I haven't published a Wednesday poem for a while. On this momentous day for the USA, I thought I'd mark it with a poem.
Donald Trump
It shouldn't concern me, but I've got to speak,
About the end of the era of Donald the Thick,
It's been quite 'interesting ', I've got to say,
To witness all the fun in the USA
President Donald Trump
President Donald Trump
Why don't you move to Russia, do us all a favour?
But what will you say when you meet your maker?
What will the history books say about you
The shame of your reign, you just can't undo
From travel bans, to covid, from BLM to bust,
"grab them by the pussy" mate, you can't control your lust
I don't want to share my world with you
But your time has run out now, there's nothing you can do
President Donald Trump
President Donald Trump
Maybe if there's Aliens they'll do us all a favour?
Take you on a one way trip, to the planets around Vega,
What will the history books say about you
The shame of your reign you just can't undo.
Copyright 2021 Roger Tichborne.
I guess it's hard not to have an opinion about Donald Trump. For me, the defining moment of Trump was when he slagged off members of the armed forces who got taken POW. This from a a draft dodger. My father was a former RAF pilot, shot down on the 38th and final mission of his tour of duty in 1944, taken prisoner in Rumania and held as a POW in a camp in Bucharest. I can forgive most things, but when a man slags off the bravery of people like my Father who risked their lives to serve in the armed forces, there can be no way back. Whatever you may think of the armed forces, if a member has been captured, by definition, they have put themself at risk for your country. I will have no truck with someone like Trump who disrespects this.
The bottom line is that Trump is a loser. 400,000 Americans died of Covid on his watch of covid. America's standing in the world has suffured immeasurable damage. I love the USA, my sister is a citizen and it is one of my favourite places. We owe them a debt for their support in two World Wars. They have supplied much of the technological innovation that makes the modern world such a good place to be. They deserve a President who can match the proud history of the country. Trump is not and never has been a man fit to follow the footsteps of Lincoln, Roosevelt, etc.
In 50 years time I am convinced that those of us still around will look back on this as a very strange time.
Just a quick note before I start, for those of you who know the story, or are not interested in the background, read on. If you want the context of this before you start, scroll to the bottom and read the bit in bold.
These days, finding inspiration for blogs is not always easy, but sometimes you see something that makes you chuckle, then makes you think. This blog is one such example, as I was inspired by a tweet from one of my favourite tweeters.
I was surprised when I saw this. I didn't realise females had this issue, just goes to show how much I know! This picture got me thinking about the whole issue of 'getting up for a wee'. I have really no idea what is a normal pattern, despite being asked many times "are your patterns normal". I 've also no idea what is something we should worry about. I've never actually been asked to detail my getting up in the night pattern and I've no idea if it's actually relevant, so Ithought I'd share it and see if any of you had any ideas.
For those of us whe are male and suffering with one of the myriad of issues that are lumped together as "Prostate Problems", this is a daily dilemma. Although I have never suffered from any of the more serious symptoms of Prostate cancer, I have long needed a wee more than the next man! I've never been 100% sure if this is down to overconsumption of tea/beer/wine, especially at night. My mum would be turning in her grave, as she felt it impolite to discuss going for a wee, but I happen to think that sharing information on matters medical is a good way to help us live longer/healthier.
When it comes to visiting the bathroom, I've noticed that Green Tea, which is meant to be good at slowing the advance of prostate cancer, is a nightmare for me. It literally goes straight through me. I have always assumed that this was a good thing, but I now never drink Green tea after 6pm, when I am going somewhere without a loo, or going on a long journey. For my nightly slumers, if I only have a glass of water by about 9pm, I might get through the night with one wee or even no getting up. If I drink tea, I'll get up at around 1am and again at around 4-5pm. If I have several pints of beer, it may even be four times. A glass of wine, will often spare me getting up, but a couple of bottles, I am not sure asI can't remember!
One of the most annoying things though is when you wake up sort of needing to go (as per Claires picture above). It's cold and you don't feel like going to the loo, so you lie there and realise that if you don't go, you won't sleep. So you stagger up, have your wee, then stagger back to bed. Only when you lie down, you realise that you were so keen to get back to bed, you hadn't emptied your bladder properly. You are back where you started. I have developed a strategy to avoid this. When I finish, I count to ten and then see if I need to do a bit more. Although this means that I don't get back to bed as quickly as I'd like, it also means that I don't get the dreaded double visit scenario and get back to sleep sooner.
Am I the only person who believes that overnight we get rid of far more fluid than we took in during the day. The number of times I've just had a cup of tea in the evening and had to get up two or three times, removing what seems like six litres of fluid? Does your body save it all up from the night before to teach you a lesson. I've been tempted to actually measure the amount, but I suspect if I used the measuring jug we make gravy in, my wife would conclude I am a weirdo and divorce me. This is nothing more than curiosity, but I am convinced that what goes out is never the same as what goes in. I did an A level in biology, but they never teach you useful things like this.
One of the pieces of advice that we get when we are diagnosed with cancer is to "look out for changes". In truth, I have no idea whether any of this has got worse. I have noticed that I find it hard to make the journey from the City back to Mill Hill on the train without going to the loo, far more than I used to, if I've drunk a lot of beer. It is a godsend that the new Thameslink trains have multiple loos. The older rolling stock was far less well supplied and the toilets were far more often out of service. It was not unknown for me to get off en route, find a pub, use the loo and have another pint! Another key factor is the ambient temperature outside. When it is cold, it seems that you are far more likely to need the loo. I've never really understood this, as you'd think the body would seek to retain warmth rather than remove it more efficiently.
I don't feel that there's been any rapid change. I actually always had to nip to the loo quite frequently. I can remember hearing a radio program on prostate cancer when I was about 30, convincing myself that I had it as I used the loo far more often than recommended. I went to see the docter who told me not to be so ridiculous and try drinking less beer. Ironically, when I was diagnosed aged 49, I was quite surprised.
So anyway, I guess what I've been trying to say, ina very roundabout way, if you have noticed an sort of change in your patterns, go and see a Doctor and get it checked out. The earlier they catch these issues, the more options you have. None are necessarily pleasant if you have got Prostate cancer, but if you are caught early, as I was, you can have treatments that have less unwanted side effects. Had I not been diagnosed in 2011, I'd not have realised it was turning nasty in 2015 and right now I would be in nowhere near as good a place.
