The Sage forgot about Z

I know, you can hardly believe it and nor can I. But I was stood up; not with disdain aforethought but through sheer amnesia.

Al went to work this morning, but I was not surprised when he returned after an hour, so I went in to help Tim. Monday mornings are always busy - for one thing there's always a big order received as so much has sold out on Saturday and then there is a lot to check and possibly throw out; and it's often a busy morning as people need to stock up after the weekend. However, I was home by 12.30 and ate a quick but delicious lunch of granary bread (unadorned), raspberries, plain yoghurt and cherries. The yoghurt is a bit of a slog actually; I bought it a week ago, two 500g pots, but as they were out of whole milk stuff I bought fat-free and, to be honest, it's a bit too worthy. I've taken to adding a spoonful of Greek yoghurt to perk it up, but it's still taking some getting through.

I drove to the blood donor clinic in case I felt woozy and not like cycling the 3 miles home - I was fine, but was a little tired when on my way to the hairdresser later; I had to stand on the pedals to make it up the hill. Then I spent the rest of the afternoon in the shop - Tim offered to stay until the end of the afternoon and I gratefully accepted. I had a front door key, and the Sage said he'd call in at 6 o'clock with his key, to lock the back door.

At 6.20, I phoned home. No reply. I phoned Ro's mobile. Little chance of a reply there, he usually leaves it on the kitchen table once he gets home from work. Finally (I was tired and hungry) I phoned Al and asked if Dilly could bring in a key.

Two minutes later, my mobile rang. "Are you still at the shop?" asked the Sage cheerfully. I knew he was at home, as the display showed "Us". "You were supposed to call in half an hour ago to lock the back door," I reminded him tersely. "Oh! My meeting went on a long time." "It was the last thing you said to me when I left the house" - I was stern. He was abashed. Legless for standing purposes.

Five minutes later, having warded off Dilly, he drew up. I was smiling by then (mercurial isn't in it - I am the mistress of the mood change). "There's a bottle of pink in the fridge; have a glass poured for me"

And he did. Even better, Dilly and Co had only eaten half their chicken for dinner and she gave me the rest, with potato salad and coleslaw; I hastily washed a lettuce, sautéed courgettes to add to leftover couscous and dinner was ready 15 minutes after I started preparing it. The Sage also used a particularly nicely-shaped glass for the wine, which makes such a difference to one's enjoyment. I don't often use good glasses, as I put them in the dishwasher, but he is unaware of such things and that's fine with me.

Z sorts out her Diary and is still Gung Ho

Okay, plans for the week change a bit. Al has now got The Bug. Ro and I, the only ones unscathed by it, are very nervous. Trouble is, Al has a shop to run and Eileen is still on holiday. So...I've a free morning tomorrow, so I can go in early and set up and stay to work with Tim, because Monday mornings are often busy. He can manage in the afternoon, when I've a trip to the blood donor clinic and then a haircut booked and then I'll take over again for the last hour or so and pack up. Right, that's sorted.

Tuesday, I can cancel the morning appointment; the afternoon one is a bit more tricky but it can go too. I'm supposed to be doing food for a meeting in the evening, but I can always do it ... er.... oh, never mind, it'll be fine. Wednesday isn't too busy, so Tim can spare me for an hour or two for another meeting. I'm free in the afternoon. Thursday, I hope Al is better and he'll have to be on Friday because I have something on at 2 o'clock that I'm needed for - a school thing that's confidential but has a time limit and statutory conditions and, while I personally don't matter, it'll be awkward to find someone else.

If I'm ill, I suppose I'll just have to not eat and drink, because that's what causes the problems. I'm relying heavily on alcohol to keep me well. I've drunk all the wine (except the good stuff and the raffle prizes) so have moved on to gin. Unfortunately, there's no ice and no tonic. I used sparkling apple juice, which was a bit sweet so I added the juice of half a lime; this made it taste a bit odd so I added another slug of gin and it seemed to improve it a bit, anyway I drank it.

Update, 11.15 Alex came in a while ago to say he feels better. The Sage gave a hollow laugh after he'd gone, saying that he felt better each evening for 8 days, but there was a severe recurrence of symptoms in the night (actually, he didn't say all those words, as he doesn't speak like an 18th Century pedant, but I've added the last 11 of them to explain what he meant). We'll see what happens. I hope Al's optimism is rewarded.

Z flexes her fingers

I went in for the papers after church and arrived home just before 9.30. The Sage was on the phone being sympathetic to someone (a friend of a friend; we've met her sister but not her) who has come over from California to visit her mother who is very ill. I was on the way to the kitchen to put the kettle on when the other phone rang. It was Andy, who was due to play the organ at today's 11 o'clock service. "I've just been called out," he said dolefully. "I'll play, no problem," I said. He's an undertaker - well, someone has to be and he's a very helpful one, but he's often on call at weekends. My mother died in the early hours of a Sunday morning too, and the undertakers arrived by 10am, only a couple of hours after I rang them.

