Nuffsy Nuff... LapBand update

I’m tired of this over-restriction, I’m tired of being sick, of worrying that I’m going to be sick when I’m out for a meal, tired of my blotchy face the day after I’ve had a major blockage, tired of constant heartburn after meals, tired of not being able to eat more than a spoonful of a protein-rich main course... yet seeming to  ‘manage’ a suitcase full of ice-cream, sweets, chocolate, biscuits and cake which I find difficult to resist because I’m so hungry; and finally, tired of the knock-on effect it’s having on my diabetes. 

Bandits are all warned about the dangers of overfill, and we go into denial because we think that “...at least the band’s working – how many more calories would I be consuming if it didn’t stop me dead in my tracks?...”  But I’ve been like this for over a year, and the precious pounds I was so happy to lose are creeping back on again.  I’m also tired of forcing myself into the kitchen to prepare vegetable goo (drink, soup, purée, whatever) so that ‘I get my vegetables’, and John is fed up with washing every cooking utensil and multi-part electronic device I possess after I’ve finished in there... and the cats are fed up because my efforts don’t involve meats, butter, milk or cheese so there are no titbits on offer.

(I’ve nearly finished)

And I’m particularly fed up with the fact that I can’t take my statin pills without drama, because they’re too big.  Our surgery say they can’t give me smaller ones, and crushing pills and mixing them with honey brings out the bitter taste no matter how much honey you put in, and the honey sends my glucose soaring.  I'm careful with the glucose I consume of course, and adjust insulin accordingly, but I know it's not good enough.  Yesterday I faced the fact that I’m taking half the statins I’ve been prescribed because I can’t persuade my band to let me swallow two pills, even with a decent interval.  Don’t want to bring them to work either, I’m too restricted during the day anyway (‘cept for biscuits...).

So there you are, all my dirty laundry hung out for you to see, and you can now laugh and point, and tell me that it’s exercise I need.  Well don’t waste your breath.  My exercise consists of two daily 15 minute walks to and from my car, plus several 20 minute walks a week to and from the far reaches of the hospital site for errands or meetings.  That’s already more than I like, but I grudgingly admit (as I kick the wall with a scowl) that it’s been sort of good for my sciatica, since said complaint stays away from me during the week and comes back on weekends, which, bright spark that I am, I know is no coincidence. 

So if you’ll allow me to use a Bristolian phrase (at least I think it is), after nimmin’ and nammin’ for a few months I’ve decided to have a small unfill.  My reasoning is that I’m eating the wrong food anyway whatever my restriction, so why don’t I try the pleasure of filling up with meat and two veg, and salads (oh I miss them), and when I can say I’m not hungry, then quietly try (very hard) to stay away from the sliders? 

The sweet spot is a moving goalpost.  In the good old days after the operation the more I lost the looser I got inside and the more fill I needed.  As the pounds go back on, I get more restricted.  My band’s fill is at 10.5cc at the moment, I think I should have a half cc removed, and John thinks I should only go for a quarter.  Any thoughts?  I have an appointment for Wednesday 21st March, which I was pleased to learn will be free because I didn’t have my yearly free visit in 2011.

My willpower was never going to be strong enough to pull a brown paper bag, let alone drag me away from temptation, but I think I need to actually find out whether making life a bit more comfortable will help me to “make the right choices”. 

And if I stay out of the kitchen John won’t have to wash up.

-oOo-

Photo Finish -
From Lonicera's non-digital archive

Rugby, and Fuerteventura, Canary Islands

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A Blast from the Past - Joan Baez in Bristol

It was 1968, Argentina, I was fifteen, newly in love with the most handsome boy on the planet, and somewhere we heard Joan Baez sing The House of the Rising Sun accompanied by her guitar playing.  I had been studying the instrument since I was ten, but had never heard a sound like this before.  He gave me one of her LPs for Christmas...

