An iguana problem

I have mentioned previously that the consulting vet cannot anticipate the species of his next patient. An evening surgery in the Crawley practice demonstrated this fact perfectly whea gentleman brought in a long cardboard box containing a medium-sized iguana.
“So what’s the problem?” I asked.
“She’s off her food. Won’t eat a thing.”

I should confess at this point that I know little about iguanas despite reading Zoology as a Part 2 at university. But I had a look at the conjunctivae, the lining of the eyeball and its socket, and they seemed nice and pink. Stethoscope sounds from the chest suggested no problems there but, when I felt the abdomen, the intestines were obviously empty. Because food has to go in through the mouth, I opened its jaws and there was the problem staring me in the face. A large, perfectly round, tumour was pressing the tongue hard up against the roof of the mouth preventing the passage of any food. Being perfectly round and smooth the chances were that the growth was benign so if I could remove it the problem should resolve itself. I showed it to the owner who asked if I could do anything about it.
“I can try,” I replied not quite knowing how. “Leave it with me and I will have a think about it.”

The problem was that I had never anaesthetised an iguana before so I looked the subject up in the textbooks. These informed me that there are two methods of anaesthetising iguanas - either by using Halothane by mask, our usual anaesthetic, or by putting it in the fridge overnight. We tidied up the fridge sufficiently to accommodate the reptile and left for the night.

The next morning we were relieved to find the patient still alive, albeit breathing very slowly. My partner wafted a mixture of oxygen and Halothane towards the rather wooden victim while I prised open its tight jaws. A small scalpel blade run round the base of the tumour allowed it to pop out quite easily looking like a white table tennis ball. Small catgut sutures repaired the lining of the mouth and the job was done. Iguanas are cold-blooded creatures and its heartbeat had slowed dramatically in the fridge so there was hardly any blood loss at all. We put it back in its cardboard box and placed it on the central heating boiler. By mid-afternoon the patient had recovered sufficiently to tuck into a small meal of lettuce leaves and a few grapes. 

Never dismiss something as impossible until you have had a long think about it.

Bishops of Leicester

For no logical reason the phrase "Bishop of Leicester" has enetered our family's vocabulary. Every family has their own quirks, shorthand and innate understanding but this is how this phrase entered our own family's lore. It is a long story which I will try to condense as much as possible. 

It is over forty years ago when my wife and family were taking my brother, from Australia, on a tour of the sights of London one Sunday afternoon. We happened to be driving down Pall Mall when we passed a distinguished gentleman in a well-cut suit, gleaming black shoes, purple shirt and red tie. For no apparent reason whatsoever I said “Oh, look, that’s the Bishop of Leicester.”

Everyone turned their heads to watch the receding figure when my brother asked me how I knew it was the bishop.

“It was the purple shirt that caught my eye, “I said. “He’s probably come straight from the House of Lords.” The family gasped at my knowledge of the upper echelons of society while I remained silent and drove on. They swallowed it hook, line and sinker.

Two hours later on arrival at our home north of Colchester I confessed my deception pointing out that while purple often distinguishes a bishop’s attire he would be more likely to be wearing a dog collar than red tie. Also we were nowhere near the House of Lords which does not sit on Sundays and there are only 26 diocesan bishops in the Lords of which Leicester was not one. Happily the ruse was taken in good humour and the anecdote entered our family lore.

Since that time I have been tempted to lead family and friends astray by concocting potentially believable stories. They are having to be more and more believable over the years as the family are getting adept as recognising what is now called “A Bishop of Leicester” almost before the story is finished.

I will finish by relating a recent ‘success’. We were at a friend’s home having supper with mutual friends when the other guests presented the hosts with one of those enamelled French coffee percolators, looking like a billy can, beautifully decorated in white with blue highlights. The hosts had always wanted one for their home and it was much appreciated.

This was too much of a temptation.

“Do you know what the French word for that implement is?” I asked.

They shook their heads.

“It’s called ‘le ballast’. The ‘bal’ describes the round lid that serves as a cup and ‘l’ast’ is Old French for ‘the workings’.”

“Really!” they asked.

“That’s where we get the English word ‘ballast’. If you hang the percolator by the wire handle it hangs perpendicular which is what ballast does for a ship.”

Their mouths fell open at my erudition until my wife quietly said “That's a Bishop of Leicester”.

“What’s a bishop got to do with coffee makers?”

She went on to explain my strange sense of humour – and I am glad to say that I was forgiven.

As I enter my ninth decade it keeps my grey cells active without giving offence to my friends and family.

An Old Vet's Tales #1

The problem with tablets

My patients often taught me very valuable lessons. I had been with my first practice after qualifying for about four months during which time my confidence had started to grow. In fact rather than growing, it bolted to the extent that I was becoming somewhat arrogant and beginning to believe that I was God’s gift to the pet-owning public of Dunstable. 

