Remember, remember

Remembrance flowers at the village church

With Bonfire Night over and Diwali underway, fireworks have lit the sky in my village over this weekend by way of celebrating. I remember from my childhood, Guy Fawkes Night meant a big bonfire in a farmer's field and a few whizzing fireworks. It was a time to remember that a Catholic plot to kill King James I and bring down the Houses of Parliament had been quashed a few hundred years ago. In the UK, Halloween, an even older Pagan festival, has overtaken our act of celebrating Britain staying Protestant. Halloween, after all, is a big commercial push just like Christmas. We also have Remembrance Sunday to pay our respects to all those who lost their lives to make our world a better place. Quite a lot to remember in just over a week each year! 

The fireworks glow in my village

I have been home nearly seven years and settled in my current home for over five years. Where has that time gone? As if to remind me, lots of things that are less than seven years old have suddenly started breaking. It was my food processor a few weeks ago and then it was a toaster that I remember paying £10 for from Tesco soon after returning home that popped the fuse box. This was especially annoying as my fuse box is two floors down from the kitchen so I had three goes before being convinced my toaster was to be no more. Going up and down stairs on a dodgy leg made that even more annoying. Other small electrical things that I need an electrician to fix have also gone south recently. 

I promised myself I wouldn't replace the toaster. I took the old one to Currys to recycle it along with an outside security light that had also died around the same time. I thought it wouldn't hurt to look at what toasters were on offer. There it was - a bargain - a Bosch toaster for £25. I have to say, I think the expense was worth it as this toaster is so much better than my £10 Tesco one that died after six years! The toast is even. I don't have to watch to see it pops up like I had to with the other one, What is there not to like?

On the upside, my first trip to a physio went well. Apparently I am a month ahead in my recovery already. Of course I will be doing the exercises I have been given and I am now looking forward to cycling once more - this is something I really miss. I am sure my swimming is a big aid to my speedy recovery. 

I had such joy seeing Trump get a bashing in the mid-terms. Iran is boasting its part in American regime change. I just hope it will curb his stupidity. I do wonder about the way our news gets reported though. King Charles went for a jaunt to the Caribbean and met a succession of prime ministers who were not even named in the press. They were just the PM of this or that island. President Zelensky of Ukraine is just called Zelensky - no title. Why do we afford some people a title while others do not get that honour or respect? 

My Return Journey

 

It's Autumn outside while the jungle thrives indoors

Life for me is slowly returning to normality. I look back to before my operation on 16th September and already I do not regret the struggles I have overcome to get back on two feet. Prior to the operation, I would time my dosage of Naproxen before playing tennis or getting on my bike. Then I needed a strong G&T as part of the recovery. There were times when I couldn't get off the sofa after playing sport because I was in too much agony. 

Immediately after the operation, life was considerably worse. The pain was excruciating and I could not put my foot on the floor at all. Imagine trying to pull your knickers down while balancing on one leg or sitting on a stool in the shower with a dustbin liner over the cast trying to wash all body parts. Going to the toilet was a journey on hands and knees as was getting up stairs. I noticed every speck on the carpet! Moving stuff round the kitchen  - small as it is - was exhausting. I even had to sit on a stool to drink my coffee as I couldn't move it when my hands were holding crutches. Leave alone the amount of anguish I encountered from the contortions of easing my booted leg into the car. Oh the frustrations I suffered. 

Then bit by bit I found I could do things. This has blown my mind away - when do you know that your body can do something that it couldn't do the day before. I realised I could walk up stairs and not crawl. I could walk with a cup of coffee in my hand - WOW. I could stand up in the shower and dress myself without grovelling on the floor. Life has got better every day in little ways.

Getting rid of the boot was a big step! A surgical boot is held in place with Velcro. The Velcro sticks to itself as it should, but it becomes a battle to get the right bits to stick together and not just any bits. Each time I put my boot on, I had to fight the Velcro strips into submission. I have even got the boot stuck to the Velcro on the sleeve of my jacket. 

This week I swam 10k. I started off neurotic. I was scared someone would touch my heal as they swam up behind me. I pushed off the wall using only my good leg. Now I have got my head round these fears. My sub-conscious told me it was ok to use two legs and I would get over the occasional brush with a fellow swimmer. I now feel OK having a physio manipulating my sore foot even though it will hurt a bit. That's my next step.

I popped into Stony Stratford on Saturday morning. The only parking space was a long way from where I needed to go. I lurched my way to the shops and struggled back to the car muttering about how much easier it is to cycle into Stony. Getting better has not been linear steps. I have frequently overdone things and then had to retire to the sofa. Each time I end up on the sofa in agony once more, I know that it OK. It is better to hurt than to sit around and do nothing and never get to know my limits. Of course, there is always a pain-relieving G&T not far from arm's length, should I require one!

