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<p><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">I had to attend a short seminar on manual
handling. It came under the heading of health and safety at work. Employers
have a duty of care to their staff and part of that duty includes proper
training in many areas, including manual handling.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">I’ve known Mike, the trainer, for about 4
years, and my first question was, “Does this session include tips I might pass
on to encourage the missus to do some manual handling, only she keeps telling
me we’re too old for that sort of thing.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">Sadly, it did not. It took the form of a
video presentation, a lecture from Mike, and then we had to pick up a box put
it on the table, then take it off the table and put it back on the floor.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">It seemed to me that by the time we were
through, the box would be in a state of confusion, now knowing whether it was
supposed to be on the table or the floor. The union called an immediate work to
rule in support of the box’s demand for a proper job description and allocation
of workspace. In addition there were health and safety issues concerning the
box which could be injured if some clumsy berk (i.e. me) dropped it. On a show
of hands the motion was defeated on the grounds that the box had consistently
refused to join the union. The box has now been sent to Coventry, which is a
bit unfortunate, because it was addressed to Carlisle.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">While all this was going on, I pointed out
to Mike, that if I followed lifting procedures and bent at the knee, keeping my
back straight, I would never get up again because my knees would come out in
sympathy with the box. My pleas fell on deaf ears. I had to lift the box onto
the table, then drop it on the floor.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">The best bit of the morning was the video
presentation. The company had gone to a lot of trouble producing this half hour
video, and it was worth every penny. The guy lifting and demonstrating handling
techniques really knew his stuff. For example, when he came across a 49kg
parcel on the upper shelf of a warehouse rack, he showed us how to pull it
towards ourselves, tilt and take the weight naturally, as it slid off the
shelf. My only question was, which brainless prat put a 49kg parcel on the
upper shelf in the first place.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">Then he was working in the back of a van
showing us how to put parcels on the conveyor for offloading. His little
workspace soon got filled so he started the conveyor to take the parcels away.
The only trouble was he started it in the wrong direction and two of the
parcels almost fell off onto his foot.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">But the best bit of the video was the
animation, which showed us the human spine and how easily it can be damaged by
twisting and compressing the discs in directions they were not designed for. It
likened the discs to a jam doughnut.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">A JAM DOUGHNUT?</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Now I know why I have so much trouble with my back. Over the years the cream has clotted and the jam has set solid.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">About ten years go, I was in a sedentary
job and my fitness went down as a reciprocal factor of my weight going up.
After reading me the riot act on smoking and diet, my doctor gave me a
prescription for health. Basically, for the price of a prescription, you could
have thirty sessions at a council run gym or swimming pool.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">I went to the gym and the instructor filled
in a shed load of forms — it was council run, remember — and asked me a lot of
questions after which he said, “Your problem is you lack stamina.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“And you had to use ink to work that out?”
I demanded. I could have told you, if you’d asked.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“We’ll start you on the treadmill,” he
chortled. “Nothing safer than walking.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“Try wandering down Broadway against the
traffic during the rush hour,” I suggested.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">He set me going on the treadmill at a
steady walking pace.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">There were four such machines facing a wall
of mirrors, and I was confronted with an image of myself as I really was: midriff
bulging, hair waving … goodbye to my head.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">A young woman got on the next treadmill and
began running as if she was determined to catch the last bus ten minutes after
it had left. This chick was fit. I would have voted Tory for half an hour with
her. She would probably have killed me, but the undertaker would never have got
the smile off my face.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">I was so concerned with eyeing her up that I
didn’t notice my treadmill was moving a bit faster and I was getting out breath.
