Great British Heroes

On this day, in 1975, Graham Hill was killed in an air crash.

Graham Hill, 46, who had, ironically, just retired from motor racing in July, was killed instantly, along with the four other occupants in his Piper Aztec - all members of the Embassy Hill team. Hill was piloting the plane when he clipped a row of trees on Arkley golf course in Hertfordshire.

He is the only driver to have won the Triple Crown of the Indianapolis 500, the 24 hours of Le Mans and the Formula One World Championship. He won the world title with BRM in 1962 and again in 1968, with Lotus.

He also vies with Dick Dastardly for the title of best moustache in motor racing.
Hill's son, Damon, followed his father into Formula One racing and won the world championship in 1996.

Sporting Scenes, no. 16

The new team minibus left something to be desired.
PS I'm not blind. Some thinning of my retina, but he doesn't want to operate on it at the moment.

Sorry

I know I ought to write a post today, as otherwise folk will start wondering if I'm OK, but really I'm not in the mood.

I'm still run-down, of course, but today I'm a bit anxious about my visit to the hospital this afternoon. It was so painful last time. Also I can't really afford not to be able to see well at the moment - I've too much to do, and too many places to be before Christmas (last time it took nearly two months for my vision to return to normal).

But in case anyone thinks I'm doing too much while I'm still not well, I did have a 'phone call last night asking me if I'd speak at a meeting in ten days (the original speaker had double booked) and I declined the offer. This is not like me. I must be ill.

I'll put up an hilarious sporting picture tomorrow, to make up for the lack of a decent post today.

Ho ho.

I understand that Christmas cracker firm Swantex has dropped dozens of jokes, including mother-in-law gags, in favour of more ‘politically correct’ alternatives.

The company, Britain’s biggest manufacturer of crackers, said the overhaul was needed to make sure its humour was in keeping with “changing attitudes”.

Jokes on the way out:

What does a transvestite do for Christmas? Eat, drink and be Mary.

What lies quivering at the bottom of the ocean? A nervous wreck.

What does a mother-in-law call her broom? Basic transportation.

What is green and turns red at the touch of a button? A frog in a liquidiser.

Where can you find literature about Santa’s assistants? The elf-help section.

What do reindeer put on a Christmas tree? Horn-aments.

Jokes on the way in:

What lies in a pram and wobbles? A jelly baby.

What do angry mice send each other at Christmas? Cross-mouse cards.

What do you call a snowman in the summer? A puddle.

What sort of shoes do frogs wear in summer? Open-toad sandals.

Where do astronauts leave their cars? At parking meteors.

A Close-Run Thing.

I have cut my hair.

During the summer I found a quite acceptable barber, who cuts my hair (it's only a no. 1 over the entire head, leaving a short stubble) for £6.50 (I manage to slip into the conversation that I am retired, for clearly I look far too young to be a pensioner, and thus get charged pensioner rates).

However, this barber is 25 minutes drive away (very close to the place where I go bricklaying, as it happens) which is OK when I'm there on walling duties, but a bit inconvenient when the cut is all I want - particularly at the moment, while I have so little energy.

However my hair has been getting annoyingly long and unkempt, so yesterday I took my beard trimmer and razor, and set-to on my head.

I know this isn't very exciting, but there isn't very much else happening about which I can write at the moment.

Mind you, on Thursday I am expecting a young person to call round in time for a cup of Earl Grey.

And on Friday I have an appointment at the hospital. I just hope it won't be quite as painful as the last time I saw this surgeon. It might be though. It seems similar problems are developing in my right eye.

Grumpy Old Man

Having been forced to rest, I have caught a bit of daytime television (there are some quite good history programmes on Yesterday, and I've really enjoyed watching a vet build a kit car and an aeroplane on Quest).

However, the latest Dove advert makes me cross.

'See how soap dries itself out' it says (or something similar). 'Imagine what it does to your skin'.

'Soap doesn't dry itself out, you morons,' I feel like shouting at the tv, 'it's the air that is drying it out. If you left it in a pool of water it wouldn't dry up and crack. '

'What you should be saying is: see how the air dries this soap out - oh, and this puddle of mud - and look at that loaf of bread, not only dry, but now mold is forming on it. Imagine what air does to your skin. Quick - put your head in a bucket of water and cover your face in clingfilm.'

Three Old Horses*

All right. You keep telling me to rest.

So I won't write a blog post today.

Happy now?

Oops.

