Unerwünschte Arzneimittelwirkungen

Aka side effects in a more economical language (though Nebenwirkungen is a slightly easier version available to those of the Teutonic persuasion).  Two days after the RSV vaccination I started a feverish cold, and five days on I’m still coughing and sneezing, and having trouble sleeping thanks to stuffed up airways.  I should grateful for the protection it’ll give me: on googling side effects I found that quite a few had similar experiences, but one comment from a no doubt US American contributor reported reluctance to pay the $500 the shot would cost!  I don’t usually have problems with jabs, though I do recall a similar reaction to a flu jab some years ago, and a smallpox vaccination when I was in my teens laid me low for a few days.  (I was due to go to Orléans that summer, and since there had been an outbreak in Wales, France wouldn’t let anyone in without a vaccination certificate.)

Well, I seem to on the mend: I did some overdue dead-heading and hacking back yesterday, and filled a bucket to fill up the council’s garden waste bin.  One believes in getting one’s money’s worth.  A propos garden, I think we may need to set aside a day for apple stewing.  The Bramley is groaning with fruit, and we don’t want to leave them to the beasties.  I think we might need the preserving pan!

One word from me…

…and the garden does what it bloody well likes.  Annie next door had a verbena bonariensis or two in her front garden last year.  This year our front garden looks like this:

Decorative, sure, and it might be suppressing other weeds like oxalis.  I guess the roots must have penetrated the membrane under the slate chippings.  I suspect we’ve got it for good now.  I’ve scattered some eschscholzia seeds on the same area, so they can slug it out next year.  I’ll mix it up next year with seed from the poppies that arrived unbidden, probably from Lisa, our neighbour on the other side.

You’ll have tolerated patiently my chunterings about the sweet olive tomatoes.  Well, they are ripening now and are quite delicious.  What they aren’t is Sweet Olive!  They ripen to a dark chocolate brown, so I guess they’re Chocolate Cherry.  So apologies to those I’ve given cuttings thereof: but I’m sure you’ll enjoy them nevertheless.

I’ve had a prompt or two over the last couple of weeks to book an RSV jab.  This is a common respiratory virus which is possibly a problem for people my age, since it can develop into the Old Man’s Friend (pneumonia).  I rang the local practice yesterday, and they offered me an appointment that same afternoon.  Let’s not slag off the NHS, eh?  I have a slightly sore arm today, and feel pretty wabbit, as nurse Helen predicted.  

But the washing is drying on the line, and the dead-heading and grass cutting can wait for a cooler, less humid day.

Modern times

As we drove up yesterday to Kate and John’s, we were struck by how much has changed in SE London and the East End.  There are vast towers of posh flats everywhere, yet many of the shop fronts along the A13 are shuttered and covered in graffiti.  Driving etiquette seems to be a thing of the past, and lots of young men on bikes and in hot hatches weave in and out of traffic as though they think themselves immortal.  One is glad to be elderly and comfortably installed in genteel Disgustedville.  And driving a bright red car the arbitrary manoeuvres of which at least say ‘watch out!’.

Meanwhile, as befits one’s advancing years and limited ambition, the laundry’s done, and the grass is cut.  And it has been good to stay at home, charge the car and enjoy an afternoon nap.

Auld acquaintance

A delightful lunch today with Kate and John at their home in Islington.  John had barbecued a delicious rack of lamb and corn on the cob, and Kate had done Delia Smith roast vegetables and a summer pudding.  They were on fine form, and we had a good catch-up round the table after aperitifs in the garden.  I first met them in Lagrasse a few years before I retired: they still have a house there, and jet off south several time a year.

Since I wanted to take them some plants, we took a deep breath and drove up.  I hadn’t driven in London for about ten years, and today’s experience reminded me why that is!  The 20 mph speed limit tames matters somewhat, but the traffic is as bad as ever, and drivers are less courteous than hereabouts.  Giving way to other drivers rarely gets an acknowledgment, so not a few earned a Trumpington salute.  We used the new Silvertown Tunnel in both directions: it is longer and more sinuous than the Blackwall, but does the job as well or better.  The M25 was OK on the way up, but when we tried to join it from the A2 on the way home we found it blocked solid.  We headed back up the A2 and knitted an alternative route home.  On balance, it was easier than travelling by train and bus: and a damn’ sight cheaper, tunnel tolls and congestion charge notwithstanding.  But I won’t be repeating the experience soon: it’s a bit tiring.