...and so I 'discovered' folk music, and what to play on my guitar that instantly created a warm atmosphere in a gathering of friends, and yes, made me feel less shy and more popular.  The songs she sang told sad stories of lost love, murder for love unrequited and gentle protest, and her voice had a ringing quality from low to falsetto which combined wonderfully with the sound of the cords of a Spanish guitar.  Soon after that he gave me this one -

- and I would sit and listen to both records over and over until they became what they are now: beloved and scratched. 

The relationship ended when he went to study abroad, and I put the records away because I couldn't bear even to see them.  But I still loved the songs, and eventually I started playing them on the guitar again.

I followed what the media told us about her life, the protest marches, the marriage to a conscientious objector - it was the time of the war in Viet Nam -  their son and the causes she spoke out about.  Throughout all this time she continued to tour like the true professional she is, her gentle charm and humour coming across as loud and clear as her lovely vibrato voice.  Thinking about her gave me a sort of melancholy and nostalgia for the past and my innocent youth, and that was essentially where she stayed - in the past.  Until this week.

I learned last November that she was on tour and that she would be in Bristol in March, and on impulse I decided I had to see her in concert for the first time, however much it cost.  £80 later I had secured two tickets up in the gods, for that was all that was left, even back then, and last week I finally went with a friend.

She's 70, ultra slim and smart, quiet at first; I feared that the Bristol audience was the problem.  I'm told we're not the most appreciative of audiences and it's rare for standing ovations to be given.  Both she and we relaxed after a few songs, and thereafter she played non-stop for two hours without an interval. 

She had an entourage of three - Dirk Powell who played many different instruments and had written one of the songs she sang, and Gabriel Harris on percussion.  Then there was a young girl of 23 - we were told it had been her birthday the day before - who was both very short and well rounded, with her hair in a ponytail which swung and bounced every time she came on stage to swap guitars for Joan, unplug the one she had been using, plug in the new one and stamp on some pedal on the ground... and this was every single song, for Joan seemed to alternate her guitars constantly.  It became comical to watch this procedure with the 'little' girl marching onstage carrying a guitar that was virtually taller than she was.  Joan seemed very fond of her.

Her voice has lost some of its vibrato, strength and high notes, but she has modified her interpretation of the songs to allow for this, and the ringing tone was still there.  Remembering as I do the many "concerts" I gave in the sitting rooms of friends and relations over the years till I came to England in 1973, as time wore on I found it harder and harder to repeat the same old songs over and over again.  I knew the ones I would be asked to play, and I was heartily sick of them after a few years.  I have therefore always felt a sense of wonder how professional singers can go on stage night after night and make it sound fresh every time.  They can't be thinking of the money in the bank all the time, surely?  Joan seemed to thrive on the attention, and gave four encores, ending with the one she had sung and I had known since the very beginning, written by ex-boyfriend Bob Dylan:  Blowing in the Wind.

She got her standing ovation and we clapped till our hands were sore.

While writing this post I have learned (with shame, because I should have known) that her percussionist Gabriel Harris is her son.  Nice touch.

As I left the theatre and headed towards the car park with my friend - who had never heard her before and tells me she's now a total convert - it was strange to reflect that I felt that I was the one who had aged inside while she had somehow stayed the same.  Overwhelmingly though, I had been warmed by being part of a crowd of several hundred people spontaneously singing together to songs they remembered and loved. 

Long may she continue to sing.

-oOo-

Photo Finish -

From Lonicera's non-digital archive

Rugby, and Fuerteventura, Canary islands

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Tales from Elsewhere - The Bargain

In 2005 when I was browsing on my computer one lunchtime, I was astonished by an entry on eBay and the story behind it, and when years later I started thinking about stories for my blog, this one gradually surfaced from the mists in my brain.   However I postponed writing it for two reasons.

 I was sure I still had the eBay page where the item was advertised, having printed it off at work, but much ransacking of my desk and cursing my untidiness later, I’m afraid I just can’t find it and must have thrown it away.  So I can’t scan it in for you to see, and it has long since been taken off the internet. 

The second reason was that though particularly satisfying (to women), the story was brief, with no further facts known, probably more appropriate for my Eavesdroppings blog.  My keenness to get my facts right paid off in the end - hurray for the internet, because I’ve now learned the prequels and sequels to the story and much more besides about an extraordinary British  disc-jockey called Tim Shaw.

