Dad has been made vice-president of the indoor bowls club at Woodbury. He can't stand bowls, and likes committees even less, but somehow (laughably) he managed to get roped in. He said there was no-one else left to take the position, and all eyes were suddenly on him. That an indoor bowls club with maybe a dozen members should even have a committee and that some of its members take it very seriously is in itself laughable.
My boss got the bottom grade in our annual assessment. That grade is supposed to be reserved for the bottom fifth of managers, but if 80% of the company's managers are better than him I'd be surprised. I imagine he's assessed under different criteria to the ones I would use (as long as he's personable and doesn't leave me in the dark, that's fine by me). We sit at adjacent desks, we're close in age (he's just a few months older than me) and even though our similarities pretty much end there, my boss and I get on well. He's a typical lad I suppose. He gets drunk a lot, despite being married with two daughters under four (getting hammered regularly after the age of thirty is another item on my don't-get-it list: yes I got drunk a few times when I was younger, but the price I paid the next day was never worth it, and the novelty quickly wore off). He likes cars, gadgets and labels. He talks to (argues with?) his wife a lot on the phone: I often hear him getting defensive.
Nick Hornby's How To Be Good continues to be excellent. How is such clever writing humanly possible? It all feels so effortless. All the UK pop culture references, such as S Club 7 and a short-lived digital TV channel, mean I can pinpoint accurately when it was written (1999-2000).
Kimiko Date has won through to round three in Melbourne, as has Laura Robson (a pom who was born in Melbourne) after her bruising three-set match last night. If they both win their next matches they'll play each other. There's an age gap of 23 years between them; that would surely be some kind of record in a grand slam.
The depression group have got an outing to Days Bay on Sunday. I'll be going. It's a long weekend here by the way.
It's a year tomorrow since my grandmother died. I miss her a lot.
Showing posts with label Gran. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gran. Show all posts
Saturday, January 19, 2013
Monday, June 4, 2012
Arise Sir JK
I haven't posted for a while due to a distinct lack of news. I've just been chugging along without really knowing where I'm going. On 1st June I reduced my Efexor once more; in the absence of any 37.5 mg pills I've decided to take 150 and 225 on alternate days, meaning I effectively take half the maximum dose I was on earlier in the year.
My grandmother was given a good send-off in the mid-Wales town of Rhayader in which she grew up. A large contingent of family was there. Dad gave a very good speech by all accounts, as I imagine he would in a situation like that. He doesn't like talking in front of people, but in a way that gives a speech from him an extra (such as the one I remember him giving at his father's funeral in 1999). They had good weather - the decision to postpone the service from January worked out well. It's a shame I wasn't able to be there.
On Saturday I helped with Autism NZ's annual collection, standing outside New World for two hours. With the National government cutting funding, they need the money more than ever. I thought I'd feel embarrassed standing there but actually I didn't mind it one bit. The most anyone gave in my stint was $10; a few gave $5. I think if a $5 coin was introduced (probably bimetallic like the £2, €2 and a few others), you would see more people giving larger donations - there's a psychological barrier to giving a note.
This afternoon the six-foot-five bloke came round for a game of squash at the court in my apartment block. Well it wasn't exactly a game. I don't think he'd ever played before. We then had a game of bowling in town, followed by a game of pool. For some reason I felt uncomfortable all afternoon. He's quite into his poker and has played a fair bit live (I've never played live); he suggested we play in a $10 buy-in tournament at the Four Kings on Wednesday.
The Queen's Birthday honours came out today. I missed out again. John Kirwan was knighted, and rightly so for all his work with depression in New Zealand. Last weekend my cousin's husband (who I know has been having a tough time at work of late) borrowed my copy of JK's book, although he didn't say why. I still have one or two misgivings about that book, which on the whole was very positive. He had lots of people around him, plenty of money, and his All Black exploits to fall back on. A lot of sufferers of depression have no such luxuries.
On Wednesday I met up with Brendan for lunch - he was in Wellington for a couple of days. He had just officially changed his name for the second time.
Last week's news centred on the tragic story of the three New Zealand triplets who died in the Qatar mall fire, along with ten other children and six adults.
I've signed up for a tramp at the weekend. I hope it's not quite as arduous as the one I did in April.
My grandmother was given a good send-off in the mid-Wales town of Rhayader in which she grew up. A large contingent of family was there. Dad gave a very good speech by all accounts, as I imagine he would in a situation like that. He doesn't like talking in front of people, but in a way that gives a speech from him an extra (such as the one I remember him giving at his father's funeral in 1999). They had good weather - the decision to postpone the service from January worked out well. It's a shame I wasn't able to be there.
On Saturday I helped with Autism NZ's annual collection, standing outside New World for two hours. With the National government cutting funding, they need the money more than ever. I thought I'd feel embarrassed standing there but actually I didn't mind it one bit. The most anyone gave in my stint was $10; a few gave $5. I think if a $5 coin was introduced (probably bimetallic like the £2, €2 and a few others), you would see more people giving larger donations - there's a psychological barrier to giving a note.
This afternoon the six-foot-five bloke came round for a game of squash at the court in my apartment block. Well it wasn't exactly a game. I don't think he'd ever played before. We then had a game of bowling in town, followed by a game of pool. For some reason I felt uncomfortable all afternoon. He's quite into his poker and has played a fair bit live (I've never played live); he suggested we play in a $10 buy-in tournament at the Four Kings on Wednesday.
The Queen's Birthday honours came out today. I missed out again. John Kirwan was knighted, and rightly so for all his work with depression in New Zealand. Last weekend my cousin's husband (who I know has been having a tough time at work of late) borrowed my copy of JK's book, although he didn't say why. I still have one or two misgivings about that book, which on the whole was very positive. He had lots of people around him, plenty of money, and his All Black exploits to fall back on. A lot of sufferers of depression have no such luxuries.
On Wednesday I met up with Brendan for lunch - he was in Wellington for a couple of days. He had just officially changed his name for the second time.
Last week's news centred on the tragic story of the three New Zealand triplets who died in the Qatar mall fire, along with ten other children and six adults.
I've signed up for a tramp at the weekend. I hope it's not quite as arduous as the one I did in April.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
The news desk
My parents are now in the UK having spent two nights in Hong Kong. I got an email from Dad this morning - he'd sent it from the library in St Ives using a keyboard whose space bar didn't work properly so a lot of the words were merged together. Maybe it was a German keyboard. They'll be going to Wales soon for my grandmother's farewell, to coincide with what would have been her 90th birthday. Then they'll be spending two weeks in Turkey.
I forgot to mention that while my parents were here recently, an old oak writing desk (that used to reside in Gran's house) was delivered to my flat. I guess you'd call it a bureau. It originally belonged to my great-grandfather (my dad's dad's dad) - he was given it in 1929 as a leaving present from his work. Stuck to the inside is a list of names and addresses; there's even a three-digit phone number (287).
A sizeable earthquake hit northern Italy early this week, causing some loss of life and considerable loss of history.
I went to the depression group tonight at the noodle bar. It went reasonably well.
I forgot to mention that while my parents were here recently, an old oak writing desk (that used to reside in Gran's house) was delivered to my flat. I guess you'd call it a bureau. It originally belonged to my great-grandfather (my dad's dad's dad) - he was given it in 1929 as a leaving present from his work. Stuck to the inside is a list of names and addresses; there's even a three-digit phone number (287).
A sizeable earthquake hit northern Italy early this week, causing some loss of life and considerable loss of history.
I went to the depression group tonight at the noodle bar. It went reasonably well.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Quick update from the UK
They took the unusual (?) decision not to have a funeral for my grandma. Getting everybody together at short notice wouldn't have been easy I suppose. Being the middle of winter didn't help either. Instead she'll have a memorial service in May, when Mum and Dad will be over there.
There was considerable panic (mostly from my aunt) over the will: finding it the first place and then what was in it when they found it. It's amazing how much animosity wills can cause in families.
There was considerable panic (mostly from my aunt) over the will: finding it the first place and then what was in it when they found it. It's amazing how much animosity wills can cause in families.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Nonna
In 2008 Gran published a book which covered her long, interesting and varied life, concentrating mainly on her childhood which was spent in Wales. She wrote very well I must say, even if the motivation to write eluded her at times. I took my copy of the book up to Auckland with me – I thought some of my friends might find it interesting, especially the photos.