So I'll be off again as soon as I've had breakfast, to run through the hymns before everyone else arrives.

The good news is that the sun is out. It broke through the clouds shortly before 9.10, as I was on my way to fetch the newspaper.

Zed bed

I fell asleep on the sofa, while watching Have I got news for you - only for ten minutes, but I'm still sleepy. I should go to bed, but I'm a bit reluctant as I'm not good at the early night. It's such a pleasure to be asleep before 11, but then I might be awake by 3 and not able to nod off again.

Anyway, another day ticked off and I've the whole of tomorrow afternoon free. If the weather is a damn sight better than today's, I'll take the newspapers out on the lawn to pretend to read them, and actually sleep all afternoon.

I apologise for not putting up the books I read last month in May's Book Binge. I took some of them back to the library, having carefully written down their titles and authors, and have mislaid (no, not lost, I just don't know where it is) the card they're written on. I'll look tomorrow, in between coming home from church and flopping on grass or sofa to sleep. I'm wondering how memorable were those library books, if I can't remember even what three of them were.

Right, I'm off to bed. I'm an exciting Saturday night companion, don't you think?

The Z is out of joint, though not literally

I've given up a bit on keeping the plates spinning - I've just balanced them very carefully and am hoping they stay there until after the weekend. All this week's jobs have been done, I'm reasonably sorted for tomorrow's wedding and after that (bearing in mind I have to be in church at 7.30 on Sunday morning) I'll start thinking about next week. I'm slightly tetchy this evening, so will keep out of the way in here for a bit so that I don't say anything I'll have to apologise for.

Damn. I've got to send an emergency email to the PCC. hang on, I'll be back.

Right, done that. It's about next Tuesday - didn't think I should leave it until Sunday.

I read in the paper yesterday that a friend's father has died, and another friend's mother's funeral notice was in the paper today. He had been extremely ill and had outlasted his strength several weeks ago; but his daughter looked after him to the end. She (the mother) was only 70 and I didn't know she'd been ill. I'm very sad for both families - and sorry that it means two more funerals to go to.

I've just had one reply to emergency email, which offered help. How lovely people are.

I had to see a friend just outside Norwich this afternoon, so took a back road or two to cut out the ring road. Unfortunately, I came upon a whole twinkling of police and various emergency cars, had to turn back and make a five mile detour. When I returned an hour or two later, there was a great deal of sand strewn all over the road, so it must have been a collision in the rain. One never sees the accidents one has come upon reported in the press; it's always other and often minor ones, so I suppose I'll never know what happened; but then it's none of my business anyway.

Remembered to reply to another email. I'm not so good at switching off. And another. Damn. Or good, less to do later.

Sorry, you're getting an insight into my mind. This is what it's really like being me. When I apologise to my family for the horror of it all, I remind them that they're lucky really. They just have to live with me. I have to live with BEING me.

I'll listen to the Old 97's until I feel relaxed and gentle.

I'm still well, I only have to last another 30 hours and it won't matter nearly so much, except that next Friday is vital, and this a 9 day bug. Hm. Whisky. I'll broach the Laphroaig, as no germs can live through that.

PS - I just bobbed back to the Kitchen Witches, to cheer myself by reading their happy news again - they've had their first baby, a lovely little girl - and I read all 39 messages of congratulation, and I feel very cheerful and a bit emotional. Things are still good, when so many people care and lovely things still happen. Best wishes to all three of you Kitchen Witches.

Mood transformed, I'll drink my whisky and go and kiss my husband. Have a good weekend, darling friends.

Z's grandchildren love films

Steady rain today, which is getting heavier. I stayed in bed late, to be woken up by the Sage calling cheerily up the stairs that he was just off to fetch the asparagus. He received a reproachful answer (and apologised later, when he arrived home) and I dozed off again. Ten minutes later, the phone rang. It was Dilly, wanting me to let Kenny (ex-gardener, who will be 88 this month) not to call round today, which he often does on a Friday to see the children, in case he catches the Bug. She also wondered if we had any Weetabix, as Pugsley was asking for it.

I dressed hastily and went through with the Weetabix. Pugsley was sitting crying in his high chair. I held up the packet. He stopped and, as soon as it was in his bowl, dived his spoon in, even before milk was added. He ate two, but before he had finished Squiffany was through, asking to watch the scary film. I looked quizzical. "Ghostbusters" admitted Dilly. "I didn't feel up to doing a thing with them yesterday and they've seen all the children's films we have, and you can only take so much CBeebies." "Scary film, scary film!" chanted Pugsley excitedly. Evidently, the love affair with Labyrinth is over for the time being. I wonder how they'd take to Some Like It Hot?