He hails from Sunderland in the north east of the UK.  In his thirties now, he’s done more as a DJ and TV presenter than most people have in a lifetime – much of it controversial in one way or another. 

Tim has been fired from 13 radio stations, been forced to pay the biggest recorded fine of its type in history for breaking radio regulations, accused of burglary and himself been the subject of one of the best practical unfunny jokes by his own wife.

His own website tells us that he has two first class honours degrees, and was Young Engineer of the year in 1994.   He has a knack with cars, for he purchased a written-off 1994 Lotus Esprit Turbo and re-built it from scratch. 

A man of many parts, his profound interest in people led him into working in the media, and he particularly enjoys interviewing people.  He claims to have interviewed at least 8000 individuals so far, among which is US astronaut Buzz Aldrin, former gangster Dave Courtney and Holocaust survivor Kitty Hart-Moxon.  The latter event was supposed to be an hour-long interview but turned into 7 hours, to the bemusement of the radio station hosting it.

His radio shows have featured secret phone calls and recordings with family and friends – he once rang his grandmother to ask her if she knew that her grandson Tim Shaw had died, owning up to the hoax after her reaction had been recorded.  She then slammed the phone down on him.  He’s filmed (live) up the skirt of a female contestant on a TV reality show and not surprisingly received a punch from her boyfriend for his pains.

His greatest controversy came in 2005 when he and a colleague broke into the house of the radio station’s director, live on air.  The director returned to his home some time before midnight believing that it had been burgled, only to be confronted by Tim and his friend bursting out of the cupboards.  He was suspended for a month.

However the event for which he will be best remembered was set in motion not by him but by his wife Hayley. 

Tim & Hayley Shaw

During his night time radio programme on Kerrang Radio (in the West Midlands) he had been flirting on air with a former glamour model, swearing to her – teasingly or not - that he would leave his wife and children for her.  Back at home Hayley was listening, and suddenly she’d had enough. 

He was to regret having put his beloved Lotus in her name for tax reasons, for she now logged on to the eBay auction site and offered it for sale at a “Buy it Now” price of 50pence.  Under the section describing the item she wrote:

“I need to get rid of this car in the next two to three hours before my husband gets home to find it gone and all his belongings in the street.  I am the registered owner and I have the log book.  Please only buy if you can pick up tonight.”   She by-passed the headings where sellers include specific details on cars for sale and merely put (if I remember correctly) “for 50p – who cares?”  Shaw’s work on the car had increased its value to £25,000. It was sold five minutes later. 

The story made national news and he apologised publicly to Hayley on Channel 4’s Richard & Judy Show.  As far as I know they’re still together. 

He managed to buy the car back for £5,000 and set himself the challenge of building another car, worth £50,000, for 50 pence.  He asked various manufacturers for free or cheap parts and with the help of a local BMW distributor achieved his purpose – the vehicle has a BMW chassis, a carbon fibre bonnet with a flexible retractable roof and is fitted with LCD screens on the backs of the passenger seats and in the boot.  It cost him a total of 39 pence and he described the experience on ITV’s Pulling Power show.

He’s had many exploits since, not least of which was one for television of his own devising (for charity), Man in a Box, when he allowed himself to be locked in a steel box for 30 days with 24 hour a day live stream filming.  Viewers had to guess where he was (he didn’t know himself) and the first to get the coordinates would win £30,000.  8.5 million viewers tuned in, but nobody won...

Personally, I think Hayley was the winner.

(All above pictures from the internet)

-oOo-

Photo Finish

from Lonicera's non-digital archive

Bristol Opera Company: Aida

Bristol Opera Company:  Aida

Bristol Gilbert & Sullivan Operatic Society:  The Mikado

Bristol Gilbert & Sullivan Operatic Society:  The Mikado

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Tales of War and Conflict - The Rude Reply

I discovered this delicious true story by chance recently.  It is a brief aside in the turbulent history of the Ukraine which dates from 1676 and has probably been told many times because it is illustrated by a superb painting by artist Ilya Repin, which he finished in 1891.  Read the story and look at the painting, you’ll never forget either of them.