It was an evening surgery when an elderly couple brought in their large ginger tom cat which had an abscess at the base of its tail. I was able to lance the boil and clean up the surrounded fur before giving it an injection of penicillin. This treatment needed to be followed up by oral medication of penicillin tablets. I handed the paper envelope containing the pills to the gentleman who expressed his conviction that they would be totally unable to give the cat the tablets.
“Oh, it’s very simple,” I said “You just draw down his lower jaw, pop the pill into the back of his throat and massage his throat while holding his mouth shut. Wait for him to swallow and the job is done.” 
I almost felt like patting them on the head as they left to make a follow-op appointment in three days’ time.
They duly arrived three days later with slightly ashamed looks on their faces. “We have not been able to give him the tablet I’m afraid,” he said in a low, apologetic whisper.
“That’s ridiculous,” I said in all my arrogance. “Give him to me and I will show you.”
That cat! It spat, it kicked, it bit, it twisted and clawed but, most of all, it brought me down several pegs and I surrendered by giving it another injection. After the clients left, probably with knowing smiles on their faces, I went to the sink to bathe my wounds but no amount of antiseptic soap was going to wash away the damage to my pride. I have never forgotten that cat and that was over 50 years ago.

Kind thoughts and a dead giraffe

Back in 1963, when I was in the penultimate year of my veterinary training, the veterinary school was presented with a circus giraffe with a nasty cough. There being no accommodation in the loose boxes the animal had to be kept in the truck in which it was normally transported from one venue to another. The truck was parked in a corner of the school’s car park.

After several days of inaction by the medical staff four of us students decided that the poor animal needed a bit of fresh air. Ken, the originator of the idea, went to the professor in charge and suggested that we took the beast for a walk. After a few minutes consideration, he gave us guarded permission. We tied four reins together and attached them to a head collar. Ken climbed the ladder, spoke reassuringly to the giraffe and fitted the collar. With two students on each rein we enticed the nervous animal out of its confinement and, two seconds later, chaos descended.

The giraffe, seeing a far horizon for the first time in a week, took off through the car park dragging us through the serried ranks of parked cars at a gallop. We careered out of the car park onto the impressive approach road leading to the impressive façade of the school building. Immaculate lawns bordered the wide carriageway with prominent notices invoking severe penalties for encroaching on the hallowed turf. Unfortunately, giraffes do not have literary skills; it cantered onto the carefully tended greensward, took several deep breaths and dropped dead. The image of ten feet of giraffe falling sideways with a resounding thump remains burnt on my memory. After a few minutes of shocked but respectful silence we decided that Ken had better go and inform the professor of the demise of his patient.

The result was a swarm of white-coated laboratory technicians surrounding the body taking every pathological sample known to man.

Within a few hours we had the diagnosis – tuberculosis! Among the many problems that this diagnosis raised was the fact that the veterinary school’s prize flock of Clun Forest sheep were grazing the field on the opposite side of the approach road. Having persuaded the local slaughterhouse to remove the body it was decided to use a flame thrower to kill off any stray mycobacteria which may have infected the sheep. For the rest of that summer our ‘crime’ was plainly advertised by the charred outline of a giraffe alongside the Palladian entrance to the building.

There was an interesting sequel to this story. Tuberculosis takes three different forms – avian, bovine and human – and the giraffe had been infected by the human form. The circus was eventually tracked down but the giraffe’s handler had since left the circus to work as a garage mechanic in Birmingham. When he was visited by the public health authorities he mentioned that he had been troubled by a cough for a couple of years. He was subsequently treated for TB and made a complete recovery.

Our youthfully irresponsible, but altruistic, actions had led to the unfortunate death of a beautiful animal but, probably, saved the life of a son, husband and father.

Comparing bonfires to wine

There are many interesting comparisons between a glass of vintage wine and a satisfying bonfire. When assessing either pleasure many properties should be taken into account. These include body, colour, structure, shape, ageing, aroma and finish.

The body of both can vary between rounded and thin; colour gives an indication of the potential pleasure, pale green to deep purples in the case of wine and deep green to dark brown with bonfires. The structures can be open or closed while the shapes should be well-rounded. Ageing of wine is measured in years while that of bonfires is calculated in days and weeks. Aroma is a vital quality of both wine and bonfires, the difference being that, in the case of wine, it is assessed at the start of the tasting while the bonfire’s olfactory pleasures develop later. The finish of a wine describes the length of time that the taste stays on the palate while that of the bonfire stimulates the nose and the eyes. A well-finished bonfire should satisfy the nose with a soft drifting smoulder without any acidity and please the eye with a feather-soft circular pillow of light grey ash.

The creation of wine and bonfires starts with the harvest. Nature requires the physical removal of the grapes from the vine but, for a bonfire, she asks nothing more than a rubbish collection. There are many thousands of grape varieties while there are millions of potential bonfire elements. Most grapes become useless as they die back and rot whereas the opposite is true of a satisfying bonfire. In both cases wet socks should be avoided. The combination of grape varieties by the cellar master is matched by that of the bonfire constructor. The Shiraz grape will lend an aura of smokiness to a red wine while a small proportion of green vegetation creates a soul-satisfying white smoke at the height of the fire. Small amounts of tannin may improve a number of wines but they are essential to a good bonfire.