I hit the button slow it down, but press the wrong button. I hit “stop”
instead. The belt stopped, my legs carried on and I fell off the bleeding
thing, spraining my ankle in the process.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I went into that gym overweight and out of breath. I came out overweight and out of breath and walking with a stick.</p>
<p> </p>
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<p class="MsoNormal"><span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>Yesterday’s Beeb recounts the
sorry tale of Lorna Watts, a self-employed dressmaker, visiting Holborn
Library, who asked to borrow a pair of scissors.<span> </span>She was refused. “You might stab me with them,” said the
assistant.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>Perplexed at this response, Lorna asked if
she could borrow a guillotine instead and again she was refused on the grounds
that, “you might hit me with it.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>In a response that I can only described as
DW-esque, Lorna said, “It’s absurd. There are plenty of heavy books I could hit
her over the head with.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>Lorna’s trials did not end there she tried
another three libraries and received the same response at them all.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>Now call me picky <em>(you can call me a
curmudgeonly, beer-swilling, sex obsessed skinflint if you like, I’m impervious
to criticism)</em> but someone should hit these library people over the head
with a guillotine, or even a heavy book, if only to learn whether any of the
brain cells are striking sparks.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>This kind of thing is getting out of hand
and you can see where it will end.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--></span></p>
<p><strong>The Restaurant</strong></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>Customer: hey there are no knives and forks
here.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>Waiter: sorry chum, they’re sharp
implements and you might stab me with them</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>Customer: how am I supposed to eat my
dinner?</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>Waiter: use your fingers. If it was good
enough for Henry VIII then it should be good enough for you.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><strong><span>The Gents Outfitt</span><span>ers</span></strong></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>Customer: The pants are a bit baggy and
some of the seams are frayed.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>Tailor: Can’t use knives, boss. Someone might
slice the tea lady’s throat. Had to fold the cloth, iron a razor sharp crease
into it, and then tear it with a ruler. Oh and we couldn’t sew it owing to
the danger that one of our apprentices might make a voodoo doll and stick needles in it, so we’ve tacked it together with Sellotape.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--></span></p>
<p><strong>The Supermarket</strong></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>Customer: hey this trolley has no wheels.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>Assistant: If we put wheels on them, chief,
you might run over my toes with them. Just push a bit harder.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--></span></p>
<p><strong>The Forecourt</strong></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>Customer: this pump has just billed me
sixty nicker, but it hasn’t put any petrol in my car.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>Attendant: can’t give you petrol. You might
use it to burn the place down. Now either pay up or I bell the filth.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>You can read the original, sorry tale here:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: ">http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/london/8276243.stm</span></p>
<p> </p>
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<![endif]--></p>
<p>I'm in the thick of it as usual. This time
it's <em>(another)</em> argument with an insurance company.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Despite my failing health and falling bank
balance, Mrs DW has insisted I take her back to Tenerife, for two weeks this
time, in September, to celebrate our wedding anniversary. Why anyone would want
to celebrate 29 years of sheer hell is a question I'll leave for another time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I booked it, stood the deposit with only a
passing sob, and as usual I signed up for the insurance, which this time came in
at just over a ton.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As part and parcel of the deal, I had to
ring the insurers to tell them of my health problems, so they could decide how
much more of my money they wanted for putting me on risk. I told the operator about
my high blood pressure.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"And how long have you suffered it?" they
asked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Ever since insurance companies began to
ask me idiot questions like these," I replied.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then I told him I was due to go into
hospital for investigations into a pain in the arse. "Sorry," I corrected, "pain
in the arm ... and chest."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"And what's wrong with you?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Nothing," I said. "Just a pain in my arm
and chest."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"So what do they think it is?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"They think it might be angina."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"In that case, we'll have to up the premium,"
he said and went on to quote me an amount which could have covered the battleship
Potemkin against all risks, including war.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Isn't that bit steep?" I asked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"If you've got angina, you could have a heart
attack at any time."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"If you don't stop putting the price up, I'm
likely to have one now and I don't need angina to bring it on."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Yes but ..."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Will you listen, you gormless idiot. I haven't
got an-bleeding-gina. I haven't got anything. They're just going to prod me
about to find out what it is, and five'll get you ten it's a pulled muscle.
