Last night I finished reading a book had not intended to read called Morning Tide by Neil M Gunn. There was a wee bit of emotional pressure put on me to change my mind, so I did read the blesséd work. It was not a major piece of reading, nearly 300 pages, ( A5 size) and was I glad for that. Having read the book, I felt I did not have much to say about the author and his story. I shared my lack of inspiration with hubby, saying that I was unlikely to have much to contribute to the club discussion

Hubby thinks it is a wonderful book as the writer, local to this region, was knowledgeable about boats, and fishing. We had a robust discussion about the style of writing and the use of local brogue; in addition, we considered the clever use of vocabulary, all of which, we agreed, was reflective of its time period and the audience the storywriter would have been playing to at the time his books were being published.

Tonight I go to the book group to dissect the book with anyone else who may have managed to read it. Having shared my feelings about the book with hubby, I now have something to say when the book group meets.

Skin-lifting desinfectant adorns most doorways and bed ends in hospitals these days. Cleaners have to be seen and smelt cleaning. We, the public are told we must be more hygiene conscious. It sounds like all hospital borne infection is due to us. Every hospital must now have in place infection control measures. (That's a laugh - I've seen a few things in London in the last twelve months that would grow hair on a bald man or make straight hair curl).

Thursday last week (26th July 2007, just before 5.00pm, in case someone wants chapter and verse) hubby and I were leaving the county hospital staff canteen where, we had taken a quiet 10 minutes to have some refreshment during one of our many recent hospital visits. I passed by the cold food counter, part of which was covered over with heavy green paper. I stopped, turned to look at what the two members of staff were writing on the menu board nearby for the evening meals.

When I turned back I was amazed to see a man in working outdoor clothes leaning over the food counter and with his hands, taking and stuffing sliced meat into his mouth from a platter. He had uncovered the platter to do it! I said a few tart words to him about health and hygiene. He turned with a grinning carnivorous mouth that had trails of meat hanging from it, and still munching, said, "I'm hungry", then promptly rushed out. The two members of staff didn't seem much interested and the older person lifted the meat platter to replace the cover and put it back in position. The fact that the platter and contents should have been removed didn't seem to be something within the staff's comprehension. Who trained them in health and hygiene?

The best that was done, was the heavy green paper covering was shifted across to hide the platter of meat, but open salads that the paper covered, were left exposed.

The manager I complained to, when one was found, was more concerned about "Such a thing happening and in front of a member of the public," and had I noticed if there were any tongs by the plate; the suggestion being I suppose, that tongs would have avoided the dirty hand handling of food; like hell they wouldn't. The canteen wasn't open for meals for about another forty-five minutes and there were no plates available at the time we were there, that would have allowed for the clean transfer of food.

I would be amazed if anything appropriate was done. There is a maxim which is worth quoting to the powers that be; put your own house in order before you criticize others.

In to the tin went the flour, dark rye, all the bits and the tepid water. Maybe I shouldn't have given it a helping hand in the early stages, but being a little wary of heavy mixes I thought it useful to make sure all the flour was in position for kneading and not stuck on the sides of the container. My last few loaves -light rye - were left to their own devices from the beginning and were a perfect picture on completion. This loaf, well, it's a gentle hill in shape, rather than a black run ski slope and no doubt, it will be edible, in fact, it might be quite tasty.

"THE MOST PATIENT PEOPLE GROW WEARY AT LAST WITH BEING CONTINUALLY WETTED WITH RAIN; EXCEPT, OF COURSE, IN THE SCOTTISH HIGHLANDS, WHERE THERE ARE NOT ENOUGH FINE INTERVALS TO POINT THE DIFFERENCE."

By: Robert Louis Stevenson, An Inland Voyage,
1878

It is now late July 2007. I have been steadily working through my 'things to be done' list all year. I could have made the title snappier and called it a 'to do' list but somehow that does not convey the significance of what I have been slowly working through. There are more immediate daily living things that always need regular attention but there are other jobs that are of a major nature. There's clearing out, reducing dross, dealing with emotional hoarding, major reorganising, administrative requirements and house maintenance.