Both viticulture and bonfire creation start very simply. One with the simple addition of yeast and the other by the use of a single match. Both develop with time. The descriptions of both include the terms ‘dry’ and ‘sweet’. The best sweet bonfires are made with fruit wood such as apple. The colour of wine comes largely from the grape skins while the brighter colours of the fire are augmented by some metallic papers.

Ageing is essential to the quality of the end product. Young wines are often thin and lack character while green bonfires are rarely satisfying.

Oenology is the study of wine while the accomplished creator of a great bonfire is prosecuted as an arsonist. Perhaps the study of bonfires should be called hephiastology after the Greek god of fire, Hephiastos.

The political timeline of Dr Sean Edward Roche - my son-in-law

December 2012

Shares the photo launch of the National Health Action Party

January 2013

Selected as Head of Strategy for NHAP

September 2014

Wins by-election for Stratton-on-the-Fosse East replacing the Conservative incumbent who, having claimed expenses for a suit of armour, fell on his sword and died of septicaemia after being held in the casualty waiting room for 3 days.

September 2015

Keynote speaker at the 1^st NHAP party conference held on the second floor of the Travel Lodge in Sturminster Newton. He makes a triumphant debut on Question Time completely eclipsing Janet Street-Porter, Lord Bruce Forsythe and the latest winner of Britain’s Got Talent

December 2015

David Cameron cancels Hogmanay to the anger of the Scottish Nationalist Party. He reverses the decision and is diagnosed with Meniere’s Disease after too many U-turns. He is replaced by Boris Johnson who immediately shoots himself in the foot and is admitted to the King Edward Hospital for Officers. This is closed the next day as a result of budget cuts and he limps home. NHAP gains 4 seats in constituencies that have no Primary Healthcare hospitals. Sean turns down the offer to become Speaker of the House of Commons.

February 2016

27 of the 46 Police Commissioners are de-selected following the disclosure of links to three national protection gangs – the Cons, the Libs and the Labs. The other 19 could not be found after becoming lost and unable to find a policeman to ask for directions. Sean becomes Patron of MenCap

July 2016

Boris Johnson bombs Iran but misses. President Homer Simpson tears up the Special Relationship. Sean crosses the house to join the alliance of the North Cornish Nationalist Party and UKIP and is immediately promoted to the Ministry of Transfusions and Sticking Plasters previously known as the Treasury. The waiting time for non-urgent surgical cases is now extended until 3 weeks after you are dead saving £17.68 billion allowing the new fifth London airport to be built at Haverfordwest. The Secretary of State for Transport got a D in his Geography GCSE.

October 2017

The coalition of the NCNP, UKIP and NHAP forms a new party named Consignia. Greece repays 76 trillion drachmas to Greater Germany previously known as the EU. Lord Sean of Wayford Bridge elected President of England now that Scotland, Wales, Northern Ireland and Warrington have achieved independence. He is carried in triumph on top of an open topped bus down the A303 where it gets stuck in a traffic jam at Stonehenge. While waiting for two days for the traffic to clear he is anointed Head Druid to pass the time.

Boris Johnson apologises to Coventry, Clerkenwell, Canterbury, Turks and Caicos Islands – and Iran. He resigns to spend more time with the family circus. The snap General Election results in a landslide victory for anyone unassociated with any of the three main political parties.

August 2020

Sean resigns the Presidency to spend more time playing obscure music tracks to Scottish Blackface sheep on South Uist thereby increasing their wool yield. Lady Tamsin has a sell-out exhibition of her sculptures at the Courtauld Gallery. Among the buyers were Charles Saatchi, Lord Andrew Lloyd Webber and Banksy.

Enough already!

The Secret People

One of my favourite poems is The Secret People by G K Chesterton. The first lines are –
“Smile at us, pay us, pass us but do not quite forget
For we are the people of England and we have not spoken yet.”

The eclectic, bizarre and magnificent opening ceremony of the 2012 Olympics suggests that we have begun to clear our throats and find our voice.

We could never emulate Beijing. That sort of massed precision is simply not British. We are a quirky people and often difficult to understand. I am born and bred English and there were parts of the ceremony that passed over my head but other generations got things that I did not understand. Danny Boyle could never hope to satisfy everybody but he gave something to everyone. It may not be judged to have been the best ceremony in the history of the modern games – who is to judge what is best? – but it was unique; it was phantasmagorical and, essentially, British. What other Head of State would have agreed to a spoof parachute arrival at the age of 86 and then kept it a secret from the tabloid press and even her own family?

We were all inundated with prophesies of gloom prior to the Games – security would be non-existent thanks to G4S; the road network would end in gridlock; the Tube would collapse under the weight of passengers; queues would be miles long at the Olympic venues once you had waited four hours in the immigration hall at Heathrow and businesses would go down the drains. It was a typically British way of rubbishing ourselves. We are allowed to do that but any outsider should think long and hard before he begins to join in the criticism as Mitt Romney has found to his cost.

Agincourt, Trafalgar, Waterloo, Dunkirk, Battle of Britain and London 2012.
“We are the people of England; and we have not spoken yet.
Smile at us, pay us, pass us but do not quite forget.”

Millions, Billions and Squillions

We are endlessly bombarded with figures which the average human mind finds difficult to comprehend. The UK national Debt is predicted to rice to 1.1 trillion pounds by 2011. To put this into perspective if you tried to count up this figure using one number every second it would take over 31,688 years!