Or are you going to bill me extra for that, too?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I'd have to check."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I uttered several more streams of
invective, far too strong for a family site like Writelink.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I don't have to take this abuse from you,
you know," he said.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"No? Who do you normally take it from?" Having
delivered this last, sledgehammer blow, I told him to cancel the policy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"They won't let you on the plane without
insurance," said the clerk.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Then I'll swim," I said, and rang off.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I won't name the company, other than to say they're one of the biggies and they're the same ones who tried to up my car insurance from £250 to £500+ last autumn. I told them what they could do with that, too.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Twenty minutes later, after a bit of searching,
I found a company willing to put me on immediate risk on the understanding that,
pending the outcome of the angiogram, the policy will be loaded. But even with
the additional premium, it's still cheaper than the original company.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So this morning, I went back to the travel
agents and got my £100 back ... but that's another story.</p>
<p> </p>
Tags: health safety seminari training bad back fitness health gym sexy health safety idiocy insurance health travle argument
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<![endif]--></p>
<p>It's a week or three since I last
had a moan about my health and since I'm suffering, I don't see why you shouldn't
suffer too.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>To recap, I had a suspected heart
attack in January, which turned out not to be a heart attack. No one ever found
out what it was, but my personal theory is it had summat to do with shovelling
snow from under the car day after day, night after night.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In order to eliminate cardiac
problems, I had an angiogram, which proved that I have a minor heart complaint which
amounts to narrowing of the arteries. They changed my blood pressure pills to
cope with it and everything was tickety-boo ... but it wasn't and still isn't.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>To get to my ticker, they shoved
a pipe up my right leg. Now forgive my scepticism but as an old trucker, I know
that if you want to get from Manchester to Newcastle upon Tyne, you drive along
the M62 and up the A1. You don't head for Bristol first. If you want to fly to
New York, you don't go to Liverpool and get a boat to Southampton and then a
train to Heathrow.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Be that as it may, they drilled into
the femoral artery and made their tortuous way to my heart to prove that it was
fine. I was left with a plug in my leg, told it would be a bit grumpy in that
area and told me to rest for a couple of days.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That was 10 weeks ago. I am still in
agony. Angie's gramophone triggered something and it wasn't a fresh taste for music
of the 60s. Whatever it did, it aggravated my knees (both of them) my right
hip, right ankle which is still suffering the hangover of a fracture almost two
years ago, and generally left me aching all over south of the equator. I cannot walk further than 50 yards before I have
to stop and rest. It doesn't matter whether I stand, sit or lie, I am in pain,
so I do what any man would do in these circumstances: I moan and whine about
it, particularly to Her Indoors.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As if that is not enough, I'm
suffering soft tissue damage to my neck, and after finding the blood tests that
go with the new medication extremely painful, my GP suspects the onset of
carpal tunnel syndrome. This is a wrist problem, and there can be many causes. I
prefer the one which says it's all the manual work I've done over the years as
opposed to the other theory which is too naughty for Writelink and in any
event, not applicable in my case.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And throughout all this, I haven't
had a sniff of a Chupa-chup.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The upshot of all this is that I turn
up at my doctor's so often, they're consulting me on the redecoration plans,
and I am now officially disabled. How do I know? I've just been told to apply
for a blue badge. Thanks to my iffy hearing, I thought they said a Blue Peter
Badge, but when I checked the telly, I couldn't find a trace of Christopher
Trace nor a single sight of Valerie Singleton.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>If I'd known getting old was this bad, I'd have gone out in a blaze of glory before I was 50.</p>
<p> </p>
Tags: health safety seminari training bad back fitness health gym sexy health safety idiocy insurance health travle argument health heart attack angiogram arhtritis
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<![endif]--></p>
<p>I was at the hospital again
yesterday, and it's official. I've been declared a national disaster and the
relief fund should be in operation any day now, which will save me having to
type out the begging emails.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>For the uninitiated, prepare to be
bored.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In January I suffered a suspected
heart attack that turned out be a pulled muscle. When they said, "Do you want the
good news or the bad news first," I opted for the good news. "It's not a heat attack,"
they said. "So what's the bad news?" I asked. "You'll have to pay for a taxi
home." That particular bill almost gave me the heart attack I hadn't had in the
first place.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>While they said I hadn't had a proper
wobbler, they suspected angina and in March I had a coronary angiogram. They drill
a hole in your leg, insert a pipe and work their way through to you heart so
they can have a proper look at it. While this is going on, you can watch it on
a TV screen. I kept an eye on it in case they found my wallet while they were
on their way to my ticker.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The news was good. There was nothing
wrong with my heart. On the downside, I would need a fresh place to hide my
wallet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After this little procedure, I developed
a large haematoma.<em> (I love using these medical words. They give the impression
