Friday 30 April 2010

Plus ca change...


"...and when he got in his car, he called her a BIGOT!" The woman's face was incredulous.
"No," her friend replied, ""he said she wor BIGOTED."
"Same difference i'ntit? Whatever. He shouldn't have said it."
The bus changed gear to turn left into Pankhurst Street. There was a squeal from the little girl across the aisle - her mother gripping her arm just a little too tightly as the bus swung round. I caught her eye and flinched at the pain I saw; the stoicism in that little face was far too practised for someone so young.
"SHURRup, Emily, or you'll not be getting any tea," the woman said roughly.

A protest rose to my lips but died instantly as her mother glared defiantly at me with an air of savage challenge. The two friends behind me were still talking politics.
"Did you see the debate last night?"
"No - I'm not interested. They're all liars. They don't care what happens to the country as long as they can line their pockets at the tax-payers' expense. I don't vote for ANY bugger, I don't."
"What - yer never vote?"
"No I bloody don't, Jackie. Why should I waste five minutes of me life when nothing's ever going to change?"

There was another squeal from the little girl. I glanced across, avoiding her mother's gaze, and our eyes briefly met again. Her face was contorted into an expression of mute distress. Was I imagining it, or was that a fading bruise on her cheek?

"But I always think we SHOULD vote, Sandra - I mean... women DIED so we could vote. I teck it very seriously, I do."
"Bully fer you! I just don't trust ANY of 'em. Look at what THIS lot have done. Bled the country dry! Taxes, VAT, benefits cuts... do they think we're bloody stupid, or summat?"

"Emily! STOP it, yer little sod." The words were harsh. I couldn't see what the little girl was supposed to have done, but her misery was tangible. I squirmed in my seat, cold fingers of unease gripping my chest, but unwilling to speak in case I made things worse. And anyway, what could I possibly say? I felt powerless to extricate this little girl from the grip of a malevolent authority.

The bus reached the end of Pankhurst Street and pulled into the terminus. The remaining passengers stood up and slowly filed to the door. Emily and her mother were just ahead of me; the woman pushed her impatiently towards the exit and the child tripped and fell heavily onto the pavement. It must have really hurt - blood was seeping from her knees - but she made no sound, even when she got a clip round the ear 'for being bloody clumsy'.

Sandra and Jackie were still arguing about whether it was worth voting. My eyes were still on the sad little figure going home to God-knew-what.
"The point is, Jackie, nothing's ever going ter change."

I was afraid she was right.

Wednesday 28 April 2010

The woman with the drip on her nose.


I still can't drive after my surgery. So when I had to go to town to post off my novel to an agent, I caught the bus.

I've always loved buses. When I was tiny my Mum and I sometimes used to take the bus on a Friday to see a friend of hers. It was a trolley bus - and all these years later, I still remember the excited hum as we rattled along the roads.

When we lived in France I usually drove, but sometimes I would take the bus to Antibes, marvelling at the scenery as it wound through the beautiful little villages on its way to the coast.

Yesterday I spent the obligatory half hour in the Post Office, felt an excited little skip of my heart as my precious parcel disappeared behind the counter, had a delicious lunch in the Veggie cafe, and set off for home.

There were a lot of people waiting at the stop. I was glad that I had remembered to get there before rush hour. To our dismay, a totally empty bus pulled in and left again without picking any passengers up. I witnessed a heartening little exchange between a middle-aged woman at the stop and a young couple who walked past, which went something like this:
Young man: "Ey! Sithee our mother! Yer reet?"
Woman: (grinning) "Aye! Ah wor reet an' all before you showed up, yer bugger!"

I love Derbyshire!

Eventually another bus arrived and we piled in - and by now it was a crush of people pushing rather anxiously to get home and start their evening. An old lady sat next to me. She had a distant, vague expression on her face so I didn't intrude by speaking to her, as I very often do. (Random conversations with strangers are one of my great joys in life). I noticed her beautifully-coiffed hair - almost remarked on it (I like to give compliments) but thought better of it as she looked frail and I didn't want to frighten her by forcing well-intentioned conversation on her.