I wondered at the beginning of the year what would be left rolling over by the end of it. Even at this half way stage, I am surprised at some of the really big items on the list I have been able to cross off and some of the small-ish ones still to deal with. There remain other major jobs still to work on.

There is a half a job outstanding and another that is by the side of me, started but not stirred (to misquote a quote) while I procrastinate by writing this blog. The job has to be done, but it does feel to me like discarding, a lifetime of people I have known, or memories of particular circumstances I have tangibly held on to by keeping certain objects. Yes, it is rampant sentimentality, wrapped up in stuff I have not looked at much for years. I am surprised how difficult I am finding it is, to relinquish shadows in my life.

Yesterday, Friday July 20th 2007 I was part of and witness to the pass-the-parcel inhumanity of the British National Health Service. I have no doubt that basic human rights were breached and that a game that some doctors have successfully played over a period of time, was being enacted out in this instance. This time, they chose the wrong family.

For two weeks the local GP service has been trying to get the county hospital's attention for a very elderly person. Various investigative medical tests have been done in the community which has involved family in highly medical requests that cannot easily be provided to order, especially where there is short term memory loss involved. These tests took time to obtain.

Excuses Given for not admitting prospective patient:

a)There were no beds at the hospital.

b) The county hospital would not admit the person because of age and infirmity (!) but the tests including an ultrasound scan could be done on a day patient basis.

c)The scan couldn't be done for a month at the county hospital but the regional hospital could do it the next day (Friday 20th July 2007)if the patient arrived by 1pm.

Because of mobility and health problems an ambulance had to be used for the 240 miles return journey, if the patient was returning that day. Ambulance crew were short staffed and if they had to use a 2-person crew that would leave the county with an under-crewed ambulance. I accompanied the patient - I would have done so anyway.

A consultant introduced himself to us at the regional hospital; though pleasant, he was spitting mad. The truth behind the matter, he said, was that the person who does ultrasound scans in our locality is on holiday.

Can it be true that there is just one individual who performs ultrasound scans?

The outcome of this scan was good but the consultant was concerned about other medical issues and wanted the patient admitted to our local county hospital for further investigations, including an echo-cardiogram. The regional hospital consultant negotiated with a local hospital consultant who agreed to admit the patient. With different relative accompanying, the patient started the trek back in the ambulance.

En route, ambulance control sent a radio message to the driver that the patient was to be returned home; the scans had been reviewed, they were okay, therefore, the patient was discharged. Remember, the patient is about 60 miles away on the return journey in an ambulance and no one in the local hospital has ever met her.

Some phone calls to the GP practice let them know what we were feeling and needing to know. They left a message on our answering service at home as hubby's phone was switched off when he took the next step, returning to the regional hospital to speak to the consultant we'd seen earlier.

The consultant became puce when the ongoing events were related to him. He went off to make phone calls, returning half and hour later with a senior nurse, presumably as witness. The suggestion was there had been communication hiccups between the local hospital staff doctors (juniors) and the GP (same day) in discussions as to whether admission was needed. He fully understood how hubby felt, advising that avenues of complaint were open to him "we like to hear when we do well and also when we could do better."

Hubby called to the ambulance and was told that there's been a change of plan given by ambulance control and the vehicle and occupants were now expected in the Accident and Emergency department of the county hospital.

We started our return journey. The next call, though letting us know the patient had arrived at the A & E raised further concerns. A nurse suggested we'd only been speaking to the radiographer at the Regional hospital, that she'd been informed by the local doctors that, as the patient was not an emergency the patient was to be returned home. A vigorous discussion ocurred the upshot being that the patient was unwillingly admitted to a ward.