---- For those of you who are regular readers and have read the previous posts on Cancer, there's what this is all about. I write this blog because knowledge is power and if you know what you are dealing with, you have more weapons in the locker to fight it. It is a personal view, I'm not medically qualified. This is for the sole purpose of information for those who are interested.This is the latest installment in my occasional series about how I'm adjusting to living with a big C in my life. For those of you who aren't, here's a quick summary. I'm 54years old and in October 2011 I had a prostate biopsy following two "slightly high" PSA tests - 2.8 & 4.1. The biopsy took ten tissue samples and one of these showed a "low grade cancer" which gave me a 3+3 on the Gleason scale. I was put on a program of active monitoring. In early February, I got the results of the a PSA test - down to 3.5 and an MRI scan which found absolutely nothing, two more tests in 2012 were at 3.5 and 3.9, in 2013 my test was 4.0, Jan 2014 was 3.8, August 2014 was 4.0, February 2015 it was up to 5.5 and my latest in August 2015 was down again at 4.6. In October 2015 I had a transperinial Prostate biopsy, that revealed higher grade cancer and my Gleason score was raised to 3+4 (Small mass + more aggressive cancer). On 22nd Jan 2016 I had HIFU (Hi Intensity Focused Ultrasound) treatment at UCHL). My post procedure PSA in May was 4.0 which was down, followed by 3.7 in August, and 3.5 in October which means that the direction is positive . However in January the follow up MRI revealed "something unusual which requires investigation" After a follow up biopsy, it appeared this was nothing to worry about. My two most recent PSA tests were Ok (3.7 and 4.6) and an MRI scan in March was very positive. A PSA in October 2019 was 4.6, so stable and good news, the last in May 2020 was 5.45 a small rise, so worrying, however after a review against the most recent MRI, it was decided that this was fine. I've no symptoms apart from needing to wee quite regularly and sadly for a few people, if I'm gonna die soon, it won't be from Prostate cancer. Got the picture?
Last week we saw the passing of my cousin Tessie Fanning. Tessie sadly succumbed to covid in the Royal Free. After her passing we held an on line wake. I didn't really know too much of the story of Tessie's early years. Tessie was born with Downs syndrome a few months after my parents had me. She was the ninth of my mothers brother Jimmy and his wife Josie's children. Almost immediately the doctors identified that there was something different about Tessie and by the time Jimmy arrived a Downs diagnosis had been arrived at.
One of her elder brothers told how initially my Uncle Jimmy was so upset that he couldn't even look at Tessie, not able to deal with the news. The story goes that he was sent to check on her by Aunty Josie. When he entered the room, she gave him the biggest smile and his heart melted. After that he had a special bond with Tessie. I've got to confess that when we were kids, I didn't really know what to make of Tessie. I was more interested in playing football with her brother Greg who was a year older than me and who was at my school. In truth, I felt a bit jealous of Tessie when I was very small. She was allowed to get away with being naughty. At Church she would invade the alter to say hello to the priest. She would shout out to her brothers when they were alter servers. My Mum and Dad would, rather patronisingly, say "Oh Tessie is the happiest of the lot of us". In some ways it was true. When Tessie was born there were few serious efforts to integrate Downs children into mainstream education or even give them any sort of education. It was suggested to Jimmy and Josie that 'she'd be happier in a home' when she was born. As they had nine children already, I can only salute them for not giving in to the pressure.
Everything Tessie did was 'special'. She went to a 'Special school'. She had 'special' friends. I got a better insight into what Tessie was about when I was nine, I went to Lourdes with my Dad for a holiday, as we did every year. He made friends with a couple who had an adult son with Downs syndrome. I was confused. I was told that he was 25 but had a mental age of seven (a concept I couldn't get my head around). I was told to play with him and keep him amused. His name was Stephen and he was a really good laugh. He liked football and collected various sorts of cards such as football and car cards that were popular at the time. I was told he was 'quite high achieving' for a Downs person, a concept I didn't get at all. He could walk around, make decisions, knew what he wanted and was 'well behaved'. As we approached bars, that was always the question 'Is he well behaved?'. He was and we had a great time. I couldn't get my head around the fact that he was both and adult and younger than me. After we got back I discussed this with my Dad. He told me that because Tessie was more naughty, it was harder for her parents to take her to such places. I realised that just because someone had Downs syndrome, they were just as individual as anyone else. It was an important lesson. I think Stephen helped me appreciate that Tessie was just different and different isn't such a bad thing, is it?
Tessie was always at family events. When she became a teenager, she learned a very important talent. She learned to swear. If someone annoyed her she'd tell them to F... Off in no uncertain terms. As was the way for our family back then, I'd spend time hanging around at Gregs house and he'd spend time at mine. We'd play board games at his place. If Tessie was around she played, we'd play things like Snakes and Ladders, which were games of chance and Tessie loved them. We'd often cheat so she'd win, which she'd get most excited about. If she lost, she'd accuse the winner of cheating. Greg would mercilessly wind her up, referring to her as Albert, which she hated, but she'd give as good as she got.
As Jimmy and Josie got older, it became clear that she'd need to move to a more suitable environment. She was housed at a hostel with other Downs adults. Tessie had her own mind. Some of the staff loved her and some thought she was a troublemaker. She lead a full life, attending all manner of classes and events. She represented Barnet at The Special Olympics in Sheffield. She liked being around people and the hostel meant she had friends. She was actively involved in many of the events that Barnet hosted for people with special needs. A couple of times I'd turn up at the Town Hall and bump into Tessie who was part of a delegation meeting some visiting dignitary.
When Jimmy and Josie passed away, Tessie was lucky to have nine brothers and sisters to care for her. They made sure she attended all family events and was made a fuss of. They also kept an eye on her care. One of Tessie's brothers, Jim Junior was a Catholic Priest. Jim was a great friend of mine and a guest blogger here. As regular readers of this blog will know, I got involved with a charity called HCPT at the turn of the Century. The organisation takes people with need of assistance to Lourdes in France staying at a purpose built hostel in Bartres. When my mum had a stroke in 2001, I would take her every year. This gave my family the chance to get repairs and maintenance done to her flat, without disturbing her. She loved going and I loved spending time with her. When my Mum died in 2008, Jim junior suggested that I take Tessie instead. I was delighted at the idea. Tessie was a good laugh and I knew she'd enjoy the break from the routine. I'd only really seen Tessie at family events since she'd moved from the family house and I thought it would be good to catch up.
