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Walking Chronicles #1

I don’t know how old I was when I first walked and as both of my parents are dead I can’t ask them; and as it was probably more than sixty years ago it hardly matters that much. Let’s just say that I have been doing it for more than sixty years. Continue reading

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letters to the editor number 77 – defiling classics #sherlock

Sir

Having alread been outraged once this weekend I am appalled again this evening to find that amongst the offerings is another episode of the dreadfull Sherlock.

Is it not bad enough that TV programme making has fallen to the gutter standards of modern viewing? Why do people feel the need to also mess with the classics? With perfectly good stocks of the excellent Joan Hickson Miss Marple stories some moronic group had to mess with the stories to produce the dreadfull Geraldine McEwan versions, but why oh why should someone then sink to the depths of wanting to mess with something like the works of Conan-Doyle?

Surely this represents grounds for re-introduction of capital punishment?

I think that we should be told.

Staggered of Swindon

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letters to the editor number 19 – initial thoughts

Sir

My attention has been drawn to the intials PM. Amongst other things, they appear to stand for:

a) Prime Minister
b) Puppet Master
c) Peter Mandelson

Am I alone in thinking that this is no coincidence? I think that we should be told.

Yours faihtfully
Worried of Wiltshire

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more time with the NHS today

Off to the Great Western Hospital again today, partly for a review of my last MRI scan results and, hopefully, they will show that I haven’t developed a talent for growing salivary gland tumours after all. We’re pretty confident that I haven’t, that Larry the Lump was just a one off that needed three operations before I was finally rid of him, but you have to monitor these things.

The other reason for the visit is to remove the remnants of the wisdom tooth that my dentist left behind just over three months ago. I’ve joked before about this terraced house in the suburbs where I go every now and again to pay two women to cause me pain for half an hour, but on my last visit things did go wrong. Having declined to invest around £1000 (yes a grand) in having a tooth at the back rebuilt I opted to lose it. Nicely numbed up I lay back and thought of England (the good one we had before this government ruined it) and tried to relax, the crunch! The top of the tooth was just crushed leaving me with the base of it and its roots.

This was 10 days before I flew out to the USA for nearly 4 weeks and the root removal would have to be a hospital job, so with me not back until a couple of days before Christmas, it would be at least January before anything could be done, and here we are halfway through February. Part of that is because I have the A team looking after my other oral problem, and they have kindly taken the tooth extraction under their wing and scheduled me on their list and they have got me in 2 weeks earlier than it first looked possible to arrange.

So today is the day. Yes it’s pretty routine and, as I say, I have the A team doing the job, but I am a quivering wreck. I know that this is irrational and all the rest, but there it is. The best dentist I have had so far, back in Chelmsford, told me I had three problems with my mouth; small aperture, big tongue and teeth that would have served a horse well. He did manage to get in there and do a good job; most of his work is still intact and serving me well, but all other dentists have struggled with me over the years, even with just the routine maintenance.

I’m writing this in the hopes that, in doing so, it my help calm me a little. It has to be done; the remnants cannot just be left there and I haven’t been able to eat properly since the original botch up, and that came as soon as was feasible after my third operation on Larry the Lump, which in turn was as soon as possible after the second operation, so I have had works in progress in my mouth since last May. My mouth feel likes our road network – bits always coned off and dug up.

In fact it’s two years since the saga began. January 23 2008 I walked out of a consultant’s office with the news that I had a tumour and that it would have to come out before they could tell me more. I switched my phone back on to call home, but voicemail chimed in with the message that my Mother was not expected to see the day out and I should get to the hospital if I could. All being well today will draw a line under the whole thing.

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