The local consultant did not seem to understand why the patient could not have been scanned locally, commented there had been a bit of a mix up but that everything would be alright now. An initial diagnosis was suggested for the visible problem. We all know that it would be useful to find out the cause but will the necessary standards of investigation and care be applied.

We wait with baited breath to see how long it will take the medical staff to decide their damage limitation exercise is over and discharge the patient home.

05.55 - Thud... thud... double thud.... The bedroom window trembled.

"Wifey" ...thud

Hubby more urgently, "Wifey"

I'm nearest - I get up and go to the opposite end of the window from where the signals came. Gingerly shifting the corner of the curtain, eyes screwed up against the bright light of day, I peer out.

Nothing there to be seen apart from a speck of earth.

I pad up the hallway in bare feet, to look out of a window of another room; nothing there to be seen.

Hubby close behind, spots something from a window on the other side of the house.

Sitting on the sill, brazenly peering in, eyes wide open, is a very large herring gull. In case you haven't seen one, herring gulls are really big birds.

The big bird taps its beak against the window. It decides we are idiots and drops down onto the grass, constantly looking at us and demonstrates it is looking for food.

We go back to bed and sleep till a reasonable hour.

This afternoon I met a great huge soft lump called Maximus. He is a gorgeous chestnut brown and when he plays ball, he slavers a lot. Maximus is a Great Dane aged almost three so should be nearly all grown up. When he bounces around, all four legs disappear off the ground, tap back down and spring up again, a bit like a gymnast getting ready to do a fantastic manoeuvre.

I got a Dane hug and an imprisoned leg when he tried to round me up. I wondered if I had lost my balance if I would have been picked up by my collar and been taken indoors to be gently plonked on the carpet. It wasn't ideal to find out.

A paw pat with this guy is, to quote an American term, 'awesome' There is some positive weight behind it. You won't get a flimsy paw shake or a lightweight nuzzle nudge with this hound.

This 'new look' is definitely clinical and sterile. I hope the site remains lively and doesn't adapt to either of those two descriptions by default.

The turgid nature of movement between blogs etc I can put down to teething problems - but who designed the rather uninspiring colour scheme...

I had some trouble working my way through into my own space and wondered if I had tripped over into the wrong spot! I had everything set up nicely till now, to go straight to my own homepage. I seem to have to go to the chosen wonders of the day, sectioned off into gender, pictures and other uninteresting headings. What a pain.

Apart from the above, I stumbled into the wrong bits of other peoples blogs, into areas which put into the public domain stuff that might not have been for public consumption.

Ho Hum - let's see what develops. Meantime bloggers stay good and happy!

I've been off the new editor since it kept chewing up my blogs and losing them. It can encourage all it likes to 'click here to use the new editor'. The new look site isn't going to give me confidence to try it again. This is one time when I am staying as a stick-in-the-mud and and keeping to what I know works.

Looking towards Talmine, Sutherland

Perhaps, left by the tide.

Yesterday's paradise

...And here is another of Sunday's lovely scenes.

Once the washing was out on the line, it was a day for escaping in casual clothes to enjoy a beautiful day with stunning skies. The two pictures below will give some idea of the delightful pleasures today brought.

I thought I might blog about something and nothing, but then changed my mind. So here I am, blogging about not blogging.

Does blogging about not blogging = a blog?

"We have been told from on high that we are not to take any new cases onto the books unless they are critical." This is care in the community today.

There are rules that require the caring services to liaise, formulate care plans that involve all relevant agencies and at the head of each case plan there should be a leader. The leader can be for example, a nurse, a health visitor or social worker though if medical requirements are involved close liaison with a community doctor is paramount. That carefully formalised commonsense idea gets blown out of the window when one or more of the agencies concerned is unable to function because of orders from on high. It is a high risk strategy, a recipe for courting high profile complaint as the least worst scenario or at the other end of the scale, a disaster, which, no doubt, would highlight the impossibility of meeting statutory community care regulation and requirements on contrained budgets. It is stark rationing.