Among the eels

I spent today in Ely. If you don't know it, it's not far from Cambridge, in the fens; that is, marshland; although a good deal of drainage has taken place, Ely is still, technically, an inland island. It's famous for its cathedral, which is impressive without and lovely within, and also contains a museum of stained glass which is brilliant. We had a guided visit and it was so interesting. The cathedral tour was ably led by a lady in her 60s, I suppose, who was quite portly but had slender and shapely ankles and calves (look, these things matter) and the museum tour was taken by a young academic called Rosie, who was very knowledgeable and answered all our questions.

I arrived home at 10 to 7, just in time to belt down to the church to join in the preparations for the wedding on Saturday. They are so happy and in love, does my old heart good to see them. They've invited me to the wedding reception - I hope my posh frock fits; it might be a bit big, I'm looking forward so much to the wedding that I'm forgetting to be terrified, which is not wise. I'll practice assiduously all tomorrow morning and be note perfect. We've established the length of the voluntary that will greet the bride - it needed to last about 30 seconds, but not sound as if it was cut short. I've abbreviated and then cut out a chunk and gone to the coda...if I knew how to record on to the computer without larking about on YouTube, I'd give you a tinkle, but I don't.

Anyhoo, the family are, apparently, much better, but have cancelled this weekend's trip to London, for fear of passing on germs to Weeza - she can do without a stomach bug at 7 months pregnant. I am keeping up my alcohol consumption, which I (and the Boy) reckon to be the best protection against bugs. Not having eaten much for a few days, my system has ground to an entire halt, which is not to suggest that the squits would be in any way welcome.

Send in the Clones

Dilly isn't quite better after all, so I took Squiffany to her nursery school today. She looked very sweet in her little red and white gingham dress, clutching her blue book bag. It took me a few minutes to persuade her car seat into my car, as I haven't shifted it for a while, but we arrived on the dot of 9. Several other little children were trotting towards the gate with their mothers or daddies or, in one other case granny, and it made me, unreconstructed 60s hippy chick that I have never realised I must be, a little sad.

Some years ago, there was a move away from uniforms. Most primary schools, apart from the private ones, gave them up altogether and so did some high schools; or at least there was a colour scheme rather than an actual uniform, but the mood has shifted over the last ten or fifteen years and now most schools have uniform. But these are 3-year-olds and the reasons for a uniform - that it promotes a sense of unity and pride in the school, tidiness, minimises competition for the newest and smartest clothes, makes the pupils more identifiable, etc, don't really apply here. What it did for me, as I watched these little identically-dressed tots trot in through the gate, was to indicate that they were part of the system, losing their individuality, expected to conform; and I think they are simply too young to have to learn that dreary lesson. At least, for painting, they still use an old shirt of their dad's, round the wrong way with the sleeves shortened. Won't be long before the parents are expected to fork out for a regulation artist's smock, I daresay.

Since then, by the way, she has developed similar symptoms to her mother, brother and her (now recovered) grandpa. Ro, Al and I are looking at each other in some trepidation. It would be most inconvenient for me to be ill any time before the 23rd, when I have a few fairly free days. Any time is very awkward for Al, especially if I'm not free or able to take over the shop, and any stomach problem gives Ro terrible migraines.

Z is nearly asleep

A few more things ticked off the list and I'm winding down nicely. Today's meeting and lunch were fine - I decided at the last minute; that is, about 5 o'clock yesterday evening, that hot food would be much simpler than cold and so it was. The Sage was on fine form at lunchtime, which was lovely as he wasn't well for a week - one of those bugs which goes around making a nuisance of itself; Pugsley and Dilly have had a milder version of it over the last couple of days, although they're better now too.

After everyone had left, at about 3.30, I said that I was going to see how Dilly was and opened the door. A strong whiff met me - Tilly, emboldened by the fuss everyone had made of her, had been and rolled in a cow pat. She was miffed when I wouldn't let her in. I did after a while, to feed her, but then shut her in the porch while I went to play with the children. Later, I had to go to another meeting (and found myself taking the minutes, boo) so cycled cheerily past the Sage and Ro, who were just directing Tilly towards a bucket of water and some shampoo, and I apologised insincerely but truthfully for not having time to help. Now, she is lying beside me on the sofa with a sweet-smelling and glossy coat. She's probably mortified.

Ro's car needed some work done on it before it passed its MOT - since it stood him in at some £450 two years ago and he spent about £100 on it last year and £150 this, he feels he has been doing rather well at cheap motoring. He wishes he could bear to go to work by bus, but it just takes so long - the last few days has reminded him how dull it is to spend an extra hour and a half on his daily journey and how short the evening is after he gets home. He came home early this afternoon so that he and the Sage could fetch the car. I spent £40 in the local Co-op yesterday (wine, mostly) to get him a 4p-per-litre-off voucher - I suppose they put it on to take it off, but with diesel at £1.30; that is, £5.50 per gallon, he doesn't want to drive any distance for cheaper fuel.