The bus pulled away and as we drove along the passengers were still trying to settle, gently swarming up and down like bees on a hive. I glanced at the woman next to me and saw that she had a drip on the end of her nose - a drip as perfectly formed as a crystal ball. Part of me was disgusted (I have had an 'issue' with nasal discharge since my first day at school - the only thing I remember was Alan Wilcox's nose running into his milk as he drank it), and part of me was fascinated. I could see another woman passenger glancing surreptitiously from time to time; we were both, I'm sure, waiting for the moment when the drip would fall from her nose and land on her hand. It occurred to me that she might sneeze it off, as my cat sometimes does, and that she might well be facing in my direction when that happened. I edged towards the window.

Now I heard a humming sound. I don't know whether it was the old lady or a phone somewhere behind us, but in my mind she began to take on a more sinister persona, the Mad SnotWoman of Chesterfield, who sits on buses waiting - just waiting - for the drip on her nose to be fully ripe before breaking into loud singing, jumping to her feet and shaking her head, spattering liquid bogeys to the winds.

I could feel that my whole body had tensed up. Did she know about the drip, I wondered, which was still hanging, defying gravity, larger by the second and yet tenaciously clinging to the end of that ancient nose. Could she perhaps not FEEL it? I felt helpless - it isn't done to wipe a stranger's nose, after all... and then - she was only a mad old woman, probably she didn't mind...

My fellow passenger was watching more openly now, as amazed as I was that still the drip was growing larger. I suddenly felt as though I was in some black and white short, as though we were in some Brechtian silent movie.

And then...

...she patted her pocket furtively. And fruitlessly. This changed everything.

She knew. She was no longer some batty old woman with no awareness of her bodily functions. In my mind she shrank back from sinister ogre to elderly, probably lonely, woman who knew that her last shred of dignity would disappear with the drip.

What am I thinking??? Suddenly I felt ashamed for giving those thoughts headspace. I had been thinking how she reminded me of my mother, that vague, unseeing face... and how Mum once escaped from her care home and went on an impromptu (and unpaid-for) bus ride to a town about ten miles away.

There was a brief window, a moment when I could intervene before she forgot what she had been looking for, and I seized it.

Fumbling in my bag, I found a tissue - I'd used it to catch a hay fever sneeze, but on balance I knew I would rather have had that than the miraculous Drip. I spoke to her for the first time.
"Would you like a tissue?"
She started, suddenly focusing on me with eyes which seemed perfectly sane. I repeated my offer.
"Oh! Thank you! Thank you so much..!" She was all smiles and relief, and attacked the drip with relish, folding the tissue again and again over her humiliation. I murmured how annoying, how you never have a tissue that one time you need one... she gladly agreed.

And then we talked. We spoke of politics, the weather, foreign places we had both visited... This was an educated woman, my neighbour on the bus.

She got off before me. I saw her shoes for the first time. They were faux-crocodile, in shimmering, metallic pastel shades which exactly matched the colours running through her skirt. This was a woman with style. A woman who cared about her image. A woman whom I had left to sit with a drip on her nose because I thought she didn't care.

Friday 23 April 2010

Big Fish!


I just wanted to share this picture - it was one of the strangest sights I've ever seen. I don't think the Canada Goose was too keen... and there was only ONE duckling on the entire, huge lake... :(

Tuesday 13 April 2010

Leg ahoy!


Well - I'm back home after the surgery - I went in at 7.30 yesterday and my sister collected me at 3.30 (she came at 2.15 but I was very dizzy after some codeine so they kept me in for a bit longer).

I was supposed to be second on the list but as they suspected a latex allergy when they screened me last week, and the bloods hadn't come back, I was bumped up to first. I had been pretty nervous the night before but knew I'd be fine once I got there. My blood pressure was very high - not surprisingly - but the nurse reassured me I'd be fine later. I quite enjoyed the ride down to theatre - the staff were all so kind and chatty. I was wheeled into theatre at 9 on the dot, and the anaesthetist made me laugh by asking me something about golf... I talked right till I went to sleep; the last thing I said was, "I'm closing my eyes now, I'm off - hope he finds the bone!"

And then I woke up.

