Remember Trayvon Martin

Remember Trayvon Martin the lad going about his lawful business. Trayvon was carrying sweets and a soft drink for his brother.

It’s not a Black and White thing, it’s a right and wrong thing.

In an ideal world young Trayvon wouldn’t have died. But the world we live in isn’t an ideal world. So let’s hope that his untimely and unnecessary death has a significant and long lasting impact on the United States of America. The world leader in many issues and yet a third world country in many respects especially those concerning ethnicity. God Bless America and let’s pray for Trayvon, and also pray for his family and friends who now suffer his departure.

The Swim Dr

Well the doctor says that exercise amongst other things is important for mental ill health and is pleased that I get up nice an early each weekday morning and toddle off to the swimming pool.

This week I managed 32, 32, 32, and 40 lengths. This is all well and good until I got chatting again to ‘Doctor’ Georgie. Now Dr Georgie as you can see by observing the single quotation marks is not a ‘real’ doctor. No, far from it, you see Dr Georgie is my Swim Doctor and pretty encouraging too. Or is that pretty and encouraging too?

So I was pretty chuffed with my 136 lengths this week and a lot of physical exercise outside of the swimming pool. That is until Georgie mentioned swimming 220 lengths today in a little over one and a half hours. Ok, so she was a tad angry, when swimming that is and not when talking to me. But come on folks get your head around the statistic; 220 lengths in 90 minutes. That’s better than life saving swim test standard and its being sustained time and time again.

That’s 220 lengths against my best ever at about 85 lengths. I manage 40 in just under 40 minutes; probably a good 38 minutes but that’s a tough session. But in order to reach 120 lengths let alone 220 lengths I would have to swim at my best and sustain that rhythm for one and a half hours i.e. three times longer than normal. Not on your nelly, nope, no way, not a chance. Then having done the impossible I would still come in 100 lengths short. So Dr Georgie I doff my cap to you, you little dolphin you.

Black and White Right and Wrong

"It's not a Black and White THING - It's a RIGHT and WRONG thing", well said

The Wedding

I went along to a wedding last night. Well that’s not quite true; I actually attended my first ever Classical Music Concert with the BBC National Orchestra of Wales playing amongst other things Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto.

My take on the pre-concert talk was that musical interpretation is an individual thing that is wholly dependent upon the listener making up his or her mind. The accomplished speaker explained amongst many other things that there are no right or wrongs, and you clap or otherwise express yourself whenever and however you wish. Now that’s all well and good but I didn’t want to get duffed-up by the other 498 serious music goers or in this case the Wedding Party.

I know that it was a Wedding as the gifted soloist Vilde Frang played the part of the Bride extremely well indeed. The emotion, the centre stage presence and when she played, oh when she played, it was pure bliss. I also know that one of the First Violins was the Groom. How do I know this you ask? Simply because we all know that the Groom arrives at the Church before the Bride and struts around while everyone else looks on.

Now I am not quite sure if Jac van Steen was the Vicar or the Father of the Bride. In the end I opted for the latter as van Steen guided everyone accurately through the event and often looked on as the proud father. Indeed the relationship between van Steen and Vilde appeared to be intense.

I also know that in ‘Love Actually’ speak; the Second Lobsters were the bridesmaids. “The Second Lobsters?” I hear you say. Well yes, these were the two Violinists thrown to the extremes of the venue to make way for the Bride and the others as and when the Bride entered the Church.

Now Matthew Hardy on Timpani was without any doubt whatsoever the DJ at the after service party. Matthew changed his sticks as frequently as records and like all good DJ’s; although the music was glorious you never knew that he was there. But when he had something to say, then it was something truly worth listening to.

The Double Basses played by Dominic Worsley, Albert Dennis, Christopher Wescott, Tim Older, Claire Whitson-Dibble, and Richard Gibbons were the waiters. Each and every course served up on time and as one. “Who?” you ask then, was the Best Man. Well that had to be Donal Bannister on Bass Trombone. Anyone as nice as this, able to give such a good pre-concert talk and still manage to deliver his 34 notes on time and without drama, deserves without any doubt whatsoever to be the Best Man. So what about the Church Choir? Well that one is easy too. It was the eight Cellos’ played magnificently by John Senter et al. Who were the girl friends, who were the mates and what about the ushers? Well the girly girls were of course Eilidh and Sarah, they were definitely the friends of the Bride. Whereas Ian Fisher and gang all on Horns; would have been with the Groom. The Ushers were drawn from the Trumpet players and those who had mastered the Oboes.