Since I saw the doctor on Tuesday, and got the diagnosis of viral hepatitis, I have gradually started to feel better. It's been four weeks now, so it's about time the virus started to burn out.

I've still been very tired, and not able to do much - but then rest is the only treatment, so I've just had to accept it.

However my painful sore throat has nearly cleared up, and the fevers have almost gone.

When I went in for my blood test on Friday I told the phlebotomist that I feel much better, and I'm sure the result of the test, when we get it next week, will show that.

I really should know better. By Friday evening I felt really rough again. I spent most of the night awake, helping my diet by throwing up.

Yesterday I felt very ill and delicate all day.

I shall rest again today (once I've popped over to Wymondham [which isn't pronounced like that, should you ever visit] to take this morning's service).

Fortunately I've had nothing critical to do in the last month, but if things carry on like this much longer I may not be sending out Christmas Cards this year.

Sporting Scenes, no. 15

Vicus studies the bowling statistics, wondering where it all went wrong.

Reverting to Type

In the early 80's I researched my family tree. Numerous trips to Somerset House (this was before the days of the internet) took me back to my Great-G-G-G-Grandfather, Thomas East (born approx 1820).

For several years I have been meaning to do more research, particularly as the internet opens up more doors, but couldn't find my original research papers (they'd become separated into different boxes during my various moves).

In the last few months I've traced some of them, and re-wrote the tree on a large sheet, but the final packet of papers, which included all the birth and marriage certificates I'd obtained, remained stubbornly hidden - until yesterday.

There's nothing terribly exciting in the tree - mostly I come from lines of labourers - but there are a few things which point to a family trait I may have picked up:

My Great-Grandfather, Arthur Hammond, was a cement packer.

My G-G-Grandfather, John East, was a brickmaker.

Another G-G-Grandfather, Alfred Walker, was a bricklayer.

Blues

When I'm better, I think a nice holiday, perhaps somewhere warm, would be a good idea after Christmas.

Not sure that my budget can stretch to a trip to Libyia, mind you.

Nor, at the moment, have I got anything like enough energy to even begin to think about organising such a trip, far less actually face going.

Still, perhaps the thought of it will cheer me up.

Black Death, not The Plague.

First things first, Christopher's back everyone!!

So, on Monday evening I got a 'phone call from the surgery, telling me that my GP would like to see me to discuss the results of the blood tests.

I saw him yesterday morning.

It's not Glandular Fever.

It is, though, the worst viral infection he has ever seen. It's just possible it's Viral Hepatitis (Hepatitis A, not B or C). It's certainly affected my liver - the count should be in the range 20-60; mine is currently 690.

I'm having more blood tests on Friday - if it's still up he'll be referring me to a specialist urgently.

In the meantime he's sure it is just a really nasty virus, and it will clear up of its own accord eventually.

Incidentally he mentioned that I looked so bad last week when I saw him, and having seen the result of the blood tests taken that day, he was surprised that I could actually get to the surgery on my own. I didn't tell him that I've still been taking services every Sunday.

Mind you, I will admit that I have felt a little bit poorly these last three weeks.

Warm Milk

Someone last week was criticising Mrs Thatcher for stealing the children's milk. It could have been almost any of the blogs I read, so I'm pointing no finger.
It brought back memories of Northcourt County Primary School in Gravesend. The thing is, you see, that I don't like the taste of raw milk. In the summer months, being forced to drink a bottle of warm milk (the crates were stored in the yard) - which sometimes had gone off - was pretty awful. Mine was usually poured away.

Winter was worse. If the crates were left outside, the milk froze. Our kindly teacher would bring our crate in, and put it next to the stove in the classroom. By break-time it was warm, lumpy and off.

That school was on a poor council estate (we didn't live there - in a reverse snobbery my parents sent me there because they thought it would do me good to mix with the little toughies who went there [Rog went to a much posher school]). It may be that there were pupils who needed that free milk.

I didn't. I spent my primary years wishing Mrs T would stop the stuff being forced on me.

Keep moving, there's nothing happening here.

Apart from major expeditions to the shops for bread and milk, I haven't been out of the house for three weeks.

Due to my total lack of energy, I've hardly done anything while I've been indoors.

That does mean that it's becoming harder and harder to find anything to blog about each day.

Oh well, that's today's post written, anyway.

Lycopersicon Esculentum

I've just brought in the last of my tomato crop from the greenhouse (they'd been sitting on a shelf in the sun, ripening).
This means I am now in a position to let you know the entire yield for the year (ignoring ones which I sent straight to the compost bin) for I have weighed each load as I brought them indoors.