D'you know, I think I'll have an early night. Goodnight, darlings.

An Owl of Dismay

The chap from the Barn Owl Trust has called to check our owl box and see if it's inhabited. There are owls around, but I don't know if that's where they live.

I went, a few months back, to an information day about church maintenance - I learned a lot about gutters and drainage - the general principle is that if you keep your gutters and drainpipes in good nick, that's most of the repairs saved, except major structural ones, and many of them are caused by water in the wrong place anyway. Most of the questions were about bats in churches. Their droppings are very acidic and can damage, for example, marble monuments and wooden furniture, and pews have to be kept covered apart from service times, too or else people will sit on batshit and be displeased.

A local church (not in our village) has a big problem with bats - they are protected, of course, so nothing can be done to risk injuring them. Apparently, it started when the big house (the Old Rectory, in fact) next to the church caught fire. The bats had lived in the attics and, displaced, they moved into the church. They hadn't lived at the Old Rectory that long, in fact. A barn in the next field had been converted into a house. It seems that this left the bats homeless, until they found a new place to live...

There are a lot of bats about here, and I like them very much. Occasionally, one will get into the house. Of course, they can avoid you and there's no risk of being divebombed, but they are very small and impossible to catch and creep into the tiniest of cracks behind furniture, so it's hard to get it out again.

Anyway, about the bats in churches. One person said they had found the answer. They left the lights on overnight for a few weeks. This didn't harm the bats, but they didn't like it much, so they moved out. Once they had found somewhere else to live, the lights could be left off again.

Report back on the owls. A startled tawny owl flew out, but it was just sleeping there rather than nesting. There are pellets around, so it's evidently a regular roost. They were quite encouraged by this, as it's the first owl they have come across today after a morning of box-visiting.

Unforgettable, that's what Z ... isn't

I met a woman a couple of months ago - she was charming and friendly but quite the biggest fact-dropper I've ever met. In a few minutes, and quite irrelevantly to our conversation, she had let me know the origin of her surname (far posher and more ancient than it sounded), that she was not only a Doctor but a retired hospital consultant and that she found it 'psychologically interesting' when people she knew came across her serving coffee (in her capacity as a volunteer) as they were so startled to see her out of her social milieu and working in a servile capacity.

I met her again a few days ago and this time she showed me her late husband's medals (she just happened to have them on her) and told me that he had spoken six languages, dropped into the conversation that her car had a 3.2 litre engine and referred to another friend as Dr *John Smith* ... PHD she added.

The harder she tried, the more I became fond of her, in fact, because she seemed really quite needy, though she would be horrified to know that. The first time, I'd been amused - and marked down that she may have been a consultant, but she was not a surgeon or she would have dropped the title "Dr" - surgeons are rather too grand to need such a handle to their name. This time, I wondered why. She is attractive, well-spoken, obviously a 'lady' but maybe, now that she doesn't live in London and doesn't have the status of her job, feels she has something to prove?

Friendly and charming as she was, she showed no sign of recognising me, however. Now, whoever would forget me?

Z takes control. Ish.

Yes, well, I've sort of taken control. The coffee morning is over and it went well - I explained about the missing half of the present and there's another fortnight and a bit before the next deadline, so we'll see how that goes. And I took along my computer (yes, it was vastly admired - a Mac knows how to show itself off [it has a brighter display than a PC, which is highly impressive]) and there was a small crowd, which changed so that everyone saw it, of people to see my pictures of Madrid, Segovia and the rest - I hadn't actually planned on that or I'd have taken out the duff ones - and then they noticed the L'toft, so i showed them those (from the last sale) as well, which was Good Advertising. So I came through that all right.

I went home via Waitrose and bought, not only splendid biscuits for Tuesday, but also a couple of fine tarts, which - what the hell? - can form the basis for Tuesday's puddings with strawberries and, if I get around to it, meringues and (less likely) crème brulée. I've an abundance of slightly overgrown asparagus, so it'll probably be soup for a first course, although I'd like to do a risotto, but I've never tried the sort where you part cook it and then leave it for a while before finishing and I wouldn't want to balls it up. I haven't decided on the main course yet; it rather depends on Monday's weather forecast. Actually, the fishmonger calls on a Monday morning - I wonder if he'll have a salmon? That could work. Easy to cook in the bottom oven and can do for indoors or out. Anyway, it'll be fine (do you know, if your right hand is slightly misplaced when you touchtype, fine turns into fube?). Having decided to cheat on puds, I had to buy lemons from Al for Proper Lemonade, because - well, you know, just because (several people will be driving, so will be circumspect with the wine).

