In the chemist's this afternoon to pick up my repeat prescription, the lady in charge asked after any problems relating to my drugs regime. I indicated the very dry, purplish peeling skin of my right hand, mentioning its tendency to break out in itchy, blistery sores from time to time, and that I was trying to keep on top of the problem with hand creams of one sort or another. At which point a voice behind me said, "Excuse me for interrupting" - he was wearing designer fatigues in camouflage khaki and brown blotches, and had on braces straps those twin breast pocket attachments you see on squaddies in war zones or on exercises, together with a brown broad rimmed hat, and I would guess have been aged fifty or thereabouts - "excuse me, but I couldn't help overhearing what you were saying about hand creams, and I wanted to recommend Norwegian Fisherman's Cream as being excellent for the kind of trouble you're suffering with. I've tried it myself - I get that thing where the skin cracks around the nails during cold weather - and can thoroughly recommend it. I mean, after all, if Norwegian fishermen use it, it must be OK!" The chemist didn't say anything. "Thanks for the advice", I replied, "might just take up that suggestion. I guess, with it being Fisherman's Cream, it should be possible to get it ON LINE??" Completely blank expression in return - the two staff tactfully retreating into the back of the shop as they suppressed their laughter. "ON LINE?? FISHERMEN???" I hinted subtly. "Aaaaaah! A JOKE!!" he twigged, adding, "Any more like that and you'll have me HOOKED!".
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Originally posted by Serial_Apologist View Post
Have you tried coconut oil for the skin thing, S_A ?
Very good indeed for a variety of skin issues, including excem.....ecxsm....ezczem.... er, dermatitis.
Has to be cold pressed raw virgin oil though. ( available in Aldi, tesco etc etc for a few quid).I will not be pushed, filed, stamped, indexed, briefed, debriefed or numbered. My life is my own.
I am not a number, I am a free man.Comment
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Exmoor!Originally posted by teamsaint View Post
Thanks teamy - I've made a note on that suggestion.Has to be cold pressed raw virgin oil though. ( available in Aldi, tesco etc etc for a few quid).Comment
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On the way in to St Sprees, the guitar-playing busker was bellowing out "Twentieth Century Schizoid Man". We have a very superior class of homeless persons busking up this way.
"Mrs May has just announced an election", I told the shelf-stacker. "Oh that'll be life-changing" she said unsmilingly. "Who wins depends on which party persuades us they've put forward the most convincing case", I explained to Salena on the check out. "If the Tories decide to privatise the air, then we'll all have to put a pound into a special meter before we're allowed to breathe". "But what I do when I am working here?" she asked in all seriousness. "Oh, you needn't worry, 'cos you're working for a private company, and they'll be subsidised to supply air for you to breathe".
On the way out, the busking guitarist was singing "And the Wind Cries Mary".
I stuck two quid in his cap. Local estate agents will doubtless be contemplating whether to mention him as a local asset, before he becomes a tourist attraction. When I first moved in here, a woman asked me why the London Eye could not be seen from the Parade, when Bill Oddy had said it could the other night on telly. Such is the nature of London air that, in canned form, its quantum of impurities made it a bankable commodity for visiting tourists to Piccadilly Circus in the Swinging Sixties, but it is not always possible to see for six miles, even from above the riff-raff, when looking north from the summit of my manor.Comment
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Clear and sunny from Ruskin Park up to the Hs of P complete with UJ...but can't see forward very far.
