If, having read and taken in the title of this postcard, you are wondering where the clothes you normally wear to funerals are, and should they be dry cleaned to get rid of the rather ‘unused’ whiff, relax! Hopefully, as far as I am concerned, you won’t need them for a while yet.

But my experiences on a rather quite Sunday evening at the end of last month are worth a few reflective comments!

On several occasions back in 2012, I experienced a tightness across my chest and was eventually sensible enough to go to my GP. By August 2013, after two ECGs and one angiogram, I am in the Royal Sussex County Hospital here in Brighton having a triple heart bypass. “Good for thirty years” said Jonathan Hyde my surgeon …… and I believed him, although now, when I get the odd twinge, I have my doubts about the ‘30’! Anyway, I have a sublingual Glyceryl Trinitrate spray which normally relieves the ache pretty much instantly.

That Sunday evening I had just sat down to watch the early evening news when I felt a twinge. Rather reluctantly I got up, found my spray and gave myself a dose. I sat back down but the ache persisted, so much so that Celina asked whether I was OK! I explained ….. then she said I looked very pale (I felt quite sweaty!) and she was on the phone to the emergency services. The enormous pressures on our NHS are well documented, with response times for ambulances way beyond guidelines and apocalyptic scenes in A&E the norm; somehow I hoped I would not see first hand their state on that Sunday evening.

While we waited for the ambulance, I was told to take four 75mg Asprin tablets. Paramedics Ben and his teammate arrived – within 14 minutes – and after various checks and tests, declared that the only sure way of eliminating any heart issue was to have two blood tests, four hours apart, to check levels of Troponine. Grabbing my kindle and iPhone, off we went, although I was reassured that the paramedics didn’t feel the need to advertise our presence with blue lights and sirens!

Ben and I chatted in the back of the ambulance, as I am always intrigued by everyone’s back-story! He had started as a Royal Military Policemen then ten years ago joined the Ambulance Service. Arriving at A&E Ben asked me to sit in a wheelchair so he could take me in. “Oh! I feel OK! I can walk.” “More than my job’s worth, Richard. Get in the chair.” Once inside I was confronted by the organised chaos of A&E. Not quite sure whether to look at the beds, the trolleys, the occupants some half-dressed, some moaning, some in severe pain, most with a family member or friend (Celina had offered but I reckoned I could cope!) and a multitude of different-coloured uniformed staff, moving confidently and expertly, to deliver whatever was needed. I sense everyone is looking at me and that’s probably always the case, observing the new arrivals, while you wait … and wait.

There is a high level of noise and I assume, if you work here, you have to shut it out, somehow! Somewhere in the background a woman is sounding off, ‘f**k you’, ‘f**k off’, etc, not appreciating the staff trying to assist her. It’s reckoned around 45% of those attending A&E have a drug or alcohol problem.

Wheeled into a curtained-off bay, I am transferred to a bed and given the obligatory backless gown. Omar comes in to administer an ECG and take blood. He has just qualified and is off to a residential doctor’s role in Chichester. Many years ago I was advised by member of a hospital blood team never to let a doctor take blood, but Omar was quite competent. Then Kojak aka Terry Savalas arrived to tell me what to expect; actually Savalas died in 1994 but this doctor was a dead-ringer for him! “Providing both blood tests are OK then you can go home, but the second one can only be in four hours’ time!” By now it was 1930 so home by midnight – fingers crossed.

“While you’re here let’s have an X-Ray of your chest.”– and on the journey to and from the X-Ray department it was very apparent how stretched our A&E departments have become; trolleys along corridors, constant noise and movement, orderlies called hither and thither. The difficulty of getting a face-to-face appointment with one’s local GP encourages people to simply turn up to A&E, knowing they will not be turned away …. even if they have to wait four hours.

I was ‘parked’ in a room with a selection of large chairs, told my next test would be in three hours and asked whether I wanted something to eat. Grateful for something to while away the time, my chicken sandwich was followed by some yoghurt and some biscuits – but I wasn’t sure how to cope with a small orange with very thin skin and only a spoon.

Trying to concentrate on the book on my Kindle, invariably I eaves-dropped to understand why others were here, in this darkened room, on these large blue chairs. There wasn’t much chat going on, but I did managed to ascertain that the twenty-something chap next to me had had a bad trip on some drug at a party, so much so that his girlfriend had brought him in and was talking in a quiet concerned way to a nurse, whilst the chap moaned and shivered and groaned.

Somehow the time passed, eventually I had a second set of bloods taken, a doctor said they were fine and I could go. I called a taxi and when it arrived another chap in the carpark thought it was his; as he also lived in Hove I suggested we went together. His backstory? He had taken some laxative and had a severe allergic reaction!

A&E on a Sunday night!

Richard 17^th May 2024

Hove

http://www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

PS A&E in Brazil is known as Urgências and in Portugual ‘Serviço de Acidentados e de Urgências’.

After Easter I spent a few days with my daughter and family near the Surrey town of Farnham. There is no sensible comparison with the city of Brighton & Hove but like any experience, you appreciate the differences when you return home!

On the Thursday, as my middle grandson was having his haircut, I wandered off with Theo, aka KitKat and aged 7, to find a decent cup of coffee for me and an ice cream for him. Hamilton’s Tea House on Downing Street had Illy coffee, my favourite, so in we went. “Sorry, the seating area has just closed!” My watch said it was a quarter past three! Somewhat surprised and pissed-off, we took our purchases up the little lane to St Andrew’s church, where we found a bench in the church yard.