Back here in the garden, the rain has brought a lot of stuff on, notably the grass, which I’ll tackle tomorrow (it says here on the wall…).  Ben did a good job weeding the front last time he was here, but we agreed that he’d leave the self-sown verbena bonariensis, which is, I grant you, quite pretty, even though it’s growing in practically nothing.  We’ve been cropping spuds, but the yield is poor.  The tomatoes are being a bit slow to ripen.  Maybe I’ll have to bite the bullet and get produce from the shops.

Another funeral

We sent off our neighbour Geoff today.  He was diagnosed with acute leukaemia around the same time I was diagnosed with a different variety of the crab, so we occasionally swapped oncology war stories.  We learned at the funeral today that he had been a project manager on the Rio-Niteroi bridge, and that he was a competent pianist.  What a lot of stories and music we could have shared.

A few days earlier, I joined a ‘walk and talk’ session on the nearby common, organised by the local u3a, guided by friendly and knowledgeable Commons Rangers Gemma and Dan.  Very informative and interesting, and another chance to meet nice people with similar interests.  It did, however, take me to the limit of my endurance: a mere 3000 + a few paces, since the day was warm and humid.  Must build up.

Sonst: we had a nice Sunday with Martyn’s sister Sandra.  A simple lunch: a chicken casserole alongside charlottes from the garden, followed by an apple crumble, using apples from our tree.  It shouldn’t be too long before we’re cropping tomatoes, and we have lots of potatoes to lift.  Let’s hope for some good cropping conditions.

My pen friend

In the early 60s - back in the days of letter writing - I signed up with an outfit called the International Youth Service.  Based in Turku, Finland, it put you in contact with people in countries you were interested in, paid for in international reply coupons.  Sometimes a letter would arrive out of the blue from someone looking for a correspondent in your country.  One such was Ria Maartense, one of the thirteen children of a postman in The Hague.  She and I exchanged hundreds of letters and postcards over the years, though more recently we stayed in touch through social media.  But it was via snail mail that I learned this morning that she died earlier this month, aged 74.

It must have been a sudden thing: my last contact with her was in June when she posted a clip on Facebook of her and her dog Jessie dashing round an obstacle course.  She’d always seemed as fit as a fiddle, going on long hikes, including the Camino.  Perhaps this has spared her the slow decline that others have to suffer, but it will have come as a terrible shock to her family.  Very sad.

The preoccupations of advancing years

A glance at the diary reveals visits to the optician, doctor, pharmacy, sleep study, x-rays, blood tests and the like.  To be expected, I guess, now that we’re over the hill.  Nothing too dramatic, though Martyn is struggling with a persistent gut bug.  

Fortunately the weather is cooling down a bit after three heatwaves in the space of about three weeks.  We’ve had a few good downpours, so we have plenty of rainwater for the tomatoes and flower containers.   We are starting to enjoy home-grown potatoes, starting with the ones that got away last year, and shall soon be harvesting this year’s Charlottes.  The tomatoes are setting nicely, so it won’t be too long before we’re enjoying them, diseases permitting.  We had some blight last year, so are keeping fingers crossed.  I sowed spinach the other day, and the seedlings are starting to come through.

Today I’ve hoiked up some polyanthus from pots on the terrace and replanted with antirrhinums grown from last year’s seed.  The polyanthus are now in a raised bed, recently vacated by our freebie spuds.  I’ll maybe ask Ben to plant them out in the autumn when the ground is less baked.  Roses are for the most part between flushes, so I’ve been dead-heading assiduously in the hope of promoting more flowers.  Two that we got last year from a huge shopping mall garden centre have been doing exceptionally well: Precious Gold and Precious Ruby.  Of the old guard, Queen Elizabeth has put up some vigorous new shoots despite being planted in next to nothing next to the sink drain!

Though it’s cooler today, it’s really steamy, so a scant hour in the garden was enough.  I hope the storms forecast for the coming few days bring a bit of relief.  Meanwhile, I’m watering from the fullest of the water butts to make space for new rainfall!  As you see, I live by the Yorkshire dictum: see all, hear all, say nowt.  Eat all, sup all, pay nowt.  And if tha does owt for nowt, do it for thissen.