A brief holiday

I’ve spent the last five nights being waited on hand and foot in an establishment that’s almost as good as a hotel - except for the menu and wine list.  I refer of course to the Tunbridge Wells Hospital, where I’ve had a repair done to a hernia that resulted from my cancer job almost exactly two years ago.  I was in the care of the same surgeon as last time, and a lot of the care staff were also the same as last time: it was like a reunion with old friends.

I had a nice room looking east across the Weald towards the North Downs.  It’s a pity it was right next to the sometimes raucous nurses’ station, but at least that meant that, if I had to ring the call bell, someone was there quickly.  Of course, the catering was pretty institutional and bland, but I wasn’t using a lot of energy, so better fare would have been wasted.  The surgeon is happy with the results, and a modest extra benefit was that he had seen the encouraging results of a CT scan I had a week before.

Of course, I had drains for a few days, which made trips to the loo a bit complicated.  But in the early days I couldn’t get out of bed anyway.  Mercifully, I didn’t need a catheter or an epidural, so the external plumbing was limited.  Another mercy is that I don’t need anti-coagulants, so am spared the self administered jabs I had to do for weeks after the last do.  Even better, I didn’t have to hang around in the discharge lounge until the pharmacy got its arse into gear.  That took over three hours last time, and was the worst part of the whole experience.

So I was discharged straight from the ward as soon as my discharge letter came through, and Martyn was on hand to see to my case: I have to avoid heavy lifting for six weeks.  Getting up from bed and from low chairs is still pretty painful, though that’s starting to ease now.  Of course it doesn’t help that I’ve caught a cold - and there’s only one place I could have got it!  Coughing and sneezing are no fun!  

But I have in general nothing but praise for the hospital and its staff, a clear majority of whom are immigrants, all of them unfailingly competent and caring.  The threat from the so-called Reform party that they would end indefinite leave to remain would wreck the NHS, which wouldn’t need a lot of wrecking these days.

Good service

The gutter on the back of the house has been overflowing for a while, and the jokers who put cards in the mailbox advertising such services didn’t trouble themselves to reply to messages.  We took to the internet to look for someone to sort it, and give the sitooterie roof a wash while they were at it.  The outfit we chose responded clearly and helpfully, and sent a polite young man with an unpronounceable name this afternoon.  It has been a showery day, so (a) he had a lousy job, and (b) we could see at once that he’d done a good one.  Since we can do less and less for ourselves as the clock ticks on, it’s good to know that we can GSI that we can trust.  Not cheap in this instance, but value for money.  Company name on application.

Martyn has been labouring mightily at taming a new computer, and at a bit of spring cleaning in the kitchen.  We’ve both been peeling and chopping apples, so the old hands are complaining a bit.  Plenty more to do in that department: I think we have enough unblemished fruit to store for a while, but we have at least two batches of windfalls to peel and chop.  Meanwhile, the tomatoes are yielding quite well, but we shall definitely look for Sweet Olive seed next year!

Mellow fruitfulness

Martyn harvested the Bramley seedling apple tree this morning.  We have already had a lot of fruit, frozen several batches of purée and given some kilos away to friends and neighbours.  Best crop ever, but unfortunately the wee beasties agree.  We might be able to store some of the undamaged fruit, but I suspect we’re going to be busy peeling, slicing and stewing.  We shall need more containers, which the generous, philanthropic and altruistic Mr Bezos will deliver tomorrow.

In the decorative department, I potted up some dozens of pansy plug plants yesterday, so must remember to keep them watered.  A lot of the plants in the containers are getting past their best, though the fuchsias in the hanging baskets are doing pretty well.  

My geranium cuttings have been disappointing this year, so it’ll be time for new stock in the spring, if I’m spared.

While Martyn was picking apples, I was down at the local repair café, getting a pair of secateurs overhauled.  I’ve wittered on plenty in the past about this wonderful institution, and make no apology for returning to the subject.  Even if you only want to drop in for a cup of tea, it’s a great place to catch up with friends old and new.  One surprise was to meet the organiser of our u3a German conversation group, who had brought in a VHS recorder for repair.  Why, one asks?  Surely this is a case of Auntie’s good gramophone?  

But make no mistake: the volunteers who offer clock and bike repairs, tool sharpening and so much else are without exception likeable and friendly people.

Likewise our u3a friends.  Our computer group normally meets at a tennis club in town, but since the key holder couldn’t come, and the rain excluded tennis, the clubhouse remained stubbornly shut.  Organiser Eryll gamely invited us all to her place, where we had a pretty good conversation, despite the awful congestion of Disgustedville traffic.

Well, what to make of this week’s news?  I think it’s best I leave it to the Rory & Alistair podcast, The Rest is Politics.  But I’ll just say it’s a great shame that Angela Rayner has dropped such a resounding bollock.  She is - was - one of the best front bench advocates for HM Government, and her rise to high office from very difficult origins is a tribute to her energy and commitment.  I hope she’ll be back.