The clarinet practise is doing well, except that the inside of my bottom lip is awfully sore. The accepted treatment is padding it with cigarette paper, but it still hurts after a few minutes; never mind. I've tomorrow to get through (when I'm discussing what to play with the bride and groom) and then I can pace myself for Saturday. I've admitted my complete unpreparedness to several people (not including my family ... oh, hi, Wink and Weeza) and they assured me I'll get through. Well, they had to, didn't they? They are good friends and i trust them to be right.

Still having a difficulty eating. A proper breakfast - yes, dry toast and plain yoghurt is my normal breakfast, but lunch was 6 corncakes - like ricecakes but made, believe it or not, out of maize. Like squashed crisp salty popcorn. 22 calories each. Dinner I got put off, abruptly (look, I'm not criticising the Sage, but it was his fault), and so have not eaten much of, but one makes up with plenty of Chianti. Yes.

Z is bluffing and has been called

Yes, all those plates are all wobbling and one of them has dropped, but that's not actually my fault because it was mail order and was supposed to arrive two days ago. Tomorrow morning is the deadline and I don't think it'll arrive before I have to leave. Fortunately, it wasn't the only present and I'll get flowers as well - and oh blimey, I wonder where I put the card we all signed? I may know - that'll be the next thing to check.

The other plate that's teetering isn't my fault either. You see, we're having a get-together, those of us who went to Madrid last month, and one keen photographer has a film of the whole thing to show us. I only discovered yesterday that he has no apparatus on which to show it. Oh, well done; if he'd said so last week I could have done something about it. I can take along a lap-top, but I certainly don't have a digital projector. The chap who did it last year brought all his own stuff and I assumed he would too. I could take along my computer, I suppose (I presume he has it on disk) as at least that has a decent-sized screen.

Everything else in the next week that's wobbling is my own fault. I airily agreed when my friend asked me to play the music at her wedding - this was months back - and it was decided that I'd play hymns on the organ and the rest of the music on the clarinet. She called in about a month ago, and it was only then that I discovered there are 100 guests. As it's a second wedding for them both and she's a modest sort of lass, I'd sort of thought there wouldn't be many in the congregation. Furthermore, she wanted to leave the choice of music to me, though we agreed something stately but not traditionally bride-like for the start, some Mozart or similar for the signing of the register and something jazzy as they left. Unfortunately, I've been too busy to make as good preparations as I'd have liked and it's only been in the last few days that it's been coming together.

She's coming round on Sunday to approve the choices. I've chosen a trumpet voluntary for her entrance, which I can play on the clarinet or organ and I'll have to discuss the Mozart with her. You see, classical music was rarely written for solo clarinet and so there are always bits where you're accompanying the rest of the instruments rather than taking the main part; though I have music scored for clarinet and piano, which at least cuts out the orchestra or quintet or whatever. I might play a piano sonata instead, (the Andante from the 15th Sonata) which sounds all right with just the treble part being played. For their exit, I've gone with a rumba and a samba, and have a few jazz and blues numbers to finish. But I've not practised as much as I should have - it's not the notes, it's the lip muscles and stamina that need building up.

And then on Tuesday I've got a committee meeting here, and as it's the last before September, I've said I'll do lunch; only trouble is I'm chairing the meeting and so can't keep nipping out to the kitchen to do things. There will be 12 of us - yes, you might say, do cold, with salads; and I might, but I've still got to prepare the food. And do a pudding. I think they'll rather anticipate three courses, actually. It's pushing it to get 12 round the dining table, so I'd hoped to have lunch in the garden, but the forecast is rain - though who knows, those who decide these things might change their minds and decide there will be summer after all.

I've also got a couple of reports for the newsletter and the rota for the church to do before Sunday. And I'm helping at the school on Monday afternoon and then have the children as Dilly is working, and the rest of the week is normal stuff on the whole - there will be time to practise the music which is the only thing that really matters. I can't dampen a wedding, it's got to be good.

I've still got loads to plant out in the kitchen garden. As there was a frost a couple of weeks ago - it caught 4 courgette plants and a few french beans, I held back a bit but now I've got a load of stuff that must go in very soon. Preferably before Tuesday. One person will check out the garden - I have pinched out all the side shoots on the tomatoes in preparation - so it has to be a whole lot readier than it is. Last year, another one opened the door to my study, just to see if it's as undisciplined as I say it is. It was. He chuckled. I called him a bastard. I never swear at people usually (I swear, but not at people) but I thought it was rude.

None of it is out of the way really, but unfortunately I seem to have sort of stopped eating and sleeping a bit, which is making me tenser than usual.

Oh damn. Coffee and the best biscuits on Tuesday as well. I'll have to come home via Waitrose tomorrow.

Update, dinner having been eaten
Okay, it was a Chinese whisper thing, the person with the pictures had never expected to run a slideshow, so it isn't his fault, and the person who thought he was is Perfect and I'm not blaming her because I love her. I'll take along a laptop *cough*, I'll have to borrow Dilly's as Ro is away tonight - Dilly is out for the evening so I'll ask Al instead, because Dilly is the sort of lovely person who won't mind, because someone else has got a slideshow but I knew in the first place that she didn't have equipment.