Although I didn't have my glasses on, the clocks were so big that I could see it was 10.10 and immediately realised I hadn't been gone too long. Apparently I was in theatre for 33 minutes (very precise!) and I knew it must have gone well to be so quick.

My nurse in Recovery had a name badge which said, "Michael Bond' and I said, "Did you write Paddington?" He smiled and said, "Yes! Not many people realise that! Most people think I'm James' brother!" O what wit and banter straight after an anaesthetic! My mouth was really really dry, and he kept bringing me little sticks to suck - I must have got through about fifteen of them, and I couldn't stop shaking. I've seen my daughter go through this which was a good thing cos I remembered that it does stop eventually! My head was remarkably clear in fact. I started crying and I asked for a tissue and said, "I know it's only the anaesthetic, but I feel really emotional!!"

When I went back to the ward, I had lots of iced water - my mouth was still terribly dry. Finally I was allowed tea, and as I drank it I thought, "oooh that's better!" but as soon as I drained the mug, my mouth was dry again. I must have had about seven mugs of tea, and they brought toast - the first bite I took was delicious for about a millisecond, and then it stuck to my palate and I couldn't budge it!

Still - they kept bringing the tea, and I even got onto Rich Tea biscuits, which were very welcome! My blood pressure was back down to normal, thank goodness.

I didn't see the surgeon but he'd left notes. Apparently he hasn't done anything to the bone - he'd written: BONE HEALED - but he has done something to the cartilage. So there must have been a tear the scan missed, I guess. I'll know when I see him in a few weeks - aparently he took photos so I hope it's interesting! Anyway I am off crutches - took them back to the other hospital today - and I can climb the stairs without groaning. I'm still on painkillers as you are advised to keep on top of the pain, but it's nothing like it was. I have lots of exercises to do and BOTH my knees click, which makes me a little nervous, but mobility is the main thing for now, so I shall keep at it! Tomorrow the nurse omces to re-dress the wound, and I'll get to see my leg (which the surgeon carefully labelled: LEFT LEG - SCOPE) in black ink, and painted with iodine during the op, so it's a bit of a sight...

So far, so good! :)

Oh! - and I DON'T have a latex allergy. Which is good news. Glad I got bumped up the list though...

The women either side of me were being questioned on admission, as you are, and it made me sad to hear that one of them had emphysema, asthma and angine - the other had asthma and a chronic cough... and they both smoked 15 - 20 a day.

WHY?? :(

Thursday 8 April 2010

And so it goes on...


Hi again, sorry for the lack of posts; this is partly due to sheer exhaustion but also due to the fact that some of the major developments in my life aren't for public consumption (yet).

Anyway - I have been back at work for a few weeks - on Easter holidays at the moment - and next Monday (12th April) I have an operation to try to sort out the knee. I saw the specialist last week and he was really lovely - explained that they are trying to locate a missing bit of bone surface which sort of flaked off, taking the protective cartilage with it, which is why there's been so much pain... Either they will find it and 'tack it back on' or they won't, and will debride (smooth off) the bone and I think fill it with something, not quite sure what he said...

So next Monday my dear friend Doris will take me to hospital bright and early, and my dear sister Pam will come and collect me mid-afternoon and take me home again. And depending on what they've done, I'll be off work again for between two and eight weeks. My boss very kindly offered to send me out in a taxi but unless there was also a sherpa to carry my bags I'm not quite sure how much use that would be!

I've really enjoyed my time alone in the house - even more now I'm back at work. There definitely is a touch of the hermit in me... I have recently bought a limited edition pack of the Gaian Tarot by Joanna Powell-Colbert, and I can't say how beautiful it is. I've never read cards before but it's funny - the first time I tried, it felt as though I was playing a piece I knew really well on the piano. These are particularly beautiful cards (the old ones always made me feel as though someone was drying my soul out, somehow, so I never liked them). I am going to study and hopefully will be able to do readings for other people at some stage.

I miss my daughters a lot from time to time, but I am so proud of them - so proud I could burst, really. What a privilege to have raised such wonderful young women. I really feel as though I've done my bit to make the world a better place!

And it's Spring! Sunshine! Light nights!! :D

So - in a good place really! I hope you are too...