My grandfather was a Squadron Leader in the RAF. In the sixties they were based in Naples, which sounds like a crazy but beautiful place, if that makes any sense. My grandma liked to be known as Nonna, the Italian word for grandmother; that’s what we called her most of the time. I was taken by surprise, therefore, when I saw this shop a couple of minutes’ walk from the motel I stayed in:
What, if anything, the shop is selling I really haven’t a clue, but it’s full of old guitars, amps and Radiohead memorabilia. Not a granny to be seen. The umlaut is a bit of a mystery too.
I’d planned to make a (bad) joke about her becoming a Nonna-genarian at her next birthday but alas she died four months too soon. I’ll miss her a lot. She was very good to me as a boy: she (embarrassingly) favoured me over her other two grandsons.
In 2000 I flew with her to Cairns to visit my parents (Mum did a year’s teaching exchange over there). We spent a week in Penang on the way over there. Later that year she visited me in Lyon and almost died on the flight. Her heart had stopped beating for an extended period although she didn’t know that at the time. I vividly remember her being wheeled out, well after all the other passengers had gone through, looking almost unrecognisable from the Nonna I knew. She seemed to perk up though, so I took her around Lyon’s attractions, oblivious to how ill she was. In the summer of 2001, when she realised what was up (after one or two more episodes), she got a pacemaker fitted. The four-hour-plus operation was not without a hitch – afterwards she said it would have been nice to have “sailed away” then, as she put it, but she still had six or seven good years left in her. She visited New Zealand for the third time in 2005, having come here in ’89 (with my grandfather, while we lived out here) and ’98 (with Dad). In ’06 I made a trip to the UK; she and I spent a week in Paris. In ’08 I made another trip to England and went on a short holiday to Italy with a university friend; in those four days Nonna had slipped a lot – she must have had a stroke while I was away. A week earlier she was hooning around town in her Nissan Micra (well, not exactly: she went at about the same speed as farmers go in their tractors, but at least she was driving) and now she was trying to make phone calls using a TV remote or a calculator. Knowing the importance of one’s independence I tried to convince her to get back in the driving seat – she went 100 metres down the road and that was the last time she ever drove. She did bounce back but was never quite the same. I’m so glad I managed to see her in 2010 – although she’d slipped a long way, she was still her at that stage.
I’ve been staying at a hotel on Great South Road, close to Remuera train station and only a few doors down from the offices of Lifeline, which I unfortunately pulled the plug on half-way through the training programme.
Richard and I met up in Newmarket on Saturday before attending the Asperger’s group at their first meeting at the new location. Unlike the old place it doesn’t have an outdoor area, which is a shame, but its acoustics are much more suitable. About 25 turned up – I’d almost forgotten how positive an experience those monthly meetings were for me. It was really good to see Chris in a more positive frame of mind – 2011 was something of an annus horribilis for him I think. I felt a certain sense of shame as I made less than positive noises about my work when others in the room would have given their right arm for any kind of job.
On Sunday I took the train to Papakura to see Bazza. He’d obviously been busy cleaning – his flat had a strong smell of disinfectant. He hasn’t done a bad job with his place really and for somebody who doesn’t drive he’s got everything close at hand. He doesn’t have a lot of mod cons but he’s got Sky, so we watched some of the Aussie Open which, unlike in past years, I haven’t been following closely. He has a habit of talking incessantly during the game, and calling balls out that are in (which he also did in matches involving him!). His pronunciations of players’ names and nationalities can be amusing at times. For instance I never knew that Djokovic came from Suburbia. I’m glad I caught the match between Na Li and Kim Clijsters – a repeat of last year’s final – in which Clijsters dodged four bullets to come from 6-2 down in the second-set tie-break, sneaking through in the end as the Chinese launched a fightback of her own in the deciding set.
On Monday I met Mandy, my old work colleague, in Takapuna. Unlike me she’s making big positive strides in her job and is even dating one of her high-flying workmates. We had pizza at Mac’s bar – or whatever it’s called – on the main drag.
Today I’ve been catching up with Richard, who showed me his wonderful drawing of Emma, and I’m now sitting peacefully in Cornwall Park – one of the best bits of Auckland I think – writing this on my laptop. My flight goes at seven. It’s back to work tomorrow and who knows what’s in store for me there.
My grandfather was a Squadron Leader in the RAF. In the sixties they were based in Naples, which sounds like a crazy but beautiful place, if that makes any sense. My grandma liked to be known as Nonna, the Italian word for grandmother; that’s what we called her most of the time. I was taken by surprise, therefore, when I saw this shop a couple of minutes’ walk from the motel I stayed in:
What, if anything, the shop is selling I really haven’t a clue, but it’s full of old guitars, amps and Radiohead memorabilia. Not a granny to be seen. The umlaut is a bit of a mystery too.
I’d planned to make a (bad) joke about her becoming a Nonna-genarian at her next birthday but alas she died four months too soon. I’ll miss her a lot. She was very good to me as a boy: she (embarrassingly) favoured me over her other two grandsons.
In 2000 I flew with her to Cairns to visit my parents (Mum did a year’s teaching exchange over there). We spent a week in Penang on the way over there. Later that year she visited me in Lyon and almost died on the flight. Her heart had stopped beating for an extended period although she didn’t know that at the time. I vividly remember her being wheeled out, well after all the other passengers had gone through, looking almost unrecognisable from the Nonna I knew. She seemed to perk up though, so I took her around Lyon’s attractions, oblivious to how ill she was. In the summer of 2001, when she realised what was up (after one or two more episodes), she got a pacemaker fitted. The four-hour-plus operation was not without a hitch – afterwards she said it would have been nice to have “sailed away” then, as she put it, but she still had six or seven good years left in her. She visited New Zealand for the third time in 2005, having come here in ’89 (with my grandfather, while we lived out here) and ’98 (with Dad). In ’06 I made a trip to the UK; she and I spent a week in Paris. In ’08 I made another trip to England and went on a short holiday to Italy with a university friend; in those four days Nonna had slipped a lot – she must have had a stroke while I was away. A week earlier she was hooning around town in her Nissan Micra (well, not exactly: she went at about the same speed as farmers go in their tractors, but at least she was driving) and now she was trying to make phone calls using a TV remote or a calculator. Knowing the importance of one’s independence I tried to convince her to get back in the driving seat – she went 100 metres down the road and that was the last time she ever drove. She did bounce back but was never quite the same. I’m so glad I managed to see her in 2010 – although she’d slipped a long way, she was still her at that stage.
I’ve been staying at a hotel on Great South Road, close to Remuera train station and only a few doors down from the offices of Lifeline, which I unfortunately pulled the plug on half-way through the training programme.
Richard and I met up in Newmarket on Saturday before attending the Asperger’s group at their first meeting at the new location. Unlike the old place it doesn’t have an outdoor area, which is a shame, but its acoustics are much more suitable. About 25 turned up – I’d almost forgotten how positive an experience those monthly meetings were for me. It was really good to see Chris in a more positive frame of mind – 2011 was something of an annus horribilis for him I think. I felt a certain sense of shame as I made less than positive noises about my work when others in the room would have given their right arm for any kind of job.
On Sunday I took the train to Papakura to see Bazza. He’d obviously been busy cleaning – his flat had a strong smell of disinfectant. He hasn’t done a bad job with his place really and for somebody who doesn’t drive he’s got everything close at hand. He doesn’t have a lot of mod cons but he’s got Sky, so we watched some of the Aussie Open which, unlike in past years, I haven’t been following closely. He has a habit of talking incessantly during the game, and calling balls out that are in (which he also did in matches involving him!). His pronunciations of players’ names and nationalities can be amusing at times. For instance I never knew that Djokovic came from Suburbia. I’m glad I caught the match between Na Li and Kim Clijsters – a repeat of last year’s final – in which Clijsters dodged four bullets to come from 6-2 down in the second-set tie-break, sneaking through in the end as the Chinese launched a fightback of her own in the deciding set.