that I know what I'm talking about.</em>) This huge mass of blood collected in a
place where I wouldn't wanna show my mum. That settled in a week but suddenly I
was in an awful lot of pain. I couldn't walk properly, my hip hurt, my knees, always
a couple of little achers, hurt even more and I felt like I had been kicked
where it would hurt most ... my wallet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This has gone on for months and I've
spent so much of NHS money that income tax will have to rise tuppence in the pound
just to cover the cost. I still cannot walk and as a result, I cannot work.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yesterday, I had a Doppler scan. This
thing monitors the blood flow in your veins and arteries and again you can watch
it on telly. It even picks up your pulse from any point on your body and broadcasts
it. Like a rap beat. Thumpa ... thumpa ... thumpa.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The nurse asked, "oh, what's that
big thing there," and the beat accelerated. <em>Thumpa, thumpa, thumpa</em>. She'd found
my wallet, too.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The surgeon said there was nothing wrong
with my blood flow, but my cash flow needed attention, whereupon he helped himself
to a couple of fivers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The upshot of this medical malarkey
is a new unified theory of my pain. The haematoma put pressure on the iliac and
femoral nerve and screwed them up. So notwithstanding all the pain, I now have
a couple of nerve in need of psychoanalysis.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"What can we do about it?" I asked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"It depends how many more of these
you have at your disposal," said the surgeon holding up the fivers he had
already claimed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"None," said I.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"In that case," he said, "it will
either get better or you'll be taking stronger painkillers and walking like
Long John Silver - minus parrot, natch - for the rest of your natch."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I was determined to consult my GP,
but he's off for a couple of weeks. His wife's having a baby. Inconsiderate is
what I call it. I mean, it's not my fault she's having a baby, is it?<em> (Answer:
no it isn't.)</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>So that's it. I am now officially in
pain for the rest of my life. And it's not just pain. I have to limp, too.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>All I can say is it's a good job I'm
skilled at multi-tasking.</p>
<p> </p>
Tags: health safety seminari training bad back fitness health gym sexy health safety idiocy insurance health travle argument health heart attack angiogram arhtritis health heart investigations medical matters humour
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<p>Hello playmates</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Have you had a good day? Excellent. Would
you like to hear about my day?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I was at the doctor's this morning for
a blood test. Nursie could not get blood out of my right arm. It's obviously run
out. So she tackled the left instead and took several cc's of the Robinson
royal variety, and after quick chat with my GP I tootled off to work with Elastoplast
on both arms.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I got to work at 9:30. At 9:50, I was
in the middle of a coughing fit. At 9:55, I was struggling to breathe and at 9:57
I gave a large cough and I was in agony on my left, lower chest. Emergency ambulance
and paramedics (all four of 'em) arrived at 10:10 and by 10:40, I was on oxygen
and on my way to the local infirmary.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once there, they switched the oxygen for
a nebuliser to help me breathe, and pumped me full of paracetamol and codeine.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They discharged me at 12:40, telling
me that my chest was in fairly good fettle, but thanks to the morning's coughing
fit I had either:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>a)
Torn a muscle</p>
<p>b) Broke a rib</p>
<p>c) Both</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The boss arranged to get me home and
I have been here since about 2pm, wowing in and out of consciousness thanks to
the painkillers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Needless to say I am thoroughly pissed
off, still hurting and getting earache from Her Indoors who reckons I'm setting
up some kind of scam designed to get me an invite to A & E's annual Christmas
dinner and dance.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Considering I have two busted knees
which has put paid to my break-dancing days, and I have to watch my diet
because my cholesterol level is too near the mark, the last thing I need is a
dinner and dance, and you all know how I feel about Christmas.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>On the plus side, I have a few days
in which to take thumb-twiddling to new and dizzy heights and I can see that the
day when the boss says, "enough," is getting even closer. At this rate <em>Channels</em> should be complete this side of
the dreaded Yule.</p>
Tags: health safety seminari training bad back fitness health gym sexy health safety idiocy insurance health travle argument health heart attack angiogram arhtritis health heart investigations medical matters humour health breathing a&e broken rib torn muslce coughing
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<p class="MsoNormal"><span>Most people would have posted yesterday’s
post today, but I’m not most people, and notwithstanding that today is our
wedding anniversary, I have more important matters on my mind: an appointment
with a consultant orthopaedic surgeon on the damage to my right ankle after
last November’s fall.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>This appointment is not about treatment,
but about compensation, but there are some interesting parallels to be drawn
between this and the NHS.<span> </span>For reference
and any first time readers, I am an old-fashioned left-winger, a fervent
supporter of the NHS. What I don’t support is the political gerrymandering
which has turned it into a bureaucratic, target driven nightmare in which
little of any value get done until you’re heading for irreversible trouble.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>I saw my GP about the state of my knees in
July. I got to see a consultant physio on September 30th. About 2-3 months.