What I found was the Tessie was as much of a handful as ever. She knew what she wanted and what she didn't want. When we picked her up, she told me that I was her favourite cousin. She told everyone something similar. But we bonded. She'd throw a strop if I didn't sit at her table at dinner, push her wheel chair or get her a cup of tea. Often she'd be throwing a strop and I'd just walk up and say "Tessie let's have a cup of tea and a biscuit" and she'd smile and say "alright".
Her party piece was singing "A bicycle made for two". Sometimes I'd tease her and get told to "F... off", but two minutes later she'd be smiling again.
We took Tessie up to Gavarnie, which is near the Spanish border. There were horses for hire. Tessie said that she'd like to ride one. Everyone was terrified, but I figured that if she wanted to, we'd make it happen. She wasn't small and getting her on the horse was a challenge, but we did it. She absolutely loved it. I took pictures on my iPad and Tessie would tell everyone 'Thats me on a horse' showing them the picture. Most days we'd nip to the bar. If I wasn't on driving duties I'd have a beer. Tessie would have an Orangina or a hot chocolate depending on her mood. She'd tease me that I was drunk, especially after I once drank a Formidable, which is a litre glass of beer. For two days she'd go around saying "my cousin is DRUNK", which gave everyone a good laugh. I only shut her up by telling her that if I was drunk, I couldn't push her wheelchair and one of the ladies would have to (Tessie didn't like ladies pushing the chair).
Tessie had a great time and it was agreed that next time she came, her eldest sister Rita would accompany her as well. I didn't really know Rita properly. By the time I was a teenager, she had left home and has grown up children. I assumed that with Rita around, Tessie would be a bit less naughty, but she was quite happy to give Rita the run around. But we all had a fantastic time.
My fondest memory of Tessie was closer to home. She lived in Friern Barnet and back in 2012, we had a massive campaign to Save Friern Barnet Library. On the 14th December, there was a party to celebrate the official success of the campaign. Occupy had taken over the library and my band, The False Dots headlined the party celebrating the end of the Occupation. I asked Tessie to come down with her younger sister Joanna. A friend video'd the hastily arranged set that the band played. You can see Tessie boogieing into the night. As this line up of the band hadn't played together before and had a single rehearsal, it wasn't the most together set, but it was a great night and that didn't matter. It was great to see Tessie having a ball. We made a fuss of her. Everyone knew her.
Tessie would come away with us every year, until the early onset of dementia made this impossible. What was tragic for me was that as covid brought the curtain down, I couldn't get around to see her. Last week, we learned that she had Covid. It really was only a matter of time. She passed away last Thursday.
We had a hastily arranged Zoom wake in the evening and exchanged all manner of memories. I owe Tessie a lot. Whatever she was or wasn't, she taught me what humanity really is. Her brother Jim told me story that really put it in perspective. After her Mum died (her Dad had died a few years before), the family had to meet to decide what to do with the Estate. Jim said there had been a debate as to whether it would be appropriate for Tessie to attend, as it was to discuss finances and other arrangements. As is the way with our Irish gene's, Fannings have strong opinions and feisty natures and there were several disagreements about details. Jim said that as people started to get hot under the collar, Tessie suddenly announced "STOP IT MUM WOULDN'T LIKE YOU ARGUING". Everyone instantly realised that Tessie had spoken a truth that had escaped the rest of them. That was Tessie, she took no bullshit and despite whatever constraints she had, she ensured she said her piece. I will miss her. When the tears have dried, I will always remember Tessie being there for the best of times. Dancing to the Dots, smiling and being mischievous.
It is the 18th of Jan. I happened to notice that two of the other three Barnet bloggers of note have not posted a blog this year. It is not my job to criticise them and that is not the intention of this blog, but it did raise a mild feeling of alarm that maybe the Barnet blogosphere has run out of steam. Personally I've deliberately avoided writing too much about Barnet Council during the crisis. Usually my efforts are squarely aimed at getting people to make their views known to the council, but I have felt the council has bigger fish to fry right now. In the middle of a pandemic, they need to be focussed on public health. I am not an expert on the matter, but recently I have become concerned with some aspects of what Barnet are doing.
The health, safety and wellbeing of employees of Barnet Council, those in its care (such as people with special needs, the elderly and the vulnerable) and the residents and visitors to the Borough should be the primary concern. There are several observations that I feel compelled to make, as a local blogger who has a large local readership.
1. The safety of employees working in schools and nurseries. There is strong evidence that transmission in these environments locally fuelled the rise in cases in November and December. I have heard horror stories from people I know who work in the sector. As soon as it became clear that there was a risk to staff locally, these establishments should have been closed.
2. Local parks have become extremely busy. Whilst people are outside, it is clear to me that people locally were not following the "exercise with one other person" rule. Social distancing of 2m was also not being observed. The parks are operated by the council. I noticed that the car parks next to the park were full yesterday. It is pretty clear that people were driving to the park to meet and chat to friends. Whilst I am not a killjoy, there is a pandemic. It seems to me that the sensible thing for Barnet Council to do would be to close the car parks. That would allow local people to use the facilities, but act as a deterrent to people who use the parks to socialise rather than exercise.
3. Barnet Unison have been lobying the council to get parking enforcement services suspended during lockdown. Whilst I am normally supportive of the initiatives of the local Unison branch, on this occasion I cannot agree with their policy. I have a local high street at the bottom of my road (Mill Hill Broadway). I am sorry to say that local residents park dangerously, selfishly and irresponsibly on a regular basis. Perfectly able bodies people park in disabled bays all the time. Double yellow lines are also parked on, causing blockages and making crossing the road dangerous, especially for small children who cannot see over the cars. If enforcement was suspended, my view is that this would increase this selfish behaviour, putting more people at risk and reducing further spaces for disabled shoppers.
4. My cousin, who was in the care of Barnet council, died of Covid 19 related illness last week. I was under the impression that the address she lived at should be covid secure. It clearly wasn't. This tells me that Barnet Council has not done a proper risk assessment and is not enforcing covid protocols properly in care establishments.