Befallen

What is left of the tree

Storm Austen struck last Friday. Oh, how it rained. We need rain so badly; but so much in such a short time does nothing to solve the drought of the summer. My tree in my courtyard garden shed so many branches out of stress in the drought and then those remaining got ripped off with the winds from Storm Austen. I arrived home early on Friday evening to find the tree branches across the wall and in the road. So on crutches, I managed to drag the felled bits into the garden where they have stayed intact and awaiting attention. 

This was not the only bad thing to befall me this week. The morning I was expecting my friend, Vandana, to visit, my toilet got blocked. My DIY skills swung into action. I tried to pump air into the toilet to release the blockage. I had a pump on hand as my grandson had put the entire toilet roll down the pan a number of years ago - hey ho. This had the same effect but was more grungy. I swear the stuff that came up was not the same stuff that had come out of me! Try as I might, the sludge would not go down. I added "Draino" and that created a bubble bath above the sludge. Argh... Vandana arrived to witness the horror. With help, especially from Richard, I am now blockage free and I watch with contentment; the water gurgles down freely once more. No pictures available! Panic over!

Stoke Bruene

Seeing Vandana after such a long time meant we talked about the old times!!! These were not all happy memories but we have both moved on and she can now laugh about our "wild night out" sitting on a bench waiting for a bus in a small town in Spain. Our excursion to Stoke Bruene, a picturesque village on the Grand Union Canal, was a trip of hilarity. The rain came down so we sought shelter and played Cheeses - a type of skittles - in the Boat Inn. The competitive part of me slipped out once more for which I apologise.  We made so much noise laughing, a couple sitting in the next room in the bar commented on it in a nice way as we were leaving. 

Vandana In action

This weekend, I went down to Kent, accompanied by Sophie, to see the doctor about my leg. I am relieved to say I no longer need a boot but I do need crutches for a while more. for anyone who has had the joy of wearing a surgical boot, you will know the relief of not having to battle with velcro. Velcro struts hold the neoprene sock in place and then velcro straps hold your leg and foot in place but putting the boot on is a fight because the wrong bits get stuck to each other. The other frustration is wearing a coat and using crutches. The arm rests fit jumpers but not coats. Again it is a fight to get sorted. Inevitably, one or the other crutch falls to the ground while I am trying to get into my handbag or use keys. Still, onwards and upwards. I am moving forward and not falling over - thanks to the crutches!

Highly Charged

Peterborough Cathedral

I recently swapped my car for an all electric one. Most of my trips are local and when I am back on two legs I will be doing lots of cycling so I figured that getting my car charged would not be an issue. The car came with two charging leads, One lead plugs into the normal three-pin plug and the other one is a big nozzle that slips into a dedicated socket. 

I have paid for the installation of a socket three times and have been refunded twice so far, and I have had the car a month. Toyota told me to use Hive. Hive use contracted installers. I am now in touch with two different installers as well as Hive and I am still a little unsure whether either of the installers will actually get round to agreeing to fit the socket for me. Errr. 

I have tried the ordinary socket. Charging using this, takes far too long but at least I have that to fall back on. I have even had personal instructions from the garage I got the car from on how to top up my car. Toyota gave me a credit card that I now realise only works on certain charging points. I am still yet to identify one in the area. That is my first hurdle. 

The second hurdle - and you might think me a bit dopey here - I went to a couple of charge points without having my own lead with me. It took me two goes to realise that I needed to keep  my own lead in the car. So homeward I went, panicked and plugged my car into my home supply overnight. The milk van ran over the extension socket and smashed it. Now the charging lead is almost totally joined to the socket and I don't have the strength to unleash it! Despite all this, I managed to add about 40 miles to my charge. 

A couple of days later I went to Tesco to charge my car. I then had to download a POD app, add cash to the app and faff around to get the charge going. A man pulled up next to me and asked for help. I told him it was my first time as well and that I had even tried to do this without my own lead. He laughed. He got his lead out of the car and found it had an ordinary plug on the end. I laughed. He left. Smugly, I went off to get a bit of shopping. I got back to find the car hadn't charged at all. I think I didn't push the socket in far enough to make the connection. Another errr. 

So now I have two ways to pay for charging. POD and Toyota. The Toyota app doesn't tell you which garages to use - silly. Off I went to a bog-standard petrol garage, used my credit card and got 30 minutes super charge where the built in plug on the charging machine has an extra connection on it. I am good to go once more. No wonder people don't want to swap to EV. All the things that have happened to me are not in the instruction manual. 