We finished our little refreshments and then strolled through the long grass, looking for enlightenment from reading the inscriptions on the headstones. Most had been there well over 100 years and the ravages of weather, pollution and lichen were obvious. A few words here, a date there, leaning forward, leaning to one side, some leaning backwards and only with God’s will were they still sort-of upright; good examples of a town’s visual historical record disappearing in front of one’s eyes.

St Andrew’s graveyard got me thinking of one grave I particular, in the churchyard of St Stephens in Shottermill, a very small village near other Surrey town, Haslemere.

For here lie my great grandfather George Nation, his wife Eva Nation (See PCs 44 & 45 (Alaska 2015), PCs 127, 152 & 154 (Family seat and Fosbery Connections) and PCs 169 & 170 New Zealand 2020) and their son Cecil, who’d died of TB aged 59 in 1936. The years have taken their toll on the words carved into the stone and it’s possible that future generations will not be able to read a thing.

I wrote to the appropriate Diocese asking whether a simple plaque could be stuck in the ground next to it (for example: George Mitchell Nation 1847 – 1931, Eva Fosbery Nation 1860 – 1947 and Cecil Fosbery Nation 1887 – 1936) and was told that I could have the stonework recut or replaced, at some expense, but couldn’t have a plaque! I had managed to have one made for George’s father Henry Matthew Nation, whose grave in St Stephens (Note 1), in the Auckland suburb of Parnell, New Zealand, had been unmarked.

So I think the Diocese’s stance is extremely sad and shortsighted; it suggests that in the not-too-distant future visitors to a closed church, which might hold written records of the occupants of the graveyard, will simply see a number of stone rectangles at various angles!

But just discernible on George’s gravestone are the dates recording their birth and death, and a hyphen was there, separating the start and the end of that life. It seemed that all their life’s activities, successes and failures, loves and life, were compressed into a single mark of punctuation. I read somewhere how odd it is to wander through a graveyard, look at the details on the gravestones and see ‘life in a hyphen’.

So what did ‘de Mackay’ do between 1931 and 2022?

If the observer has some basic knowledge of history, gravestone dates can recall national and global events of that period, so give an insight into living and working conditions of the occupant. But this hyphen, this simple line, not long, not thick, separating two numbers is recognised in some weird way as the extent of the person’s life. There is obviously a need for brevity when paying someone to chisel words on stone, but surely there is a better, more modern way for people to discover?  

Kitkat suggested we went inside St Andrew’s, where we found some lovely wire sculptures of fish suspended from the rafters.

“Why fish?” asked Kitkat.

“Probably a nod to the belief that Jesus Christ asked two fishermen to become ‘fishers of men.’”

My daily reading of the digital version of The Times includes a brief look at the ‘Register’ where obituaries are found. You wouldn’t want to write your own obituary for publication, although as a personal exercise it can be quite enlightening, just for amusement or as a stock-take of where you are today and where you want to get to, and how you want to be remembered. Try it! When we die we leave it to others to comment and judge our life, the good bits and the not so good bits.

Epitaphs, a ‘form of words written in memory and often used as an inscription on a tombstone’, try to encapsulate a life in a few words. Frank Sinatra (1915 – 1998) asked that ‘The Best is Yet to Come’ was engraved on his tombstone.

Then you have other more general comments like ‘gone from our sight but not from our hearts’, or ‘too well loved to be forgotten’, or ‘to live in the hearts of those we leave behind is never to die’ or ‘in memories we find comfort, in love we find peace’ – but there’s no visible mention of what the individual did! For example they could have been a ‘doctor’, or ‘monarch’, or ‘architect’, or ‘saleswoman’, or ‘actor’, or ‘singer’, or ‘inventor’, or ‘civil servant’, or ‘balloonist’, or ‘writer’, or ‘policewoman’, or engineer – and the hyphen doesn’t divulge the information!

Maybe in the future there will be a QR or Barcode beside the grave that you can interrogate with your smart phone and find more information. In Sinatra’s case it might say: ‘I was a singer. Regrets? I had a few ……”

Richard 10^th May 2024

Hove

http://www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

PS During Easter there was news coverage of some of the Christian services here in the UK and I heard someone say “today, Easter Sunday, is the most important day in Christianity”. I got confused – surely someone’s death can’t be more important than their birth in the sense one has to come before the other? But then I realised it was actually about the Christian belief in the Resurrection.

Note 1 A lovely coincidence that both churches are named St Stephens!

At that very moment, we saw Duncan enter the café with a professional-looking woman and as they sat down at one of the tables, Josh brought over two cups of coffee. After what seemed like an intense 30 minutes, discussing some plans and drawings, the woman left and Duncan, looking around at who was ‘in’, came over to Mo and me. Maybe some sixth sense had encouraged him to join us.

“We were just talking about you! Your ears must have been burning. We were wondering how your ideas for the bookshop were coming on?”

“Well, that was Melanie from Elixir Interior Design and she’s helping me develop my ideas.”

“Who are Elixir Interior Design?”

“Think you would call them creatives and we’re lucky here to have such a large thriving sector. They have been involved in many of the city’s success stories and currently are working on a new hotel in Regency Square, Number 29. Melanie told me she’s just become a consultant for the company developing the old Hippodrome Building in Middle Street.”

“Ah! Yes. That place has a long and chequered history.” says Mo. “I think it opened at the turn of the C20th and was, until 1964, one of the most popular and famous theatres in the country. It then fell into disuse and disrepair until 2020 when it was bought by Matsim Properties. Isn’t that right?”

Behind this rumpty-tumpty facade is a huge magnificent circular plastered ceiling

“Yes. Planning consent was given at the beginning of last month for a performance space, a hotel and shop, and a private members’ club. Quite an undertaking and I suspect a huge ‘money pit’.”

“It’s just up the street from my yoga studio, Duncan. Pass it five days a week. ……. So, the bookshop?”

