Clip, clip, cut, cut, snip, snip

I've spent a fair amount of time in two different hospitals recently as those who follow me on Facebook will know and it gave me some time to reflect on how differently two places with the same ethos and same purpose can operate so differently but also on which members of staff would be considered 'front line' and therefore not lose their jobs in the severe cuts in public services that we are to see over the next few years under our ConDem coalition government.

I hope that nurses and doctors will not lose their jobs but what about clinical assistants, care assistants, education and play co-ordinators, cleaners, and the multitude of other ancillary staff who have direct patient contact and who help to provide and decent service to patients?

When you need something or someone it is more likely that it will be a clinical or care assistant that is the first person to respond. They're the people who hold the hands of patients and their loved ones, make sure the bed is ready when a patient returns from surgery and that all appropriate equipment for monitoring is in the right place. They fetch and they carry and they chase up the named nurse who in theory is providing all the care for an individual patient. They are in effect the dogs-bodies but I wonder if they are considered essential front line staff. Certainly wards could run without them but that would put an enormous strain on the nursing staff and patient care would suffer enormously.

On the Children's wards there are education and play co-ordinators and what a job they do! Talking to each child and their parent or carer, assessing what activity might be helpful in directing the thoughts of a child away from pain. Setting up group activities and DVD showings for the teenagers. Sorting out books and games, making recommendations and gently persuading children to make an attempt to get out of bed and go down to the playroom. Again, wards could run without them but what a poorer experience a child would have without them. They enrich the life of the ward and touch the lives of individual children in a memorable way.

I could go on as this subject concerns me greatly and not just with regard to hospitals but for education too. Cutting 25% from an education budget will mean some pretty serious implications for the education of our children. It's almost as though the people of the UK feel that we must go through this agony of cuts and losses in order to attempt atonement for the vast excesses in consumption and lifestyle up until now because there is so little opposition to the drastic measures that have been outlined in the last week. I disagree. The cuts that are going to be made will change the lives of many and not for the better. Those who are least able to defend themselves such as the sick, the young, the old, the disabled, the carers will be the most affected and their voices will not be heard. You can see David Cameron and Nick Clegg et al getting ready with their ear plugs just to make sure that they don't have to listen because they do not want to listen and even if they heard hasn't the Prime Minister already said that protests will not be relevant to the action he has to take. What sort of a country are we going to fashion in the next generation for the generations that are to come?

Summer Days with You

Summer days with you. Long walks holding hands. Through fields and woods, the shade from the trees flickering over your smiling face. Dipping my hot feet in the freezing waters of a stream and you laughing. Carefully making my way over stepping stones only to slip on the final one and you surreptitiously taking photos recording my progress. Finding a bench or patch of land to eat our picnic and then enjoying the peace and solitude of that special place. Talking, chatting, discussing, sharing and golden silences when nothing needed to be said. Cream teas overloaded with suggestion and the promise of a night to come. A pint at the end of the day. Always touching. Kisses stolen and kisses displayed and feeling like a teenager once again. Summer days with you.

Gongoozling

I enjoy canals. Walking the tow paths, watching the boat traffic, observing the life and people of that world fascinates me. I am drawn to the tranquillity that can be discovered even when one is in the middle of an urban sprawl. When it came to deciding where to walk this last weekend choosing a route along one of the many canals in this region appealed especially if it could be combined with another of my favourite past times; a pint or two of cider. And so it was at 9.20 yesterday morning I set off from Fazeley Junction to walk the 11 miles to Fradley Junction.

Fazeley is urban no doubt but walking just a couple of miles brings a more rural scene with woods and bird song and peace. The walk between Hopwas village and Huddlesford Junction is particularly delightful. I love nosing into the gardens in the villages where they meet the canal or the tow path or both and equally I enjoy the more serene times spent by Hopwas Hays Woods on one side and the river Tame the other. Walking gives me time to think and also to appreciate whatever season it happens to be. At this time of the year the canal is full of lots of mothers with their baby chicks, swifts swooping down to the water and just as quickly soaring the skies again, the bull rushes and lilies are just about to flower and the cow parsley, hawthorn and horse chestnut trees are in full flower.