What an odd country.Comment
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Hemp cream available from the Body Shop has proved very effective in clearing up various skin irritations suffered by friends inc extremely itchy eczema and psoriasis.Originally posted by Serial_Apologist View PostComment
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Thanks for the tip gradus. I've used Dovobet for 3 years, which is only available on prescription, so this could be my answer.Originally posted by gradus View PostComment
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DES
I went to my local town to see some lovely old vehicles today - http://www.hcvs.co.uk/includes/docum...7%20Poster.pdf. It was a bit cold and there was a little light rain but the conditions weren't too bad. My physical health hasn't been great recently and I didn't want to stand for a very long time. I couldn't remember if there were any seats there. As luck would have it, there were as many as seven - it is surprising what one doesn't notice generally - and three were among greenery in front of the church of which one was by the road. Not only did that mean I had a good view but I was able to see all of the old vehicles that were passing. The same would not have been the case had I been in the town centre someway further along the A23 as a few vehicles were choosing the bypass. But I have issues with the church itself. The woman there was less than friendly when I spoke to her. She was more interested at the time in welcoming the local fly-by-night that was Emily Benn to conduct something there as part of her electoral campaign in 2015. As those sorts of thoughts were running through my head, I was also feeling quite nostalgic for the days when some of the more recent vintage vehicles I was seeing were commonplace.
Anyhow, after a while a few people turned up at that junction to lighten me a little - fathers with children, some individual trainspotter types and a couple of Japanese tourists, bemused but excited. There were probably more in the town for the event than it appeared although there was a feeling it might have received more support. After an hour and a quarter I walked slowly from the church bench through the main part of town for the distance of two bus stops with the idea that I would get a bus from the second. While I was waiting, I could watch further vehicles passing - the ones that hadn't cheated and taken the by-pass. It was at this point that a dapper chap, short and moving briskly, approached me and asked me if many had gone through so far. I explained that while many had done there was probably a good half hour more and the best place to see them all would be by the church. He said he would follow my advice but first would I be interested to see his folder of photographs of old coaches? This he duly produced. The photographs were rather nice and had personal meaning to him. He had worked for Tilling coaches until Labour had nationalised them in the 1960s, then although he's been based in this area for years he was in Essex and in Scotland and with Southdown on the coast. There was constant complicated restructuring especially in the 1980s under the Conservatives' Department of Transport. He had begun as a coach painter but did bits of engineering and management until he was headhunted to head up various concerns, often working 80 hours in a week.
I said to him that I had great grandfathers on both sides of my family who were coach painters. I also told him about two events in my memory linked to the veteran car rally that takes place in November. During this part of the conversation he began waving to each vehicle so I did the same and we got a lot of smiles and waves in return. Then in a gap, he said, in 1990 it all suddenly stopped for him following a massive heart attack. He had experienced hallucinations about being carted from one hospital to another that for some reason were in America and the last rites were read. However, he pulled through and was mowing the lawn remarkably quickly afterwards. He was all for going back to work as soon as possible but Mrs Thatcher was making cut backs and he was an obvious candidate to go so he was then unemployed. Subsequently he would be told he was a Type 2 diabetic so he came to the conclusion it was just as well. "You probably won't thank me for this" I said "but I worked for the Department for Transport from 1985". He laughed. "And then just as you had to go in Mrs Thatcher's cuts, I went in Mr Cameron's cuts of 2010 so that is another similarity between us. But" - and I had to say this because he looked the very picture of health - "how old were you in 1990?" The answer was 55 which makes him 82 now and there is no way that I would have thought he was over 75 and I said so.
What was the secret? A very supportive wife of 52 years, a contentment at having been in his word "poor" for nearly three decades - and God. Ah, here we go, I thought. We are, after all, in 2017, the pub immediately opposite where we are standing still claims it has a garden when it doesn't have a garden, and here is the moment when I discover that there is an agenda after all. Noting a slight Irish lilt in this genial man's voice, I hesitantly asked as softly as I could "which denomination?". "Oh no, not at all", he replied, "absolutely none - I won't set foot in a church and rarely have done. Actually, this is what I do". Out of his shoulder bag came a rectangular wood block. On one side there was a mild Christian message of six lines, typed neatly and glued. On the other was a very intricate carving that said "Jesus" - work that clearly required accuracy and much patience.