I’ve seen this physio before, and she is a highly qualified, skilled
individual, who will be able to do nothing now that she could not do before.
But I have to see her before I can be referred to the consultant surgeon, who I
have also seen before and who could nothing other than offer platitudes. Why
can’t my GP refer me to the surgeon? Because if he did, the NHS would have to
do something about my knees and that’s the last thing they want to do. This is
all about meeting idiotic targets set by mindless politicians who know nothing
except how to meddle in affairs they know nothing about.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>Contrast this with the private consultation
arranged by my lawyers. My solicitor contacted me two weeks ago, telling me I
could expect an appointment with the consultant, and I saw him today.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span>If this sounds angry, it’s meant to. While
all these bureaucrats are pratting about, I am left in a state of constant
pain.<span> </span><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]-->Note to our political meddlers.
Stop meddling, get rid of your target driven dogma and make the NHS work!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--></span></p>
<p> </p>
Tags: health safety seminari training bad back fitness health gym sexy health safety idiocy insurance health travle argument health heart attack angiogram arhtritis health heart investigations medical matters humour health breathing a&e broken rib torn muslce coughing health politics nhs targets
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<p>Well it's Tuesday and I woke up metaphorically
still in Tenerife. But I came back to Oldham with a bump this morning.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Most of you are aware that just before I went
away I was rushed into hospital after a suspected heart attack. It wasn't and I
was cleared to fly to the Canaries. They're not sure what it is, so I have to
wait for tests to see whether I'm suffering from angina. I checked up and if I have
angina, I will lose my HGV licence and probably my job.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not to worry, thought I. I've a good few
weeks yet before we come to that. No such
luck. I had to see my GP this morning and he has banned me from driving heavy
lorries until the test are done and I am cleared of angina.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I can't fault his argument. Even at 25 mph
a 32 tonne truck can do a lot of damage if the driver has a seizure or blacks
out while driving, and I pass through the school run twice a day on my schedule.
If I am to go down in history I would prefer it to be as a writer, not some
nutter who ploughed into a large mob of schoolchildren while they waited for a
bus.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The upshot of all this I'm off work until
the tests are done, and given the speed at which the NHS works I could be
through retirement age by that time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But that doesn't do me any favours. Despite
my whines and whinges about work, I'm quite highly paid and I have no desire to
take a cut of around 80%. Beyond the financial aspect, there is the sheer ennui
of sitting around the house all day playing idiot games on Facebook and writing
books which I'll probably never finish let alone publish.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But I should look on the bright side. At least
I'm alive. I bumped into an old friend this morning who told me a mutual
colleague had died. She was about 3-4 years younger than me and succumbed to
cancer a couple of years back. <em>(RIP Barbara)</em>.
All the tests I've had just recently have cleared me of anything and everything
except for arthritis and <em>(possible)</em> angina.</p>
<p> </p>
Tags: health safety seminari training bad back fitness health gym sexy health safety idiocy insurance health travle argument health heart attack angiogram arhtritis health heart investigations medical matters humour health breathing a&e broken rib torn muslce coughing health politics nhs targets health driving sick
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<p>You may have been wondering where I've been for the last
week. On the other hand you may have been saying "thank god, for a bit of peace and
quiet."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I've been busy writing. In the space of this last seven days
I have finished two books which have been loitering on my hard drive for the
last year or two.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I'm in the final stages of proofing <em>DW's Guide to Holidays,</em> which will go out as an ebook on Smashwords
in the near future. <em>Voices</em> is the other
one, and it has already gone off to a publisher.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At 118,000 words, <em>Voices</em> is not the longest piece I've written, but it's one of the best, even if I do
say so myself. A psychohorror/thriller/sci-fi, it started life, like most of my
works tend to, as a consequence of issues in my own life. I'm very deaf, and at
the time, I had a broken ankle. How do you get from that to a full length novel? Well isn't that what we're all about as
writers?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It's what I love about writing full length fiction. Take any
trivial event in any day of the week, ask yourself "what if ..." and take it from
there. The Haunting of Melmerby Manor <em>(plug
plug)</em> came about after my wife and I stayed in a seaside hotel which was
ten times spookier than Norman's place in <em>Psycho</em>.