Wembley stadium is often used as a measuring device to explain large figures - it has a capacity of 90,000 - so 1 billion people would fill 1111.111 Wembley stadiums - or should that be 'stadia'? The world's population is estimated at about 6.4 billion so they would all fit into 65,000 Wembleys but, if my maths is correct, each one would need about £300 to pay off the UK National Debt - but then that is less than half the price of a season ticket for West Ham United

As you can see my mind works in weird ways.

Samaritans in the snow

We needed to attend a wedding on the weekend before Christmas down in Sussex - a three hour drive away. The weather was not particularly encouraging but we were very keen to be there. We finally got to our hotel after nine hours driving through the ice and snow and we were very grateful that the hotel had left out some sandwiches when we arrived at 11.00pm.

There was further snow during the night and we got a phone call to say that the wedding had been postponed. The groom's father and two brothers had been unable to get to the venue from London so we started the long journey home. We needed a tow to get up the slight incline out of the hotel car park. Their 4x4 was unable to do the job so they got out a tractor to get us going.

Throughout the ensuing twelve hour journey we needed a further four tows and four 'pushes' to keep us moving. The Samaritan spirit of local people who used their four wheel drive vehicles to assist skating travellers up the local hills restored our faith in the unselfish humanity of the British people. At each slight incline there were cheerful local residents prepared to give up the warmth and security of their own homes to help passing strangers. There was a wonderful camaraderie on the snowbound roads.

The British may be a grumpy race but, give them a crisis, and a cheerful humour rises from their breasts for which my wife and I will be eternally grateful. To all those anonymous Captain Oates we can only say "Thank you".

#500 - Children's giggles

There is something infectious about the giggles of young children. You do not even have to see them laughing – just the sound brings a smile to one’s face. While screaming occupants of pushchairs in a supermarket increases the tension throughout the store, a gurgling chuckle spreads smiles within earshot.

Towards the end of my computing lessons for the over 60’s I occasionally see a glaze in the pupil’s eyes and I know that it is time to stop. In these instances I try to lighten the load of information by bringing up a YouTube video of a giggling child – just search for ‘hahahaha’ – and within seconds a broad grin spreads across the face of the student’s face and they leave the lesson with their spirits on a cloud. No matter how many times I play the video I still can’t help smiling. Wonderful!

Awesome things

I have just discovered a life-enhancing website to brighten the occasional grey days that we all suffer from time to time. The author of 1000 Awesome Things at www.1000awesomethings.com set himself the task of describing one of those small facets of life every day for a thousand days – starting at 1000 he is now down to number 464 – in the form of a rolling blog. Recent posts have described the joy of using milk instead of water in pancakes, hot chocolate and mushroom soup; the moment of anticipation just before the first kiss; capturing a perfect picture and finishing your last exam.

The website has been so successful that it won a Webby award and has now metamorphosed into a best-selling book. It has stimulated me into creating a few blogs on the same subject which will appear over the next few weeks. I have already started a list – gooked eggs (my favourite comfort food), the kindness of strangers, things that work when they shouldn’t and surprising successes of one’s children. Western mankind has become a complaining species only happy when members can leap into litigation quoting human rights, health and safety other people’s responsibility when we could be enjoying life so much more if we forgave a little more often and looked for silver linings. We ought to celebrate the glimpses of sunlight on the mountain tops instead of wallowing in the swamps of self pity.

We would all be a lot contented if we took time out at the end of each day to remember one fleeting moment of unexpected happiness. They often happen in the blink of an eye so keep them open to the possibility. As Nathaniel Hawthorne said “Happiness is a butterfly which, when pursued, is always beyond our grasp, but which, if you will sit down quietly, may alight on you.”

Be happy.

Common Courtesy

Courtesy is no longer common which is a sad reflection on our modern society. It is a rarity today to hear a child saying “Thank you” in a tone of voice which implies that the phrase is meaningful to both the giver and the recipient.

I like to think of courtesy as being ‘bread upon the waters’. You never know when it will be repaid. The opposite is also true in that discourtesy will come back to bite you.

Way back in the 1960s my father had an office in Cavendish Square behind John Lewis in London. There were no parking meters or traffic wardens in those far off days and cars would be double- or even triple-parked around the square. There was a wonderful doorman guarding the entrance to the seven offices at 19a, Cavendish Square – Mr Taylor. He wore a long black coat, black shoes, pinstripe trousers and a top hat. He was the epitome of courtesy.

Whenever I parked my old banger outside the building Mr Taylor would ask for the keys so that he could move the vehicles about as parking spaces became available. He would always ask when I needed to use the car again so that it was accessible on my return. One afternoon a client of Lew Grade, the theatrical impresario, arrived in his Rolls Royce and proceeded to park it against the kerb. Mr Taylor approached him to ask for the keys but the man, in a particularly lofty manner, refused to hand them over saying that he was only going to be there for an hour or so. You did not do this to Mr Taylor.