With the demise of local press, there is no one else to raise these concerns apart from local bloggers. I am not criticising people who have spent the last ten years or so working hard to raise these issues. I know just how draining and exhausting this is. What I am saying is that we need a new generation. We need to pass on the battern and we need new people with the energy to start doing the job. Barnet will need it's bloggers more than ever as the austerity which will follow Covid hits. Believe me, the credit crunch will seem like a luxury holiday compared to what is coming down the line. If you can write a few coherent sentences, you too can become a blogger, no experience necessary. We need you!
2. We completely agree with Maya Oppenheim. Luckily we don't have to pop on the Northern Line and we can still get deliveries locally!
I miss Bang Bang food hall. Aka London’s biggest Asian food court. I highly recommend staying on the “misery line” (former name for the northern line due to its constant signal failures) until Colindale and stuffing ya face in the burbs when it reopens pic.twitter.com/w1mD8EGCnP
6. Thanks to @Time_NW for telling the story of Romac and the sad decline of the building in Hendon
I was sad to see today that this rather anonymous building on The Hyde at Hendon, has now been demolished. It was called Romac House, and I have mentioned it before...(Thread) pic.twitter.com/WBBWQLadm0
9. We agree with Donald. Please sign this petition. No bees no life.
Too much of our countryside is being doused with chemical pesticides. Bees, birds, butterflies and other wildlife are in decline. Join me and sign the @friends_earth petition to make the countryside a safer place for wildlife. #NatureFriendlyFarminghttps://t.co/sVWQict17x
I have a confession to make. I meant to publish this list last week, but I bumped it back a week because I wanted to tie in my nasty people list with The Serpent, while it was still fresh in the mind. Todays list is what I consider to be the moments that changed the UK from a prim and proper society, where curtains twitched and Vicars having affairs was front page news into what it is today - irreverent, open, tolerant and inclusive.
I am sure that the likes of Peter Hitchens will find this list abhorrent, for me it is what has defined us.
1. 1967 - Mick Jagger being interviewed by William Rees-Mogg for World in Action. This was the moment when the old norms started to crumble. Jagger had been jailed for drug offences. William Rees-Mogg was the influential editor of the Times. He saw the injustice. The program had a massive impact. It was a clear signal that the old order was coming to an end.
2. 1972 - Bowie and Mick Ronson on TOTP. Bowie puts his arm around Ronson. Ten million parents recoiled in disgust. Ten million teenagers decided that Bowie was the coolest man on the planet. This moment was the moment when being flamboyant and having suggestions of same sex attraction went mainstream. Without this we would not have the high camp of Strictly.
3. 1975 - The Naked Civil Servant. John Hurt's portrayal of Quentin Crisp. To the best of my knowledge, the first sympathetic portrayal of an openly gay man. My parents were fascinated and insisted we watch it. In truth, at the time I felt uncomfortable. It turned out that all my friends families also watched it. As you can imagine, being at an Irish Catholic school in 1975, this was not with sympathy, but my parents instilled in me that you had to understand what an interesting story it was and that there was a lot of unfair discrimination. Years later I discussed it with my Dad. He simply said that during the war, he'd learned that you judged people by how good they were at their job, not what they did in their bedroom or where they came from. I wish I'd asked more.
4. 1976 - The Sex Pistols on Today with Bill Grundy. I can remember watching this. I was still at FCHS at the time. I'd never seen anything like it before. It was like me and my mates from class 4B had been given a slot on Prime Time telly and been given carte blanche to misbehave. I knew nothing about The Pistols at the time. I wasn't interested in music, but this was hilarious. It was absolutely shocking to hear swearing on prime time telly. My mum didn't like Bill Grundy and she was shocked by Grundy asking to see Souixsie after the show. She thought Steve Jones was quite right to call Grundy a dirty old man, although disapproving of the language. It made a whole generation realise that the likes of Grundy did not deserve the respect show. It was the moment that Punk introduced itself to the world. Until then it had been a very niche movement. We wouldn't have Gordon Ramsey F'ing and blinding on TV if it wasn't for this
5. 1977 - Roots. The story of how Alex Hayley uncovered the horror of his ancestors mistreatment as Slaves. This was the first time I could recall seeing a program exposing the rotten underbelly of the USA. Everyone talked about it and many, for the first time, realised that African Americans had been victims of huge injustice
6. 1982 - Culture club on TOTP - Do you really want to hurt me. When Boy George appeared there was widespread confusion. Was he a boy or a girl? He put the issue of gender politics in the national gaze. It seems incredible to recall the outrage of some at the time. George and the gang weren't too bothered. The single was a global smash hit. A whole gang of copyists sprung up, most of whom couldn't sing. That was George's USP. But after that, it would never be shocking to see someone with a non defined gender identity on TV
7. 1987 - Michael Fish announces that "there will be no hurricane". We all know what came next. This was the moment when many of us realised that maybe the BBC wasn't quite as trustworthy as we thought. If a national treasure such as Michael Fish could get it so wrong, then what could we believe.
8 1997 - Tony Blair announces Princess Diana's death. Blair had only recently been elected. He looks so young and his voice seemed rather posher than I remember. This was the first time a PM had really hammed it up for the cameras. This was the moment that politics went populist in the UK.
9. 2002 - Pop Idol. This was the moment that the music industry changed forever. As a studio owner, I was unprepared for the Tsunami that this unleashed. Pre Pop Idol, people joined bands, rehearsed, got gigs, did recordings, looked for deals. All of a sudden the way to stardom was simply to get on a TV Talent show. It normalised singers singing to backing tracks. It set loose a whole generation of singers that hadn't done the hard graft on the circuit. The sea change away from bands started here. With streaming and downloads, the old way of doing it with expensively recorded albums and careers built over a period of years ended.
10. 2016 - The Death of Bowie. I think that for many of us, this was the moment we truly grew up. Peter Pan had passed. To be quite honest, it's all been rather grim since then. Sadly his last release was Lazarus, but Bowie was not raised.
We are now half way through January. We've been in lockdown for ten days. The weather has been miserable, we are cut of from friends and family. I ssupport these restrictions and believe we are where we are because the government has repeatedly been too slow off the mark. But now we have a way out. Two million people have been vaccinated and the rates of infection (in London) are starting to fall. We are not out of the woods as the number of people being hospitalised is still rising and the number of daily deaths is appalling. Given that we've been in this situation for almost a year and all of the finest brains in the nation are focussed on the crisis, it is time we saw some proper leadership from Boris.