On Monday I met Mandy, my old work colleague, in Takapuna. Unlike me she’s making big positive strides in her job and is even dating one of her high-flying workmates. We had pizza at Mac’s bar – or whatever it’s called – on the main drag.
Today I’ve been catching up with Richard, who showed me his wonderful drawing of Emma, and I’m now sitting peacefully in Cornwall Park – one of the best bits of Auckland I think – writing this on my laptop. My flight goes at seven. It’s back to work tomorrow and who knows what’s in store for me there.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
She's gone
Dad just rang me. Gran passed away a few hours ago. She was 89.
There was no quality of life any more, so this is for the best, but it's still quite a shock.
I'm flying to Auckland tomorrow evening.
There was no quality of life any more, so this is for the best, but it's still quite a shock.
I'm flying to Auckland tomorrow evening.
Gran
Dad emailed me yesterday to say he'll be making an unplanned trip to the UK. His flight leaves on Sunday. He'd been in contact with Gran's home; they said things were looking bleak. He did book a last-minute trip over there at the end of 201o. That time she recovered before he stepped on the plane - he rebooked his flight - but I'm less optimistic now.
I met Danielle again at the tramping club. Someone gave a talk on a trek they did a year ago that took in Mt Aspiring. Unfortunately Danielle left before the talk - she seemed interested only in signing up for trips; I couldn't encourage her to stay. Whether I'm anywhere near organised enough - or practical enough - to do any sort of overnight trip I really don't know.
I met Danielle again at the tramping club. Someone gave a talk on a trek they did a year ago that took in Mt Aspiring. Unfortunately Danielle left before the talk - she seemed interested only in signing up for trips; I couldn't encourage her to stay. Whether I'm anywhere near organised enough - or practical enough - to do any sort of overnight trip I really don't know.
Monday, January 16, 2012
RIP Blanket Man 1957-2012 - and a tricky work day
I used to see Blanket Man, a.k.a. Ben Hana, ten times a week, but I won't be seeing him any more. He died yesterday at the age of 54. Last time my parents were up I said I didn't think he'd be around much longer, but last week I saw him moving around - that seemed to be a good sign. He obviously touched a lot of Wellingtonians, judging by this impressive makeshift memorial on Courtenay Place today. 
That he was able to pursue his harmless (if unconventional) lifestyle in peace says a lot about how tolerant Wellington is as a city. Somebody suggested today that there should be a theatre production based on Blanket Man's life.
In contrast, someone who keeps on surviving is my grandma. She spent last week in hospital as her recurring bowel issues presented themselves once more. Somehow they removed the blockage but she's terribly weak now and I don't know how she keeps bouncing back. I did speak to her at Christmas, for the first time in months, but I don't think she knew who I was. Dad still rings her but he says it's pretty hopeless now.
I've been suffering from varying degrees of depression in the last week or so. I reached a low point at work today, which was just like a typical work day in early 2009. The day began just about tolerably and then rapidly deteriorated. My head seemed to be filled with thick fog, I had no idea what I supposed to be doing and I got quizzed by my boss - "Where did this come from? What does the factor of 1.59 mean?" - but I had absolutely no idea where anything came from or what anything meant. My memory of any specifics was non-existent. My desk phone rang. It was the property broker. Fuck. I ignored it. My mobile rang immediately afterwards. Fuckfuckfuck. I picked it up. "It's Steve Jones." "I know who it is. You've got thirty seconds." Did I really just talk to him like that? At 3:30, just after I'd completed a report that wasn't worth the virtual paper it was written on, I could very easily have caused some property damage but got myself out of the building before I became dangerous. I walked slowly around the block, at one point stopping to bounce backwards and forwards against a wall on a side street. At fourish, after I'd calmed down a bit, I got back to the office. I still didn't get any work done, but at 5:15, as I was about to go home, someone from Marketing asked me a question. And guess what. For the first time this year I knew the answer!
I'm not sleeping well at the moment. I don't think I got to sleep before midnight at all last week. Last night was no different. I remember the red digits reading 0:49 when I got up, read a couple of pages of a book about symbols (why are traffic lights red, amber and green?) and got back into bed. I must have fallen asleep at 1:30 or so. I woke up at 7:51. Fuck.
Last week I told my boss that I missed the exam deadline but I was coerced into sitting an exam in the second half of the year. I know that if I do enrol for an exam, it'll be priority E or F for me, and the grade I'll get in the exam will be something similar.
I've got plenty more to write about but I feel absolutely cream crackered. I apologise for the swearing.
That he was able to pursue his harmless (if unconventional) lifestyle in peace says a lot about how tolerant Wellington is as a city. Somebody suggested today that there should be a theatre production based on Blanket Man's life.In contrast, someone who keeps on surviving is my grandma. She spent last week in hospital as her recurring bowel issues presented themselves once more. Somehow they removed the blockage but she's terribly weak now and I don't know how she keeps bouncing back. I did speak to her at Christmas, for the first time in months, but I don't think she knew who I was. Dad still rings her but he says it's pretty hopeless now.
I've been suffering from varying degrees of depression in the last week or so. I reached a low point at work today, which was just like a typical work day in early 2009. The day began just about tolerably and then rapidly deteriorated. My head seemed to be filled with thick fog, I had no idea what I supposed to be doing and I got quizzed by my boss - "Where did this come from? What does the factor of 1.59 mean?" - but I had absolutely no idea where anything came from or what anything meant. My memory of any specifics was non-existent. My desk phone rang. It was the property broker. Fuck. I ignored it. My mobile rang immediately afterwards. Fuckfuckfuck. I picked it up. "It's Steve Jones." "I know who it is. You've got thirty seconds." Did I really just talk to him like that? At 3:30, just after I'd completed a report that wasn't worth the virtual paper it was written on, I could very easily have caused some property damage but got myself out of the building before I became dangerous. I walked slowly around the block, at one point stopping to bounce backwards and forwards against a wall on a side street. At fourish, after I'd calmed down a bit, I got back to the office. I still didn't get any work done, but at 5:15, as I was about to go home, someone from Marketing asked me a question. And guess what. For the first time this year I knew the answer!
I'm not sleeping well at the moment. I don't think I got to sleep before midnight at all last week. Last night was no different. I remember the red digits reading 0:49 when I got up, read a couple of pages of a book about symbols (why are traffic lights red, amber and green?) and got back into bed. I must have fallen asleep at 1:30 or so. I woke up at 7:51. Fuck.
Last week I told my boss that I missed the exam deadline but I was coerced into sitting an exam in the second half of the year. I know that if I do enrol for an exam, it'll be priority E or F for me, and the grade I'll get in the exam will be something similar.
I've got plenty more to write about but I feel absolutely cream crackered. I apologise for the swearing.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Allez les rouges!
I hope Wales beat France in tonight's semi-final (kick-off is forty minutes away). I tried calling my Welsh grandma after they beat Ireland last weekend (even if she wouldn't have a clue about rugby any more) but couldn't get through.
Score predictions for the two semis:
Wales 21 France 17
New Zealand 28 Australia 10.
Edit: Wales didn't make it. That match was proof, if you ever needed it, that the best team doesn't always win. France were second best by a long way in that match, but benefited greatly from that controversial red card in the opening twenty minutes. Let's hope the ABs win tomorrow and give Les Grenouilles a good hiding in the final.
Score predictions for the two semis:
Wales 21 France 17
New Zealand 28 Australia 10.
Edit: Wales didn't make it. That match was proof, if you ever needed it, that the best team doesn't always win. France were second best by a long way in that match, but benefited greatly from that controversial red card in the opening twenty minutes. Let's hope the ABs win tomorrow and give Les Grenouilles a good hiding in the final.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
No great shakes...