Two hours later the client returned to his car which, by this time, was hemmed in by cars in front, behind and alongside the Rolls. He snapped his fingers at Mr Taylor and instructed him to move the offending vehicles so that he could get his own car out. “Sorry, sir, they never left me the keys” came the reply and the Roller was trapped for a further five hours!

Courtesy is not a matter of doffing one’s cap – very few men wear them nowadays – but simple consideration of other people’s feelings. Holding a shop door open for a following customer, offering to pick something up dropped by an arthritic pensioner, letting a driver out into your line of traffic or complimenting a stranger on their choice of clothes can generate a feel good factor in oneself. When was the last time you offered to carry a heavy shopping bag for an old lady when you had just popped into the supermarket for a newspaper? Try it and you will find sunshine come into your life. Let’s make courtesy more common.

Rejection slips

Having now collected seven rejection slips for my children's novel I have decided to get some advice from a literary consultant company - Cornerstones - which was recommended by the last agency.. I am hoping that they may be able to point me in the right direction after polishing both the manuscript and the synopsis. It will cost me £180 but I think it will be money well-spent if it helps me to improve my writing skills. I will keep you informed of my progress.

Latest publishing news

Life has become quite exciting over the past few months. My first book - Computing for the Older and Wiser - continues to sell remarkably well and the second volume - The Internet for the Older and Wiser - was published in November 2009 and sold well over Christmas. My third book in the series - Windows 7 for the Older and Wiser - is due out in 8 days time on 22nd January.

In the meantime I have been able to complete the third draft of my new children's novel, "The Land of Beyond - Genesis" and I have submitted it to the first, of what may prove to be many, literary agent. I am keeping my fingers crossed for a positive response. Writing the novel was a totally different experience to that of writing the computing books. I found that, once I had got into the flow of the writing, I was in a different world - one of my own imagination. It was a magical feeling. There were times when the words simply would not flow but by 'writing through' the 'block' I found the muse returning.

The book is about a magical world discovered by four children where it never rains during the day, nobody gets ill and everyone lives in harmony. However this is not the perfect world it appears to be because, lying in the shadows, are the Cateroceri who threaten the population with slavery. A magical world? There are boats powered by sycamore seeds; electricity generated by silk trees and thunderstorms; strange cooking stoves which provide any meal requested by the children and a professor who creates weird and wonderful contraptions. The children aided by the professor are determined to rescue the slaves from their underground prison in spite of the many dangers surrounding their efforts.

I will post a synopsis of the book in my next blog and keep you up to date with developments.

Rural broadband

Access to broadband

At the beginning of the Internet revolution web content and email were largely in the form of text which created small files that could be sent quite comfortably by ‘dialup’ connection. Early digital photographic images were comparatively small files but still took a little time to transmit across the Internet. The past few years have seen an explosion of high definition images, huge update files that need to be downloaded and sophisticated computer applications that are available from the Web. Early photographic files were of the order of 200 kilobytes and a simple email is even smaller at 10 kilobytes. Now even the cheapest cameras are producing images of 5 megabytes and some downloadable programs can be as large as 40 megabytes. These file sizes have had the effect of overwhelming the old ‘dialup’ services which could only transmit information at a rate of 30 kilobytes per second.

The answer to this huge traffic jam of information has been a broadband connection which can transfer information at speeds up to 10 megabytes a second. A further advantage of a broadband connection is that you are able to use your landline at the same time as your computer. A ‘dialup’ connection prevents any incoming or outgoing calls on the same landline resulting in irritating engaged signals for those people wishing to contact you.

Suppliers of broadband connections are forever quoting transfer speeds of anything up to 12 megabytes per second but these figures are so misleading that they border on breaking the Trades Description Acts. The main factor governing the speed of a broadband connection is the physical distance between your home – or business – from the nearest telephone exchange. To give an example, I live about 5 kilometres from the exchange and I struggle to get a connection speed of more than 400 kilobytes per second while a friend who lives within half a mile of the exchange and uses the same Internet connection supplier can obtain speeds of 8 megabytes per second. In spite of this I consider myself lucky to get any form of broadband connection because there are large swathes of rural England that cannot access any form of broadband connection and this is creating a dual class Internet society.

The Government is repeatedly assuring us that “everyone” will have access to a 2 Mb connection by 2012. This is “pie in the sky” thinking. The problem is that the old copper wire telephone system cannot transmit data at broadband rates beyond 6 or 7 kilometres. Even quite large towns are still waiting for the alternative to this “copper wire” technology which is fibre optic cabling. Can you imagine every small country lane being dug up to lay the fibre optic cables? We have enough traffic delays due to roadworks at the present time that the prospect of every road being equipped with the new cables is simply not feasible – and yet Ministers are still insisting that the project is viable!

The Prince of Wales has joined the argument pointing out that the lack of broadband communication is creating an even greater isolation of the rural communities from the “powers than be” sitting in their urban ivory towers.

So what is the answer? Moving house would seem to be an extreme solution to the problem. There are developing technologies such as wireless and satellite communications but these are very expensive and limited in their application. They will improve in time but not at the speed that the Government proposes - which is a sad reflection on our capabilities as a first world country when others, which we classify as Third World nations, can provide communications capabilities that we can only dream about. Our political leaders are worried that they may be excluded from the G8 group of nations when, in terms of communication technology, we would be lucky to gain access to G247!