It was a delightful Wedding, but alas like the best of weddings it all came too quickly to an end. Well done BBC NOW, it looks as if you have grabbed another convert.


Now hot on the Budget news we have to convince the Coalition Government that the ‘Arts’ is not an add on. It is not something to cut at a whim, as its importance extends beyond any single event or series of events. No indeed, classical music delivered by a fine orchestra is an essential part of who and what we are.

Music like Maths is the centre of everything and it is undoubtedly what we need in order to flourish. So when you are popping notes into that Red Box next time Mr Chancellor; please have the common sense to support music and help make this Country a better place and the lives of its taxpaying residents more fulfilled.

Working Budget

Well the doctor mentioned that I hadn’t got over my 1998 breakdown let alone the others that followed. So there were no surprises there, but it was still worth the trip to see the new surgery and have a nice chat and cry with someone outside of the family circle. My long term mental ill health is a bit like the Budget really, the same old stuff, but illustrated in a slightly different way each year.

I thought that the Wallace and Gromit Budget gag was very funny but underhand. I know what it was supposed to mean, but I also understood the innuendo. Well done to the Coalition Government on the intended broadband improvements across the UK as that is indeed what a modern industrial society should have. Oh, but where's our industry gone? Probably where our Gold Reserves went; down the plug ole.

I like the idea of the rich paying the most and the poor paying the least, especially now that I’m on an Occupational Pension. 45% of an awful lot isn’t that much, whereas any taxation on very little is a burden. Mind you 50% of an awful lot wasn’t much either, but that figure unfortunately no longer exists. The grannies seem to have come off badly and that is a surprise. The ‘Granny Tax’ wasn’t the kind of publicity the coalition would have been looking forward too when the contents of the Red Box were being compiled and leaked. Then again, if the contents stayed in the box until the day, there is less chance of someone building a comprehensive argument quickly. So lesson for the future; keep the budget secret as it doesn’t pay to share in advance.

The thing that really got me and I hope that I am not alone in this one; is the poor maths. Now I’m no Oxbridge maths genius like my mate, but I do know that 20% of a £600 increase in basic rate taxation level equals £120 and not £200+ as quoted by someone on the box. So I save £120 per year which is an extra £10 per month. Very nice indeed, except I live in West Wales where the public transport system is crap and the fuel prices are extortionate. So while the rest of you complain about fuel costs, we actually feel the ridiculously high costs and continue pay the most. Note to the Chancellor, please introduce a national fuel cap and stop the thieving B’s from robbing us blind out in the sticks. You opt for public transport to keep your costs down, but we can’t use public transport because like I say its crap. They stole the trains to South Wales and the ones that go the long way around through England aren’t that nice or that reliable. The buses seem to be worse. So there goes my tenner then.

My basic arithmetic also means that I know that £5 something per week extra for a pensioner is £250 per year and not like someone said this on the box; £500.

With all of this in mind, maybe the next budget could set aside some money for the poor politicians to have much needed maths lessons. Apparently these can be accessed by schools on line with providers living in India rather than working in the classroom. Good job that we are getting the improved broad band then, as all of those that need the maths update won’t even have to step outside the House of Commons.

Thank You

A big THANK YOU to all the family and friends who rallied around and gave me support this week following the traumatic events of last Saturday while I was in the Capital for a break while feeling down. I won't single anyone out, but I really appreciate the numerous FaceBook messages, the texts, the phone calls, and the meets for Coffee and a walk. I really needed the support and I truly appreciate that friends and family were there. Diolch yn fawr iawn i chi.

Blue Lips

Phew, back home from South Wales and so glad to be back in the safety of my home environment. Strange really as had to get away from this house as the last week or so has been so stressful and we needed to plant me somewhere where I could grow and avoid the then current stressors in my life. Just when you think it’s all ok, everything goes pear shaped. Or as a qualified Strategist I know that no plan survives first engagement with the enemy.