Every time I left our room and walked to the lift, I kept expecting to see the
Grey Lady wielding a machete.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That same hotel gets an oblique mention <em>DW's Guide to Holidays</em>, which hilarious <em>(in my opinion)</em> set of grumbles
should be available within a week or two. Watch our for the plugs on this and
other sites.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I'm thinking of following it up with <em>DW's Guide to Arthritis</em>, <em>DW's
Guide to Marriage</em>, <em>DW's Guide to Movies</em>,
<em>DW's Guide to DIY</em> and <em>DW's Guide to Sex</em> (but according to Her
Indoors that last one's likely to be more of a pamphlet than a book.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And talking of health, that's also been on my mind this last
week. I'm now getting nerve spasms in my leg, and they're not the pleasant ones
like when my knee twitches and I kick some brat up the backside. This feels like
someone has stabbed me with a pair of blunt scissors. It's all down to Angie's
gramophone. They nicked a nerve when they drilled a hole in my leg. Either that,
or Carol has made a voodoo doll of me ... again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And I've had to take the dog to the
vets. He has a bad chest. I think he's been smoking my ciggies when I wasn't
looking. Cheeky sod. Why can't he buy his own?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There's no justice. I've just turned 60 and stopped
paying for my prescriptions. Now I have to pay for the dog's.</p>
<p> </p>
Tags: health safety seminari training bad back fitness health gym sexy health safety idiocy insurance health travle argument health heart attack angiogram arhtritis health heart investigations medical matters humour health breathing a&e broken rib torn muslce coughing health politics nhs targets health driving sick writing publishing self novel book humour horror health dog vet
<p>Morning all, and I hope that
wherever you are, mother nature shows her support by varying the weather to
suit your mood. It's raining like hell here. A big change from yesterday's sweltering
heat, but I'm fine with it because it matches the big changes in
my approach to life, writing, etc.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I'll detail the changes in a moment
but let me update you on my health problems.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yesterday, I was at the hospital to
see the general surgery bods and surprise, surprise there is no trace of arthritis
in my hips <em>(only my knees, which we knew
about)</em> and there is no trace of a hernia. So what's causing the pain? No one
knows but they've thrown me back to cardiac team on the basis that it only
began after the angiogram, ergo that must have triggered it so they can put it
right.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In the meantime I'm up a certain
creek without any means of forward propulsion. I cannot walk far, I cannot climb
at all, and the pain is distracting, all of which means I cannot work until other
work is found that may suit my increasing level of disability. Unkind souls always
said I was a trucking nutter <em>(I think that's
what they said, but with my iffy hearing, you never know)</em> when I was comparatively
fit. Sat behind the wheel of a 30-40 tonne truck while less than 50% fit would see
me as some kind of doomsday machine.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The hardest part of all this has
been coming to terms with it. I can deal with the pain, but it's much harder dealing
with the boredom and financial problems that not working brings. So what is
need is a change of approach and attitude.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The first step in this change is
dropping the <em>Timehopper</em> serial. It was
never what you call particularly popular, and it was hard work for very little return.
The episodes are all still on my hard drive, and I may tackle it again one day in
the future, but it will probably be as a novel.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Next is concentration on <em>Spookies</em>, my fictional team of ghost
hunters, which I mentioned last week. Writing novels, of course, is a long and
arduous process, so in between times, I'm working on a raft of e-books, all
non-fiction, dealing with many and varied subjects <em>(details to follow after the World Cup, provided I have actually written
some of them by then.)</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Finally I'm looking at affiliate
work <em>(bloglancing as it's known in these parts)</em> in one or two "better" areas, to which end I'll be setting up a couple of
websites and blogs <em>(details to follow as
and when I'm over the shock of Rio Ferdinand's knee and the comparison between
what he'll get for his to what I got for mine.)</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>All this does not mean that I have
lost my thermonuclear sense of humour or my apocalyptic cynicism, so the worst
of my blog posts will still appear here on occasion.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stay tuned, the worst is yet to
come.</p>
<p> </p>
Tags: health safety seminari training bad back fitness health gym sexy health safety idiocy insurance health travle argument health heart attack angiogram arhtritis health heart investigations medical matters humour health breathing a&e broken rib torn muslce coughing health politics nhs targets health driving sick writing publishing self novel book humour horror health dog vet disability writing changes attitude approach fiction non-fiction humour health
<p>It's not often you hear me say this,
but I need help. Those who have followed my recent posts
will know that I have been diagnosed
with COPD and that I need to stop smoking.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I actually stopped in 1976, but I have
such a busy schedule that I just haven't had time to implement the decision. Now,
