 'What ifs'.

Once again the NHS has caused this family no end of grief and is threatening to ruin our holiday of a lifetime.