There are worse things than depression

I have suffered from depression of the bipolar kind for over 20 years. Lots of GPs’ psychiatrists, cognitive therapists and other professionals have helped me through many ‘black dog’ episodes but my main support has come from Jen, my wife, whose loving support has proved to be the most long-lasting treatment.

 

I had to change psychiatrist 6 weeks ago who considered that I was on inappropriate medication and decided to wean me off my Depakote – I was on a very low dose anyway – and now is reducing my daily intake of venlafaxine. Losing the Depakote has certainly added a lot more colour to my life but I experienced a particularly bad depressive episode for a week which started just before I reduced the dose of the venlafaxine. Now that the black dog has returned to his kennel – in spite of the reduced medication – I have noticed that I have stopped sweating for about the first time in 20 years and I am less tired during the day. I realise that these are very early days and the psych. has reassured me that there are many more appropriate medications that can be used in my case should they prove to be necessary. My first reaction is that I have probably suffered more from the side effects of the many drugs I have been put on than from the condition itself, dreadful though it is.

 

However the point of this blog is that one can always find someone far worse off than oneself. I was enjoying a cup of coffee with friends this morning when the subject of the conversation turned to disability. Everyone present – there were 6 of us – all had close friends,, family or just acquaintances who were suffering from such severe disabilities that we wondered what right any of us who lead largely happy lives have to complain at all.

 

Yes, depression can lead to suicidal thoughts and some sufferers do take their own lives but, from time to time, we can be released from the prison that is depression. While paraplegics, sufferers of Parkinson’s and Motor Neurone diseases and the carers of patients with dementia never get an hour’s respite.

 

As a depressive I simply want to salute their courage.

Finding a Googlewhack

As we know many people spend hours searching Google with varying degrees of success but what a lot of people don’t know is that there is a Holy Grail within Google that urges searchers on to find this bizarre treasure. It is to find a Googlewhack.

 A Google what? A Googlewhack. This is the gold at the end of the rainbow for many intrepid explorers. A Google whack is when you get a single search result from a two word enquiry.

 My son has been trying for years to achieve a Googlewhack by entering obscure financial terms into the search box without any success. He was green with envy when I told him that I had stumbled across such a find entirely by accident.

 It happened when I was writing a tutorial for my computer pupils and I wanted to confirm that there was a town called Auchtermory in Fife in Scotland. On entering “Auchtermory” and “Fife” into the search box I got the Google whack of a solitary search result. It referred me to a single website on the subject written in Italian!!

 Funny how a little serendipity can bring sunshine into one’s life – either that or one realises that “little things please little minds”. 

Video Interview with John Wiley

So what happened at my meeting with John Wiley? Well it was all very exciting. The team seemed to have nothing but good news about the book.

I was met in Reception by Colleen who has been my staff and guide for the past year and taken through to the technical division’s annexe where I was introduced to Louise, my senior marketing manager; James, who is the IT guru of the whole project; Chloe, in charge of the video project and Shaun, the associate marketing director. We were later joined by Katy whose job it is to persuade the printed media to sit up and take notice.

First of all there have been a current total of 2500 orders for the book and that does not include Amazon or WH Smith who have yet to place their orders. They all seemed pretty impressed by this figure but I had no idea how good this result was until they explained that this was the type of figure they aimed for when marketing a really popular “for Dummies” title!

The next bit of great news is that the book is going to appear in the Daily Telegraph list of Christmas books and that there is a chance that it might feature in the WH Smith Christmas catalogue!

I actually got my hands on the first copy of the final print pages, stapled together in chapters, and it looks very good. They also gave me a copy of the cover of the book which is very stylish.

They are all so excited by the prospects of the book that they are using it to try out some innovative marketing ideas such as the associated website – www.pcwisdom.co.uk – and the video interview which will be edited to include images of the published book, photos of me teaching at Age Concern and a regular “instant messaging” session once a week for the next six months.

They are also looking into the possibility of a series of books for “the Older and Wiser” – something like the ‘for Dummies’ series but aimed at the more mature market. This is going to take about 3 months before they decide whether it is a viable project. Nevertheless it is all very exciting and could provide writing work for me for some time to come. There was even some light-hearted discussion about the possible translation of the book into other languages – but perhaps that is a bit of wishful thinking on my part. There was further talk about signing sessions, newspaper and radio interviews

It was fascinating to be part of a publishing process and looking at things from the other side of the desk. For instance, although the publication date is 17th October, it will take a couple of weeks following the publication before the book starts to appear in the High Street bookshops. The online book sites will get them within a day or two of the publication date. They wanted to know how many postcards I needed. To me postcards are things you send on holiday which arrive three weeks after you get back so they had to explain that ‘postcards’ to the publishing industry mean small flyers to be handed out like confetti to all and sundry. I though 30 would be enough but we finally agreed on a figure of 200!

The came the video session. I had rehearsed my monologue for several days and again on the train journey. This proved to be a mistake because it turned out like an oration rather than coming over naturally. Basically I had over-rehearsed the words.