At the beginning the air was thick with the smells of Sunday morning sausage, bacon and eggs emanating from the boats moored all along. Not much moved on the water itself at this time except the ducks and geese, people were busy enjoying a relaxing breakfast. Most called out a cheery 'morning' and one couple even offered a gratefully received mug of coffee. A fifteen minute encounter with strangers that was thoroughly enjoyable. Dog walkers, cyclists, joggers all exchanged a 'morning' but one thing that struck me, possibly because I have not been walking solo for a fair while is that although the male of a couple would greet me, the female did not.

One word of advice when walking along a canal. The boats don't tend to go much faster than walking pace so if you find yourself behind a novice boater let them move on or speed up yourself and loose them. A nose constantly full of diesel fumes due to their ineptitude at using the engine is not recommended!

After three hours there was no more welcome site than The Swan at Fradley, known to regulars and locals as The Mucky Duck. They now sell their own Mucky Duck ale brewed by a local micro brewery. I'm told it's good. The Swan is apparently one of the most photographed pubs in Britain. It's over 200 years old, it's picturesque, it sells great real ale, decent cider and wonderful home cooked food. Added to that is that it sits at the busy junction between the Coventry and Trent and Mersey canals, a fine spot for gongoozling and you can understand why it is so photographed. I sat for an hour and enjoyed a couple of pints of cider watching the novice boaters make a real pigs ear of the turn between the canals and having a chat with a couple of young canoeists.

I was feeling pretty good at that stage but then I needed to backtrack 5 miles to a village where I could get a bus to return home and it wasn't long before I realised I may have bitten off a little more than I could chew. Nothing new there! I will not bore you with my travails but I finished the walk with four blisters on the sole of my left foot, the knee on the same side feeling as though it might explode and decidedly painful hips. Reporting from 24 hours on though I am happy to advise that only the blisters are still giving me grief.

It was an enjoyable and mostly solitary day. Did I manage to think things through properly and to any particular conclusion? No, not absolutely. Guess I need another walk with a lovely pub at the end of it!

Love, football and irony

Two years ago this weekend I went to London for a couple of days. My first weekend without responsibilities for many years and so I went to reclaim the past as mine, lay ghosts to rest and I ended up having a ball. Portsmouth won the FA Cup final and having gone down to Covent Garden that evening, I celebrated with them. It was one of those days after the break up with the Ex that life was good and I knew I was going to enjoy life and all its challenges.

Fast forward to July last year and out of the blue love found me again. It was so exciting because it was so unexpected and although it was hard to learn to trust again I had no doubts.

Ironically exactly two years on, Portsmouth are at Wembley again today and yesterday I lost my love. My mood could not be further from the bouncy, joyous woman two years ago and it is hard to face and deal with my emotions but it will be done. But I want Portsmouth to do me a favour this afternoon. I want them to win. I will take it as a omen of better things to come when one is at their lowest, as both me and Portsmouth FC are.

Assumptions

We are all guilty of making assumptions about people, me included. We shouldn’t but we’re given a set of circumstances, a personality, maybe things are said, perhaps taken out of context and assumptions are made. It’s easy!

One assumption that is frequently made about me by many people including family and close friends is that I support and vote for The Labour Party….that’s the so called pinko lefties to anyone outside the UK. Well I don’t and I don’t and if there is one thing the Labour Party is not, is pinko lefty!

True until 1996 I was a fully paid up card carrying member of said party but I had been unhappy with the direction that the party was travelling in for a couple of years, well since 1994 actually and the election of Tony Blair as Party Leader. A close friend of mine said that I wasn’t to worry because once they got into power all those socialist principles would be remembered and taken up again; the party was just trying to attract the middle class, middle Britain vote. I wasn’t so sure but what nailed it for me was the wording of plans for university education in the manifesto of 1997. There was no mention of abolishing the student maintenance grant or even of tuition fees but the manifesto did state that university expansion could not be funded from taxation and that student maintenance should be "repaid by graduates on an income-related basis".

Maybe I think too much but this sentence struck to the core of my own beliefs about how education should be open to all and not just be the privilege of those who could afford it. And before anyone says a word I was latecomer to further education, a mature student who paid her own fees and didn't get a maintenance grant, so I wasn’t be a protectionist for something I had personally enjoyed. I knew in my heart that if my reading of this one small sentence in the manifesto was right then there were some horrors I could just not defend that would come into being come the labour election victory.