As you all know I believe in fate. Or as the Street Pastor said in Cardiff after the event, “it was the guiding hand of God”. That comes as no surprise as I do pray daily. We had planned to pop along to the cinema check out the film times and the then scurry away for a meal to return when the chosen film was due to begin. We wandered inside at the electronic listings, and we wandered outside to check out the posters and the paper time. This to-ing and fro-ing went on for a bit until we stuck on a choice between three Thrillers. I got my way and we opted for that one. Then wifey suggested that we caught the film straight away and went for the meal later. Now given wifey’s willingness to throw her two main choices by the wayside, and opt for one of three thrillers, agreeing to the early evening film was the least that I could do. So folks, we shouldn’t have been where we were, and we could have been walking out at any of the varying times each film ended.

So why on earth do I walk outside and turn right instead of left (where we normally turn) and end up saving the life on my 6th victim? This time it was a young girl lying on the ground surrounded by people; who wifey and I clocked simultaneously and I’m already moving away briskly as wifey shouts “go!”

My first and obvious question was to ask if an ambulance has been called, to which one of the bystanders asks “do you think that we need an ambulance?” I mean come on folks, young woman on ground, partly in gutter, hardly moving. You don’t actually call for a taxi do you? A few seconds later and I am engaging the Ambulance Trust in my first of three calls that evening. During the first, the operator answers but no one from the Ambulance Trust. Indeed the operator told me that he was trying another number and still no answer. I gave up and continued rendering first aid and wifey instead used her phone to dial 999 as well. Which was also met with no success when wifey handed her phone to me. The onlookers in a state of shock as the condition of the young woman deteriorated. None of them knew what to do. My third phone call was when the Ambulance Trust rang me back on my phone and I explained the circumstances and gave the address. As I stood to locate the street name a voice said, “no pulse, she’s stopped breathing”.

Wifey mentions that when the victims pulse stopped and her lips turned blue and she looked like death, I said "Oh shit, here we go" as I passed my phone to a bystander to finish the call with the Ambulance Trust. I heard the bystander say something like, “do you want assistance, they are saying do you need assistance?” but I was already rolling by then. The thing that struck me the most was that the young victim was the Spit of Resusci-Annie: her face and hair shape, body size, age, facial expression, and right down to the white neat teeth as the lips separated from the mouth. It was all extremely emotional for me, but also almost like being in the classroom. I don’t know if the violent jolt as I moved her briskly from the Recovery Position to the resuscitate position and tilted the head, or the finger scoop for debris inside her mouth where maybe the forcefulness of the action caught the roof of the mouth or the back of her throat and thereby prompted her brain to react, but whatever it was one eyelid moved as I withdrew my finger. I found the pulse before putting her back into the Recovery Position where she started to wretch without any vomit coming out. Maybe she was choking when originally in the Recovery Position and either the violence of the movement to resuscitate or the finger scoop dislodged debris. Or, equally credible is that the high level of intoxication meant that her systems had closed down and the movement and the scoop prompted them to restart. I can’t be certain for sure. But I do know that her best friend had thought that she had died in the street and was crying; but it wasn’t going to happen on my watch.

I’m upset while typing this Blog, but the story has to be told as others should learn First Aid and be ready for the day when your help will inevitably be needed. I had my first of many nervous breakdowns in 1998. That was a combination of stress and anxiety and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). The PTSD was brought about during a First Aid situation with a family member. My continuous poor mental health and the flashbacks of the PTSD means that saving victim number six was extremely traumatic for me. It happened on Saturday and I am still crying today some 48 hours later. But you have to talk about it to help recover from the trauma. It’s a strange thing when you are part of a good positive happening but so emotional that the event makes you feel unwell and upset. Then again you can’t walk past someone when the guiding hand of God puts you next to them and say “Sorry lady, but if I save your life, I will make myself ill.” So come on folks, learn some First Aid and share some of the burden. And if you can’t learn the First Aid then at least call an Ambulance.

My eldest is worried that I am still ill as she seen firsthand how I was affected by Saturday nights action. I shall say to her and to others; don’t worry, I shall get better – it’s just that I don’t know when. Or as wifey says, “you sure got f@cked up working for that lot.”