During the seventeenth century the Zaporozhian Cossacks (“Cossacks beyond the rapids”) lived in the area of the lower reaches of the Dnieper river beyond the said rapids, in the Ukraine.  They were a respected political entity in their own right with a parliamentary system of government of their own, and had developed an original judicial system – the Cossack Code, which worked because of the strong social relations that existed among the Cossacks as a race.  Since the 16th century they had been a military force to be reckoned with by virtue of the strength and bravery with which they challenged the authority of the various powers that swept over the region – the Polish Lithuanian Commonwealth, the Tsardom of Russia and the Ottoman Empire.

In the mid seventeenth century the Ottoman Empire was ruled by the Sultan Mehmet IV. 

Sultan Mehmet IV

(1642-1693)

Although the Zaporozhian Cossacks had recently defeated the Ottoman Turkish forces, Mehmet IV sent a peremptorily worded demand that they submit to Turkish rule anyway because he would defeat them in the end.  This is the text:

As the Sultan; son of Muhammad; brother of the Sun and Moon; grandson and viceroy of God; ruler of the kingdoms of Macedonia, Babylon, Jerusalem, Upper and Lower Egypt; emperor of emperors; sovereign of sovereigns; extraordinary knight, never defeated; steadfast guardian of the tomb of Jesus Christ; trustee chosen by God himself; the hope and comfort of Muslims; confounder and great defender of Christians—I command you, the Zaporozhian Cossacks, to submit to me voluntarily and without any resistance, and to desist from troubling me with your attacks.

-  Turkish Sultan Mehmed IV

And this is how the Zaporozhian Cossacks replied with a stream of insults and vulgarities, making fun of the Sultan’s titles - note, written in 1676:

Zaporozhian Cossacks to the Turkish Sultan!

Thou art a Turkish imp, the damned devil's brother and friend, and a secretary to Lucifer himself. What the devil kind of knight art thou that cannot slay a hedgehog with your naked ass? The devil shits, and your army eats. Thou son of a bitch wilt not ever make subjects of Christian sons; we have no fear of your army, by land and by sea we will battle with thee, fuck thy mother.

Thou art the Babylonian scullion, Macedonian wheelwright, brewer of Jerusalem, goat-fucker of Alexandria, swineherd of Greater and Lesser Egypt, Armenian pig, Podolian villain, catamite of Tartary, hangman of Kamyanets, and fool of all the world and underworld, a fool before our God, a grandson of the Serpent, and the crick in our dick. Pig's snout, mare's arse, slaughterhouse cur, unchristened brow, screw thine own mother!

So the Zaporozhians declare, you lowlife. Thou wilt not even be herding Christian pigs. Now we shall conclude, for we don't know the date and don't have a calendar; the moon's in the sky, the year in the book, the day's the same over here as it is over there; for this kiss our ass!

-  Koshovyi Otaman Ivan Sirko, with the whole Zaporozhian Host.

The Ukranian artist Ilya Repin (1844-1930)…

Self-portrait of Ilya Repin

…took ten years to paint a canvas celebrating this event – The Reply of the Zaporozhian Cossacks - which measures two metres in height and three and a half metres wide.  He saw it as a study in laughter and a tribute to the free spirit and republicanism of the Cossacks, and when it was finished in 1891 the Tsar Alexander III snapped it up, paying the princely sum of 35,000 roubles.  It is now exhibited in the state museum in St Petersburg.

Ilya Repin's "The Reply of the Zaporozhian Cossacks" - completed 1891.

PLEASE do click to enlarge and get the full effect. 