“I am confident it’s going to be a big success. I have raised some money from my family and in my mind have it opening in January 2025.”

Mo asked: “But what about higher wages and coffee bean prices, as well the hike in energy prices? Aren’t they creating a huge pressure on your overheads?  

I chipped in: “Didn’t the government advise reducing the time in the shower at home to 4 minutes? Personally don’t spend more than three minutes but ……”

          “Wages have overtaken raw materials as my biggest cost – at the beginning of April the National Living Wage rose by £1.02 an hour to £11.44. And yes, the cost of Arabica coffee beans has been affected by the impact of climate change in Brazil and Ethiopia. But you know what, people come for more than a coffee, which they could make at home; it’s the whole community feeling, belonging by a process of osmosis, even if you don’t engage with anyone!”

Duncan says he must go, hopes we have a great day and with a nod to Josh goes out into a sunny morning.

Turning to Mo I asked:

“Mo, you know how we have habits which we have invested years and years in to perfect and then we get challenged by some news that questions whether what we have been doing is right?

“Yes. Like that British habit of using a bowl in the sink to wash up – our continental cousins are horrified!!

“Well, actually anyone not British! I have been aware for maybe a year that dentists do not like us using mouthwash but know I couldn’t start or end the day without a good swill of Listerine – no alcohol of course ….”

“Why don’t they like mouthwash?”

“It’s all about the fluoride that’s been an active ingredient of our toothpaste since the 1960s. Fluoride needs time to work, some 20 minutes, so if you habitually rinse and spit out, then use a mouthwash, the positive effects of the fluoride are nullified.”

“But I recently read more modern thinking is that whilst fluoride has dental benefits, fluoride-free toothpaste with some nano stuff (Ed: Nano Hydroxyapatite) is just as effective without the systemic toxicity concerns that Fluoride has.”

“I suspect you would have to have kilos of Fluoride before it became an issue! By the way, did I tell you the other day Celina and I went for a ‘Mole Map’, a way of making sure we are not surprised by the development of a malignant melanoma? (See PC 366 Medical Decluttering 22 December 2023). We sat in the waiting area of the Worthing Skin & Laser Clinic and Celina offered to get some water from the dispenser, which offered a choice of either normal temperature or cold water. She wanted the former, my choice was the latter. Sipping from a paper cup, it was lovely and cold. Celina’s was exactly the same temperature, something we would not have appreciated if we had been on our own!! Technology? Plumbing problem more like!”

               “That’s sweet! Listen, this may be really passé but there is a cocktail called Gin & French. I love cocktails but never knew the ‘French’ refers to the vermouth but if the vermouth is Italian, the cocktail is called Gin & It!(Note 1)”

“Neither did I. Mo, I need to go but did you see that wokeism is losing favour?”

“Yes! Wonderful news! What a load of tosh!”

“I agree. You know, as I am no longer on the merry-go-round of paid work, growing up, social interactions, having offspring and suchlike, these issues have really passed me by. I can think ‘The lady doth protest too much’ (Note 2) but then I probably would have to discover whether Queen Gertrude would have preferred a different pronoun and whether she had some little badge on her chest telling the world.”

“Ha! Ha! The rise of wokeism brought these gender neutral pronouns, which had been the preserve of the LGBTQ+ communities, into more common usage but I hope their continued use will not be at the expense of common sense. You need to go?”

“I do! See you next time. Bye Mo!”

Richard 3^rd May 2024

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Note 1 ‘It’ short for ‘Italian’.

Note 2 from Hamlet by William Shakespeare

PC 384 The Man In The Window

When you live in an urban environment it’s pretty certain you will have a view of your neighbours. East across Albany Villas from us is No 17 and to the left of the front door is an apartment.

In its right-hand window, its occupier has his desk in the bay. He obviously works from home and, whilst we’re not in the habit of staring, curiosity informs us roughly of his daily habits. We have no idea what he does but think he might be a day-trader; always there, regular as clockwork. Whilst we can see in a little …..

          ……. I am not sure whether he can see into our living room as the windows in Amber House have a sheen that provides some privacy. Maybe I should ask him? The room he could look into is our ‘living’ room in the true sense of the word; it’s roughly 5 metres by13 metres and here we cook, eat, work and relax ie ‘live’!

That’s our living room to the left of the front door

Would it matter if he did?

          Our Monday – Friday routine sees us leaving the apartment for yoga at 0915, to walk up to the bus stop. We sometimes lift a hand in acknowledgement as we see his face at the window and aren’t concerned that he never does the same.

Most of us, I suggest, are mildly curious to see into another building, whether it be a modern office block and you imagine what the workers are doing ….. “Oh! Look! Someone’s giving a presentation!” and my mind goes back to a similar event, whether I was giving the presentation or sitting through someone else’s ….. or somewhere where people live and you catch a glance of an xx or a yy or a zz. When does this mild curiosity become an obsession? Many people have voyeuristic tendencies but are unwilling to acknowledge them for fear of being discovered. Ah! These secrets we keep to ourselves. Is it a disorder being a voyeur? Well, there is no particular cause but some risk factors like alcohol misuse and abuse are often quoted in the development of an obsession.

A voyeur featured in the British television psychological thriller ‘The Couple Next Door’, written by David Allison and based on a Dutch series ‘New Neighbours’. A young couple move into a cul-du-sac and are immediately befriended by a couple across the green, who are swingers and like to engage in extra-marital sex. This is the main thread of the drama but a minor storyline concerns Alan, a peeping tom played by Hugh Dennis, who uses a telescope in his upstairs den to spy on the couple. Alan’s become increasingly lonely as he contemplates his own mortality and has nothing to say to his wife of many decades. Instead he scans the house across the street, projecting himself into a fantasy world in which he is king!