Ps if you survived post Ambulance and Hospital, then I would love to hear from you. Find me on Facebook as I know your name as I asked your friend at the scene and used your name every time I talked to you while waiting for the Ambulances to turn up. I say plural as like London buses when you need one there is none about and then two come rolling along.

Mental ill health

Mental ill health is a terrible thing and I am glad that I can talk and write about the three nervous breakdowns that I had since suffering Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) in 1998. Maybe, just maybe some of the things that I have previously written about in this Blog along with this entry might help others to come to terms with how they feel:

I suppose that there are those out there who will incorrectly contend that there can’t be much wrong with him if he can write about that ‘stuff’. But that’s the point, the writing and the model making and the swimming and the art work and the reading and the ancestry researching and the occasional DIY are simply multiple techniques to avoid facing the demons.

These numerous ‘deflection from reality’ activities include this Blog. They are the means of deflecting thoughts away from the occurrences and the outcomes and the dark days. And they can be dark as the last week has shown when I realised the descent and wifey commented upon it to others. The smiley face came back yesterday evening and I am looking forward to a weekend of de-stressing after what has been yet another stressful time for me. The thing is, what you find stressful doesn’t necessarily correlate to what I find stressful. For example; I hate opening envelopes and accepting or making telephone calls. It is a real fear and my palms become sweaty as I begin each time to experience flight behaviour. Now if you have never experience mental ill health let alone wide awake daytime flashbacks, then you probably cannot comprehend what I am writing about. In my world what to you is normal is abnormal, and some abnormal things are quite normal.

I used to be a compulsive obsessive. Thankfully my former employer paid for high end counselling when I had my third breakdown and the counsellor explained and helped me with techniques to suppress that behaviour. But this is also an important point, just because you don’t see it, doesn’t mean it’s not there. Because folks it’s only suppressed, i.e. just below the surface and ready to strike at any time that I drop my guard.

You might be thinking; “oh why is he writing about this today?” Well the truth is mental ill health, unlike a broken leg or broken arm does not carry the outward signs of a plaster cast. So when there are gaps in the blog, and we know that statistically there are gaps and this is why it is called “The Weekender” and not “The daily”, you can rest assured that all is ok, but maybe I am doing one of the other numerous deflection things or having some darker moments.

One of the deflection activities of course as mentioned on numerous occasions is the swimming. This particular activity has triple purpose in that it is good for the mental health, good for the physical health, and by attending Monday to Friday and at 0730 I am able to bring about weekly structure and focus to something that is otherwise an absent void since I ceased working over two years ago. Those that think that I should be working need not worry as society does not support me and I simply struggle along on my Occupational Pension. I paid my taxes for 32 years and I don’t get a handout. Not anything, nought, nothing, zilch, zero, nil.

Although my government funded handouts are nil, my arithmetic is still good. This is mainly because of the swimming. You see some people will argue that the swimming is bad for mental health because while you are trawling up and down the pool you are also thinking and of course they also believe that ill people only think of bad things. Well that’s not the case for me, as the only thinking that I am capable of doing when swimming is to concentrate on my stroke, remember when to breath, remember how to breath, occasionally think about using my legs, and repeat counting. One, one, one , one; means that I remember when I turn around that I have just completed one length. As is thirty four, thirty four, thirty four, thirty four. You see as a Compulsive Obsessive I need to know how many lengths that I am doing each time. Although, with grateful thanks to the counsellor I no longer maliciously record these lengths in a book each day. For clarity the Compulsive Obsessive is not about swimming or counting and is far more complex and surreal than I would want to mention here today. Then again when you think about it and hone in on the detail, you will recognise that the counting continuously during each length, the thinking about the stroke, thinking about when and how to breath and the other patterns that occur are in many ways part of the deflection techniques. I.e. by doing all of that which I do, I’m not thinking of the things that hurt. So there’s the deflecting the stuff that needs deflecting, and there’s also deflecting when deflecting.

The strange thing is, when I started swimming I used to have constant panic attacks. Hence the need to think about when and how to breath otherwise it’s hey presto and some young attendant in the water to assist yours truly. I wonder if there is an underlying association with water, as the majority of my wide awake flashbacks have occurred when I’m in the shower. Mmmm, it’s a strange world. Bring on the weekend and coffee in Cafe Nero, a chance to say hello to my friends in Cardiff and some time with the family.