What we need is a clear plan to leave this cycle of lockdowns, restrictions and pain behind us. I am not asking for a timetable. It would be foolish in the extreme to publish this at the moment, but there is every reason to publish a roadmap. I believe that this will encourage people to comply and to get vaccinated.
There are several questions I have. The first is whether we need restrictions once everyone who is vulnerable has been vaccinated (or has had the chance to be vaccinated as some will simply refuse). Given that the mortality rate for covid is 1-2% and 99% of these are people who can be identified as vulnerable, with 2 million people vaccinated, we must be nearing the point where we can say they are safe. Getting the most vulnerable vaccinated is a key milestone. Boris needs to say exactly what his criteria for achieiving this is.
It is also clear that the biggest risk now is further mutations, especially ones that make the virus vaccine resistant. Boris needs to say what the rate of infection in the community has to be where we can see a loosening of restrictions.
The third aspect is hospitals. These are currently overloaded, we need Boris to say what constitutes the NHS not being overstretched is defined as. As far as I can see, when the vulnerable are vaccinated, the rate has dropped and hospitals are not overstretched, then there is no reason to be in lockdown. Normal life can start to resume, albiet with sensible precautions.
Whether my criteria are correct or incorrect, Boris should know what the criteria are. He should give us the roadmap and tell us that the more strictly we adhere to the current lockdown, the sooner he criteria will be met. This would encourage us all to do what we should be doing. If we could see the light at the end of the tunnel, I believe we would act like adults and do what we need to do.
It is time for Boris to do what he should of done all along. Work out how we move on from this mess and tell us his plan.
Sadly some of us are not quite old enough to qualify for a free bus pass this year. There are many things about getting older that I don't look forward to, but getting a free bus pass is not one of them. Margaret Thatcher once saidthat any man over 30 on a bus is a failure, but I beg to differ. I enjoy using Londons buses. I got this love from my mother. I well remember when she got hers. Although she was not thrilled with becoming a pensioner, she'd worked all of her life and she felt that the free bus pass was fair reward for her years of paying tax and made good use of it.
My Father would not dream of taking a bus everywhere, but mum loved London buses, insisting that the view from the top of a Routemaster was the best view in the world. It became her thing that every Tuesday, she'd set off on an expidition. I was working in central London at the time and she'd often arrive at reception of the office and summon me to buy her lunch. I worked in various offices, on Windmill St, on Piccadilly, on Lower Thames Street to name a few. She'd take me around the pubs and tell me stories of these haunts in the war. When I was working in Windmill Street, she was shocked when I suggested lunch in The Fitzroy Tavern. She explained that during the war, this was notorious for 'artistic types'. She said that she'd been in their once as a very young, naive girl and was delighted when all of the characters made a big fuss of her. She was less than impressed when she realised that they were making even more fuss of the big burly American who she was with. Apparently the poor lad was a country lad who was most confused. He blotted his copybook by insulting London after they departed, a place my mother loved with a passion. Fortunately for me, that was the end of that!
When I worked at no 100 Pall Mall, she was most impressed, declaring that I had finally made it. We had afternoon tea at Simpsons. When I moved to Lower Thames Street, she insisted I met her at Lombard St, she wanted to see the old head office of Barclays Bank, where she had worked during the war on the Switchboard. Armed with the letter she received from the chairman that she was given when she left, she made her way to reception and asked if she could have a look around. A very nice manager gave her a little our. She was a tad disappointed at how it had changed, but told me that is London, you blink and it's reinvented itself.
My mothers favourite bus was the 113. This would take you from Mill Hill to the West End. She knew all of the routes and would spend the week planning her itinery. Her favourite time of year was the January Sales. She'd often buy next years Xmas presents at these. Arriving back home from the bus with large bags of shopping. My Dad would say "Why don't you just let me drive you up there?". She would say "why waste the petrol when I have a bus pass". One day I asked Dad why he didn't go with her. He replied "I didn't work for 45 years to get the bloody bus". My father would drive everywhere, even from our house to the Church, which was less than 1/4 of a mile. He loved cars and hated public transport. After he died in 1987, I discussed this with my Mum. She explained that she would have hated him coming along. He'd have moaned the whole time and hated shopping. She said that whilst she was on the bus, she was in another world.
I was fascinated when she told me about the war. She worked briefly in a Drapers in Regent Street. She had a cold and took a day off. It had been bombed, killing everyone. She said her Guardian Angel had been watching over her that day. She showed me the site. You can see, if you look up, that the style of building is different. She had other idiosyncricies. She'd get the bus to Burnt Oak as the mushrooms were cheaper. She liked Burnt Oak as the family had lived there during and after the war. When I was small she knew all of the shopkeepers and we were all registered at the Watling Medical practice. The market was a place she loved. She would buy us all toys for Xmas there. My father was less keen. When he'd been in a Rumanian prisoner of war camp in 1944 he'd written to my mother saying it was lovely, just like Burnt Oak.
Mum had buses she liked, as well as the 113, she rather liked the 140. When we were small, she'd take us on it to Heathrow to look at planes. It was her bus of choice to Burnt Oak. She disliked the 52, as although it went to Burnt Oak, it went a more circuitous route. She liked the 251 as she would take visitors to the Rising Sun for a beer on it, when Dad was not around. Before she got the buspass, she'd also like the Green Line buses as these were far quicker, with less stops. This was always a 'treat'. I recall her getting the 717 to St Johns Wood for hospital appointments when she had cancer. Although Green Line buses used the same fleet as London Transport, if felt totally different being on one. The stop was by Daws Lane.
My mum felt that London buses were not the same when the conductor was dispensed with. She always said that a conductor made 'ladies feel safe'. I used to think it terribly old fashioned and twee, but now I have come to believe that she was right. Guards on trains and conductors on buses make a huge difference for people with access issues or who are just nervous. She was of the opinion that the people who abolished them were neither female or regular users. There is a misguided view that CCTV can do the same job. It can't. A conductor will spot trouble and will deal with it. CCTV simply means that when the deed has been done, someone can review it.
If you are approaching the official start of codgerdom and get a buspass this year, don't despair. There is a world out there awaiting you. Hopefully, it will be safe enough to venture out when you get your pass, embrace the pipe and slippers when you get the opportunity. I know I will when I get there!