By definition, a peeping tom (Note 1) is a person who derives sexual pleasure from secretly watching people undressing or engaging in sexual activity. Legend has it that a tailor called Tom was the only person to watch the naked Lady Godiva as she rode through the streets of Coventry in 1040, so gaining a remission on harsh taxes imposed by her husband, Leofric, the Earl of Mercia.   

If you think Alan’s behaviour is not normal, reflect on the issue at Tate Modern in London a few years ago. About the same time as a 360° viewing gallery was opened on the 10^th floor of the Blavatnik Building, wealthy residents moved into the NEO Bankside building just to the southwest of the Tate, where a penthouse could cost over £20 million.

Visitors were mesmerised by what they could see in these apartments through the huge windows, some posting the results of their snooping on Instagram! Residents complained of being waved at and being forced to keep blinds down. So many visitors enjoyed the view into other people’s private living spaces that the artist Max Siedentopf installed a dozen binoculars. “No other artwork on display attracts as much fascination as these open-plan apartments.” (Ed. A great example of ‘living art’?)

After a High Court case in 2019 which ruled in favour of The Tate, which is in itself interesting (!), the residents appealed and in October 2023 the UK’s Supreme Court ruled, by 3 to 2, that The Tate was liable if its visitors caused a nuisance. The viewing platform is no longer 360° but 270°!

Minor voyeurism is often used in films. Some of you will have watched the wonderful Hitchcock’s production ‘Rear Window’. OK! It came out in 1954 but is such a classic it’s been broadcast hundreds of times since. A professional photographer played by James Stewart has a broken leg. Physically constrained, he whiles away his time by spying on his neighbours through his apartment’s rear window. However his innocent habit turns serious when he witnesses an apparent murder.

Then there is Paula Hawkins’ ‘The Girl on the Train’ that uses the same idea to tell her story. Every day Rachel Watson takes the train into work in New York and every day the train passes her old house, which is now lived in by her ex-husband, his new wife and child. Not wanting to focus on where she used to live, she starts watching a couple who live a few doors down, Megan & Scott Hipwell. Emily Blunt is Rachel in the 2016 film.

Thinking of the chap across my street reminded me of the American comedian Shelley Berman (1925 – 2017) and his Department Store skit (Note 1). In summary he notices someone in trouble outside a window in the department store across the street from his office and the tale unfolds as he calls the department store:

Eventually someone answers:

“You don’t know me but I work in the office building right across the street….

“No, south west …… and there’s a woman hanging from the window ledge on the 10^th floor.”

“No, I don’t wish to speak to her, I want someone to drag her in …

“Can I describe her? There’s only one woman hanging by her fingernails from a window ledge …… OK Could you put me through to that department please?”

“Complaints Department? …….

Etc etc

I wonder what the chap across my street would make of this postcard?

Richard 26^th April 2024

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk         

Note 1 Not to be confused with Matthew Parker, Archbishop of Canterbury, 1559 – 1575 who had a reputation for prying into the affairs of others – he acquired the nickname Nosey Parker

Note 2 Available on You Tube – The Department Store.

In The Hope Café in January (PCs 368 and 369) Sami, Mo and I were ruminating (Note 1) about trashy novels and how different writers can produce such contrasting prose. Of course it’s like any creative aspect of life, of composing music, writing plays or songs, painting in oils or in acrylics, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Every human endeavour has those who do it well and those who do it adequately, some perfectionists, some producers who create for the popular market and some who simply get by. I tend to believe I am in the latter category although often the judge is oneself! I was described as ‘autodidactic’ last month; I had to look up its meaning!

At its most basic, a sentence can simply be a subject, a verb and an object. For instance:

“The cow jumped over the moon.”

Nice and clear: an animal we identify as a cow jumped, that is lifted itself off the ground, over the moon, a lump of rock that orbits the earth once every twenty-four hours and immediately we think this is impossible! This is fairytale stuff, a nursery rhyme if nothing else! So we smile and move on. Those of you with good memories will be able to chant the complete nursery rhyme:

“Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle, the cow jumped over the moon. The little dog laughed to see such fun, and the dish ran away with the spoon.”  

This particular rhyme goes back a long way and its origin is complicated; Dutch priests in the C16th get a mention but it’s more likely to have originated in the wonder of the constellations in ancient Egypt and the worship of Hathor. Hathor was the mother of the sky god Horus and Ra, the sun god. She’s often depicted wearing a headdress of cow horns with a sun disk between them. In the constellations Lyra is the fiddle, Taurus the cow and Canis minor the dog, (See PS).

The Egyptian god Hathor

How Hathor worship, which I imagine was quite a serious business, transforms down the centuries into a mostly cartoon characterisation of a cow jumping over the moon is bewildering! It’s possible of course that someone actually saw a cow skip and that lined up with the reflection of a full moon in a pond; it caught their imagination.  

Take that initial sentence and embellish it. “The two-year-old British Holstein cow, quite a popular black & white breed here in the United Kingdom and renowned for its milk, leather and beef, was called Mathilda. Showing off to others in the herd, she jumped into the sky, with a little skip and a flourish, and lifted herself up and up. So she thought; in reality her udders were full of milk and she barely made it off the ground. “But it’s good to dream,” she thought “and I like showing off. You know I’m the comedian in the cow shed? Well, I think I could jump over the moon. Don’t you?”

Or ….

“My name is Angus and I am a professional photographer. I have worked on a number of leading nature programmes and the other day was asked to produce a photograph of a cow jumping over a full moon. Everyone is aware of the nursery rhyme and my photograph was needed for a poster for a new museum of fables and nursery rhymes in Manchester. I think this is a great idea as these historical tales have so much to teach us, at many levels. But in the back of my mind was a warning from my agent; “Angus! Never accept work involving animals.”