The video was filmed in a rotunda-like room with me holding a copy of the book in front of the microphone clipped to my shirt.

“Don’t look at the camera.”
“If you need to pause then hold your posture for a couple of seconds to allow for the later editing.”
“We are getting glare off the cover so could you hold it further to the right. No, now your fingers covering up the title. That’s it.”
“Can you move round the sofa? We can get a better light from that position.”

The instructions came thick and fast. There had to be a number of different takes to allow the editors to make their choice of the best angles. The whole process – which I gather will result in a 3 minute video – took about one hour 45 minutes but this was considered to be a shorter than average time because everything had gone well. Personally, I thought I had been rubbish – fluffing my lines, forgetting to look in the right direction and, on one occasion, managing to drop the mike receiver box on the floor with a resounding crash. In spite of this they all thought it had been a successful session so I bowed to the experts and kept my trap shut.

One interesting result of all this is that I watch television interviews in a completely different light as a result of my experiences. My free advance copies should arrive in 13 days time.

I can’t wait.

A Day Out to Chichester

The day finally arrived when I was due to go down to Chichester to video and interview to promote my new book “Computing for the Older & Wiser”

 

It was a beautiful Autumn morning when I left home at 8.45 to drive to Colchester station – a light mist was still clinging to some of the sheltered meadows. I had already bought my ticket so there was no rush and I had to wait for about 20 minutes on the platform because the train was running slightly late. The journey to Liverpool Street was uneventful and I got quite a bit of work done in learning my lines for the interview.

 

The trouble started on the Underground Circle Line where there had been a security alert at Temple stopping all services on the Circle and District lines. Station staff suggested that service would be up and running within 20 minutes so it seemed better to wait rather than fight the London traffic in an expensive taxi.

 

The first Circle line train eventually arrived after 50 minutes – followed, like buses, by three more within 4 minutes. I declined the first train which resembled a can of sardines and joined the second train which had seats to spare. On arriving at Victoria I found that I had time for a quick cigarette in the street outside before catching the direct line to Chichester. This particular rain stopped at so many stations that it required three screens on the departure information to include all the possible destinations. But I had a seat and I could use the time for more rehearsal in my mind. The train rattled its way through old familiar stations like Crawley, Three Bridges, Horley, Horsham, Ford and Barham before trundling in to Chichester.

 

I was proud of the precautions I had taken to prevent any problems arising through he day when my hearing aid battery failed at Gatwick airport. Well done! I had remembered to pack a couple of spares in my briefcase.

 

Searching for a taxi rank to complete my journey to the publishers at The Atrium, Southern Gate I was really chuffed to see that the building in question lay some 30 yards beyond the line of cabs.

 

I had rung ahead to inform them of the delay in  my journey so a selection of cling wrapped sandwiches and a cup of coffee were awaiting my arrival. The John Wiley team were all very friendly and excited by the prospect of the book. (There will be more on the actual meeting in the next instalment.)

 

The meeting and video took about 2½ hours so I was ready to make the homeward journey by 4.30. A few small cumulus clouds hung in the blue sky over contented cattle grazing the water meadows alongside the river Arun. Venerable oak trees provided shelter for ruminating sheep – the tail end of a lovely day but it was all about to go downhill. 

It started at Barham where we were joined by a large number of passengers permanently connected to their mobile phones. The girl in the seat behind me was chatting loudly to a girlfriend for the hour long journey to South Croydon. If said said that she had taken the day off once she must have said it fifty times. We all heard about the problems she was having with her boss, her hairdresser, her family – especially her mother “who never does understand” – her lack of a current partner and the fact that she could never buy a pair of shoes that fitted her. Those of us remaining on the train at South Croydon gave a collective sigh of relief as she got off the train – only to be replaced in the same seat by a corn-rowed rapper who was endlessly explaining to his ‘crew’ dat he was comin’ in to Victoria and would meet dem at de usual place before goin’ on to de gig.

 

The Victoria thoroughfares were more like the arrivals hall at Gatwick airport with non- English speaking tourists toting huge suitcases who seemed unable to workout the automatic check out gates. T o give then their due only two of the available seven gates were actually working at the time. In what felt like a stampede of wildebeest during the great Masai Mara migration I felt sorry for two startled pensioners looking like baby giraffes caught up in a lion attack.

 

Once more to the Underground, my friend, once more. The first ten trains were destined for Upminster of all places and there was no sign of a Circle line train. What is the population of Upminster anyway? The chap beside me asked if this was the right platform for the Circle Line and received a vaguely confident reply from me that it was. He went off in search of a member of the Underground staff – he must have had the confidence of a Livingstone hoping to find the Victoria Falls. In spite of this he was back after 20 minutes with the news that there had been an electrical fault at South Ken but the line was running smoothly again. The line may have been smooth – well it was for the endless succession of Upminster trains – but it took another 15 minutes before the first Circle line train made its applauded appearance. I swear that during the journey from Victoria to Liverpool Street I never once heard the English language spoken. There was a French conversation going on around me and further up the carriage were the indecipherable sounds of Eastern European tongues. People were reading newspapers in Greek, Italian and what looked like Russian. I felt like singing “Where have all the English gone? Slow time passing.”