It's amazing, how talking to people and getting things straight makes one feel less tense. Also, eating dinner. I only had a slice of dry toast and a few - half a dozen - cashew nuts all day, and it wasn't enough but I couldn't eat. Fillet steak, pasta, carrots, broccoli and asparagus, and a forbidden Chelsea bun, and a couple of glasses of wine; maybe a nectarine in a while and I feel slightly as if I shouldn't have had all that, but I'd be hungry later if not.

Okay, back to work. And then I'll play the clarinet again. Apparently, I bewildered Al and Dilly last night. They thought one of the children's musical toys must have been left on and were kept awake as I played until midnight!

Love and all our good wishes to Jonathan

Back last July, I mentioned pals of mine, Jonathan and James, and pointed you in their direction on MySpace - as then, I won't do it as a link as I don't want to be tracked back. It's here - http://www.myspace.com/bloodonthemind

I mention it because Johnny had a horrible accident on his farm last week and is in hospital. Bailer twine caught both round his foot and around the wheel of the tractor he was driving. No, I'm not sure exactly how it happened either, but he's not the sort to be careless. He stopped instantly, but had to reverse the tractor to release himself before phoning for help. An air ambulance arrived and he was at the N&N hospital five minutes after they took off again.

They - his parents and the three boys - are a lovely family and he's a great bloke. The Sage and I haven't been sleeping too well for the past few nights, thinking about him. His foot was sliced off, virtually, at the instep - every bone was broken and it was only held on by a couple of tendons. They've kept his little toe, as long as there isn't any infection, but the rest couldn't be saved.

Anyway, why I'm writing this is because I had a bit of a go at aspects of medical practice last week and, though it wasn't directed against the NHS at all, I thought it only fair to give another side of the matter, which is that this is where the Health Service absolutely shines. Money simply couldn't buy better care than he will receive.

Update, Friday
We've left messages, but not spoken to the family until now, but the Sage spoke to his mother this morning. He's still in great pain and has to be in isolation because of the risk of infection. His parents and girlfriend are allowed to visit, but no one else. As you can imagine, they are distraught and exhausted - it's a 50 mile round trip to the hospital every day. There's still the dairy farm to run and this is the busiest time of the year on the land too - at least all the cows are out of doors and there's plenty of grass, so they don't need feeding, but they do need to be milked. Three other men work for them and they are rallying round, and one of them is doing the driving to and from the hospital to spare them as much as possible.

Johnny is longing to be out of isolation and in a ward, for some company, but it won't be possible for a while. He has various gigs booked for the summer and is still hoping to be able to do some of them - don't know how likely that is, but the thought is encouraging him anyway.

Thank you all for your messages - when he's better and I see him again, I'll tell him.

Z is nice?

Just when I become all ponderous - HDWK gives me this! Thank you, dearest.

Or possibly a precursor to regular power cuts

So it wasn't the weather. It was the power stations. S1zewe11 tripped out and then so did various others. Good old Blair - he didn't want to risk his early popularity by making decisions about building power stations to replace old ones, so he didn't decide at all, until he was left without a choice. I'm not sure if anything has actually been built yet, though announcements have been made; and replacements take about a decade to complete and in the meantime our old stations are gradually becoming less able to cope. Still within capacity, but there's not much spare and a breakdown can have wide-ranging consequences - that is, a knock-on effect.

Wind turbines? - well, we're not exactly cracking on with building them either, and few people want them anywhere near. Besides, the amount of electricity they generate in practice is always less than is forecast, the weather has to be just right - no wind and they don't turn, too much and they have to be switched off - and they are quite high-maintenance. Building them offshore seems to be a good idea, but they are more expensive to build and maintain - oh, did I mention that wind-generated electricity is more expensive than that generated by power stations? You wouldn't think it, would you? And, of course, you can't store the energy. It's for immediate use; which takes pressure off the power stations at the time, but they have to be on standby for when they're needed.

We may say that we are careful about the electricity we use as individuals, but that's only in comparison with what we used a few years ago. Do you remember the days of round-pin plugs? Your house was probably rewired sometime in the 1960s to replace them. Before that, we could only have a few appliances on at a time - you might be able to listen to the radio while doing the ironing, but if someone turned on a hairdrier upstairs, the fuse would go and you'd have to go and mend it. And most houses weren't heated upstairs. And rooms had one light dangling from the middle of the ceiling. None of this ambient lighting, with or without low energy bulbs. We all used to cluster together in one room in the evenings, but now we wander off to our various rooms, watching television, playing on games consoles, using computers; often all at the same time. Everyone has fridges and freezers; so we should, but forty years ago most people had a small frozen-food compartment at the top of the fridge, and twenty years before that, few houses even had a refrigerator. Energy efficient appliances still use more than none at all.