“I knew better, didn’t I. Apart from family pets I had been out on a horse a few times …… and they’re the same sort of size as a cow, aren’t they?

Fortunately, I know a dairy farmer down in Devon, so I called him and asked if I could come and take some pictures of a cow. Clearly it would need to be during the next full moon, which wasn’t due for a few days. I booked into a local B&B for a couple of nights, knowing that I needed to plan for the unexpected. The weather forecast was quite good for what I wanted, a relatively cloudless sky and out in the countryside there would be little light pollution. I planned to get into a hollow in one of the fields and have the cow up on top of a hillock, not far from its barn.

Brian chose Mathilda, a two-year-old British Holstein, brought her out and led her up to the hillock. We had discussed how we were going to get Mathilda to jump and reckoned the crack of a Thunderflash, a training pyrotechic, would do – although Brian worried that Mathilda might not produce milk for a few days afterwards!

Picture me then, in the hollow, my camera on a tripod, in the dark, looking at the full moon as it appeared above the horizon. Brian’s still had hold of Mathilda’s harness when, by mistake, he let off the Thunderflash. Two things happened simultaneously. I was startled, tumbled backwards and fell into something warm and smelly, but not before I saw Brian being dragged off the hillock by a very upset Mathilda.

“Could always Photoshop it, Angus?” said Brian when things were more under control. “Take a f**king photo of the full moon and one of Mathilda, superimpose one over the other …..”

“….. and ‘Bob’s my uncle?’ I thought but Brian’s challenge to my professionalism was not without merit …… and I think the result’s OK. What do you think?”

You know what, Angus? I’m over the moon! Perfect – tickled pink even.

Richard 19^th April 2024

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

PS A French astronomer Jerome Lalande called one constellation Felix. As a cat lover he was sorry there was none named after a cat, although there are two lion constellations and one lynx. It was 1799.

Note 1 Ruminating seems an appropriate word here

After talking to Josh almost exclusively last time I was here in The Hope, I thought I should try potluck and find out who was in on Tuesday. Josh himself was behind the counter, on his own and very busy although, while I was ordering a double espresso, I quickly said:

“You know I write a weekly blog, my postcard scribbles as I call them?”

“Er? I think so ……”

“Well, someone read the one where I reiterated what you had said about your time in Israel and they said: ‘Great reporter style, concise. Fun read with an undertone of serious analysis peppered with humour. So many more questions brought up and that could be further explored.’ ”

“Yes! Richard. So many questions and few with any meaningful answers that will bring about peace. Whilst I felt I had to go and ‘do my bit’, I get incensed that, for instance, some elements in Israel think building their own settlements in the Palestinian West Bank is OK, despite being illegal – and no one does anything to stop them. Sorry, I could go on and on but I need to attend to my customers. See you next time maybe?”

Lisa is sitting by herself and looks up as I pick up my cup, so I join her. 

“You’re looking pleased with yourself. Why so?”

“Well, a month ago, I started my 16^th year of trying to do OK practising the Classic 26/2 Hot Yoga sequence. What a journey! The names of the teachers are scattered across my memory like confetti; Paul, Jasmin, Simi, Olga, Richard, Raj, Sanjay, Ted, Sam amongst them …. and currently Simon and BA.”

“Amazing! And I remember you saying that you’d met Celina in the Balham studio! Wow! Incidentally we all know Sami wants to move on from how his life was turned upside down by what’s become known as the Post Office Scandal, but he was watching the TV news the other evening and an item brought it all back. Another local sub postmaster, Sami Sabet, was being interviewed, saying he was rejecting the offer of £600k. He was wrongly convicted of stealing £50,000 in 2009 and given a 12-month suspended sentence. He owned three POs in Portslade and Shoreham and reckons he paid the PO more than £100k. He’s had a heart attack, developed type two diabetes, and has PTSD. Feel so sorry for all of them.”

“I read there was some secret report indicating they knew that Horizon engineers could remotely change figures in a Post Office account without anyone knowing, but for two years continued to prosecute and deny it. The then CEO, Vennells, told MPs: “I need to say it’s not possible.”, knowing full well it was! More to come no doubt!”

“Richard, I need to have a chat with Robert, so if you don’t mind ……”

Robert’s a lonely figure at a counter, tapping away at his laptop. Apparently he’s split up with his partner and his life is not much fun. Pleased to see Lisa doing something to encourage him.

I see Mo at one of the bench seats; she beckons me over.

“You were in the army, Richard, weren’t you? And you spent some time in Northern Ireland?

“Yes! I was and I did. (See PCs 196, 197 & 198). When troops were committed to aid the police in 1969, I was on a yacht in The Baltic and about to go to university. I genuinely thought I might miss it. No one imagined then it would roll on for 30 years.”

“Did you see that Rose Dugdale had died?”

“Remind me who she was, Mo? The name is stirring the muddy memory.”

“Born into an extremely privileged life, she rebelled and, in distancing herself from her parents, particularly from her mother, at 31 she joined the provisional IRA. To raise funds, she and her boyfriend carried out the theft of some Old Masters from Russborough House in County Antrim in 1974, owned by friends of Dugdale’s parents. She was sentenced to nine years in prison.”

“Ah! Yes! That woman, another upper-class nationalist and republican like, for instance, Erskine Childers and Roger Casement. Wasn’t Dugdale responsible for making many IRA bombs, notably one for the Baltic Exchange attack in London in 1992; three people died and 91 were injured? There will always be those who feel so passionate about their cause that, right or wrong, they firmly believe the end justifies the means, but I wonder whether she could have looked in the eye those who had lost loved ones, had their lives torn apart by injury and trauma and say it was for a good cause?”