At 3:35 this afternoon I felt my first ever earthquake. I was just sitting at my desk at work and it felt as if someone had jogged the table. I'm used to sudden movements now - the rickety lift in my apartment block greets you with a mini-earthquake whenever it stops - so I probably wouldn't have given today's tremor a second thought if the word "earthquake" hadn't been mentioned. It was a 6.5 (yes a biggie by the raw measure of magnitude) located just west of Taupo but 150 km deep. The depth explained the pattern on Geonet's intensity map - what looked like a random hotchpotch of greens and yellows over a wide area instead of a more concentrated Christchurch-style pattern. Here's Wellington's seismograph:
On Friday night I spoke to Gran (now in her 90th year) for the first time since I moved to Wellington. After endless answerphone messages and being transferred to nowhere by reception, I'd almost given up hope of ever getting through to her. She was very confused but at least she knew it was me and was looking forward to a plate of fish and chips. I think and hope I made a positive impact on her. Dad reckons that he and I are the only two people able to make such an impression; I'm inclined to agree, so I must make a persistent effort to call her once a week.
I happened to wake up at two o'clock on Monday morning in time to see Djokovic's virtual walk-on-water second set against Nadal, which he won 6-1 en route to his four-set victory in the Wimbledon final. With 48 wins and only one defeat this year, he really is operating on a different plane.
On Friday night I spoke to Gran (now in her 90th year) for the first time since I moved to Wellington. After endless answerphone messages and being transferred to nowhere by reception, I'd almost given up hope of ever getting through to her. She was very confused but at least she knew it was me and was looking forward to a plate of fish and chips. I think and hope I made a positive impact on her. Dad reckons that he and I are the only two people able to make such an impression; I'm inclined to agree, so I must make a persistent effort to call her once a week.
I happened to wake up at two o'clock on Monday morning in time to see Djokovic's virtual walk-on-water second set against Nadal, which he won 6-1 en route to his four-set victory in the Wimbledon final. With 48 wins and only one defeat this year, he really is operating on a different plane.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
A line in the sand
Yesterday I had my last ever actuarial interview. That's a promise. On the ferry into the city, I thought about all kinds of stuff, but mostly I thought about why I wasn't thinking about the interview. I felt a real sense of déjà vu; I'd been there before, several times. For no apparent reason the Pet Shop Boys song Let's Make Lots of Money was going round and round in my head. Outside the tower block was a 15-foot-tall snake-like sculpture made out of hollow metal. I got this sudden urge to want to climb it. If I had climbed it, what would anyone have done? I don't remember much about the interview, except that it couldn't end fast enough. Thankfully it was all over in forty minutes. I ran down Queen Street and caught the ferry with a minute to spare - normally I'd have happily waited half an hour for the next one, but I was desperate to get the hell out of the city. It felt good to have drawn a line in the sand.
The good news (potentially) is that an agency rang me this morning about a possible temp job with Auckland Council where I'd be working with large spreadsheets and databases. I'd be delighted if they gave me the job. If last year's earthquake work is anything to go by, getting the Council job would benefit me enormously. My mental health (which as I write is some way short of perfect) would likely improve, and a lot of other doors would open up for me. For one it'll make moving out of this flat easier (and now that it's been sold, I might have to).
Last week I read Simon Baron-Cohen's Autism and Asperger Syndrome - the Facts. There's a lot to take in; the brain is one hell of a complicated piece of kit. The link between Asperger's and depression is hardly a surprise. A recurring thought whenever I'm depressed is I don't fit in. People with Asperger's face a daily struggle to fit in. I answered the Autism Quotient (AQ) questionnaire at the back of the book, scoring 28 out of a possible 50 (the average bloke scores 17 while 80% of people on the autism spectrum score 32 or above). A high but not autistically high score is just about what I expected. I dislike (and am very bad at) planning and organising; that took a few points off my total. But maybe because I was never diagnosed as a kid, I came into contact with mainly neurotypical people so some of their traits might have rubbed off on me.
On Monday I spoke to Gran in her home, although she no longer knows where she is. She lives in a dreamworld. Since she went to hospital at the end of last year she's been in rapid decline. It's sad for someone who had such a brilliant mind to deteriorate like this, but that's old age I guess. I'm so glad I was able to see her last year; she might not have known whether it was New York or New Year, but she was still very much Gran as I remembered her. My dad flies out to the UK next Monday - I don't envy him one bit.
I've felt things get on top of me today. I really just need a good sleep.
The good news (potentially) is that an agency rang me this morning about a possible temp job with Auckland Council where I'd be working with large spreadsheets and databases. I'd be delighted if they gave me the job. If last year's earthquake work is anything to go by, getting the Council job would benefit me enormously. My mental health (which as I write is some way short of perfect) would likely improve, and a lot of other doors would open up for me. For one it'll make moving out of this flat easier (and now that it's been sold, I might have to).
Last week I read Simon Baron-Cohen's Autism and Asperger Syndrome - the Facts. There's a lot to take in; the brain is one hell of a complicated piece of kit. The link between Asperger's and depression is hardly a surprise. A recurring thought whenever I'm depressed is I don't fit in. People with Asperger's face a daily struggle to fit in. I answered the Autism Quotient (AQ) questionnaire at the back of the book, scoring 28 out of a possible 50 (the average bloke scores 17 while 80% of people on the autism spectrum score 32 or above). A high but not autistically high score is just about what I expected. I dislike (and am very bad at) planning and organising; that took a few points off my total. But maybe because I was never diagnosed as a kid, I came into contact with mainly neurotypical people so some of their traits might have rubbed off on me.
On Monday I spoke to Gran in her home, although she no longer knows where she is. She lives in a dreamworld. Since she went to hospital at the end of last year she's been in rapid decline. It's sad for someone who had such a brilliant mind to deteriorate like this, but that's old age I guess. I'm so glad I was able to see her last year; she might not have known whether it was New York or New Year, but she was still very much Gran as I remembered her. My dad flies out to the UK next Monday - I don't envy him one bit.
I've felt things get on top of me today. I really just need a good sleep.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Jobless again
I played tennis on Tuesday night in what they call a Business House competition. Because one of the earlier weeks was rained off, we played six mini-matches instead of four. By the end of the evening I'd reached the "sod it" stage. If I hadn't known in advance we'd be playing so many games (and many people didn't) I don't know how I would have coped. From memory I won the first match I played, drew the last, and lost all the rest. I've got interclub tonight and another Business House tennis-a-thon tomorrow night.
On the subject of sport, I scanned the football results on Wednesday and this one caught my eye: Leyton Orient 8 Droylsden 2 - after extra time! This was from an FA Cup second-round replay (they had drawn 1-1 in their first meeting at Droylsden). Orient were 2-0 down at one stage, and were still a goal behind when they scrambled an 89th-minute equaliser to keep them in the competition. Then came a crazy half-hour which must have produced some kind of record. The scorer of the equaliser struck twice more in extra time and there was another hat-trick scored entirely in extra time. Both sides finished the match with nine men and the Droylsden manager was also banished from the dug-out! So there is some magic left in the FA Cup after all. From what I could tell, the referee saw pity on Droylsden by blowing for full-time after 119 minutes - with all those stoppages for bookings and sendings-off (and of course goals) there should have been enough added time for Orient to hit double figures. Until last week I had no idea where Droylsden was (apparently it's in Manchester). Its football team (who play in the sixth division and are nicknamed the Bloods of all things) are no strangers to, well, strange Cup ties.
Friday was my last day at work. It was good while it lasted. I had a pretty much stress-free run of three months, which was considerably longer than I expected. I left my details with my boss should he ever need somebody again. I got on well with him, even though our personalities were quite different. I'll miss the F-bombs and his mispronunciations which at first I thought were deliberate. Apparently he drives a Missabitsi. He'd ask me about a claim for a property on Bethlehem Road. You mean Blenheim Road? At least you always knew where you stood with him. It was nice just to have a job that wasn't dressed up into this big frothy career, but now I face the unenviable task of finding work again.
On Friday night I went to a Christmas party put on by my mental health service. It was a bit of an eye-opener - some people I saw clearly weren't in a good way at all. Some of them must have a hard time looking after themselves - while I was in the queue for dessert there was a distinct whiff of pee. The food was reasonable but by the time I got there (almost seven - it started at four) the main course could have done with a quick zap in the microwave. I thought the highlight of the evening was the band, who did a very good job considering they had hardly practised. The organisation is fortunate to have a number of talented musicians in its midst. It was good to meet up with some people from the men's group who for one reason or another no longer attend.