In an area where provision in all quarters rose from nothing in twenty years to the bare minimum that it can get away with without breaching U.K. Law and human rights, there is nothing to pare back to but bone.

Walking through a well known store, I noticed a placard advertising some beauty products. The advert showed three bikini clad women, in themselves they would have been unremarkable. In this setting they were remarkable. Yes, they were attractive, their bodies were like the miss or misses average and they weren't extremely young things either. On the way out of the store, hubby called me to over to the placard asking "what size do you think these models might be?" I studied them more carefully; I thought one could be a size 16, of the other two one was probably about size 14 and the other was likely to be a generous size 12 verging on 13.

There had been a conscious decision on the part of this store, together with the product manufacturer to present a realistic presentation of what the majority of women around 20 - 35 years old looked like. It is to be greatly applauded. I now wait to see if there will be more developments with this style of advertising, so that those who want to emulate their goddesses can do so without hurting themsevles in the process.

Today I was shown an obituary in a regional paper. The lady had always been successful in the hospitality business. At one time the family were running two busy restaurants some miles apart. We had visited both. The one that was featured in national papers is the one that still exists.

The proprietrix, herself, publicly lived her fantasies and allowed everyone to share the fun of them. She presented herself as a mirage and her monument is her restuarant which is called La Mirage and is to be found in a little village called Helmsdale in Sutherland, in the North of Scotland.

I remember when I first met Nancy Sinclair, she was meeting and greeting her old and new customers in the restaurant. Her platinum hair was groomed into a long back-combed bob, her stage-type make-up was expertly applied and her eye make up blended in with her pea-green silk suit. Her nails were polished with light green nail varnish, she was wearing pale green tights and her shoes were a shade of soft green. This co-ordinated colour presentation was Nancy's trademark style.

The restaurant contained every oddity that would blend in with the theme of a mirage including a tree and a round table with dropped globe lights above; the lights were encompassed by a South Pacific grass unbrella. What was not a mirage was the good food and the home made meringues with double whipped cream and fresh fruit always twirling round on their glass shelf in the refrigerated cabinet.

Next door, Nancy ran a hairdressing salon called the Daffodil Room. It sported a bright yellow colour scheme throughout. The Daffodil Room closed to business many years ago and the space was incorporated in to the restuarant. The additional space could easily be filled with customers. La Mirage was and is a popular place for individuals, groups, couples and families, to stop for a bite to eat.

There were her favourite photographic themes around the walls, the majority included Nancy herself. Her 'doppelganger' Barbara Cartland is photographed with Nancy and later, Lady Lewisham, Barbara Cartland's daughter, followed suit, with a photo of the two of them. Many other personalities visited La Mirage and contributed to the mirage with their photographs and autographs. They are still on display there. These pictures are now an established part of the character of the venue.

In early April this year, I visited La Mirage and Nancy Sinclair was holding court at her usual table with a group of friends. She stood out from the group like a bright light, as always, immaculately groomed in her inimitable style. I had a chat with her. Her eyes seemed to have a deep sadness within. I knew she had been taken ill earlier in the year. I also knew that Nancy Sinclair had fought some major health battles before and won. Though she batted it back several times, I insisted that she was an inspiration to many. For the first time on that occasion, I saw Nancy's eyes really light up and she beamed at me. "Thank you" she said and continued, almost breaking into song, "We have to... keep right on to the end of the road..." And we said goodbye.

Nancy Sinclair died on the 30th May 2007. I am so glad I had the opportunity to tell her what a wonderful person I thought she was, and to be able to say goodbye.

I am happily tracking sprog who is currently doing some 'summer camp' work, with foreign kids aged 10 -14 years who are in the UK primarily for a holiday and to improve their English. None of them wants to be in a learning environment and yet sprog is employed to teach these dear sweet souls our language. Yesterday she lost four of them on their way to the classroom and today she's escorting twelve kids around Brighton! I'm waiting for the next episode in the saga. It's just as well she's only filling in till they get someone else; it makes it a short week. This story could have been on a one month's trajectory.