“Probably not! Now, what else is happening? I hear Kate has gone back to her bus driving; we’ll miss her!

“Indeed she has and, yes, we’ll miss her. Do you remember one of my PCs, No 371 ‘Driving Along’ from January 2024, about my daughter meeting me at the Cobham Service Station before Christmas? Well, in The Sunday Times on 4^th February 2024 there was a fascinating article about some incompetent ‘detectorists’ who found gold jewellery and coins buried in a field since 878, thought to be worth some £10m. They didn’t follow any of the established procedures, didn’t report the find, and ended up with lengthy prison sentences. As part of their efforts to fence the coins, one of them met an antique coin collector and his wife in a secluded corner of the Costa coffee shop at the M25 Cobham service station. I read this and it reinforced the thought; we have no idea what is going on around us!”

“That’s funny! I was reading that higher wages and rising coffee bean prices are driving up the cost of a cup of coffee by 30%. I must have a word with Duncan to see how he’s coping. I expect he’ll put off developing the idea of a bookshop next door until after the General Election, don’t you think?”

……. to be continued.

Richard 12^th April 2024

Hove

http://www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Here in the United Kingdom we don’t have national Identity Cards, although most would argue we do by default! It’s an issue at the heart of libertarians, wishing the State has a rather light hand on our personal lives. (See Denis Macshane’s view from Wednesday’s Times) (Note 1). Why should someone know how old I am? Apparently, some people don’t want others to know, but if you drive it’s not a State Secret! Rather clumsily, the Driving & Vehicle Licensing Authority (DVLA), responsible for issuing driving licences, got around the problem with its format of one’s Driving Licence number!

For example, my identification/driving licence number is:

‘YATES410246RC8CS 37’. My birthday is 24.10. 46, hidden (?) between the ‘S’ and the ‘R’. The year wraps the month and the day. If you hadn’t realised this, I am sure you’re going to check your own driving licence?!

My regular readers will remember that at the end of last year I embarked on a medical MOT. As part of this review, I had to have a couple of day-surgeries in local hospitals, one the Montefiore here in Hove and the other the Nuffield hospital in Woodingdean (Note 2), which lies to the east of Brighton and has stunning views over the English Channel.

Being a day-patient requires inter alia two things. One is to accept the white plastic wristband that carries useful information, your hospital ID if you like; name, date of birth, patient identification number, possibly your address or postcode and the name of one’s consultant. The second is to resign oneself to the fact that every time the bell rings, someone will ask you for your date of birth and postcode. Even the chap from the catering department with his smart iPad ready to take my order for lunch had to ask: “just confirm your date of birth and postcode?” Not sure who else might have been sitting in a chair with DVT socks and a backless gown – apart from me?

At some point within one of the hospitals I went to a waiting room and interrogated the complicated coffee machine to get a double espresso. Was I imagining it when I heard a computer-generated voice from within the machine ask: “Date of birth and postcode please.”?

I am not sure I had any identification number until I signed up for military service in August 1965, in the nearest Army Recruitment Office to my parent’s house in Balcombe, here in Brighton. My soldier’s number was 24067711 and, although it was superseded by an officer’s number when I was commissioned, it remains on the tip of my tongue.  

Part of the prompt to write about identification was reading the obituary of Josette Molland (1923-2024), who survived the inhuman Nazi concentration camps and illustrated her experiences through her art. She probably had a number tattooed on her wrist as well.

During my two operational tours in Northern Ireland I was required to wear a set of ‘dog tags’ (Note 3) around my neck. In addition to my name, obviously, they had my Army officer’s number, in this case 484065, my blood group, O Positive, and my declared religion – CS standing for Church of Scotland.

Made of metal, they clanked together; not good if you were on some operation which required stealth! Most were therefore covered with duct tape! There was probably some regulation about their use in the event of their owner being killed; ie one with the body, one to the file, but one never wanted to find out!

I still have my Army ID card, albeit a ‘reserve’ one and that reserve commitment lapsed when I turned 55. Many years ago I was in Copenhagen on business and a friend was going to Malmo on the ferry in Sweden (Note 4). I thought I would go with them, but my passport was back in the hotel. So I chanced it by just waving my ID card. There and back; no problem!

Celina gifted me a haircut with Simon Webster, a skilled hairdresser with a salon in the North Laines in Brighton. Such a pleasure to be pampered occasionally and Simon’s a lovely character. As you do, we chatted about this and that and he revealed something fascinating. Returning to the UK after a holiday in Portugal, he tried the ‘Face Recognition’ Passport machine at Gatwick Airport. It didn’t work and, after a second attempt, he reluctantly joined the queue to present his passport to a human. Simon asked the Border Force individual why his passport always failed using the Face Recognition software. The answer’s amazing:

“Someone with the same name has a criminal record, so we will always do a physical check on your identity.”

 “But my face is my face! Surely those biometric details are unique to me?”

Apparently ‘the rules are the rules’.

In PC 134 I scribbled about a week in Sicily, the largest Mediterranean island. My memories of our time there are tainted by the experience of getting our Avis hire car when we first arrived, around 2000. Eventually finding the outside cabin that was their office, on opening the door we were confronted by some ten would-be renters like us. One agent was on duty; ‘take a number and wait’. We took an identity number, 69, and immediately did the maths; we were in for a wait of 90 minutes or more as currently they were dealing with ‘55’! Very fortunately a couple has taken two numbers and, having successfully hired their Fiat, gave us their spare – 60! Still, it was almost midnight when we arrived at our apartment south of Syracuse.