Not that I'm knocking the individual. What about shops and offices? All lit up, they are. You're met by a wall of heat in winter and air-con in summer. Everyone can wear light sleeveless clothes all year round and be comfortable. Supermarkets have whole rows of open fridges and freezers. Computers may be turned off now in offices at night, but every one is going all day.

I suspect we'll muddle through, most of the time, and have no real idea what a close call it will have been, and the power stations will be renewed in time. And in the meantime, those of us who carefully boil just enough water at a time and don't leave appliances on standby at night and turn down the heating by a degree or two might make an iota of difference - who knows, that might be the final straw that won't break the camel's back? Or we can buy in electricity from the Continent. Mm, that'll be expensive. They've not been quite so squeamish about how to generate power in the past though, so at least they'll have it to sell.

A pre-emptive power cut

I see it now. There are psychics at the electricity company and they decided to get some of the power cuts over and done with before the bad weather came. I am awfully impressed. Mind you, the storm came in the middle of the night, when a power cut wouldn't have mattered much, whereas it was quite inconvenient yesterday, but I am too struck by the efficiency to complain.

It was an impressive storm, too. There was no wind and torrential rain fell straight down, the thunder rolled on and on and the lightning hurt my eyes, even when they were shut. I knew I should get up and check that there was no water coming in the house, but the storm had woken me from a deep 3.30 sleep and I hadn't the willpower. It all seems all right now, although I haven't investigated outside much.

Rings on his fingers?

"What are we having for dinner?" enquired Ro, coming to have a look. "Ah, fish fingers." "Goujons" I intoned nasally. "That's right, thick fish fingers" "Goujons" I insisted. "I haven't spent half an hour grating bread and egg-and-breadcrumbing fillets of fish for them to be called fish fingers." "Yeah, but they are," he said, wandering out of the room.

Ten minutes later, eating dinner, he said "What's the fish?" "Sea bass". "Hm, could tell they were a cut above. Very fine texture and flavour." "Line caught" I insised. "Bit of a waste to make fish fingers, but they're very good."

We had a power cut this morning and I rang the electricity board to find out what the fault was. The recorded voice told me that there were numerous faults in the area because of the extreme weather conditions. I stared out at the warm, humid, still air, wondering what exactly constituted an extreme weather condition. Haze just doesn't seem to do it.

When I was in town, I greeted the mother of an old school friend of Ro's and asked after the family. "Chris is getting married next year," she said brightly. Blimey. He's only a year older than Ro. I told him, later. His reaction was much the same. Mind you, one of his school friends, James, got married a couple of years ago.

Getting over it

I blame the Huge Lorry. This one. It was the interview he gave when he said that he first realised that he was depressed when he was spending a day stock-car racing and realised that, while everyone else was excited, he was bored. He also said that he didn't look forward to the future. Having a medical background, he recognised the symptoms and promptly checked himself in with a psychotherapist.

'Nonsense', I thought. 'Stock-car racing, how pointless, I'd be bored too and I can't even bear to contemplate the future, and I'm not depressed.... Oh."

I worried about it after that. My mind dwelt on it, and I wished I hadn't read the article. I concluded that I didn't know whether I would be diagnosed as depressed or not (looking back, I would have been, but that doesn't mean I'd have been any the better for such a description), but I didn't see that it mattered, as I was quite happy in my pessimism, I felt safer if I lived in the present, neither looking forward nor back, and I couldn't be bothered to talk about it with a stranger. I'd talked things through with family and friends and I'd rather just get on with what I had to do and not make a fuss, because the thought of that was stressful in itself.

What I did do was make sure I enjoyed every little thing that I could. Although I didn't, for quite some years, care at all if I lived or died, I might as well take pleasure in things while I was here. And I made every effort not to become upset by small problems, although I found this very hard for a long time. Anything at all - or sometimes nothing at all - might send me into a feeling of misery and despair that would last for several days. I never told anyone as I could function quite well and the men I lived with were not particularly observant or intuitive and were not likely to notice if I was quiet and distant for a bit.

What put me right was time and being very kind to myself. Now, my feelings were caused by events and general stress. I'm not depressive by nature and I don't suffer from a depressive illness. I'm not suggesting for one minute that other people, necessarily, would or should cope as I did. I'm talking about me and me only and, as I said yesterday, I had a lot of support and a generally happy family life which gave me every opportunity to recover from the feelings that had taken quite some years to build up.

What I would not have done, by the way, was take on an acting role as a depressed maverick, addicted to painkillers, with an abrasive personality. That would have made me worse. Being frivolous, cheerful and hooting with laughter every time a chap pinched my bum did me much more good in the long run. So, also, was doing quite a lot of voluntary work. It made me focus on others and not feel sorry for myself.