I rang my gran when I got back from the party. I struggled to make any sense of her, although it was clear that she wasn't happy. At least she picked up the phone this time; she has her own phone in her room but hasn't been picking it up of late - either she's forgotten how to use it or just doesn't want to talk. In future I'll try and ring her in the morning (her evening) when she tends to be better.
On Saturday I met up in a café on K' Road with Richard and another regular of the Asperger's group (a female) to talk about the possibility of flatting. I think the arrangement could work very well. My only issue is having to leave the Shore where I've spent the best part of seven years. If the plan goes ahead, the most likely suburb we'll end up in at this stage is Onehunga, a place I don't know at all. I intend to spend some time there on Wednesday to get a feel for the place.
Yesterday the Asperger's group met up for our second picnic in Cornwall Park. Good weather for it - in fact a little too warm if anything. There was a big turnout - there must have been close on twenty. Some of them set up a game of cricket (one of the members of the group is a big fan of the game) and I joined in half-way through (after a bit of a doze - it was that kind of weather). My batting was OK but my bowling was pretty shocking! It was a good afternoon which Richard (who else?) organised. He's also holding a Christmas dinner - a great idea because a lot of them don't have families and must feel quite alone over the festive period.
Tennis tonight then. Hope I don't break anything this time.
On the subject of sport, I scanned the football results on Wednesday and this one caught my eye: Leyton Orient 8 Droylsden 2 - after extra time! This was from an FA Cup second-round replay (they had drawn 1-1 in their first meeting at Droylsden). Orient were 2-0 down at one stage, and were still a goal behind when they scrambled an 89th-minute equaliser to keep them in the competition. Then came a crazy half-hour which must have produced some kind of record. The scorer of the equaliser struck twice more in extra time and there was another hat-trick scored entirely in extra time. Both sides finished the match with nine men and the Droylsden manager was also banished from the dug-out! So there is some magic left in the FA Cup after all. From what I could tell, the referee saw pity on Droylsden by blowing for full-time after 119 minutes - with all those stoppages for bookings and sendings-off (and of course goals) there should have been enough added time for Orient to hit double figures. Until last week I had no idea where Droylsden was (apparently it's in Manchester). Its football team (who play in the sixth division and are nicknamed the Bloods of all things) are no strangers to, well, strange Cup ties.
Friday was my last day at work. It was good while it lasted. I had a pretty much stress-free run of three months, which was considerably longer than I expected. I left my details with my boss should he ever need somebody again. I got on well with him, even though our personalities were quite different. I'll miss the F-bombs and his mispronunciations which at first I thought were deliberate. Apparently he drives a Missabitsi. He'd ask me about a claim for a property on Bethlehem Road. You mean Blenheim Road? At least you always knew where you stood with him. It was nice just to have a job that wasn't dressed up into this big frothy career, but now I face the unenviable task of finding work again.
On Friday night I went to a Christmas party put on by my mental health service. It was a bit of an eye-opener - some people I saw clearly weren't in a good way at all. Some of them must have a hard time looking after themselves - while I was in the queue for dessert there was a distinct whiff of pee. The food was reasonable but by the time I got there (almost seven - it started at four) the main course could have done with a quick zap in the microwave. I thought the highlight of the evening was the band, who did a very good job considering they had hardly practised. The organisation is fortunate to have a number of talented musicians in its midst. It was good to meet up with some people from the men's group who for one reason or another no longer attend.
I rang my gran when I got back from the party. I struggled to make any sense of her, although it was clear that she wasn't happy. At least she picked up the phone this time; she has her own phone in her room but hasn't been picking it up of late - either she's forgotten how to use it or just doesn't want to talk. In future I'll try and ring her in the morning (her evening) when she tends to be better.
On Saturday I met up in a café on K' Road with Richard and another regular of the Asperger's group (a female) to talk about the possibility of flatting. I think the arrangement could work very well. My only issue is having to leave the Shore where I've spent the best part of seven years. If the plan goes ahead, the most likely suburb we'll end up in at this stage is Onehunga, a place I don't know at all. I intend to spend some time there on Wednesday to get a feel for the place.
Yesterday the Asperger's group met up for our second picnic in Cornwall Park. Good weather for it - in fact a little too warm if anything. There was a big turnout - there must have been close on twenty. Some of them set up a game of cricket (one of the members of the group is a big fan of the game) and I joined in half-way through (after a bit of a doze - it was that kind of weather). My batting was OK but my bowling was pretty shocking! It was a good afternoon which Richard (who else?) organised. He's also holding a Christmas dinner - a great idea because a lot of them don't have families and must feel quite alone over the festive period.
Tennis tonight then. Hope I don't break anything this time.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Old news
Gran’s mental and physical health tend to go hand-in-hand. I was a bit worried when I spoke to her on the phone a week ago, then on Wednesday she was rushed off to hospital – her gut was playing up again. This has been a recurring problem for her. Dad feared the worst (and so did I – in the past she’s always bounced back but she’s so much weaker now). He booked an emergency flight to the UK which he wasn’t looking forward to. They’re having atrocious weather over there. But somehow her gut cleared later in the week and she’ll probably be let out of hospital in the next day or two. That’s a relief. Dad managed to change his flight to February.
Speaking of the elderly, last night I watched Young @ Heart (or tried to – I was still involved in a poker tournament when it started; I also got a call from my parents). It was a documentary film about a group of elderly people in America who tour the country (and overseas) giving unusual renditions of modern pop songs. Most of them had no singing experience so their director certainly had his hands full. I found their version of the Ramones’ I Wanna Be Sedated hilarious, and somehow appropriate. At the end of the film they showed a chap of about eighty (and probably twenty stone) perform Coldplay’s Fix You. This was supposed to be a duet but his singing partner had recently died of a heart attack. I have to say I found his performance very moving. I don’t know what it is about old people singing, but it reminded me a lot of Johnny Cash when he sang Hurt – it really made my hair stand on end. Just like Cash, the Fix You singer died months later.
There isn’t a lot of news from my end. The earthquake claims have been gradually tailing off, so Friday looks like being my last day at work.
Speaking of the elderly, last night I watched Young @ Heart (or tried to – I was still involved in a poker tournament when it started; I also got a call from my parents). It was a documentary film about a group of elderly people in America who tour the country (and overseas) giving unusual renditions of modern pop songs. Most of them had no singing experience so their director certainly had his hands full. I found their version of the Ramones’ I Wanna Be Sedated hilarious, and somehow appropriate. At the end of the film they showed a chap of about eighty (and probably twenty stone) perform Coldplay’s Fix You. This was supposed to be a duet but his singing partner had recently died of a heart attack. I have to say I found his performance very moving. I don’t know what it is about old people singing, but it reminded me a lot of Johnny Cash when he sang Hurt – it really made my hair stand on end. Just like Cash, the Fix You singer died months later.
There isn’t a lot of news from my end. The earthquake claims have been gradually tailing off, so Friday looks like being my last day at work.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Figuring out my next move
I played tennis yesterday and will be playing again tonight. And tomorrow. I’m very much looking forward to Wednesday, my next tennis-free day. I don’t enjoy the game anything like I used to, and when I play at night I take ages to get to sleep and need gallons of coffee to get through the next day. Four or five years ago, tennis was the highlight of my week. Now I really only do it for the exercise.
Richard came over to Devonport on Saturday. We didn’t do all that much I suppose. The warm weather didn’t lend itself to vigorous activity, and we mainly just lay in the park and dozed. We also had an ice cream and talked about possible flatting arrangements. I’m still a bit apprehensive about sharing a four-person flat, especially when I’ve only briefly met two of my potential flatmates. Instinctively I feel it should work out fine, but we’ll only get a better idea of our compatibility (or otherwise) if we all meet up. Hopefully that can happen this weekend. It was good to see Richard, and there’s nothing wrong with just having a relaxing afternoon.