There are many of us who have time on our hands during the current period of lockdown. I should imagine that I am not alone in finding myself going for a stroll to pass the time, we are lucky that Mill Hill still has many nice open spaces. I happened to bump into Roger in Lyndhurst Park the other day, whilst he was walking his dog. We had a brief chat and looking at the old bridge over the disused rail line, I commented that I remembered the joy of standing on the bridge on Bunns Lane as a child, watching as the steam engines went under. My father would lift me up onto the wall and as the engine passed underneath, I'd be engulfed in the steam. It seemed very exciting at the time. It always seems very sad to me that the railway line is abandoned and that Bridge is now bricked up. Roger suggested that as I have some time on their hands, I might like to put together another blog of my reminiscences.
Mill Hill was a lovely place to grow up in the 1940's and 50's. There was a real sense of local community, people didn't lock doors. Children would play in the street. There were no cars and few other vehicles on the roads, apart from buses and the occasional coal delivery lorry and the such like. What we now call Arrendene was more widely known as 'The Donkey fields" as the army had used the space for grazing animals used in transportation during the war. It would be hard for anyone born more recently to understand just how important and significant the military was locally. Hendon Aerodrome (now Grahame Park) was an active RAF base and the Inglis Barracks (now Millbrook Park) was the home of the Middlesex Regiment and later the Royal Engineers.
As a boy, Mill Hill seemed full of people in uniforms, both army and airmen. Having an RAF base nearby was magical, watching planes land and take off was always a good way to while away the time. Sunny Hill Park was a great venue for this. Even more exciting was to watch the annula Hendon Air Show and then see it at the cinema on the Pathe News!
I think every young boy in the area was fascinated by the airfield and the show. Nowadays I'd love to see the first world war biplanes in the air, but back then all we wanted to see were the fast jets. It really was a very spectacular event. Another constant source of fascination was the anti aircraft guns at the back of the Sea Scouts centre on Daws Lane. These lasted well into the 1970's.
Mill Hill smelled very different in that bygone era, especially in Winter. Coal was king. These days, if we are cold, we simply turn up the heating. My memories of growing up are memories of being cold and gathering around coal fires to warm up in the living room, or around the stove in the kitchen. One of the lessons of the day was that there is a cost to being warm. As kids, we'd be despatched to collect coal from the merchant at Mill Hill East. We had an old pram that we'd load up. You could get the coalman to deliver, but this cost money, so when times were hard, you'd collect it from the depot, for us this was by the gas works in Mill Hill East. If there was a sudden cold spell and you ran out of coal, then you faced a long walk, usually in the rain or snow to get a top up. Coal cost money, so it was only burned when it needed to be burned. Newspapers were used to get the fire going, I am sure that for many, this was the reason that they were bought. Often we'd head out to collect twigs and wood to use as firelighters, sometimes neighbours would pay us a few pennies for this. The fire lighters and coal would be stored in the coal bunker in the garden. When the weather turned cold (and I do mean cold), we'd light the fire. You could tell that it was frosty as the air would smell of coal fires. For me this was one of my favourite smells, it meant you miay actually get to warm up when you got in.
I don't think people really understand the dynamics of being cold and warm anymore. When it was really cold, if we were lucky, mum would make a hot water bottle. This was perhaps the best treat, apart from being given sweets, that we could have. We only had one, so it would be put in your bed for five minutes before you got in, to take off the chill. If you had a cold or the flu, you'd get it for a bit longer with it. Most of the time, when you were cold, you'd simply put on a coat or jumper. There was no TV, we'd listen to the radio or read books. Just as coal cost money and its use was strictly rationed, so was electricity. It was metered. As a small boy, it was a treat to be allowed to put a shilling in the meter. Lights were only to be turned on and off when they were needed. We had a small electric fire 'just in case', but I don't recall it ever being switched on.
If you had got cold on the way home from school and mum was feeling generous, you'd get a drink of Oxo or Bovril. It wasn't so much the taste that you loved, it was the fact that it warmed you up. Bovril was on sale at football grounds long after it had disappeared from our pantries, as we all know it is the only way to warm up. The smell of Bovril when you are frozen is perhaps one of the most reassuring of all.
Another smell that reminds me of those days are autumnal bonfires. As soon as leaves started falling, everyone would light bonfires. As children, we'd be fascinated by these. There were no green bins back then. The down side of all of this buring was the smog. London was notorious for this. Late Autumn/early winter was smog season. I can remember being sent out to get some coal from the bunker in 1952 and getting lost in the garden, unable to see more than a foot in any direction, I can remember being completely disorientated and terrified. The rest of the family thought it was hilarious. For years, when I was sent for coal, there would be a joke about sending the search party out if I wasn't back in five minutes. People really did get lost in the fog. One local, making his way back from the Royal Engineer pub after a swift pint after work, got lost for three hours, found himself back at the pub for last orders. That was his story anyway and it was one my dad would often tell with a twinkle in his eye.
Another thing we loved was fishing. Young boys knew every piece of water in the locality. You would start off with a small net and a jam jar catching tiddlers and tadpoles in Angel Pond at the top of Milespit Hill. The tadpoles would be taken home and kept in bowls, where we'd watch with fascination as they grew arms and legs and the tails disappeared. When I was eight or nine, after much nagging, I persuaded my mum to let me make a small pond out of some tarpaulin. This was at the bottom of the garden, as far from the house as possible. I filled it with water and collected a fine array of tadpoles. I was horrified to see that the local bird population found that it was a very tasty array of snacks. In those days, we'd see Sparrows, Blackbirds, Starlings and Tits in the garden. If we were lucky, we'd see a Thrush. There was lovely Irish lady next door who would put bread out and get very cross as the Starlings guzzled it all.
We graduated from Angel Pond to Moat Mount (there's some great images of Scratch Wood, Moat Mount and Mill Hill here here). My mum didn't like me going up there, as there had been a murder there during the war and she thought it dangerous. There was also spots on Scratchwoods and Mill Hill Golf course that had water with fish in, although you would get chased off the golf course straight away. We always resented the fact that we were never allowed to go fishing anywhere that there was actually something decent to catch.
As we grew up, and we got more serious about the fishing. There were some lovely carp in Darlands lake. Another place we loved was the big pond on Stanmore common, that reputedly had a large Pike, although we never saw sight nor sound of it. We'd also sneak in to the grounds of Mill Hill School and try and fish their lake, but invariably get caught and turfed out.