Every detail is a joy:

*the man seated left with his moustache tucked behind his ears;

*the scribe who looks intelligent and much amused by what he's being asked to do;

 *standing behind him with his hand on his chest and a glitter in his eye Ivan Sirko, who signed the letter;

*... and gorgeously attired in red, the large man whose loud belly laugh you can almost hear

The delightful tableau shows a group of Cossacks roaring with laughter and pleasure as they think up further vulgarities for the scribe to note in the reply to the Turkish Sultan.  During the artist’s time the Cossacks enjoyed popular admiration and sympathy, and the picture invites you to join in and laugh with them, as Russians surely must have done.

The Zaporozhian Cossacks eventually fell under Russian influence, were forcibly disbanded in the late eighteenth century and relocated to another corner of the empire.  But their most important legacy was to modern Ukraine, where their memory has driven the struggle for independence.

As for Ilya Repin, the artist, here are a few of the hundreds of gorgeous paintings he completed.  Of particular note is his clever handling of the eyes and expressions therein.  Again, please double click to enlarge - the larger they are the more incredible.
.

"Barge Haulers on the Volga"

The men seem to almost collapse forward in exhaustion under the burden of hauling a large boat upstream in heavy, hot weather.  The work is both a celebration of the men's dignity and fortitude, and a highly emotional condemnation of those who sanctioned such inhumane labour.  Although they are presented as stoical and accepting, the men are largely defeated; only one stands out: in the centre of both the row and canvas, a brightly coloured youth fights against his leather binds and takes on a heroic poise. (Wikipedia)

"Peasant with an evil eye"

"Religious Procession in Kursk Province"

Considered an archetype of the "Russian national style," as it displays various social classes and the tensions among them, set within the context of a traditional religious practice and united by a slow but relentless forward movement. (Wikipedia)

"Ivan the Terrible and his Son"

This canvas displayed a horrified Ivan embracing his dying son, whom he had just struck and mortally wounded in an uncontrolled fit of rage. The terrified face of Ivan is in marked contrast with that of his calm, almost Christlike son. (Wikipedia)

-oOo-

Photo Finish -

from Lonicera's digital archive

More pictures from the 'shoot' on Portishead Lake
last week...

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Out and about with my camera

I've been doing less writing at the computer and a bit more of getting out into the fresh air this week to practise with my new camera.  I took a couple of days off but slept in and missed the morning sunshine - so I'll have to wait for spring before I get more variety to photograph.  I look forward to using my new macro lens on pictures of plants and flowers...

I went to Dorchester to see my niece and her nearly three year old son Jimmy, my great nephew.  The three of us has lunch in a pub, and while waiting to be served I took some pictures of him at the table and in the little play area outside.

I tried my hand with the movie facility on my camera and filmed a brief video for the first time, and as you would expect from a camcorder virgin, I won't be rocking the movie world just yet - however I was so pleased to find that while the camera work was pathetic, the quality of the video was amazing.  This I had not expected, because I thought that cameras with video facilities come a very poor second to camcorders.  

Jimmy is very articulate and likes to chat, and I much look forward to the day when I'm competent enough to "interview" him because I think it'll make him a star.  Oh well, there's great auntie speaking.

He comes out with lovely phrases he's overheard from adults but sometimes isn't quite there with the meanings - example:

Jimmy:  (cough! cough! cough!)

His Mother:  Jimmy, you must cover your mouth with your hands when you cough.

Jimmy:  Yes Mummy.  Puts his hands over his ears:  cough! cough! cough!

Today John and I went to the lake at Portishead, and he tried to con the gulls, ducks and swans with stale bread as a gourmet meal (they did draw the line at green bread though - I could almost here them saying "Is you 'avin' a larf???" as they spat it back again.)  I took a lot of pictures in my attempt to get the birds catching the bread in flight, or skimming it off the surface of the water, and what a racket they made as they all congregated to lunge for the food.  I need more practice to get my eye in, but here are some of the ones I got.  In some cases they're sections of pictures which needed selective cropping - it's very difficult to get decent pictures of birds on the move.

At different times two children wandered by on the hands of their parents and grandparents, and John gave them some bread to throw to the birds, and showed them how to do it.  It was clearly the first time for both the children, and the look of wonder on their faces was something to behold...