So I didn’t vote labour in 1997 and I haven’t voted labour since, nor will I ever vote labour again until a return is made to many of the old labour principles and beliefs. Presumably that will be the day pigs fly over my house! I do vote in every election, local or national but I flit and float hoping to find something and someone who is worthy of my hard fought for vote. Alas, and maybe I am making some assumptions myself here, there doesn’t appear to be many politicians around these days that are worthy of the trust and the vote of ordinary people. Oh and I have never and will never vote Tory!

I read it right though, that small sentence, because just after the 1997 election, the new labour government not only abolished the maintenance grant but introduced tuition fees too. Ok so the grant is back but it doesn’t even cover the fees. What a waste of time, effort and resources, giving something in one hand to take back with extras in the other, just to keep civil servants and student loan companies in jobs.

I am so frustrated! But not so frustrated as to vote labour!

Revenge!

Every other weekend my daughter goes to stay with her Dad for 2 nights. This has meant that now my son is a responsible (ha ha) mature (ha ha ha) nearly 16 year old that I take the opportunity to help him gain more independence, responsibility and maturity by leaving him home alone for a 24 hour period. He loves it. He eats curry all weekend, can play his music very loudly and can watch whatever he likes on the 42" TV in the living room.

He's pretty good. I have had no complaints of wild parties (we leave that to the mature (NOT), responsible (NOT NOT) 22 year old who lives next door who goes absolutely wild every time his parents are away) or queues of young women awaiting entrance. I can't smell anything remotely of the wackiest baccy on returning home, just curry. However my gripe relates to the fact that when I leave, the house is clean and tidy and yet 24 hours later it looks like a student flat that hasn't been tidied or cleaned for a term.

I have tried asking ever so politely and pleasantly that he tidy up before I return home; hasn't worked. I have threatened removal of laptop and/or switching off of router; hasn't worked. I've yelled and done the usual Mother Going Nuts impression; hasn't worked. I've tried calling saying I'll be home in half an hour and would he tidy up; hasn't worked.

So now I've come up with the ultimate. I've just informed him that if I get home this Sunday and the house is a tip then I shall be fitting padlocks to all relevant doors so that he cannot access certain rooms. Judging by his reaction it might just work!

Why do I feel so guilty?

I don't mind admitting that I'm on a tight budget these days. The four holidays a year to foreign climes are long gone. This years holiday is courtesy of my tesco vouchers, hoarded over the last two years for the day I knew would come. I don't buy clothes for myself except with birthday and Christmas money or when something nice and decent catches my eye in one of the three local charity shops. Although the recession has something to do with this situation, in that valued clients of many years standing have gone out of business, the main reason is the departure of the Ex and his utter failure to appreciate just how much is spent on the children plus who would look after my Mom if I didn't? However I'm not complaining. I'm luckier than most. My house is owned outright so at least I don't have a mortgage and if push comes to shove it can always be sold in a downsizing exercise. I grow a lot of my own for consumption in summer and autumn months. I make my own greetings cards and have taken to making presents now too. If I can't afford to buy it cash I don't have it. I still have a good existence and can honestly say that I lack for nothing essential.

This evening a knock on the door revealed the caller to be from the local dairy touting for business for the local self employed milkman. I used this dairy for doorstep deliveries until a few years ago because Mick the Milkman had been a family friend forever but when he left, after being badly treated by said dairy, I waved them goodbye. Dairyman asked me where I purchased my milk. Simple says I, 4 pints for a £1 from Iceland. I felt the intake of breath rather than saw it and knew I was in for a grave look and a lecture on how dairy farmers were going out of business because of this sort of loss leading pricing and had I seen the channel 4 documentary? My expectation didn't go unrewarded and I let him speak without interruption. My response was that I would love to be able to afford the luxury of supporting dairy farmers and also other suppliers of say fair trade products but I can't. It's a struggle on a daily basis and a 70 pence saving multiplied by 4 and again by 52 buys the school uniforms and shoes for a year. He shook his head, thanked me for my time and walked away.

So why do I feel so damn guilty? I used have the luxury of being able to chose carefully what suppliers and products I purchased but now, value for money is the key factor and all these, what appear to be insignificant amounts do add up. Perhaps I should cut down on the few pounds a week I allow myself for my own gratification such as a couple of pints of cider or a bottle of wine? My pleasures are simple and not expensive but now I feel guilty for being part of the mass that are causing the downfall of dairy farming in the UK!

Sometimes a conscience is a burden.