Work seems to be gradually drying up – at this stage my last day looks like being 10th December. Some months ago I registered with Edge, an employment agency for people who have had mental health issues. They had a long waiting list which I reached the top of a couple of weeks ago. Last Thursday I had a chat with one of the people from Edge – he came round to my flat – and we talked about what I should do once my current stint comes to an end. He was quite adamant that the mental health industry would be too stressful for me right now, and should therefore be avoided. However he pushed English teaching to the forefront of my mind once more, and came up with a new idea – working in medical statistics (clinical trials for new drugs, for instance). We also talked about my CV. For some reason, there is huge emphasis put on CVs these days. This chap gave a recent example of one of his clients who applied for what he called a “donkey job”. There were dozens of applicants for six places, and apparently CVs were the deciding factor in who was successful. I said it would have been better to have put everyone’s names in a hat and picked out six at random. Probably just as fair and less time-consuming for everyone involved. In fact, the Lotto method could also be used for some non-donkey jobs, and would in many cases be fairer (and would certainly be more easily understood) than the current selection criteria. At least people who are less connected (like me) wouldn’t be discriminated against. He also suggested I need to be socialising with different people three or four nights a week, but I’m less sure about that. It’s likely that would just make me more stressed. All in all though, our meeting was very useful.
I rang my grandmother yesterday. She has taken a definite step backwards in the last two weeks. She was confused, but worse than that, she sounded quite unhappy and for some reason she was itching to get off the phone. She might get moved to a different home, one that caters specifically for dementia patients. Somehow she had got wind of this possible move, although she didn’t know the reason for it. After some very positive phone conversations with my gran, this one was quite upsetting.
It is now seven years and one day since I arrived in New Zealand to live. I remember that day very clearly – it was a crystal clear Canterbury day; the brightness of the sun (far brighter than you ever get in the UK, even in the height of summer) was almost intoxicating.
Richard came over to Devonport on Saturday. We didn’t do all that much I suppose. The warm weather didn’t lend itself to vigorous activity, and we mainly just lay in the park and dozed. We also had an ice cream and talked about possible flatting arrangements. I’m still a bit apprehensive about sharing a four-person flat, especially when I’ve only briefly met two of my potential flatmates. Instinctively I feel it should work out fine, but we’ll only get a better idea of our compatibility (or otherwise) if we all meet up. Hopefully that can happen this weekend. It was good to see Richard, and there’s nothing wrong with just having a relaxing afternoon.
Work seems to be gradually drying up – at this stage my last day looks like being 10th December. Some months ago I registered with Edge, an employment agency for people who have had mental health issues. They had a long waiting list which I reached the top of a couple of weeks ago. Last Thursday I had a chat with one of the people from Edge – he came round to my flat – and we talked about what I should do once my current stint comes to an end. He was quite adamant that the mental health industry would be too stressful for me right now, and should therefore be avoided. However he pushed English teaching to the forefront of my mind once more, and came up with a new idea – working in medical statistics (clinical trials for new drugs, for instance). We also talked about my CV. For some reason, there is huge emphasis put on CVs these days. This chap gave a recent example of one of his clients who applied for what he called a “donkey job”. There were dozens of applicants for six places, and apparently CVs were the deciding factor in who was successful. I said it would have been better to have put everyone’s names in a hat and picked out six at random. Probably just as fair and less time-consuming for everyone involved. In fact, the Lotto method could also be used for some non-donkey jobs, and would in many cases be fairer (and would certainly be more easily understood) than the current selection criteria. At least people who are less connected (like me) wouldn’t be discriminated against. He also suggested I need to be socialising with different people three or four nights a week, but I’m less sure about that. It’s likely that would just make me more stressed. All in all though, our meeting was very useful.
I rang my grandmother yesterday. She has taken a definite step backwards in the last two weeks. She was confused, but worse than that, she sounded quite unhappy and for some reason she was itching to get off the phone. She might get moved to a different home, one that caters specifically for dementia patients. Somehow she had got wind of this possible move, although she didn’t know the reason for it. After some very positive phone conversations with my gran, this one was quite upsetting.
It is now seven years and one day since I arrived in New Zealand to live. I remember that day very clearly – it was a crystal clear Canterbury day; the brightness of the sun (far brighter than you ever get in the UK, even in the height of summer) was almost intoxicating.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Work is good
This temporary job has given my self-esteem a much-needed boost. And the best thing is, it's just a job; I don't have to get involved in, or even be aware of, any internal politics. I just have to follow the three golden rules of temp jobs that a recruitment agent told me a few years ago in the UK. Rule number one: you turn up. Rule number two: you do your job. Rule number three: you go home. As it happens I've been more productive on average than I was in my previous job which masqueraded as something really important but was anything but.
On Saturday I went round to Richard's place. It was good to catch up and just have a chat. We talked about flatting and a possible third member of the Asperger's group who might join us. The three of us will hopefully meet up this coming weekend.
I went to tennis at the club yesterday. I totally forgot it was their opening day so I didn't bring a plate, let alone a plate with food on it. They managed to get John Banks in to do the official opening. "I'm an honorary member of 340 clubs throughout New Zealand," he said, "and this is my favourite." And I'm sure you've told the other 339 the same thing! I won't be voting for him and the upcoming mayoral elections for the Super City. My level of tennis was surprisingly OK.
I'm so glad I pulled out of Lifeline. I needed some balance in my life and that was the only reasonable way - for now - I could achieve it.
My grandmother has now gone into a home in Cottenham near Cambridge. Getting her there wasn't easy; she wasn't a happy bunny to put it mildly. I'm going to write her a letter, perhaps even during a dull moment at work.
On Saturday I went round to Richard's place. It was good to catch up and just have a chat. We talked about flatting and a possible third member of the Asperger's group who might join us. The three of us will hopefully meet up this coming weekend.
I went to tennis at the club yesterday. I totally forgot it was their opening day so I didn't bring a plate, let alone a plate with food on it. They managed to get John Banks in to do the official opening. "I'm an honorary member of 340 clubs throughout New Zealand," he said, "and this is my favourite." And I'm sure you've told the other 339 the same thing! I won't be voting for him and the upcoming mayoral elections for the Super City. My level of tennis was surprisingly OK.
I'm so glad I pulled out of Lifeline. I needed some balance in my life and that was the only reasonable way - for now - I could achieve it.
My grandmother has now gone into a home in Cottenham near Cambridge. Getting her there wasn't easy; she wasn't a happy bunny to put it mildly. I'm going to write her a letter, perhaps even during a dull moment at work.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Family matters
It's been a busy last couple of weeks in our family. I wasn't looking forward to the nightly phone calls when Mum and Dad got back from their trip, but lately the unusual amount of news from their end has justified the high phone call frequency.
I mentioned Uncle Dan's untimely passing in my last post. His funeral will be on Wednesday.
Last week my aunt, in her wisdom, tried to get my gran into a home without telling her. People arrived at my gran's door to whisk her away, and surprise surprise, she wasn't having any of it. In fact she went absolutely ballistic from what I can tell. So she's still at home after all that, and I'll give her a call tonight.
In better news, my brother is coming to New Zealand! After all my talk of spending "proper" time with him in the UK, we managed to completely miss each other. There was never a day when we were both free. We still talked on the phone and have exchanged several emails since. He'll fly into Christchurch on 18th August (the first time he'll have been in the country since 1997); I'm looking forward to that a lot.
I mentioned Uncle Dan's untimely passing in my last post. His funeral will be on Wednesday.
Last week my aunt, in her wisdom, tried to get my gran into a home without telling her. People arrived at my gran's door to whisk her away, and surprise surprise, she wasn't having any of it. In fact she went absolutely ballistic from what I can tell. So she's still at home after all that, and I'll give her a call tonight.
In better news, my brother is coming to New Zealand! After all my talk of spending "proper" time with him in the UK, we managed to completely miss each other. There was never a day when we were both free. We still talked on the phone and have exchanged several emails since. He'll fly into Christchurch on 18th August (the first time he'll have been in the country since 1997); I'm looking forward to that a lot.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Heading back
I'll be flying out of the UK tomorrow. I've got mixed feelings about that. My gran is understandably upset that I'm leaving: she has no family to look after her. On the other hand it's damn near impossible to do anything with my gran about and I need to get on with my own life.
I've booked twelve nights in Bali to avoid the whole Thailand mess. As a kid we used to stop over in Bali on the way to and from New Zealand. I'd rate our '89 and '90 stopovers as the best holidays of my life, so I'm hoping this trip will bring back happy memories for me.
