Medical Breakthrough

Four mornings in a row, I was woken by my nose bleeding. Each time, I held my nose as I dressed and made ready to go to Accident and Emergency. Each time, it stopped before I needed to go.

On the afternoon of the fourth day, I decided to see if I could use Murphy’s Law to solve the problem. I went to my local sports shop and bought a swimmer’s nose clip. If Murphy’s Law failed to operate, I would be able to get dressed using both hands.

The following morning, there was no bleeding, and there has been none for several days since. Coincidence? I feel there is a rational reason for Murphy’s Law operating in this case, but I cannot quite grasp what it is.

A Bit of Philosophy

I’m anaemic at the moment, so in no mood to put up with nonsense.

A couple of old ladies knocked on my door to tell me about the Bible, so I told them it was rubbish and I had no wish to discuss Bronze Age philosophy.

I could have added that their imaginary friend, God, did not exist, that in an indifferent Universe all we have is each other, and most of us are scum.

But that might have put a bit of a damper on their day.

Another A and E Display

I cannot seem to go to Accident and Emergency without putting on a show.

Last time, I vomited blood over the reception desk, this time I fainted on the way out.

I had gone in with a nosebleed, had it cauterised, then got up to go home rather sooner than I should have done.

Coloured spots crowded in from the edge of my vision, I heard someone say “Are you all right, mate?” and I lost the ability to operate my legs properly.

Several people were round me, and I found that I was on a trolley, angled so that the blood flowed to my head.

They took my blood pressure, which was 70 something over 40 something, which is pretty low.

They wheeled me up to the ear, nose and throat ward and kept me in for 24 hours bed rest. The full length surgical stockings they made me wear were very fetching, with an interesting marbled effect caused by my hairy legs.

My bed was near the nurses’ desk, so every change of shift I overheard the nurses telling the newcomers about Robert Muir, who had been cauterised and fainted on the way out. I don’t blame them for laughing.

Everyone involved and the hospital food were great. There was a free hour’s bedside television between 8 and 9 AM.

The biggest revelation was that they now use thermometers that they draw across the forehead and down the cheek to take a reading. How does that work? It makes me feel like I’m living in the 21^st Century.

Celtic Smiths

My surname, Muir, is Celtic, but three of my four grandparents were born with Anglo-Saxon surnames: Smith, Pearson and Marshall. I therefore assumed I was one quarter Celtic, three-quarters Anglo-Saxon.

Recently, I discovered that after the Battle of Culloden, many Scots changed their surnames to Smith to escape persecution. This is one of the reasons why Smith is the most common surname in Scotland.

So I could be half Celtic, or more if some changed their names to Pearson or Marshall for the sake of variety.

Those who kept the surname, Muir, must have been living so obscurely that nobody bothered them, fought for the winning side, or were too stubborn to change.

When DNA testing kits are sold for about £10 at Lidl, I will have to test myself to see just how Celtic I am.

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Ancestry Update

Many years ago, I fell into conversation with some Austrians in Jugoslavia, before it became Croatia. I explained that I was wearing a shirt and trousers while everyone else was in T shirts and shorts because I tanned unevenly, developing dark patches on my arms and shoulders. One of the Austrians nodded and said, "Vikinger problem".

I have discovered that he was probably right. I assumed that "Pearson" was an Anglo-Saxon name, but it turns out that the "Son" suffix is Viking. So as well as being descended from Celts, Anglo-Saxons and the unrecorded people who had rhesus negative blood, I am part Viking. Oh, well, the more the merrier. Hybrid vigour and all that sort of thing.

But most people in the British Isles can say the same, and if you go back far enough, we are all originally Africans. Some researchers believe that all us Europeans have a bit of Neanderthal in us as well. So we should regard the memory of the Neanderthals with a bit more respect, rather than thinking of them as a bunch of idiots.

Britain’s Most Agile Man

The finalists in the Britain’s Strongest Man competition ranged in height from five foot nine to six foot six, which compares to my five foot ten. I fall within their height range, an inch taller than the “Pocket Rocket”.

However, I weigh ten and a half stone, so I’m about half the weight of the strongmen. This set me wondering if any athletes shared my height and weight.

Today, I stumbled across someone who matches me exactly. She’s one of the world’s top volleyball players.

Last time I saw one of my aunts, she told me I needed to gain half a stone. Now I can riposte that I’m built like an athlete, though I probably won’t specify which one

Face Recognition

My mild narcissism prompted me to use a face recognition program to compare my face to those of a database of famous people. I look most like Raymond Chandler.

I also look like a couple of actors, Jesse McCartney and Adam Goldberg, Palestinian politician Mahmoud Abbas, Stephen Jay Gould, James Randi, Wim Wenders, Meryl Streep, Japanese cartoonist Hayao Miyazaki and Pablo Neruda.