From the eight plants (three different varieties) I grew this year, the total weight of the crop was:

1176 oz.

That's 73½ lb.

Or 5 stone, 3lb 8oz.

I suspect some of my readers weigh less than that (actually, given the weight I've lost in the last three weeks, what with loss of appetite, nausea and sickness, I'm getting pretty close too).

As you know, we only do imperial measurements here in Dave's World, but I expect that's something like 1 metric tonne.

I've just asked Mr Google, and he tells me that in the UK one can expect to produce 4½ to 6½lb per tomato plant. I've achieved over 9lb per plant.

Sporting Scenes, no.14

The BMCC annual end-of-season party went with a swing.

Excuses, Excuses.

UPDATE: Have now seen my GP. He no longer thinks it's a throat infection, as the penicillin would have wiped that out by now. Apart from a very sore throat, I have raised glands in the neck, and he now believes it to be a virus. I'm going back for blood tests in half an hour.

Despite being a little older than usual, he suspects it may be glandular fever. Can't think how I caught it.

After Flanders and Swann

'Twas on a Monday morning the vandals came to call.
They shot at my head and then at my *bottom*
But all they managed to do was to break a pane of glass
So I had to call my landlord to get the window fixed.

Oh, it all makes work for the working man to do.

'Twas on a Tuesday morning my garage door broke down
I muttered and I fumed and I pulled a nasty face
But then I remembered that I don't own the place
So I had to call my landlord to get the doors fixed.

Oh, it all makes work for the working man to do.

'Twas on a Wednesday morning the repair-man came to call.
He couldn't do the job as he hadn't got the parts
But he measured the window and said he'd get the glass
And also order everything he'd need to fix the garage door.

Oh, it all makes work for the working man to do.

'Twas on a Thursday morning another repair-man came to call.
He hadn't come to do the the job as he hadn't got the parts
But he measured the window and said he'd get the glass
And also order everything he'd need to fix the garage door.

Oh, it all makes work for the working man to do.

'Twas on a Friday morning another van turned up,
With two lively lads 'we'll fix your garage door'
They set to with hammers, drills and a saw,
And when they'd finished, the thing was better than before.

Oh, it all makes work for the working man to do.

On Saturday and Sunday they do no work at all;
So 'twas on a Monday morning that the glazier came to call...

Deja Vu

I said on Monday that the repairers were coming back to complete the repairs, just over two weeks after having been to measure up and order the parts.

They came yesterday morning.

'Hello,' they said, 'we're here to measure up and order the parts.'

'But you came to do that two weeks ago' I said.

They denied all knowledge of the previous visit. So they measured up (again) and left to order the new window and door unit, which, they said, would take about two weeks to arrive.

Five hours later another van turned up.

'Hello,' they said, 'we're here to repair your garage door.'

I left them to it.

Coping.

I think this is the worst illness I've ever had.

Of course I've had things that have been more painful (eg kidney stones) but the pain then is only severe for two or three days.

I've had illnesses that have laid me low (pneumonia in the early 1990's) but not for such a long time.

Nothing has left me feeling so bad, for so long.

It's been two weeks now. I took my last penicillin tablets thirty minutes ago. I'm not entirely convinced that I'm cured though. If the fevers still continue during the day, I'll ask for an appointment with my GP.

A few weeks ago I'd seriously been thinking (again) about getting a dog (there was a lab cross adverised in our local pet shop 'free to a good home') and very nearly did so. I'm so glad now that I didn't. How I would have coped with looking after it, far less taking it for walks, is beyond me.

DIY is Quicker

Regular readers, with reasonable memories, may recall that I mentioned, back in April, that my window was broken.

And then in July that my garage door also needed repair.

Not having access to my garage has been most inconvenient, as I can't get the gravel I want to finish my garden paths (as it will have to be transported through the garage to reach the garden) and I've had to keep my bike indoors, too.

As you may imagine, I have been (politely) pressing my landlord to get these jobs completed.

Imagine my delight, then, to be told that they had received an estimate for the repairs from a contractor, and that the work had been authorised. I was a little surprised, as no-one had been round to measure up the window, or inspect the work needed in the garage - but I wondered if that had been done, perhaps, on a day I had been out.

The workman arrived to do the jobs just over two weeks ago.

Except he discovered he didn't have the replacement window, because no-one had measured it. Nor did he have the parts needed to repair the garage door.