I offered to take Diane and Jeremy up to Peterborough to see the Mary Queen of Scots exhibition in the cathedral on Saturday. Jeremy drove so I didn't get the chance to drive my car a distance. I was blown away by the architecture of the cathedral, cloisters and surrounding area in the town. There is even a lido there. I love Peterborough. 

Dodgy-looking mannequin with no hands!

However, the exhibition  in the cathedral was disappointing on a number of points. It was far too wordy and didactic. We just stood and read reams of words. The mannequins were poor and there were too many spelling errors! So what did I learn? Well, there were far too many Marys in the story. Not enough background was explained as to why Mary Queen of Scots was important and why she was executed. 

Fortunately, I have read up on this fascinating time in British history and say it was really a "battle" for which religion would take hold in Britain at that time - Catholicism or Protestant. Mary made too many bad decisions along the way or had those decisions made for her  - three  husbands of which two were dodgy; a few murders, plots and conspiracies, and moving to England set her up as a proxy for getting a catholic monarch once again on the English throne so she ended up losing her life at 44 at the hands of her cousin, Queen Elizabeth - a protestant.

Me lurching on crutches.. all photos thanks to Diane 

   

Progress

My life on a sofa! That should be the real title of this blog and at times I really do get itchy feet to do more. Yesterday, I decided to bake just in case someone came round. That meant I'd be on my feet in the kitchen doing something different - an opportunity to get excited. When you are mostly on one leg small things make a big difference. My Ninja food processor didn't work. Argh... I spent twenty minutes grating carrots by hand. I remember buying the processor from John Lewis and the sales lady telling me the "Magimix" would last a lifetime. At my age, that didn't seem like a big sales point so I bought a much cheaper model from Ninja. It worked well until it didn't. I now realise this was one of my bad buys. I have had it for just four years having out-lived it already.

I have been able to carry a coffee cup around for some time now. This was a big progress marker the last time when I had my right leg operated on. I don't even think about it. I just pick up the cup and walk. Yay! I can even stand up in the shower too. As the days pass, I notice how much more I am capable of doing as each day passes and that is a real boost. I have visited the orchard and I have been out doing some volunteer teaching as well as toddling round the supermarket. Luckily, Naser was on hand to bring the shopping in to the kitchen as I reckon that would have been beyond my current capability. I still need crutches. 

In my garden, the summer drought stressed my tree so much that large branches fell off. I am now contemplating getting the ladder out to neaten up the tree. What could go wrong? I have already booked a slot at the local recycling centre for next week to clear and clean up the garden. It might take me twice the time it should and I'm prepared for that. I am looking forward to doing so much more. Watch this space.

While I have been on the sofa, I have occupied myself. I am cracking on apace with the sequel to Beneath the Regime. Its working title is  From the Rubble and tells the story of Naser's dilemma. Syria is struggling to get back on its feet after thirteen years of conflict. He wants to help rebuild the country he loves but where do you start when the country is rubble? Every time I research a point that comes out of our discussions I realise how complex the issues are in that region and how hard it is hard to bring coherence to the story when there are so many different players. Again, Watch this space. 

What happens when you sit on a sofa

When I am not tapping away on the keyboard, I am crocheting. So far, I have made gloves for Ezra-Mae, a jumper for Mattaya, plus other bits and bods; and I am building a collection of multi-coloured squares to make something, as yet, undefined. All this I am doing so I can keep myself occupied. 

From my sofa, I am connected to the big, wide world. I listen to the radio and get angry about the goings on in the world. I almost laugh at Trump's outbursts but  then remember he is dangerous and not a comedian. I promise you I will be dancing if he does badly in the mid-terms. I am also getting through books too. I almost don't have enough time for anything else. Isn't it amazing how we can be busy doing almost nothing!

In search of a van

St Guthlac's Church

The Fish and Chip van comes to my village on a Friday evening. On google there is a website with the van timetable, and backing this information up, Diane and Jeremy saw the said van when they drove into the village. So with crutches at the ready, we set off for the first stop to buy fish and chips assured it would be parked there. No van! I had lurched my way with determination and speed to the first stop. I just had to do more lurching. We walked to the second stop. The van overtook us while we were walking towards the stop. Where it had been hiding,  God knows. All I can say is that I certainly got my exercise in before tucking into the fish and chips. 

By the time I had got to the second stop, I had almost done my village circuit. The village isn't very big so one trip round isn't a big deal, even on crutches. The biggest challenge getting round the village is shuffling up the slope that leads out of the Horse Tunnel. I walk up that bit like a crab. As soon as I could put my foot down, I started getting out and about. It is such a joy to be mobile but I have eased off on the walking as my wound still bleeds a little and my ankle swells up so I know I am doing too much now I have the freedom to walk with a boot. Silly me!

