Do Not Go Gentle

This blog has been stuck in my mind for a while. The reason is simple – there’s a post that I need to write somehow haven’t got the whatever to do it. It’s about age and death and the thoughts and words don’t come together very well. In fact for the longest time I haven’t even been able to put together a title – it was either ‘Do not go gentle’ or ‘You are old Father William’. I guess I’ve decided on the former (unless this changes before I pos it (or don’t post it at all)) and I just thought I’d type my thoughts out and just run with it.

My father has been unwell for a long while – nothing major but gradual slow decline. His balance started going and a series of small ‘strokes’ have slowly worn him down. Last December he was quite unwell and was admitted into hospital. After several weeks we had to come to a decision on what his next step was. Logically the path was obvious. He couldn’t return home as my mother, although in pretty good nick with 75% bionic hips, couldn’t take care of him. And there was no way he could take care of himself, although he claimed to the contrary. And so we had to find him a nursing home and he is now there. He is in good hands, my mother can go and see him whenever she wants and my brother, who is a good man, goes regularly. All very logical.

And yet I can’t quite get the image of the meeting where this was all decided out of my mind. We all have the image of our parents as majestic creatures (at least I hope LSWMBO and Mr Happy do) who are in control and set the scene for us. But over the years of his retirement he had slowly withdrawn from the world – his hobbies and pursuits were solitary and he had progressively fallen behind the passage of the world. And seeing him diminished and vulnerable was so intensely painful that I can’t quite remove it from my mind. And so Dylan Thomas thunders through my mind…..

Sorry for my self-indulgence.

Meanwhile in other news

Peyton Manning had Wheaties for breakfast. No, wait - that's the headline round here, not a sideline. Forgive my heresy but I will be happy when the Superbowl is resolved and Indianapolis has recovered from an enjoyable and hideous hangover. Then I won't have to hear whether or not Dwight Freeney had a number two today.....

As to the pic above - in the mid-19th century poor Londoners used to sleep in coffins as the only place they could find to sleep. By 1900 the Sally Army had coffin hostels - pictured above. Scroll forward 110 years and move the picture to Korea. Here they have come up with the concept of the Coffin Academy. For $25 South Koreans can slip into a coffin and experience the sounds and feelings as the lid is pounded in place to leave them in the darkness.

These somewhat morbid people collect in groups of 12 or so where they write their letters saying farewell and their epitaphs. A funeral follows and they slip into the coffin in a chapel. The caskets are side by side and the Coffin Academy members rest in peace for ten minutes. Or longer I guess if the proprietor has a nap while they are experiencing the afterlife.

And on the personal front - my new unsullied passport has arrived as has a new rabbit. These two events are not related btw. And my little grey-haired mummy is now out of the hospital and so has to complain about how standards in the NHS to her neighbours rather than the woman in the next bed. But sad to say, my father is still in there and I don't think he'll be out in the next few weeks as there's no way she can look after him. Hence a trip back home is due. Stay tuned....

Failport renewal

Sometimes the simple things in life are difficult. Late last year I made the momentous decision to get a new passport - not a big deal. Do the form, get photos (but not in a burka and remember to remove the dummy), send a king's ransom to Washington, get new passport in 10 working days. Simple. And yet....

The application got to Washington on 11 December. Christmas Eve my father gets taken into hospital - not major but a worry. No passport. Bum.

Check embassy web-site and get a premium phoneline in the UK (69p per minute!) to call. Call the 'Careline' and get rooked for money only to be told that they had no information to give me. Call back next week. Bugger.

Send email to the embassy to be told that they had received my application but I shouldn't have worn a burka and my photo was invalid. Send more photos. Is this a glimmer of progress? Is it hell.

Today my mother manages to break her hip at Tescos (full body contact shopping?) and gets admitted to same hospital as my father. Which is closed to visitors due to the rebranded Norwalk virus. No passport. Bloody shit damn.

Call the Don'tgiveashitline and get fleeced for more 69p moments of joy. This time they acknowledge that I did apply for a passport. Progress? But they haven't processed it. Ok, no progress. Crap buggery bollocks.

It appears I have 3 alternatives....

• Wait - call back next week. Ok, but this has not been very successful apart unless you're the Pissoffline which is busy collecting multiple batches of 69p.
• Book a ticket home and tell them when my travel date is to move my application up the list. Except that there is no guarantee that even that will get it processed in time and so I may lose more than lots of 69p. Lots and lots of 69p to be exact.
• In an emergency I can apply "on compassionate ground" - gotta love that - for an emergency travel document. For which I have to go to my nearest embassy (Washington) and get an emergency travel document. This is the Willy Wonka gold certificate that lets you into the Magic UK factory. But not out. Once you're there you have to reapply for your passport, send more large sums of money to feed the UK deficit, and generally dick around while they do the same.
• Go straight to jail, do not pass Go, do not collect $200. Ok, that was 4.

All in all - fuck.

Best email ever. For this year. So far.