 

Most of this international community joined me in getting off at the main line station to the East. Checking the noticeboard I reckoned I just about had time to grab a coffee from a bunch of Slavs serving caffeine at one of the station outlets. Unfortunately none of the Slav servers or their Eastern European customers seemed to grasp the concept of British currency and I had to abandon the queue to catch the Norwich express whose first stop was Colchester. I felt as though I had to race past seventeen first class carriages before reaching one that agreed to transport us ordinary mortals on the long journey.

 

I believe there is a chain of drinking houses spread throughout the capital called TGIF – standing for Thank God it’s Friday. This train should have been christened OGIF – Oh God It’s Friday! Every seat was taken! Standing room only throughout the cattle class carriages.

Inevitably there were several people who need the ‘bathroom’ during the journey which meant a series of exercises that experienced mountaineers would have relished in preparation for their ascent of the Matterhorn. To give them their due most of the passing traffic offered mumbled words of appreciation or apology – except for one man who made the journey three times without a single word of thanks. He was in his mid thirties so it was unlikely to be prostate trouble so what was his problem? 

I am definitely a country boy and only use the capital’s transport services on an irregular basis so I consider myself fortunate compared to my fellow passengers to have to endure this week in, week out. They have all adapted in different ways to cope with the vicissitudes of modern travel even if it means reading a book on the hereditary DNA of leaf-cutter beetles. I kid you not. That is what the seated passenger was reading below me and the ticket lying on the table in front of him showed that he had the rest of the journey to Norwich to complete his research.

 

About three quarters of the seats had those little booking slips perched on the top of the back rest. Does anyone understand what these billet doux mean? People seem to grab a seat whether it has a reserved ticket or not.

 

But enough of this complaining, I was on my way home and Colchester was the next stop. Oh no, it wasn’t! The loudspeaker system soon burst into life offering us the sad information that a gentleman in Carriage G needed medical attention and therefore we would be making an unscheduled stop at Witham where the paramedics were waiting to bring him back to life.

 

Thirty minutes later we were back on track again and the train exhaled a large part of its load onto platform 2 into the Colchester night. The down, under and up again walk to the exit reminded me that I had two replacement knees and a recently operated on Achilles tendon but the car was only half a mile away and I was nearly home. Once in the car I tried to ring Jen on my mobile only to be informed that my pay-as-you-go tariff had run out and therefore my attempts to ring home were being denied.

 

I pulled into the driveway at 8.45pm exactly 12 hours after leaving for my day out to Chichester. It had been an enlightening day but I am glad we live in the rural backwaters of East Anglia with birdsong for loudspeakers.

Becoming a first time author

The fun of being a first time author

 

Over the years I have written a number of articles for magazines and newspapers on subjects ranging from the West Mersea oyster industry and the repair of antique clocks to a monthly column on various veterinary subjects in the county newspaper. I am a retired veterinary surgeon.

 

I have even written three novels which, although enjoyed by family and friends, have proved to be insufficient to interest the publishing industry.

 

Persistence has eventually paid off and my first book is to be published by John Wiley & Sons in the middle of next month. (October 2008). Entitled “Computing for the older and wiser – Get up and running on your home PC” it is a manual aimed at the mature generation who are seeking ways to join the Internet revolution. I have taken great pains to avoid all jargon, acronyms and general ‘computerspeak’ and tried to explain how much fun the older generation can have ‘surfing the Net’. It is already featured on many Internet booksellers sites and more detailed information can be found on the Amazon website at http://tinyurl.com/6rrk77 .

 

The whole venture started some four years ago when I did some market research on the Web and in the local library and found that there were very few intelligent and light-hearted manuals designed for the Third Age. I thought I had found my niche but then I was approached by our local historian to write a book on the history of the village. This took two years and subsequent research into the computer manual market proved that I had been right and that there were now more than fifty books aimed at “my” market.

 

Undeterred I continued my research and realised that there was still a market for the type of book I had in mind. By this time I had already written about 40,000 words and collected over 150 screenshots so I put together a book proposal. There are a number of publishers that came to mind but the market leader in this field appeared to be John Wiley so, without much expectation, I sent the proposal off to them with the obligatory stamped address envelope. Three weeks passed before my envelope returned to me in the post with a thin sheet of paper enclosed. I have received enough rejection letters to realise what were the likely contents.

 

You can imagine my delighted surprise when the commissioning editor said that they would be interested in seeing more of the book. So, it was back to the keyboard and I started to refine the text. I sent in the first three chapters and they were even more interested. This was all about 15 months ago and since then I have notated the screenshots, submitted the full text, received two advance payments, been in endless emails with a delightful copy editor until the final document was sent off to India for typesetting. Now it is with a company in Italy who are printing the book ready for publication next month with a first print run of 10,000 copies.

 

That, I thought, would be that. No way! The publishers now want a website to accompany the book with newsletters, more tutorials, blogs and video interviews. They have even expressed an interest in a second book along similar lines so it looks as though I am going to be busy as I pass my 70^th birthday.

 

Robert the Bruce, all those years ago was quite right when he said “If, at first, you don’t succeed – try and try again.”