One of the things we didn't really do at all was holidays. I have vivid memories of mum and dad telling us we were going on a holiday to the seaside. Sandwiches were made, possibly even flasks of tea. We made our way to Mill Hill Broadway Station and boarded a train heading south. This was the first time I'd ever been on a train. I must have been about six. It was exciting. The train was packed, we found a compartment with a couple of seats. Chidlren were expected to sit on adults knees or on the floor. We were told that it was a very special train and it was going to the seaside. The journey seemed to take hours. Eventually we arrived at Southend on sea. I was given a shilling to enjoy myself. It seemed like a lot of money. We went to the pier, we played on the machines, where you could put a farthing in and if you were lucky a few coins would fall down. I soon learned to watch for people who had put all their cash in and where there were farthings overhanging. I loved Southend. The sun shined and everyone seemed so happy. As a treat, we had a bag of chips. All too quickly, we had to make our way back to the train and return to Mill Hill. Whilst the journey there had taken hours, I fell asleep on the way back and we seemed to arrive back in Mill Hill in a jiffy. The sun was just going down as we made our way home. Back then, there were no shops open in Mill Hill Broadway after 5pm and none at all on a Sunday. At the time it was the latest I'd ever been out and about in Mill Hill Broadway. I'd only seen it when the shops were open. It was like a ghost town. You just don't see Mill Hill Broadway like that ever these days. I think that day had been the happiest of my life and to this day, I've always had a love of Southend. I took my grandchildren there when they were smaller and they too loved the pier and the slot machines, much to my daughter in law's horror!
My final reminiscence is about something that has gone terribly out of fashion. That is smoking. When I was growing up, everyone smoked. When people visited, the first thing they would do would be to light up. This fascinated me. When I was about five I acquired a set of Players cigarette cards at a jumble sale. These were in an old battered tobacco tin and were my pride and joy.
There was an eclectic selection. Oneof my favourite was the Hereford bull card. This magnificent fellow seemed far more impressive than any of the local bulls we'd see in the various farms around Mill Hill. To this day, if I hear the word Hereford, I think Bull. It just shows what an impression such things can make. Sadly such cards were banned by the Govt in 1940, as they were seen as wasteful. After rationing was lifted, we could by sweet cigarettes. I guess these are what we now call gateway drugs.
Smoking had its own hierarchy. Posh ladies would smoke with cigarette holders, to stop their fingers going yellow. The less well off favoured hand rolled tobacco, the flashy fellow who lived in the posh house in Parkside owned a Jag and smoked cigars. My dad always called him 'the spiv'. Old men smoked pipes, which fascinated me. Ted down the road who'd been in the Navy smoked Capstan full strength. Having bought my tin of cards, I became fascinated with tobacco tins and started to acquire a collection of such things. In 1958, I suddenly fell out of love with smoking. I was too young to smoke, but had had a few puffs with the older boys in the park, they would egg on the younger kids and snigger as we choked on the smoke. I would probably have started, but my uncle became ill and died of lung cancer. Mum told me that it was caused by his heavy smoking. At the time, there was little talk of the risks of smoking, so I have often wondered whether she'd just said that to put me off. It certainly worked. He'd been a war hero and was a great man. Seeing him stricken and laid low, gasping for breath made a huge impression on me. I vowed never to smoke. I later swapped the cigarette cards for a bicycle pump. A truly awful investment, as they would now be worth several hundred pounds. Perhaps the saddest aspect of his passing was that he was a keen allotment holder, with a plot at Lawrence Street. I used to help him out with digging and pruning. When food was scarce, he would have rhubarb, loganberries, raspeberries and gooseberries. He grew vegetables as well, but I remember the fruits as they were always a proper treat, especially when there was still rationing. He taught me much about nature, how ladybirds eat greenfly, how you
plough sideways, not up and down, so the topsoil isn't washed away. How
you save your potato peelings and make compost. How you plant flowers to
attract bees.
Mum always said that my Uncle kept the allotments going and having recently read up on the history, this may well be true. Sadly, we lived on the other side of Mill Hill, so we couldn't keep the plot. Clearing out his small shed was one of the saddest days of my life. We found all manner of strange things, he would often sit in the shed and read. One of the things which stuck with me was a pile of half read books with page markers. I can remember him telling me that if he thought a book was heading for a sad ending, he'd put it down, he'd seen enough heartbreak in the war. He once told me about how, when he'd been in France in the second world war, he'd found himself in a recenltly liberated barn, exhausted, having been separated from his unit. Falling asleep on a haystack, he was awoken by a French farmer. The farmer thought he was a German and was keeping him at bay with a pitchfork. Realising that the farmer didn't like Germans, he used his schoolboy french to say "Anglais Monsieur" and showing his badge. The farmer put down the pitchfork and signalled for him to follow him. He was taken to the farmhouse and given a slap up meal, with a glass of the finest cognac. The farmer told him that he'd buried the cognac when the Germans had invaded and was saving it for the first soldier to liberate him. He gave the bottle to my Uncle, which was most welcome. He'd kept it safe until VE day, telling me he wanted to savour it properly. He kept the empty bottle in the shed. Mum told me to throw it away, but I've still got it.
When I was growing up, Mill Hill was full of people who had served in the forces, such stories were ten a penny in Mill Hills pubs and clubs. That generation is now all gone. Perhaps that is what I miss most.
Richard Wilkinson is a long time Mill Hill resident. Guest blogs are always welcome at The Barnet Eye. Richard also runs the https://millhillbroadway.org/ website which provides information about Mill Hill's shops and services for locals and visitors to the area.
Firstly, if you've not read my cancer blogs before, the story so far is in bold at the bottom, it may give you the full context if you read this first. For those of you that know the story, read on.
I have a dilemma. I am supposed to have a six monthly PSA test to monitor my PSA levels. This involves getting a blood test form from my GP, going to a blood test centre and having a test. This should flag up if there is any sudden change that would require a more urgent intervention than the planned annual check up that I have following HiFU in early 2015. The problem? Well the last PSA test I had was in April at the height of the last covid peak. Due to the issues with the NHS pressures, I had this at the Royal Free Hospital. I have to say that I did not enjoy the experience at all. Of all the things I did during lockdown, this was by far the most risky. Now, with a higher peak and a more virulent strain, I feel even less inclined to take the risk. I really don't want to go to a hospital, or anywhere else for that matter, where there is likely to be people who have covid and who I may be in the company of. I doubt that I am the only person in and 'active surveillance programme' who is in this position. Like all people living with a serious, progressive condition, it is a question of weighing up the risks and balances. I have had no physical changes, so I feel that the risk is relatively low if I defer for a couple of months.