They look like a random collection of names, although I do believe Raymond Chandler could pass for one of my relatives.

I am delighted to count Meryl Streep among my look-alikes. I never thought she was particularly attractive, but I googled some images of her and changed my mind. One, by Brigitte Lacombe, showed her smiling at the camera. Deeply beautiful. Best looking actress in the world.

Personality Tests

Now I understand what happened to me when I joined the Labour Party in the early 1980’s. I was elected branch secretary not long after I joined, then was soon elected constituency secretary. I became exasperated with the shambles I constantly had to deal with, resigned after a fairly short period, and did not renew my membership.

I recently took several personality tests, which indicate that my lack of concern for the feelings of others, rationality and emotional stability make me a natural leader, despite the evidence to the contrary.

I will tend to forgive a colleague’s mistakes, but sack them for repeated mistakes. I could not sack the other Labour Party members, so sacked myself.

When I was young, my only ambitions were to have so much money that I did not have to work, and to understand the Universe. I have now achieved the former and have a much better grasp of the latter.

What now? Have a laugh.

If I were a famous politician, I would be Abraham Lincoln. If I were a classic film, I would be Easy Rider. If I were a superhero, I would be the Green Lantern, whoever he is.

I score low on all the tested personality disorders, except narcissism, which is moderate.

I am destined for the Sixth Circle of Hell, along with all the other atheists. Allegedly.

(Disclaimer: all the tests were self-administered on free websites, and might be total nonsense.)

Google Map Search

The Google Maps search gives some unexpected results. I searched for “prostitute” near my address in Blackpool and came up with the Grand Theatre and the Northern Echo.

The search was made purely out of curiosity, you understand, but I will probably be turning up at the Grand Theatre, clean and happy, with £50 in my pocket.

Drugs Not Bombs

How unlucky is that? Your cannabis plants are in need of fertilizer, so you pop along to the local fertilizer shop. Because you are growing cannabis on an industrial scale, an alert citizen thinks, “fertilizer bomb” and contacts the authorities. You find a whole lot of very well armed people suddenly wanting to talk to you. Several years in prison for drugs offences eventually ensue.

I cannot help finding the plight of the poor criminals exceedingly funny.

Dancing with The Drummer's Wife

Going teetotal has not affected my enjoyment of going to the pub as much as I expected.

Last week, I sang five karaoke songs completely sober without any sort of nerves. The results can be heard at:

http://www.bandeoke.com/audio%20files.html

My nom de chanson is “Rocking Rob”. I also sang the uncredited “Hit Me with Your Rhythm Stick”.

Pictures taken during the performance can be seen here:

http://www.bandeoke.com/toms160507.html

I’m the fool in the white shirt and glasses.

Last night, I went to see a talented local group at a pub. We were sitting at the same table as the drummer’s wife, who fell into conversation with one of my female friends. Eventually, when the band was packing up and a DJ was playing “The Twist”, she asked me if I knew how to twist. When I didn’t take the hint, she asked me to dance with her.

I was up there, dancing away without self-consciousness or fear, even when the drummer glanced at us.

The only real difference being sober made was that after a few songs, while the drummer’s wife and I were holding hands as we danced, I experienced a physiological reaction that I would almost certainly not have experienced if I had had a few pints. Hurrah for me at my age.

After the band and the drummer’s wife had gone, I made some humorous, rather lewd (but not disparaging) remarks to my friends, which I would have previously excused by my drunkenness. Not any more. Now my excuse is that I was in “drunk socialising” mode.

So I’ve done all that on soda water, had as much fun, and saved myself some money as well.

I have celebrated by buying some adequate speakers for my computer.

A New Teetotaller

I Am Now Teetotal

I have joined the merry band of Methodists, Muslims, health fanatics and recovering alcoholics who do not drink. Fear was the spur.

When I was told I had Barrett’s Oesophagus, I received a list of ways to reduce the chances of it causing cancer.

I looked up the survival rate of cancer of the oesophagus, and discovered that it is less than 10% after five years. Oh, how very annoying.

Not smoking, eating fruit and veg and so on were no problem. I can afford to shrink by seven or eight inches before I need to lose weight. But I need to drink little or no alcohol.

Drinking is probably at the root of the problem. I was a binge drinker. I used to go all week without a drink, then go mad at weekends. At one stage, I used to drink so much in an evening and early morning that I lost count.

My drinking has been more modest recently, but still too much. I know that if I drink the odd pint, the number of pints will start to creep up.

So the choice I face is live teetotaller or dead drunk.

Mine’s a soda water.

I Am Dropping to Bits

I have high blood pressure. I’ve had both my retinas lasered to stop them becoming detached. Now I discover that I have Barrett’s Oesophagus and divesticular disease. Lovely.