How many had he produced? Thousands since the day shortly after his heart attack when he had received this calling. However, not all of them said "Jesus". A leaflet of a range of his efforts was produced. "Shalom". That was especially popular in Germany. Several with other one word religious references that had gone to various parts of the world. Yes one to the Pope and what he described as "a few other Roman Candles". And what was this one - "Arsenal"? - to which the reply was yes. "Are you on the internet?" I asked. "No, no - I am too poor to have a computer and I wouldn't be able to operate one anyway. I just send them off. Prince William - I had a very nice reply from him. I knew he supported Aston Villa so carved that for him before placing the typed label on the back". Here a brief pause for us both to wave and smile to an old fire engine that was passing. "Delia Smith". That would be Norwich, then - but what of the one that said Arsenal? Simple. He supports Arsenal. He sent one to Arsene Wenger and another to Thierry Henry and he had wonderful replies from each. Henry sent him details of what at the time was the new stadium. "As it happens, I support Arsenal" I said "so that is yet another thing we have in common".
We spoke about improvements to the new local hospital. We spoke about what to do when the blood sugar begins to rise towards diabetes at 54. A half teaspoon of cinnamon from Tescos daily into cereal would be a good start. Sadly, his twin brother hadn't taken his advice. And we spoke about how long did I expect it would be before my bus arrived as he thought he had an Arsenal one currently in the boot of his car. I might like it. I didn't know but he crossed the road and walked some distance before reaching that vehicle and then fairly briskly walked back again with the promised wood block. Had my bus turned up, I would have had to let it pass as it seemed such a kindly thing of him to do. But my bus did not arrive in that time. Obviously I expected I would paying for the gift. No price was mentioned. I got out some money to say thank you and he absolutely refused to take a penny. "I do hope we will meet again" I said. "We will" he replied. "Here at the same time next year". From feeling downbeat, I felt quite uplifted and of course it struck me that a bizarre situation has occurred to me yet again, perhaps with dark and light connotations about personal fate. What I also realised was that there was another thing that he and I had in common, not that I mentioned it to him. It is - and I believed I was something of a one-off in this respect - I don't have time for any church or religion but I do believe in God.
Last edited by Lat-Literal; 08-05-17, 00:00.Comment
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Just passed this place on my ride home:
Astonishing! The landlady of my Sunday jazz pub in Croydon - of all places! - was one of 3 local "business representatives" interviewed on the BBC 1 London news this evening, to find out their views about the election campaign!Comment
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This morning I purchased a new bottle of Radox. Therer was a choice of five different varieties. The lady on the checkout asked why I had gone for the Muscle Soak one. I explained that I needed a change, because the Stress Relief one had helped get all the stresses out of my body, but the rushing about screaming and shouting had left me with serious backache.
One of the few remaining honey bees just now entered through my open window, and I gently helped it out again. I doubt if I'll be voting Green this time, though.Comment
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The junction where College Road meets Crystal Palace Parade has a left filter, necessitating careful manoeuvreing on a bike to join the perpetual traffic queue waiting for the green light before turning right. Ten metres back someone hooted repeatedly. Not knowing what was going on, rather than run the risk of crossing over I dismounted and stepped onto the pavement, looked round, and caught the next driver sticking up his middle finger at me. In all 13 years of my experience of using that junction, this has never happened.
On returning from St Sprees, an email from the young woman upstairs was waiting to be read. "When are you moving out?" it said.Comment
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Don't take it personally. It's not you they are all against...Comment
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It was lovely to meet you said the Chairman of the residents association on Friday by which she meant the e-mails were now less worrying. I had been taking the eighteen envelopes from under her red plastic box as she had instructed when suddenly the door swung open and it was her. She was grateful for my involvement and my full acceptance that she is a busy woman. "All my time is being taken up with the Cacilla" she appeared to say. "The what?" "The Cacilla.....we were up at Netherne where you said you have recently walked". "There is a lot of space there for housing" I said. "Yes" she replied. "It's the same in all of the places where there used to be mental hospitals and it's just happened again there". Mostly, I know, she is to be found in some or other Croydon consortium. Very good luck to her. I wouldn't want the role. "So what is the "Cacilla"......a newer organisation there?" "No", she said, "the Cacilla.....he's ripped off the heads of 500 now and he's gone on to owls". "Oh......the cat killer. Yes I have seen the signs on the lamp posts. I am so sorry. I heard it as something else".