it's no longer a joke. I plan on celebrating my 80th birthday in 20 years <em>(and
a few more after that)</em> but if I don't pack the weed in, I'll be lucky to draw
my pension in four years. Stopping smoking has ceased to be a vague plan. It's
become a necessity.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I've taken all the advice on board, including
setting up a diary, but instead of keeping it to myself where I can wallow in platitudes
and excuses, it's a public diary. I've set it up as a blog. Because I use the
plain language of the workplace when talking to myself, I've set it up on
blogger. <em>(Two entries would be enough to have me barred from Writelink for
life.)</em> You'll have to excuse the invective, but when I call myself an idiot, it
hits harder if I call myself a "f***ing idiot."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I don't need applause, I don't need
rewards<em> (the money is have should be enough) </em>what I need are people to stop by,
read the occasional post and pull me up short when I'm making excuses. That's
all. I'd also be grateful if you'd spread the word to others, perhaps heavy
smokers like me, that's there's someone making a life-saving effort to give it
up.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I'm willing to take on board any
suggestions that will help, and if by going public I can help myself and others
pack in this appalling habit, then maybe I'll do some good.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The blog address is <a href="http://dwshh.blogspot.com/">http://dwshh.blogspot.com/</a> I've fed it
through twitter to Facebook so there are other areas where you may pick it up,
and for once, the blog is not trying to sell you anything.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I thank you all in advance.</p>
<p> </p>
Tags: health safety seminari training bad back fitness health gym sexy health safety idiocy insurance health travle argument health heart attack angiogram arhtritis health heart investigations medical matters humour health breathing a&e broken rib torn muslce coughing health politics nhs targets health driving sick writing publishing self novel book humour horror health dog vet disability writing changes attitude approach fiction non-fiction humour health smoking stopping quitting health addiction habit help
<p>On Monday April 5th, 1965 I started
work for what was then the North Eastern Gas Board. It later became British
Gas, and God knows what it is now, but I don't think it's British.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Today, December 3rd, 2010, I
finished work.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>For trivia lovers, that is 16678
days.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It should have been longer. I have
another four years, one month and a few days to my state pension age, but my
health has declined so badly over the last three years that I buried my pride
and pig-headedness, accepted my GP's opinion and approached my boss for
dispensation to retire early. I decided to get out of the rat race before the
other rats gave me a push.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It wasn't an easy decision. I have
no serious pension put by. When I left school, you didn't need one. "You just
work," they said. "We'll support you when you get old." So I did. Now I have to
go cap in hand to beg benefits from a system I've contributed to for the last
46 years and I expect to have to fight them all the way.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In addition, there is that fierce
streak of independence in me. I'm my own man. I don't need anyone else.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Unfortunately, I do. State handouts
aside, I need someone with me when I'm out in case I have one of my "turns":
critical breathing episodes than can floor me in a matter of 15 minutes. I have
trouble climbing stairs, I can't walk further than 50 yards without
experiencing shocking pain. Carol has to be nearby when I get in and out of the
bath in case my knees give way. I can't even climb a stepladder to change a
light bulb anymore.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It may sound as if I'm feeling sorry
for myself. I'm guilty of a lot of things, but never self-pity. It's more
frustration and anger that I am not the man I was.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Some things haven't changed. I'm
still a hardarse on most fronts. I don't suffer fools, politicians, salespeople
or bigots at all, never mind gladly. I'm still as outspoken as ever. Only now
I'm all these things at home: permanently.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And I still have the one thing that
keeps me going through the toughest of times: the one-megaton sense of humour.
I have to laugh at things because if I didn't I'd probably cry.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I have other assets too, amongst
which are valued friendships that I've forged over the years surfing the web:
friends like you Writelinkers who put up with my tightwad, downtrodden, married
man whinging.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>None of my health problems are
critical. They're not life threatening, merely disabling. I'll be around for a
long time yet. And I'll be around a lot more often <em>(spammers take note)</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was quite an emotional farewell. One
girl burst into tears as I left. I heard her say, "I thought we'd never get rid
of him." The company did not put on a leaving do for me. I asked them not to. But
I've a feeling they may have thrown a party as I walked out the door.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Final note: it was a pure
coincidence that the publication of Voices fell on the same day as my
retirement. But it does give you a hint to my (possible) future.</p>
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