Last weekend I stayed in Birmingham (which is a million miles from Bali) and met up with some friends from university. One of my friends, the one I've been in touch with the most, was kind enough to put me up, or at least his parents were (he still lives with them). He qualified as an actuary in no time; he's an incredibly clever bloke whose knowledge extends to music and popular culture, not just academic stuff. I spent a few days in Italy with him in 2008. His mind worked at such terrific speed that I couldn't help but feel stupid most of the time. We spent some time on Saturday at the Lickey Hills, playing some weird batless version of cricket. One of the (many) great things about Birmingham is that you're never far from the countryside.
I don't know if I'll have much computer access in the next two weeks so this will likely be my last blog post for a while.
I've booked twelve nights in Bali to avoid the whole Thailand mess. As a kid we used to stop over in Bali on the way to and from New Zealand. I'd rate our '89 and '90 stopovers as the best holidays of my life, so I'm hoping this trip will bring back happy memories for me.
Last weekend I stayed in Birmingham (which is a million miles from Bali) and met up with some friends from university. One of my friends, the one I've been in touch with the most, was kind enough to put me up, or at least his parents were (he still lives with them). He qualified as an actuary in no time; he's an incredibly clever bloke whose knowledge extends to music and popular culture, not just academic stuff. I spent a few days in Italy with him in 2008. His mind worked at such terrific speed that I couldn't help but feel stupid most of the time. We spent some time on Saturday at the Lickey Hills, playing some weird batless version of cricket. One of the (many) great things about Birmingham is that you're never far from the countryside.
I don't know if I'll have much computer access in the next two weeks so this will likely be my last blog post for a while.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
It's all too complicated
Yesterday I parked the grannymobile - a bright red '96 or '97 Nissan Micra - at Huntingdon station. Right, now how much is it and how do I pay? I had great fun trying to interpret a sign with a long list of prices ranging from £6.20 to over a grand. How on earth do people manage? I sat in the car waiting for 10:00 to pass - missing the 9:59 train in the process - so I could get a cheaper rate. The next train stopped at every station including some that I'd never heard of.
At 1pm I met up with my old flatmate (we flatted in Birmingham in 2001-o2) at the British Library where we visited the Magnificent Maps exhibition. I like maps (as art perhaps more than as a tool you use to get somewhere) and I once had a job that involved making them. New Zealand featured on very few of these maps because it hadn't been discovered. We saw the world's biggest atlas - a book about as tall as me - and a huge labour-of-love comedy map of London.
We then spent a short time at Covent Garden:
It was a perfect day in London yesterday - there literally wasn't a cloud in the sky. How often, anywhere in the UK, can you say that? We walked along the Thames and visited some bars whose prices were very similar to what I've seen in Auckland, just in a different currency. My flatmate is a doctor and has a lot of disposable income but very little disposable time, so I was lucky to get to see him. We finished up at a Turkish restaurant where we had some very tasty food, just far too much of it.
Then I found I'd lost my return train ticket. My flatmate called that a disaster, though that was a bit strong (I now realise I used that word inappropriately myself in my last post). I searched everywhere but the ticket had vanished. I nearly jumped on the train and took the risk (I'll be out of the country in no time), but in the end I bought another ticket. Train ticket pricing makes no sense in the UK - a return costs about 1.05 times a single (so what are you actually paying for when you buy a ticket?). Whatever, I could kiss goodbye to another £22. I'm burning money on this trip. When I boarded my train at platform zero, I felt a lot like this bloke:
Today I've been all over the place, and let's face it, a bit depressed. Gran and I went into Huntingdon. The last thing we did was visit the supermarket, something I don't enjoy doing at the best of times. But my gran only wanted three items: gin, tonic and milk, so it would be easy. Yeah right. To begin with I offered some resistance, but not wanting an argument I gave up as my gran made sure she got at least something from every aisle, even though she had identical items untouched at home in the fridge. "Put this in, we're running short of that, you really can't have enough of the next thing."
Tomorrow I'll be taking the grannymobile to Birmingham. I've been looking for a road map, but the only maps I can find here could almost belong in that exhibition. The most recent of them is dated 1985.
At 1pm I met up with my old flatmate (we flatted in Birmingham in 2001-o2) at the British Library where we visited the Magnificent Maps exhibition. I like maps (as art perhaps more than as a tool you use to get somewhere) and I once had a job that involved making them. New Zealand featured on very few of these maps because it hadn't been discovered. We saw the world's biggest atlas - a book about as tall as me - and a huge labour-of-love comedy map of London.
We then spent a short time at Covent Garden:
It was a perfect day in London yesterday - there literally wasn't a cloud in the sky. How often, anywhere in the UK, can you say that? We walked along the Thames and visited some bars whose prices were very similar to what I've seen in Auckland, just in a different currency. My flatmate is a doctor and has a lot of disposable income but very little disposable time, so I was lucky to get to see him. We finished up at a Turkish restaurant where we had some very tasty food, just far too much of it.
Then I found I'd lost my return train ticket. My flatmate called that a disaster, though that was a bit strong (I now realise I used that word inappropriately myself in my last post). I searched everywhere but the ticket had vanished. I nearly jumped on the train and took the risk (I'll be out of the country in no time), but in the end I bought another ticket. Train ticket pricing makes no sense in the UK - a return costs about 1.05 times a single (so what are you actually paying for when you buy a ticket?). Whatever, I could kiss goodbye to another £22. I'm burning money on this trip. When I boarded my train at platform zero, I felt a lot like this bloke:
Today I've been all over the place, and let's face it, a bit depressed. Gran and I went into Huntingdon. The last thing we did was visit the supermarket, something I don't enjoy doing at the best of times. But my gran only wanted three items: gin, tonic and milk, so it would be easy. Yeah right. To begin with I offered some resistance, but not wanting an argument I gave up as my gran made sure she got at least something from every aisle, even though she had identical items untouched at home in the fridge. "Put this in, we're running short of that, you really can't have enough of the next thing."
Tomorrow I'll be taking the grannymobile to Birmingham. I've been looking for a road map, but the only maps I can find here could almost belong in that exhibition. The most recent of them is dated 1985.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Living with Grandma
I get on well with my gran but it's hard work at times. She's been largely immobile for some years, but lately she's lost much of her mental sharpness too. She gets confused very easily and her short-term memory is almost non-existent. Sometimes I feel I'm living in some kind of Alice in Wonderland world. My gran has lost all sense of time, so effectively while I'm living here there's no clock and no calendar. She'll make herself breakfast at 3:30 am, then pour me a cup of apple-flavoured instant tea at 5:30 (which I tip down the sink when she's not looking), then she'll sleep most of the day.
Friday was her 88th birthday. I gave her regular reminders of this as the date approached. She would recite her date of birth - "twenty-eight five twenty-two" - but without knowing what it meant; it might as well have been a car number plate. And then the big day came. We - myself and the absent members of her family - made a fairly big deal of it. I'm glad we did. In all she got two birthday cakes, three bouquets of flowers, two punnets of strawberries and numerous cards. And the phone hardly stopped ringing. I even took her to the village pub for lunch (it was good to see her eating well). But later that afternoon she wanted to know what day her birthday was!
What makes it hard for me (and anyone else) is that she's unwilling to accept help from others. She still thinks she can be in control of everything. Every morning a carer briefly visits her for a quick check, but whoever this person is (unfortunately it changes) my gran doesn't trust them.
I should point out that her emotional responses to other people are just the same as they've always been. There's no point trying to pull the wool over her eyes; she can read you like a book. And occasionally all the circuitry in her brain magically aligns and everything, for a few minutes, returns to normal.
Conversation often makes little sense. For instance I'll hand her a bowl of strawberries. "I think I'd better leave these to stand for a while." Stand? So they can brew? Ferment? Dance?
On Saturday disaster struck as she developed a severe pain in her lower back and she could hardly move at all. Suddenly simple things like getting into bed or using the loo became a major operation. On Sunday I called the doctor who came round and prescribed some painkillers.
Not that he should have bothered. There are painkillers, and just about every other kind of prescription drug under the sun, all over the house. She has a cupboard jam-packed with diazepam, clonazepam and nitrazepam, although I couldn't find the one we get in New Zealand called sweetazepam.
