November 2012


Spent the morning doing some grinding work for the possible Bring Back St. Blaise’s Festival. The use of the p word tells a story.

I then went and did 90 minutes work putting up bathroom fittings for Bev’s mum. After that it was up to Bev’s for a splendid chicken tea. She told me about a tv programme about sleep she had seen. It seems I suffer from sleep apnea. Apparently when we were sleep together I would stop breathing for so long she thought I might have died; and then I would start snoring again like a diesel powered rock crusher.

So if I add apnea to childhood asthma and acne (Oh gone are the spots that burst with squeezing, gone are the marks that mirrored my youth…); along with possible aspergers, itself a form of autism, I seem to have a nap hand of medical conditions beginning with A. Perhaps next year I should do a weekly blog going through my medical conditions alphabetically. If I did one a week it should keep me going to the end of the decade.

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It is 08.25. I am sat at my desk doing some work. I saw a strange light just above the horizon away to the east. I thought Venus; Space Station?. A few minutes later it proved to be a contrail, which I checked Plane finder to discover it is Delta Airlines flight DL251 Amsterdam to Detroit; so I can now point to Amsterdam from my office window; which is a nice increase in my knowledge.

Came back on Grand Central. It was cold and clear skied all the way. Called in the Parcel Yard, Kings Cross Station, after walking around the area to make sure no proper, cheap, boozers were open that early. Decent pint of Arkells, but £4.10 for the pint!

Talked to nobody on the train apart from the bloke serving at the buffet: £3.10 for a bottle conditioned Little Valley Withens IPA, brewed in Hebden Bridge. I am not a fan of bottle conditioning but this is a very good beer.

It was such a nice day I got off at Brighouse and went to the Commercial – Railway and the Old Ship Inn. I do not know how the links to tweets will view. I tried, and failed to tweet them in the pubs, and had WiFi in the Old Ship, but failed both times.

The bad news is that Jones the Butchers, and the best meat and potato pies, have gone! Apparently a lad had been killed at the factory and the owner eventually gave up the trade. A real shame.

Home to a very cold house and a final demand from BT for a bill I paid weeks ago. I have been with them for over 2 years so if they start playing silly sods I can move on.

Bro Basil, me and mother are in the same house on his birthday. Good day. Lots of talk and a trip to Whetherspoons for dinner. Lots of good talk, and flesh and place put on lots of ma’s stories. For instance her first holiday after she came to England, to work as housekeeper for a rich brewing family in West Kirby in 1949, was to a place she never knew the name of (she spoke no english). Basil figured out it was Red Bay Wharf in Anglesey, and the reason there were women walking up and down in short (for the time) skirts, and she had a strange man come up to her, was because it was where the rich went to pick up prostitutes of either sex.

Though I could find no reference to prostitutes in Red Wharf Bay, I did show ma the google view, and she recognised it.

My 91 year old mother is physically fitter than she has been for months. Bev and I took her to Tilgate yesterday in a taxi so she could have her hair cut (she was looking like the Dulux dog).

She walked home and was giddy with it; which lasted the rest of the day.

This manic behaviour is great, but followed a bad, depressive day earlier in the week. I both triggered and helped.

I also got second hand info from my brother that I have a high chance of being on the asperger’s bus (though I do not have the route, let alone the chassis, number). The thing is that for a word describing behaviours that involve obsessive attention to, and retention of, detail the definition of aspergers seems about as vague as HM Government’s policy on railways. Like dyslexia people think it is a ‘scientific’ word because they can describe some symptoms and offer a glossy magazine theory; but there are so many symptoms and explanations that it becomes a meaningless word; which makes people like me VERY ANGRY!!! It is not as if I exhibit autistic reactions (smily face thing).

PS. In reply to questions: no, me and Bev are just good friend. She wanted to: …make my peace with your mother before it is too late. It was a nice of her and the visit did us all good.

Long day in London. London Bridge to Draft House, LOndon Bridge Road. Good place, but pricey beer. One of the bar staff has an uncle who is the principle baker of East Stirlingshire FC.

I tweeted the above, but when I tried to tweet later I failed, and still cannot!

Went on to a pub called the Farriers Arms on Lower Road, as part of my If you pass a pub the pub may be past Old fashioned street boozer with no real ale but with live racing on a big screen. The landlady is from Kirkcaldy and ex-PM Gordon Brown’s dad was her minister.

Then on to the O2 Arena/Millenium Dome/Blair’s white cow pat; where I got the cable car across the Thames. I shared the car with 3 Robbie Williams fans. I filmed it but cannot find the lead to download it or the photos.

On my way to Clerkenwell by DLR, bus and Tube I had to get off at Stepney Green to lower my liquid level (and then top it up with more beer).

Then the usual haunts in Clerkenwell: Old Sessions House; Horseshoe; Betsey Trotwood.

Then bus to Victoria to meet Bev off a Megabus. It came in 90 minutes late. I spent a little time in the pub next door, and more watching coaches coming in. Two suitcases got left behind when coaches pulled away!

Met lots of nice folk, helped a few find their way, and made more laugh; but the lass opposite us on the train was the drunkest. She was a cheese importer coming home from the work’s Christmas do, who was in So much trouble! with her husband; kept scaring the young lad next to her who was coming home from Uni; and veered wildly between insisting we get married and telling the world that nobody should ever marry.

My father developed the habit of drink sparkling wine, and my mother has kept the habit, though far less often. This champagne was on offer, and is fair enough. She thought it tasted of elderflower wine she has made herself (though she had to take her dentures out before she could be sure); as for me it was not as good as Lidl’s cheap cava, and double the price even on offer.

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