So it was today I was speaking to the train driver opposite except he is sadly no longer driving trains because of his illness. Not doing too badly, mind, so we're hopeful. "I'm delivering letters about the proposed new road and the association is happy because they are so busy at the moment with the cat killer". Oh, he said, just as his cat arrived which he stroked and which I nearly stroked until I quickly remembered its history. We aren't fools. We all know that his arm was ripped to shreds by his own cat and not another one in the neighbourhood. Then it dawned on me. The need for further apologies. "I wasn't thinking. You must think I am so undiplomatic. It is the very last thing I should have mentioned". "Not at all" he replied. "He should come to my place. My cat would rip his head off. You realise that animals are just the start with these people? They do humans next. It would be the best for everybody".
Last edited by Lat-Literal; 10-07-17, 02:09.Comment
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On the way to St Sprees to get some furniture polish, among other things, one of those skip transporter lorries passed me by. On the side was inscribed "Hinton Skip Hire", followed by a telephone number and email address.
The design on the furniture polish aerosol can has been changed in the past couple of years since I last bought any. "My antique table's never going to look as posh, now that they've change the look of the can", I said to the woman. In front of me in the check out queue was a short, swarthy-looking man, very suntanned, fiftyish I'd say, wearing a brown leather stetson-style hat, khaki safari jacket, and trendy-looking knee-length shorts in a grey-white mottled pattern with leather bootlaced bows on each side of the bottoms. All that was missing was corks dangling from the hat. Once he was out of earshot, Luba the sales assistant leant forward across the counter beckoning me conspiratorily: "Do you seenk he goes to shootink buffalo in the park?" she asked.
Two small black children came over, the older clutching a ball, and watched me unloading my bag containing the purchases from my back. They are in the daytime care of the sweet young woman who lives in the flat above mine and does this for a living. "Come and see my fire engine!" the little girl said. The two of them had managed to un-rig and differently re-rig the garden hose around its wonky metal spool, this to all intents constituting the "fire engine". "Is it all right to talk to me?" I gently asked. "Yes", the little one replied; "'cos Leonie says you're OK to talk to".
It's sobering to think one might as a "strange man" be seen as trustworthy; be this as it may one is sadly loath to approach children even if it is just to say "Hi" when you catch them viewing the bike with intrigued expressions - being warned there are predatory men with beguiling charms around every corner ready to snatch them, how are they going to distinguish me from them? More importantly still, what happens to that trust which seems hardwired into their innocent heads to guide them into secure relationships in later life? It's a conundrum. Some years ago, I placed my bike temporarily outside on the landing so as to make way for some hoovering. Fifteen minutes later I went outside, to find that the bike was gone. I thought, oh well, there we go - stupid me thinking it would be safe not to lock it to the railings; hard lesson learned. A couple of hours further on there's a ring at the door. There by the door are two small girls, aged about 12 or 13 at the most, one blonde, the other mixed race. "This your bike?" the second one asked, indicating what, yes, was indeed my bike. "Oh yes, it is!" I said, "where did you find it?" "Our brother told us he found it and we said no he'd stolen it, which he's done before, and we said that was a wrong thing to do and he had to return it. So he told us where, and we've brought it back because that's what Mum would have told us to do". I was overjoyed, moved with gratitude, "Oh thank you, thank you!" I said, hugging each of them in turn. "That's all right mister". Next day I related this incident to my next-door neighbour, mentioning my amazement that such honesty was still to be found "in this day and age". "Ooh you shouldn't have hugged them, you know!" she said in a "be afraid, be very afraid" tone of voice; "You don't do that kind of thing these days and hope to get away with it! Their father will be around here before you know it, accusing you of sexually molesting his children and being a paedophile! I know because I've taught in schools around here".
Nothing further transpired, fortunately.
'Nuff said.Last edited by Serial_Apologist; 25-07-17, 17:10.Comment
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