Heavens! Did I hear a bit of non news today? Did I hear that the ersatz, or was it the real Boris Johnson being invited by his party leader, David Cameron, to put himself forward for the next Mayor of London Elections, as the Tory Party candidate?

This larger than life, model of extreme Toryism was reported as saying he was very excited by the prospect. Half an hour later, a good long time for cogitation of a serious kind, Boris Johnson sounded like he was playing hard to get. He had after all to consider how standing for Mayor of London, would impact upon his position as a constituency member of parliament and his constituency role.

Could it be that David Cameron was trying out a strategy that has been already tried and tested for creating a vacancy, in this case, in a safe Tory seat and maybe, getting rid of a parliamentary Tory thorn in the flesh?

A previous health minister in a New Labour Government, Frank Dobson, was encouraged to stand for Mayor against a certain Mr Ken Livingston, who is the Mayor. Frank had to resign his cabinet job in order to put himself forward and campaign for a new job he didn't get. He didn't back into the Cabinet either.

Graphically, the European Union E-You Tube space has been described as a collage of mult-bonking. The comment was made by a UKIP member after seeing the You Tube production. It is designed,to bring together all age groups from all nations, we are told, and to unite Europe in something we all understand and do

Agreed, a united front on E-taxation on You Tube, wouldn't have grabbed salacious media interest sufficiently to give the subject a good broadcasting slot together with an airing of colourful commentary. Unless, that is, you can sex up taxes. Now there's a challenge

A dark shape suddenly loomed out of the gloom and my heart jolted. "Bloody hell!" It was 8.20.a.m. A thick sea fog swirled around us and there was about ten yards visibility. The dark shape of car rear that had suddenly appeared in front, had no lights showing. Peering intently through the windscreen, I crawled forward, though keeping as far as I could see, a safe distance back from anything in front.

I flashed my headlights.
" Don't do that" said my irritable passenger.
"Why not?" I asked.
"Because it's impolite."
Incredulously, I repeated back what I had just heard. My passenger insisted my action was an impolite gesture.
"Excuse me," I retorted, my indignation high, "I think it is downright dangerous driving in thick fog with no warning lights in use."

Red rear lights in front became visible during this energetic exchange of views and I felt totally vindicated.

A gale blew up this afternoon and the day, which had been quite pleasant, started to turn uncomfortably cold. The BBQ in the main garden was chilled by the wind. People drifted round to the front of the house where there was some sun and a little relief from the wind. However, the temperatures did not lend themselves to standing and socialising in one spot.

Noticeably, people started to turn blue, shiver and hug themselves to try and keep warm. They then politely drifted into the shelter of the house. Large spots of rain began to fall, building into a steady, wet flow. Children ran around the house, having fun opening and closing doors that exited to the outside. Occasionally a door would slam shut, very quickly to be opened and remain open. A strong cold draught circulated. Inner dividing doors were discreetly closed. The guests, who had brought them, put on jackets and fleeces. Food, a wide range of salads, crisps, burgers, bangers and buns, became fuel.

A large group sat around a work centre in the kitchen ogling an unending variety of desserts, many home made. The centrepieces were two plate sized meringues with cream and decorated with raspberries and there was a triple layered chocolate cake filled with cream and coated with quality dark chocolate. Amazingly, no-one had cut into anything on display. They talked about what some puddings might be, drooled over the meringues and chocolate cake but did nothing to spoil their appearances. Was this a general appreciation of art work, supreme control, or embarrassment at being the first to dive in to the sweet trough?

At 10pm celebratory fireworks were lit, multi-coloured star showers hit the light evening sky, which was making its own night display with a beautiful fiery sunset. The rain had set in for the night and we all shivered in the chill night air.