He ordered them, and said he'd be back in a week.

I've now been told they're coming to do the work tomorrow.

I'm not holding my breath.

Duty

I'm still not very well, but regular readers will realise that I hate letting people down, so I'm off to take my service this morning.

It is, after all, Remembrance Sunday, always an emotional day for me, and I'd feel really pathetic saying I can't stand up for an hour to lead a service remembering the deaths of millions, because of a trifling infection.

Sporting Scenes, no. 13

Richard, Phil and Vicus had to hurry to get to the match in time.

Apologies

Sorry about yesterday. The penicillin does seem to be slowly clearing up the infection, but I still haven't had a decent night's sleep for two weeks, so wake up feeling tired, and find it an effort to get going. Even the Lucozade that Z kindly brought me doesn't seem to be quite enough to get me bounding around like a young bounder.

Yesterday the side-effects of the exhaustion and the penicillin were making me nauseous, dizzy and not that keen on staring at computer screens. I did log on and start to read blogs, but had to give up.

Anyway, tomorrow's Saturday, so the post's already written, so you won't have to worry about me then.

And by way of compensation, another article from the EDP. It relates to work to be carried out extending the railway line at Sheringham (where I used to work). You will see that fundraising has been going on frantically, and the required sum - and more - has now been raised.

The pot, though, 'will be kept open in the hope of creating a buffer for the project'. Always useful to have a buffer on your railway.

Well, Well

Well, that's a bit annoying.

The advice with flu is, basically, to keep away from your GP. Get Tamiflu if you're struck down suddenly, but otherwise take paracetamol and liquids and rest.

So that's exactly what I've been doing.

NHS Direct told me, however, that once the fever has lasted for 7 days, I should contact my GP. So yesterday, 8 days after this started, I saw him.

I don't have flu.

I've got something else. I won't embarrass anyone by going into all the details, but suffice it to say he's given me penicillin, and that should clear it up.

So that's OK then. Except if it weren't for all the hassle about 'flu, I could have seen my GP a week ago, and I wouldn't have had to suffer all that I've had.

And you wouldn't have had to put up with all my whingeing.

Tsk.

I've had a little time on my hand the last few days, so have been reading everything on which I can get my hands.

The EDP, East Angular's daily paper, is always good for a laugh for the typos on its website, but I found this article fascinating.

For those who can't be bothered to follow the link, apparently the war memorial in Norwich is being refurbished. It was known that a copper box, containing the names of those who died in the First World War had been placed below the memorial, but when 'workmen lifted the eight- tonne top stone and peered inside the memorial, which was placed there in 1938, they also uncovered a mysterious second box... which it is believed might contain the names of people killed in the second world war.'

I know there are some who believe Norfolk is a little backward, but how far-thinking can you be, burying a box containing the list of Second World War dead the year before the war began?

The article continues to report on the 'revamp of the Memorial Gardens, which is costing £2.6m and is expected to last 100 years'. Slow and steady, eh?

Not Man 'Flu.

I must apologize for having gone on about my illness for the last few days. You'd think I was one of those blokes who gets a mild cold and turns it into manflu.

This, though, has been a really nasty little bug. The last time I had 'flu was in the 1990's (I remember sleeping on the settee, to avoid giving it to the family - and the hot lemon 'flu sachets I've got had a best before date of 2000).

I haven't taken my temperature, but have obviously been running a fever - I woke up one night to find all the bedding soaked, and am getting really hot spells every hour or so - and then half an hour or so later I'm shivering uncontrollably.

I suspect my underlying medical conditions, along with being run-down, are what have made this so bad.

Still, I think things are slowly getting better. I'll try not to bore you with it any more.

Day 6.

It's on my chest now - asthma has flared up badly.

Oh, and I started throwing up last night. Still, look on the bright side, it must help the diet.

Sporting Scenes, no. 12.

ILTV still hasn't quite managed the art of overarm bowling.

Day Four

Not Dying, Just Poorly

I feel rough.

Yesterday morning I thought the night I'd spent mostly awake, dizzy and shivering, was as a result of the fairly mild diet I'd started the day before, for I do need to lose some weight.
However, with aching joints to add to those symptoms yesterday, and another night with little sleep, despite eating normally, I've concluded that the diet was a coincidence, and that actually I'm not well.

It may be 'flu, or the start of zombieism, who knows?

Anyway, I don't feel well.

Sadly this means I'm going to let other people down - something I hate. No bricklaying today.