I don't know about you, but most of my email is pretty humdrum...coupons for 2% off the complete works of Jeffrey Archer, Office Depot offering me a free staple with every purchase of $500 or more, and a nice gentleman from Nigeria offering me a gazillion dollars for just my social security number, mother's maiden name, and inside leg measurement. But occasionally a gem arrives.

On Monday I received this plaintive request....

Urgent Order

Hello Sir/Madam,

I am G*** K*** and I will like to Order your (50" Snake Catcher stick),I will like to know the price of one and if you do not have this size then advise the size that you have?also what types of credit cards do you take for Payment.waiting to hear from you..

Regards
G***

Definitely caused me to think over my Cheerios. Does G*** want a Snake Catcher stick that is 50" long, or a Snake Catcher stick designed for catching snakes that are 50" long. And if so, how the bloody hell did he measure it? And does he have Snake Catcher sticks for 30", 40", 45" snakes ("bugger, too short!")? Clearly a man who wants the right tool for the job!

And why does he need it urgently? I have this mental picture of him frantically emailing while pinioned in the corner by this fierce 4' 2" reptile of the suborder Serpentes (got bored with typing sn...the other word).

Maybe I should reply and let him know his desperate plea went to the wrong person. Nah, it's probably too late for him. Sorry G***, mate.

Now where were we?

Buggered if I can remember to be honest...let's consider events.....

May - LSWMBO got married and decided that TTO was the only man in her life. Result! After several months I could lure my wallet away from the corner where it was whimpering pathetically.

July - alcohol metabolism enzymes returned nearly to normal after wedding. Sadly bank balance didn't. Bugger.

Augustish - Mr Happy graduated and moved to Michigan where he officially became Mr April. He lives across the road from walk so his morning commute is ~2 minutes, but double if he has to stop for a car while crossing the road. He seems to be thoroughly enjoying his job. I hate him too.....

November - decided on plan to expand the empire and take over the world. Seemed like a good idea at the time. Less so now.

December - Christmas and set out to do nothing. Underachieved again.

January - decided I missed this blog as Facebook is a good place for shorty pithy comments but not good for longer pissy comments. Decided to post a recipe for Jess that is both tasty and a good guard against scurvy (you just can't be too careful).....

Saffron Citrus Chili Fish

Ingredients
1 lemon
1 grapefruit
1 lime
4 oranges
2 Tbsp. extra virgin olive oil
1 small onion
1 tsp saffron threads
1 medium courgette, diced
2 Tbsp. chili garlic sauce (modulate to your thermal tolerance)
1 Tbsp. sugar
3 cups vegetable stock (fish stock if you have it)
2 Tbsp chopped cilantro
1/2 cup plain (all-purpose) flour
salt and black pepper
4 orange roughy fillets

Zest the fruit and chop finely. Peel the fruit and segment, removing all membrane and white pith. Dice the flesh.

Heat the oil in a pan over medium heat, add the saffron, onion and courgette. Cook for 2 minutes, stir in the chili sauce and sugar and cook until caramelised (about a minute). Add the stock and bring to the boil.

Simmer for 10 minutes and add the fruit. Cook for ~10 minutes until the sauce has reduced. Stir in the cilantro, remove from the heat and allow to stand.

Mix the zest, flour, s&p together and use to lightly coat the fish. Heat a little oil in a frying plan. Cook the fillets for ~3 minutes on each side depending on how thick the fish is.

I served this with a herbed couscous but you can do it with a variety of carriers. Enjoy.

LSWMBO got married

Another one bites the dust

Bloggers seem to be falling left right and centre. The latest to fall by the wayside was, and indeed is, still one of the best. Benediction, always a source of inspiration, has decided to call it quits. Shame for many of us. Fortunately I can keep in touch with her but it does definitely make you wonder if it is, indeed Rabelais time.

Life is full of stuff at the minute but some updates are due I guess. My old man seems to be slowly on the mend - thank you to everyone who expressed their concern. When I left the UK I was somewhat despondent as he didn't seem to be doing much to help himself and he is the only person who really could do much about it. But he seems to have taken my little grey haired mother's message to heart - "if you don't do something I'll stop feeding you." This fills me with hope. The NHS are looking to treat my other's need for a replacement hip with acupuncture. Seems reasonable, if inscrutable.

The wedding...pardon me....THE WEDDING proceeds apace. The big decisions have been made, and I have a suit(!) but it's totally bloody amazing how many details there are in an American wedding. We also seem to have embarked on a total rebuild of the house so any visitors (who have never been here before so have no idea how scruffy and run down it is usually) won't be disgraced.

And I have a suit....

But it's Monday, ruddy Monday. Haven't done any music for a while. There was a Facebook meme listing the 25 albums that formed your background and another that had the 10 tracks that had strong associations for you. Memes don't go away, just shift their medium.

One of the big formative albums in my life was Eno's second solo effort - Taking Tiger Mountain (By Strategy). This was Darwin College, University of Kent at Canterbury. Late 1974, maybe early 1975. But this was played and played through The Fat Lady Of Limbourg, Mother Whale Eyeless, Third Uncle (check out the 801 Live version as it's a classic).

But The True Wheel has some of the best lyrics and also one of the best videos out there on youtube. It is really very clever....