(You can see the bird's legs under water in this one)

I tried cropping out the bird on the right, but decided in the end that compositionally it probably looked more balanced.  This is the only one in this group which shows the bird with a piece of John's bread in its beak.  Click to enlarge.

How on earth do they keep so pristine?

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Photo Finish -

from Lonicera's non-digital archives

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Updates

There’s been a lot of sickness doing the rounds in my world – yes, I work in a hospital, but it seems to be around everywhere.  I looked after my partner John while he struggled with a nasty version of the usual cold, cough and temperature, which he passed to me in due course (I’ve no idea if it was flu’ but it certainly felt like it) and unusually for me I had to take a week off work, too miserable even to do any writing. 

I was glad to lose myself in Dumas’ Count of Montecristo – what a magnificent storyteller he was – and when I’d had enough of the sublime I resorted to the ridiculous card games on my computer.  My box of tissues became the most important item in my life, and John my lifeline.  Our loud sneezes and coughing fits amused the cats not at all.

When I returned to work I saw the silver lining:  the multi-storey car park was a shadow of its former self.  I imagine staff had been struck down in droves by flu’ and nurses were probably encouraged to stay away so as not to infect patients.  For two weeks there have been so many car parking spaces that I have longed to just go from one to another and stay for a while in each, JUST BECAUSE I CAN...

In our office I learned that our Finnish colleague Hedda had been very ill and was in hospital with appendicitis.  We had barely got our act together to get her a card when we were told she had discharged herself, and 24 hours after her laparoscopic procedure she was back at work because ‘she hated to break her routine’. 

She was clearly fragile though, and after a few part-time days she disappeared again, and we learned she had been rushed back to hospital with peritonitis.  This time we didn’t delay in signing a card and getting her a woman’s magazine, but when a colleague went to see her and to deliver them, she had gone – once again she had discharged herself after 24 hours.  The following day she was back again at work… She’s very slim, delicate, blonde, a mother of young children… and obviously tough as old boots.

The Self-published Book

The book of my great aunt’s letters between 1912 and 1919 was successfully printed on top quality satin paper in hard back with 102 illustrations on over 220 pages.  The weekend before last John and I drove to Oxford to hand it over to my 94 year old cousin (my great aunt’s surviving daughter).  She’s a feisty lady who speaks her mind and is as sharp as a razor, but I needn’t have worried.  She was very pleased with it, and would be taking it with her to Argentina the following week whence she was headed on business.  She’ll read it while she’s there and tell me about all the typos when she returns in a couple of months’ time.  Here are some pictures I took of it before it left my hands.

I know, not the best I've ever taken.  But you get the idea.

Camera

Flu’ and very cold weather have discouraged me from going out and about very much using my lovely new camera, and also because I’ve been searching the accessories market for a chest pod to help me support it and not get camera shake – it’s quite heavy.  But I must, because I’ve been asked to take pictures at a friend’s wedding in April.   I’m already starting to shake.  This coming Thursday I shall be travelling to Dorchester to visit my niece and His Gorgeousness (my great nephew) and will be having another go, and also (gulp) trying the video facility.

Selina

Selina in 2011 (not taken by me, sadly)

Some of you kindly asked me to update you on the state of health of my friend Michèle’s younger daughter Selina who was in a terrible car accident in early October last year (In Argentina).  I’m told she is still in some kind of a coma, yet her eyes are open and she is moving her arms slowly. 

Though not speaking yet, she can hear on both sides, understand speech and reason for herself, and by the simple expedient of putting her thumb up or down can communicate her wishes to those around her.  She has shown initiative in grabbing the soap to wash herself, and has stroked her mother’s cheek.  She’s making slow but steady progress, and the specialists are pleased with her. 

This last weekend her faithful girlfriends visited her, giving Selina’s mother a break and a chance to catch up on her sleep, and took it in turns to fuss over her.  One moisturised her face while another gave her a manicure and pedicure which she obviously enjoyed.  She stroked their faces and reduced them to tears.  Love is never forgotten.

-oOo-

Photo Finish -
from Lonicera's non-digital archive

Que Viva España!!

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