Most of the dates on the boxes are from last century but if I dared throw any of them away I'd be in big trouble. My gran is a rampant hoarder (I'll get on to her ancient tins of food in another post).
If you're wondering what diazepam (a.k.a. Valium) is doing in her cupboard, she's suffered from anxiety, panic attacks and depression for sixty years. Her thirties sound like they were a living hell. Things haven't been anywhere near as bad recently but she still gets the odd "attack" such as today when the realisation that the cleaning lady will be arriving tomorrow sent her over the edge.
I love my gran a lot, she was very good to me as a boy, and I'm happy to help her (so long as she'll accept my help!). Funnily enough after cutting her toenails today (she's unable to do them herself) she thinks I should pursue a career as a podiatrist!
Last night I watched Andy Murray's disappointing loss to Tomas Berdych in the French Open (normally I'm watching on a TV with no clever red button, and it's at night anyway, so I don't get that luxury). Murray's body language wasn't good - it was as if he couldn't wait to get off the court (and I know what that feels like). This year's Roland-Garros was the seventh time I'd been to a Grand Slam (I went to Wimbledon in '98, '99, '01 and '02, and the Aussie Open in '05 and '08). It's been a real shame to see so many empty seats in Paris this year. Apparently the tickets have been sold but people don't turn up. Something similar happens at Wimbledon with all the corporate fat-cat tickets, but not to such a ridiculous extent.
Today was a bank holiday so St Ives had a special super-sized market. This time we even had people giving demonstrations of their products. I had a look around, but as always, restricted my purchases to food.
Friday was her 88th birthday. I gave her regular reminders of this as the date approached. She would recite her date of birth - "twenty-eight five twenty-two" - but without knowing what it meant; it might as well have been a car number plate. And then the big day came. We - myself and the absent members of her family - made a fairly big deal of it. I'm glad we did. In all she got two birthday cakes, three bouquets of flowers, two punnets of strawberries and numerous cards. And the phone hardly stopped ringing. I even took her to the village pub for lunch (it was good to see her eating well). But later that afternoon she wanted to know what day her birthday was!
What makes it hard for me (and anyone else) is that she's unwilling to accept help from others. She still thinks she can be in control of everything. Every morning a carer briefly visits her for a quick check, but whoever this person is (unfortunately it changes) my gran doesn't trust them.
I should point out that her emotional responses to other people are just the same as they've always been. There's no point trying to pull the wool over her eyes; she can read you like a book. And occasionally all the circuitry in her brain magically aligns and everything, for a few minutes, returns to normal.
Conversation often makes little sense. For instance I'll hand her a bowl of strawberries. "I think I'd better leave these to stand for a while." Stand? So they can brew? Ferment? Dance?
On Saturday disaster struck as she developed a severe pain in her lower back and she could hardly move at all. Suddenly simple things like getting into bed or using the loo became a major operation. On Sunday I called the doctor who came round and prescribed some painkillers.
Not that he should have bothered. There are painkillers, and just about every other kind of prescription drug under the sun, all over the house. She has a cupboard jam-packed with diazepam, clonazepam and nitrazepam, although I couldn't find the one we get in New Zealand called sweetazepam.
Most of the dates on the boxes are from last century but if I dared throw any of them away I'd be in big trouble. My gran is a rampant hoarder (I'll get on to her ancient tins of food in another post).
If you're wondering what diazepam (a.k.a. Valium) is doing in her cupboard, she's suffered from anxiety, panic attacks and depression for sixty years. Her thirties sound like they were a living hell. Things haven't been anywhere near as bad recently but she still gets the odd "attack" such as today when the realisation that the cleaning lady will be arriving tomorrow sent her over the edge.
I love my gran a lot, she was very good to me as a boy, and I'm happy to help her (so long as she'll accept my help!). Funnily enough after cutting her toenails today (she's unable to do them herself) she thinks I should pursue a career as a podiatrist!
Last night I watched Andy Murray's disappointing loss to Tomas Berdych in the French Open (normally I'm watching on a TV with no clever red button, and it's at night anyway, so I don't get that luxury). Murray's body language wasn't good - it was as if he couldn't wait to get off the court (and I know what that feels like). This year's Roland-Garros was the seventh time I'd been to a Grand Slam (I went to Wimbledon in '98, '99, '01 and '02, and the Aussie Open in '05 and '08). It's been a real shame to see so many empty seats in Paris this year. Apparently the tickets have been sold but people don't turn up. Something similar happens at Wimbledon with all the corporate fat-cat tickets, but not to such a ridiculous extent.
Today was a bank holiday so St Ives had a special super-sized market. This time we even had people giving demonstrations of their products. I had a look around, but as always, restricted my purchases to food.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Made it
Well I made it. From beginning to end the journey took forty hours including a ferry, a bus, a train, a taxi and that six-hour wait at Hong Kong. I can have no complaints about the Air New Zealand flight out of Auckland. I was lucky enough to have an empty seat next to me, so I managed to doze a bit and see two very good films (Precious and A Single Man); the 11½ hours went by quickly. Coming into Hong Kong I didn't realise how mountainous it was, even though I'd landed there before. The airport is vast but it seemed the various shops selling designer goods were repeated throughout. You can only stare at banks of Cartier, Gucci and Omega watches for so long, although this time I was able to say, wow, with my poker winnings I can almost afford half this watch! Unlike the Air New Zealand 777, the Lufthansa Jumbo hadn't been brought into the 21st century with seat-back screens, and the flight to Frankfurt did seem to drag. The final flight to Heathrow took barely an hour, then I hopped on the underground. Having been out of the country a while, I always find the tube a bit of an eye-opener. I was greeted by a mob of vocal, alcohol-fuelled Chelsea fans whose team had obviously won the Premier League a few hours earlier. Campione, campione, olé, olé, olé! At the time I had no idea that they'd just thrashed Wigan 8-0. More striking were the women, the likes of which don't exist in New Zealand. How long did it take you to get your hair like that? And how much do those earrings weigh? It was hard not to stare. I wonder what they thought of me, looking washed-out and dishevilled. They must have thought I'd come from the other side of the world or something.
I arrived on my gran's doorstep, in Houghton, at 11:30 on Sunday night. It was great to see her. So far she's managed better than I might have expected. Things aren't easy - she gets confused a lot - but as long as my aunt stays out of the picture I think she'll be OK. On Monday morning I took the bike into St Ives. It was great to see the town again, especially on a Monday which is market day.
I'd planned to leave the country this morning, but realising I might upset my gran if I left so soon, I changed my flight (at a cost of course) and will now be flying to Pisa on Saturday. This lunchtime I got a surprise phone call from my brother. It was a pleasure to talk to him. We even talked politics for the first time I can remember.
We now have a government. Having voted in two MMP elections in New Zealand, I found it mildly amusing that the process of forming a coalition government caused such consternation here. I think a cobbled-together alliance of Labour, the Lib Dems and a bunch of nationalist parties would have been a disaster and I'm glad the Lib Dems went with the Tories in the end. There are clearly some major differences in policy between the two parties, but who knows, it just might work. I hope so.
I arrived on my gran's doorstep, in Houghton, at 11:30 on Sunday night. It was great to see her. So far she's managed better than I might have expected. Things aren't easy - she gets confused a lot - but as long as my aunt stays out of the picture I think she'll be OK. On Monday morning I took the bike into St Ives. It was great to see the town again, especially on a Monday which is market day.
I'd planned to leave the country this morning, but realising I might upset my gran if I left so soon, I changed my flight (at a cost of course) and will now be flying to Pisa on Saturday. This lunchtime I got a surprise phone call from my brother. It was a pleasure to talk to him. We even talked politics for the first time I can remember.
We now have a government. Having voted in two MMP elections in New Zealand, I found it mildly amusing that the process of forming a coalition government caused such consternation here. I think a cobbled-together alliance of Labour, the Lib Dems and a bunch of nationalist parties would have been a disaster and I'm glad the Lib Dems went with the Tories in the end. There are clearly some major differences in policy between the two parties, but who knows, it just might work. I hope so.
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