In Brazil they have a CPF (Cadastro de Pessoas Fisicas – Natural Persons Register) with its 11-digit number issued by the Brazilian Inland Revenue service. If you want to purchase anything more than your normal groceries, you have to present your CPF, making it pretty much essential for life in Brazil. Brazilians also must carry a traditional ID card, complete with a photograph and date of birth.

Richard 5^th April 2024

Hove

http://www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

PS EU countries will not accept a passport issued more than ten years ago.

Note 1 “ID cards are the key to knowing who is in this country.” https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/12144546-2b16-4e3f-9b85-08e66307aeb2?shareToken=48334f5b085167a7abc7487cd64b7113

Note 2 Spelt dean, but originally in old English ‘dene’, it’s a common name for a valley and frequently found as a compound to place names. To the east of Brighton are Rottingdean, Ovingdean, Saltdean and Woodingdean. Two of the city’s northern suburbs are called Coldean and Withdean.

Note 3 The UK Armed Forces refer to them as Identity Discs but ‘dog tags’, the American term, is almost universal.

Note 4 This was before the long, beautiful bridge that now spans the Oresund was built. 

I have always been reasonably observant and notice, among other things, those who write with their left hand and the differing ways in which they hold their pen. Writing of course may be a dying art and you may remember that some schools in Finland are experimenting with not teaching cursive script. Presumably this would mean that in future you would sign a document, say, with, er, a cross?! We are probably all becoming a little ambidextrous when it comes to more frequent use of a keyboard – exercising one’s digits and becoming able to enter data with either hand. Those of you who are left-handed when it comes to writing could tell me whether it makes any difference when you are using a keyboard?

Do you remember the successful 2011 film ‘One Day’ staring Anne Hathaway and Jim Sturgess? It was based on David Nicholls’ book which had come out a couple of years earlier. In February this year Netflix’s version was available, starring Ambika Mod, the actor who played the junior doctor in ‘This is Going to Hurt’, as Emma and Leo Woodall as Dex. Maybe I am being a bit nerdy here, but did you notice that both actors are left-handed?

As is one of the opticians in our local Boots, Emma.

“I hope you don’t mind but I notice you’re left handed; I am always interested to see how individuals hold their pen.”

She explained one thing I hadn’t realised, that if you use a fountain pen or felt tip, it’s possible the fleshy edge of your hand gets dirty from contact with the ink ….. as its direction of travel is over the still-drying ink. She held up her hand by way of confirmation!

Do right-handed people always answer a telephone with their right hand and left- handed with their left? I continue to be amazed that so often you see someone, a right-handed person, on TV only capable of using the telephone, placed on the right of the desk, with their right ear. If they want to jot down something, they transfer the phone to their left ear, almost strangling themselves in the process!  It’s actually the same for a cordless mobile; it’s much easier if you get into the habit of putting the phone to your left ear in the first place. (See PC 228 Thinking Out Loud April 2021.)

Driving on the left hand side of the road is something almost exclusively done by past members of the British Empire and now of The Commonwealth; for example Cyprus, New Zealand and Australia. The Republic of Eire, Ireland, drives on the left, reflecting its past linkage to England. Nigeria, a member of the Commonwealth but surrounded by countries that had been French colonies which drove on the right, changed from left to right in 1972. There was a rumour that certain car registration numbers would change one weekend, and the balance the following weekend; it was just a wind-up! India drives on the left, but not Pakistan, another Commonwealth country, even though they have a land border. Mind you if you have ever driven in rural India, you will have experienced both those who drive on the left and those who drive on the same road, on the right; very disconcerting!

I wondered why soldiers take the first step in a march with their left foot. Apparently it started in ancient Egypt; it’s the side of the body that your heart’s on and therefore your first step is taken with what your heart symbolises: “The heart, like the sun, is the central source of life, the seat of power, of courage and strength.” To avoid confusion, this is not the same as ‘by the right … quick march.’ The ‘right’ in this case refers to the side which is keeping the line; it could be ‘by the centre’ or even ‘by the left’.

Dressing ‘by the right’

I googled why we have ended up with left wing and right wing as definitions in our politics. We have the French to thank. At a pivotal point in the French Revolution in 1789, National Assembly members were asked to divide; those supporting the ‘Ancien Régime’ to line up to the right of the president and those supporters of the revolution to his left. Most democracies have examples of left-leaning liberal and conservative right-wing ideologies. On the extreme right of the political spectrum is Fascism, an authoritarian, ultra-nationalistic political ideology characterised by dictatorial leadership and suppression of an opposition.

Our brains are essentially two semi-hemispheres. The left is associated with logic, analytical thinking and language processing; ‘left-brained’ people pay attention to details and are ruled by logic. The right is linked with creativity, intuition and holistic thinking. ‘Right-brained’ people tend to do well in careers that involve creative expression and free-thinking, such as becoming an artist, psychologist or writer. Recent research suggests however that, whilst the two hemispheres function differently, they work together and compliment each other. Bundles of nerve fibres tie the two together creating some form of information highway!  

The words ‘left’ and ‘right’ are translated in Portuguese as ‘esquerda’ and ‘direita’, in German as ‘links’ and ‘rechts’, in Spanish as ‘izquierdo’ and ‘derecho’, in Italian as ‘sinistra’ and ‘destra’ and in French as ‘gauche’ and ‘droite’. I love the way that ‘left’ in Italian sounds like ‘sinister’ in English and the unintended connection to left-wing politics. In French the word for ‘left’ has another meaning, one who’s clumsy and awkward. It could be that left-handed people might appear awkward trying to manager in a mostly right-handed world or perhaps because right-handed people appear awkward when trying to use their left hand. Anyway, it’s a nice word to describe someone who’s unsophisticated and socially awkward: “a shy and gauche teenager.”

