Phone Home

I phoned ahead and explained to Pauline that I was unwell. “Oh, poor thing” she replied, “I’ll get you a doctors appointment and you can go straight there.” It was a relief to be back in the United Kingdom and enroute to the comfort of my family. It always feels good to be with family when you are unwell. Family is big in Ghana; it is even bigger than Fanta. The doctor appointment was relatively swift, but the deed was done and a sample would be prepared for the hospital to check. By swift, I mean the doctoring and not the waiting. Although the waiting was my fault as we operate an appointment system and they had squeezed me in almost unannounced. The receptionist was very kind, and for a brief moment I wondered if she was Ghanaian. I also wondered what it would have been like waiting for the doctor in Africa. Another of those things that we probably take for granted, but in some parts of the World people have to travel vast distances or go without medical attention. The National Health Service (NHS) is often criticized, but it is there when you need it and it is a good base to build upon. You might have to pay or go private, but at least there is immediate attention. Unless of course you are a terminally ill Ghanaian national, then we send you home to die. I could harp on about that event, but this is not a political statement, albeit there is social commentary and comparisons between our two countries. The Doctor’s surgery that I use is a converted Church. Many of the original features still remain. This was a fitting location for my first proper rest in Aberystwyth, given the amount of time that I had spent in church during my short stay in Ghana. I had left the Surgery and was heading home. I already felt better, that was until I got home and the family announced that I looked dreadful.

Trouble

On Tuesday morning I considered ‘Why do I attract trouble?’ A colleague had once said to me that I am a larger and life character. “Not your weight” he added, “but the way things happen around you.” Flying out from Gatwick I had endured the lengthy frisking in full public view because no one had listed to me when I insisted that I should remove my belt. I am not a poor communicator; in fact I am pretty good. I have presented high level work covering complex matters. So why didn’t anyone listen? Is it my clothing size, my casual dress, or is it the short cropped hair? Okay, my hair is short, but it’s only a number 2 and most people shave to number 1. I speak reasonably eloquently. During my time in Ghana, I was mistaken as English by an English friend of Jeff’s. I smell good, and I wash frequently, so why do I attract trouble?

“Good morning sir,” always an ominous start. “You are in the green lane.” I wasn’t sure where I was, I was simply trying to get out of this nightmarish airport with its endless corridors and poor signage. “Do you know that you are in the green lane Sir?” delivered with a hint of sarcasm. “No, I thought that it was the exit, everything looks the same around here and I was lost.” An honest answer, delivered quickly and without hesitation. The man had followed me from when I had entered his green lane, I wondered why. Maybe he wanted company I had thought. “Did you pack these bags yourself sir?” “Of course I did, why would I want someone else to pack my bags, they might put the wrong things inside” I replied. “Are you carrying anything inside that was handed to you by someone else?” A simple question and I suspect that he was hoping that I would say no. “Of course I am. I have gifts from my friends and three envelopes to post when I get home.” Ah ha, a weakness in my response. “So you accepted envelopes, what size are they?” I knew where this was going, and I had to humour him but I truly wished that he would keep up as I was feeling unwell and too tired to play games. “They are average size.” A classic answer as how can you define average. What I could have said is that all three fit the British Post Office defined sizes and thicknesses for the classification of a small envelope as defined in the Postal changes of 2007. But maybe he would have thought that I was a smart arse, and after all some of them had guns. They were not visible, but I am not stupid. “What thickness are these envelopes?” he continued. “Normal thickness” I replied. This was going nowhere, so I added “I am not stupid, they are average sized envelopes of normal thickness, if I was suspicious of anything I would have refused to carry them. I would never carry other people’s bags or belongings and I understand the need to be cautious when travelling.” At last, an answer that drew the conversation to a close. “Thank you, you can go” he concluded.

On the way to Ghana I had felt like a terrorist. Frisked in public view because no one had listened and the metal detector, detected what I knew it would detect. On my way back, I felt like a drug baron. The only saving grace; was like the metal detector, both interrogators were only doing their job. I only hope that the same rules apply on the planes to and from other destinations. I would hate to think that it was an African thing.

Better Men

He may have been The Best Man, but I have met many better men. These include: Jeff, Cudjo, Elijah, Jones, Jess, Rubens, Nigel, Yoggi, the Two Uncles, the men at the Garage, the Kwik Fit Fitter, and of course Michael. I don’t mind being blanked, and I should have suspected something was amiss, when Michael handed me the telephone to chat to him; and the line was dead. Michael and I suspected that we had been cut off. Yes we had, but obviously it had not been a technical fault. He knew that I was on the plane, and in the check-in and baggage collection I stood out somewhat. But he didn’t want to acknowledge me let alone chat. Jeff and I had discussed people, almost as much as Michael and I have discussed ‘the ignorance of man’ in the past. We have all concluded that such people exist everywhere. Sometimes the behaviour occurs through ignorance and sometimes from malice. But there is an upside; here is one future wedding that I don’t have to attend.

I am sat in the corner of what used to be known as my Cinema Room. Four leather chairs and a 50 inch television from the days when most homes had nothing bigger than a 28 inch screen. Television tube technology limited the average screen size. Technology moves on and tube sizes increased slightly prior to the arrival of LED and Plasma. My large screen is rear projection. 100Htz flicker free multi angle viewing, but it takes up a lot of space in what is after all a small room.

Sometimes change is not about technology, it is about changing focus. Our Grandson Justin arrived a few months back and the 6 foot by 2 foot table for the ‘n’ gauge train set is already set up in the ‘Cinema Room’, while the large Church scene in 20mm H0/00 scale is resting below the table. The larger scene will form the centre piece for the larger train set when I get around to building it. Meanwhile my thoughts return to Africa. Pauline is making rice, potato and chicken. Many of the smells from the kitchen remind me of my time in Ghana. If I wasn’t poorly, I would consider this as finger food. But tonight I need to play it safe and use a fork. But watch out guests, for when I get the recipe for ‘kinky’, fu-fu and the like, you might have to ask “is the bowl for drinking?” “No”, I will reply, “It is to wash your hands”.