Life suddenly became so much easier when I had a boot fitted last week. I can put weight on my leg and with just one crutch, I can get up and down stairs and walk around the house provided I have the boot on. Without a boot I can't do much at all still. Life was so much better the first time I found I could carry a coffee cup and sit comfortably to drink it instead of propping myself on a stall in the kitchen. Getting things done is still a bit of a faff but that won't be for ever. Things are looking up already.

The doctor told me my scar was healing nicely. He also suggested a G&T would act as a mild painkiller. Who am I to go against doctor's orders?  It is surprising that this is not available from a pharmacy. I have been to the supermarket and got round without a wheelchair. My big embarrassment on that trip was the result of a sartorial blip. I went shopping wearing a slipper. I am sure there must have been a few glances my way sympathising with the poor old dear on crutches where house slippers. At least I had changed out of my jimjams. 

The Barley Mow is now under new ownership and it opens on Thursday. Today they posted the new menu on FB. Sausage and mash costs £19. I can only imagine how big those sausages must be if they cost that much. The new menu looks like it is a Harvester Style one. - Errrr. Already, my hackles are up. It doesn't look like this is going to be the popular village pub it was two weeks ago. Worse still, Richard, Jim and Ezra-Mae went to The Galleon, the next pub along on the Canal from the Barley Mow, where they ordered a lunch that never turned up. You would think the landlord would be rather apologetic for this  - absolutely not. He was rude and abusive. Just the sort of customer service everyone should avoid. 

On a happier note, I went to St Guthlac's Church Open Day yesterday. It is a small church that has a big history in a hamlet near me. I hobbled across a field where I parked the car and lurched through the gravelly graveyard to visit the building. There is a proud association with the English Civil War, especially so now they have found a 22 foot pike that dates back to the Civil War. After an enjoyable visit, I then popped into Stony Stratford to cash a cheque which I forgot to take with me. Duh! 

I am looking forward to getting back to swimming. Last time, I felt this was key to my speedy recovery. Perhaps it will get my brain working too. I seem to have done some pretty daft things lately.

A self-confessed plonker

The local pub

There are many words that have drifted through my mind this week to describe my behaviour. Being on one leg brings many frustrations, especially as I am beginning to feel more energetic as I recover from my operation. My mind believes that I can do so much, yet even small things wear me out. Added to this, I can't carry anything while I am on crutches. My hands are already full! I thought that I could wear dresses and skirts to cover my cast and then realised crawling around with a long skirt on is really hampering. Each time I kneel on the hem, I stop dead. Errr.

My first idiotic escapade was to The Barley Mow  - the pub next door.  The village held a party to say goodbye to Paul, the publican, as he retired last Saturday. Obviously, I wanted to raise a glass and say goodbye so I pulled the zimmerframe downstairs, bumping my head repeatedly on the way down and lurched to the garden gate. I was well on my way to the pub. Probably 30 meters more and I'd be at the bar. The trouble was that just climbing out of the front door and making my way through my courtyard had already exhausted me. By the time I got to the top of my road, I had gathered a group of concerned supporters who walked slowly with me. The barman brought a drink to me and I settled in a seat and stayed there. 

When it came to going home, I managed to lurch to the carpark where two young boys offered to help me. I am not sure what they had in mind but I appreciated their concern. I gave up and asked for a lift from a car that had just pulled in. I was driven home and my zimmerframe was delivered to my gate by the son of the driver. How lovely everyone had been. Yet, I felt I was a complete bozo for even thinking I was capable of popping to the pub. 

Other descriptors for my idiocy spring to mind - twat, dork, jerk, twerp - we English have so many colourful words for stupidity. Later on in the week, I chose similar words for a judge who had hit the headlines for passing judgement on a zoom call conducted from his bed. What an idiot, I thought. Judicial standards are slipping. Then the reporter said he had had an operation on his Achilles tendon the previous day. Immediately my sympathy was for this poor man who had struggled to do his job just one day after an operation. How dare he be criticised for going to the lengths he did just one day after being under the knife. 

Since my disastrous trip to the pub, Danielle took me shopping to Tesco. She borrowed a wheelchair and parked in the disabled parking lot. It was good to get out of the house but it was so frustrating being pushed around. Supermarkets are not designed for wheelchair users. Everything I needed was just out of reach. I can see myself being consumed by sheer rage in my old age when I can't do simple things.

Mattaya in her new jumper

At least, from the comfort of my sofa, I have been productive. With my leg up, I've done a bit of writing here and there and some crocheting too. I have already made a jumper for Mattaya and she loves it. I am on my second book too. No point twiddling my thumbs. There is lots to do. 

Next step. My new boot