I've been fine for nearly two years. I can contemplate old age and no longer want to not reach it. I can be upset, indignant, angry, though I'm none of these things all that often because I am so ... oh gosh, hostage to fortune alert ... happy. I know of course that all good things could come to an end this very minute, but that makes me all the keener to appreciate them while I have them.

This was meant to be a precursor to another post, but it became too long. I also think I've said too much about myself, but there we go.

Z is not depressed - but has friends who are

I have a friend who is strong, capable, a successful business-woman who, in partnership with her husband, runs a stressful business which, by its nature, means that one or other of them is on call at all times. Whatever the occasion, they might have to leave or make a phone call to ensure that someone deals with a situation that has arisen. On top of this, she has an elderly, frail and demanding mother, to whom she is devoted, but who can infuriate her. She also does voluntary work that involves her in heavy responsibilities, both for people and for finance.

What annoyed me last Sunday was when she told me that she just can't kick the heavy dose of anti-depressants that her doctor put her on last autumn.

I know too many people in this situation. What they should be told is that they are wonderful. Fabulous. They have coped with pressure that many people would find unendurable. They may have had traumas in their past that many of us cannot imagine having to deal with. They reach the end of their tether and this is not only understandable, but inevitable. The mind and body are not supposed to be able to endure the unendurable; sometimes we crack but, because of the nature of the pressures we are under today, this cannot be admitted. So they go to the doctor, say that they can't sleep, they cry, they lose their temper, they are losing (or gaining) weight, they have a constant headache, irritable bowels, aches and pains, stiff jaws through constant teeth-grinding, and what are they told? They are depressed and the way to deal with this is with anti-depressants.

These can help, in the short term. But they deal with the symptoms, not the problems. And, a few months later, they say that the sleepless nights and all the other problems are still there, the pills don't really help any more, but they can't do without them. If they try, in less tense times, to cut down, the anxieties kick in again.

My friend has taken steps to lessen her and her husband's work-loads, although the effects of this will not really come through for a few more months - and they acted more because of the physical effect on his health than the mental ones on hers - but in the meantime, she thinks she is a failure because she still feels that she can't cope and now she's hooked on powerful mind-altering drugs to boot.

I met a friend in town a while ago and we went for coffee. She moved house last year and she told me how much she is enjoying life in her retirement with her daughters nearby and with her grandchildren in close contact. "Still on the happy pills, mind you," she said. "One day I'll manage to get off them." Now, I know when she started taking them. It was years ago, when her last marriage broke up. Since then, she has put her life together and done it very well. But she can't kick the pills, even though she is happy and has a tranquil life now.

I know any number of people in this situation, and some of those are you, whose blogs I read, and whom I admire hugely. And I don't blame you if you need help, and I truly sympathise if you suffer from depression or mental illness, and I know that sometimes there is too much to bear and you can't offload work, anxiety and grief, and that drugs, properly prescribed for good reasons, can help.

But.
1 - I believe that doctors are still too ready to prescribe them. Some people need to be told, in the first instance, that their health should come first and that they need to cut down and slow down. They are not depressed because they are ill, but they are ill and depressed because they are overworked and overstressed. They might need some medicinal help in the short term, but it is more important to treat the cause than the symptoms.
2 - I become very upset when these people, however hard they try to cope with the shit that hits them at every point, bewail their inability to do so. Of course they can't. They are not meant to. They are not inadequate, they are normal. What sort of fool sleeps calmly through their bankruptcy, or their parent's terminal illness or impossible demands on their capabilities and emotions? When you are going through an awful time, your body reacts, however hard your brain tries to compensate.
3 - We expect and are expected to 'get over it' far too quickly. I think part of the blame lies with the soaps and similar fiction. A few weeks at most after a traumatic death or disaster, the community "comes to terms" with the losses, because the pressures of the storyline dictates that it can't keep harking back. And so we think we should be the same. We're not allowed to mourn, we're given a few weeks and then expected to snap back to normal. Life isn't like that. I remember a friend of mine, whose husband died at the age of 48, telling me that the second year was worse than the first and that she only started to cautiously regain her equilibrium towards the end of the third year. I know that it took me (in retrospect) three years and three months to recover from the strain of looking after my mother, her death and a very difficult situation in one of my voluntary jobs that I had dealt with very capably at the time. And I had a supportive family, enough money and fundamental security, which many people don't have.

I'm not saying that depression is not real - it is. And I'm not saying that no one should need medical assistance if it's caused by 'events' rather than a mental ailment. Actually, I've lost track of a conclusion and I don't think I know enough to come to one - just that doctors should look for causes, not just symptoms, and that we should all look at ourselves without judgment and with kindness. And I'm not criticising anyone who can't cope or who takes pills, just saying that one shouldn't look to them to make things better if they aren't.