Although there has been lots of talk about NHS pressures, I didn't see any evidence of this at the MacMillan centre at UCH in May when I had my last MRI scan and my last consultation. As a specialist centre, they are ring fenced from the regular pressures. Of course, if a covid infection gets in, this could be catastrophic, so my consult was by phone. I am hopeful that by May, the next MRI will be in more normal times. I am aware that at some point there is the possibility that more medical intervention is likely, but I can only hope that this will be a few years down the line at the very least. This year will be six years since the HiFU treatment and the fact I've had a completely normal life in that time has, to me at least, vindicated the decision to go for HiFU instead of a radical prostatectomy, with all the side effects that entails.
The recent situation has given me pause for thought. I feel that I am actually in a far better place to deal with the current crisis than many. I've already done the business of coming to terms with my mortality. I am at peace with the world. I am very lucky in the friends that I've had to support me. One gave me a copy of the most amazing book that has massively helped me deal with my issues. It is called "Anti Cancer a new way of life" and it was written by a medical professional dealing with a terminal brain cancer. It looks at all elements of lifestyle and diet, with a view to improving your body holistically to deal with the challenge. It doesn't focus on miracle cures, but more with giving yourself the best chances, within the constraints of a science and medicine based approach.
One of the key takeaways I learned was that you really need to remove negativity from your life. For me this means avoiding excesively dark and violent TV, films and other media. It's why I block Trolls and negative people on social media. I find the more I ignore such negativity, the better I feel and the lower my stress levels are. Some of my friends still get upset about the negative bile some people constantl;y spout about me on social media. I recognised long ago that much of this is simple jealousy of people with little in their lives to actually crow about. It is not worth letting people with negative agenda's drag you down. I had assumed that if you ignore such people, eventually they go away. The last few years have taught me that social media is not like that. Malicious people are often so entrenched in their negativity that it is their only reason to exist. Occasionally I will get a message with a screen shot from a well meaning friend saying "have you seen this?". Generally there is a rathe facile Fcebook post or Twitter message, clearly posted in the hope that it will make its way to me. Perhaps five years ago these may have bothered me, but these days I just snigger and carry on watching the football or the paint dry. The less of this negativity you have, the better you will feel and the better you feel, the strong your body's natural defences against disease will be. Don't let negativity drag you down.
My advice to you when you get enraged by something on social media is simple. Do not instantly respond. Listen to some uplifting music and chill. There is absolutely no reason why instant responses are required. When you are no longer angry, think whether it is actually worth responding and what might you achieve. The sad truth is that you cannot argue with stupid. For anonymous trolls in twitter, the decision should be easy, just block them. When it is family members and friends, it is harder. Think of the bigger picture. If someone is going off on one, just post a neutral and respectful response. Say something along the lines "With all respect, I fundamentally disagree with you, but I recognise that we are all entitled to our opinions. On this matter we may all be happier if we didn't share them here as my friends/family are important to me and I don't wish to fall out with them over this issue, as we will hopefully all be here in five years time when this isue will be a matter of history".
As I stated at the start of this blog, I am finding this crisis far easier to cope with than I would have expected, or than I would before. My journey has given me tools in the toolkit of life that are well suited to this situation. Reducing stress, managing anger and learning to relax is a really important skill set to have right now.
Tensions are inevitably raised at times in our household by the situation, we have three children in their early twenties at home, two of whom who would rather be travelling and one who is doing Uni exams. I have learned that when people upset me, it is often because they have their own demons to fight. Often when people are at there most difficult, it is because they are most in need of support. Kindness is a far better reaction than anger. Don't get me wrong, I fall down on this all of the time, but the secret is to learn that when you fall you get back up. Anger clouds our judgement, we should never make important decisions when we are angry. Loosing your rag and shouting things achieves nothing. Step away, calm down and try and be reasonable. It doesn't always work, but it works far better than the alternative, which generally results in rash decisions that you come to regret.
The bottom line is that the less negativity you have in your life, the better you will be able to cope with the challenges that face you and the easier it will be for those who love you to support you.
---- For those of you who are regular readers and have read the previous posts on Cancer, there's what this is all about. I write this blog because knowledge is power and if you know what you are dealing with, you have more weapons in the locker to fight it. It is a personal view, I'm not medically qualified. This is for the sole purpose of information for those who are interested.This is the latest installment in my occasional series about how I'm adjusting to living with a big C in my life. For those of you who aren't, here's a quick summary. I'm 54years old and in October 2011 I had a prostate biopsy following two "slightly high" PSA tests - 2.8 & 4.1. The biopsy took ten tissue samples and one of these showed a "low grade cancer" which gave me a 3+3 on the Gleason scale. I was put on a program of active monitoring. In early February, I got the results of the a PSA test - down to 3.5 and an MRI scan which found absolutely nothing, two more tests in 2012 were at 3.5 and 3.9, in 2013 my test was 4.0, Jan 2014 was 3.8, August 2014 was 4.0, February 2015 it was up to 5.5 and my latest in August 2015 was down again at 4.6. In October 2015 I had a transperinial Prostate biopsy, that revealed higher grade cancer and my Gleason score was raised to 3+4 (Small mass + more aggressive cancer). On 22nd Jan 2016 I had HIFU (Hi Intensity Focused Ultrasound) treatment at UCHL). My post procedure PSA in May was 4.0 which was down, followed by 3.7 in August, and 3.5 in October which means that the direction is positive . However in January the follow up MRI revealed "something unusual which requires investigation" After a follow up biopsy, it appeared this was nothing to worry about. My two most recent PSA tests were Ok (3.7 and 4.6) and an MRI scan in March was very positive. A PSA in October 2019 was 4.6, so stable and good news, the last in May 2020 was 5.45 a small rise, so worrying, however after a review against the most recent MRI, it was decided that this was fine. I've no symptoms apart from needing to wee quite regularly and sadly for a few people, if I'm gonna die soon, it won't be from Prostate cancer. Got the picture?