The obvious question arises: How does Barrett cope? But how rock and roll is divesticular disease? Not rock and roll at all. No romantic condition like drug addiction for me, but a disease that is just plain disgusting. Someone like Kate Moss will go out with a junkie, but I can’t see her going out with someone who has divesticular disease.

Worse yet, one of the ways to reduce the chances of Barrett’s Oesophagus becoming cancerous is to drink little or no alcohol. My social life revolves around alcohol. When I tried for a non-drinking social life by taking up amateur dramatics, I ended up boozing with the other thespians.

My main consolation is that I can sing karaoke sober, and have done so on many occasions.

Anaemic Man

My last post was a bit irascible, perhaps overly harsh on the pudgy.

Part of the explanation, along with old man’s rage, is that I am anaemic. One of the symptoms of anaemia is irritability.

My anaemia comes from gastrointestinal bleeding. Next month, I will be put into a stupor and have cameras shoved places where no camera truly belongs.

I made the error of looking up my condition and the possible remedies on the Internet. It gave my hypochondria a considerable boost.

I once wrote a poem called “Don’t Let Me Watch Horizon”. I should write another one called, “Don’t Let Me Look Up My Medical Condition on the Internet”.

Obese Pundits

On Breakfast TV this morning, an extremely fat woman was lecturing us about global warming and said she had given up flying. She was so obese that it would take twice the normal amount of fuel to lift her into the air. At least she is saving the airlines a bit of money.

She is one of those ecopuritans who would deny us the right to do anything pleasant or convenient, except, perhaps, stuff our faces with cream cakes and pork pies.

We don't need the advice of a great tub of lard who seems to be trying to reduce the level of carbon elsewhere by absorbing it all into her own body.

People who are stupid enough to become obese should realise that nobody will take what they have to say seriously.

Tommy and the Jolly Tars

In the 1920's and '30's, a group of performers called Tommy and the Jolly Tars performed regularly on the beach at Cleveleys, Lancashire. Inclement weather sometimes destroyed their scenery and piano.

The star was Tommy McGrath, who used to shout to the crowd, "Are we all here?" They apparently used to roar back, "Yes, we are".

What? I mean, what?

I can make no sense of such behaviour, but it makes the Fast Show's "Where's Me Washboard" seem normal.

If people look back on some of the stuff I have come out with in 80 years time, they might be equally baffled.

The Rich Are out of Control

When Britain's Labour government was elected in 1997, I was delighted. Since then, I have felt that something was wrong, but did not realise how bad it was.

I watched "The Trap. What Happened to Our Dreams of Freedom" on Channel 4 recently, and was struck by the statistics they quoted. In the last 10 years, the poorest 20% of the population have seen falls in their incomes, the middle 60% have seen small rises, but the top 1% are receiving about two and a half times what they were in 1997.

To add to the fun, social mobility has also decreased. Labour government?

In the 1970's it was widely believed that trade unions were out of control, so Margaret Thatcher was elected to sort them out.

We need someone to sort out the rich in the same way, to curb their bonuses, incentives, and pay rises, which are out of proportion to what they actually contribute.

Who this person might be, I have no idea.

And Tony Blair, Labour Government, you should be ashamed of yourselves.

My Head Has a Safety Valve

About three years ago, I was diagnosed with high blood pressure. Being an optimist, I thought that if I cut down on salt, it would clear up. Also, I thought, no symptoms, no problem. So I didn’t take any anti-hypertension drugs.

Then, in late October last year, I had a nosebleed, then several others, sometimes two or three times a day, sometimes every other day, over about three weeks. The penultimate nosebleed was so spectacular that my friends rushed me to A & E, where I vomited blood over the reception desk.

The cause of my nosebleeds was high blood pressure. I now take my drugs and my blood pressure is normal.

I am cursed with stupidity but blessed with at least one weak blood vessel high up in my nose.

If a blood vessel somewhere else had gone, like in my brain or my heart, I would now be disabled, or dead, or both.

My head is like a steam engine with a regulator, with blood substituting for steam.

Not everyone is so lucky. If you are ever diagnosed with hypertension, it would be a good idea to take the tablets.

The Great Global Warming Conspiracy

When the experts stopped warning us that the planet was about to freeze and told us it was about to overheat, I was sceptical. Eventually, I accepted that the World was on a warming trend, and that manmade CO2 emissions were responsible.

Then, last night, I watched "The Great Global Warming Conspiracy" on Channel 4 and belive that global warming is caused by the Sun, and not by CO2.

So we can ignore the unholy alliance of mad right wingers, hippies, lefties, sensationalist journalists and corrupt scientists and enjoy ourselves.

If I was not so mean with money, I would be turning up the central heating so I could sit around the house in my underwear, buying exotic foodstuffs from as far away as possible, and flying everywhere, even if it is just down to the shops.