In the western world we probably forget that traditionally Arabs eat and drink with their right hand, as it’s believed that the devil would eat with his left. If you are left handed, you need to learn to use your right for eating and for handshakes. And the left hand is exclusively used for wiping your ……

Right?

Richard 29^th March 2024
Hove

http://www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Those of us of a certain age will have heard of Arthur Conan Doyle’s fictional character Sherlock Holmes and his sidekick Dr Watson, who first appeared in his novel ‘A Study in Scarlet’ in 1887. He went on to write four books and 56 short stories about the two crime fighters, with worldwide success. Tourists still come to London to visit 221b Baker Street, the site of the office where they worked and now the sight of The Sherlock Holmes Museum. I am not sure I ever read any of the books but by a process of osmosis know that the series ended with Sherlock Holmes’ death near, I think, near some cataract in, er, Switzerland? Google provided me with confirmation, which I paraphrase:  

“Sherlock Holmes’ constant foe is a Professor Moriarty, a successful criminal mastermind. In the final drama, Holmes, ignoring the fact that Moriarty has vowed to kill him, delivers appropriate evidence to the police, so Moriarty and those who operate his network will face justice in a few days. Holmes flees to Switzerland and Watson joins him. Moriarty follows and confronts Holmes at the top of a cataract known as the Reichenbach Falls. After some vicious hand-to-hand combat occurring at the cliff edge near the waterfall, both men fall to their deaths.

“Cataract n. 1. Waterfall, especially large precipitous fall or series of falls. 2. Progressive opacity of lens of eye which impairs one’s vision and, if left untreated, leads to blindness.” Note 1

The highest waterfall in the world is the Angel Falls in Venezuela, the fall a staggering 979 metres.

In 2015 Celina and I were lucky enough to visit Las Cataratas del Iguazú on the borders of Brazil and Argentina, staying on the appropriately named Belmond Hotel da Cataratas (see PC 51 Foz!)

You may remember the joke that went around the school playground:

The biology teacher asked her class: “Which organ of the human body increases tenfold when stimulated?” One rather prudish girl in the front row, Mary, said: “Miss, you shouldn’t be asking a question like that. I am going to tell my parents and you’ll be in trouble.” Ignoring her, she asked the question again and Billy at the back said: “It’s the pupil of the eye, Miss.” Turning to Mary, the teacher said: “As for you, young lady, I have three things to say. One, you obviously have a dirty mind; two, you didn’t do the set homework and three, one day you are going to be very disappointed.”

My step-grandfather Tommy Tizzard was a well-respected ophthalmic surgeon in Bath and had his consulting room on the ground floor of Number 15, The Royal Crescent. It was off-limits to a seven-year-old but a quick peep revealed cabinets full of optical equipment and trays of lenses. I have to assume in amongst his other skills was the removal of a cataract, as the modern cataract procedures were first pioneered in 1747 by Frenchman Jacques Daviel.  

Old people start talking about cataracts. “I’m having my cataracts done.” In much the same way they say: “I’m having my hips replaced.”, but until you’re in need yourself, it’s just something old people do! I hope to demystify the process, although accept that for some sensitive people anything to do with operating on one’s eye is too much information.

I had been short sighted for ever and worn contact lenses since 1969 when I wanted to sail and be able to see – salt water on glasses is a complete no-no. Aware that I had growing cataracts, the situation came to a head in October last year when the local optician said he couldn’t prescribe glasses until my cataracts has been removed.

I couldn’t better this little series of diagrams of what happens:

The Optegra Eye Hospital in Brighton is taking NHS patients to reduce the current 5 months NHS backlog so, after the appropriate checks, I had my first operated on before Christmas. Very straight forward, lots of anaesthetic drops in the eye, onto the operating chair, stare at a very white light and five minutes later done. Here in the UK there’s a standard 8 weeks between the first and the second eye operations but I know in Turkey, for instance, if you go private, they will do both eyes at the same time.

After the cloudy lens had been removed and a clear one inserted, the outer surface seals together very quickly but for 12 hours or so the eyelid’s interaction with its microscopic bumpy surface is discomforting. It was only after I’d had the second one done I realised how my balance had been affected by effectively being only one-eyed for eight weeks!

There’s a certain conveyor-belt feel about the clinic, inevitable I guess as there’s a repetitive nature to what they do, but each person is treated with great care and attention and nothing seemed too much trouble. Given that they deal almost exclusively with the elderly, I am sure at times their patience is tested, but to their great credit it doesn’t show.

Cataracts also interfere with the way you interpret colour. Everything might start to look like an old Polaroid or one of those sepia-tinted photos. This happens because the deteriorating proteins in your lenses can become yellowed or brown-ish. The difference ante and post operation was absolutely stunning! What happened three hundred years ago when one’s eyes developed cataracts? I guess you slowly went blind; how blessed we are with these commonplace operations.

I wrote to Optegra after my second operation:

“Thank you for my new vision, thank you for your professionalism and thank you for changing the outlook of those fortunate to be your patients.”

And to end on a note of amusement, when Holmes and Watson were on a camping trip, Holmes woke Watson in their tent in the middle of the night and asked him to look up and tell him what he saw.

“I see millions of stars, Holmes.”

“And what do you conclude from that, Watson?”

Watson talked for a few minutes about the universe, distant galaxies and how God is all-powerful. He then asked Holmes what it told him.

“Watson, you idiot! Someone has stolen our tent!”

Richard 22^nd March 2024

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Note 1 Cataracts on the surface of the eye’s lens cause increasingly fuzzy and cloudy vision, like looking through a tumbling waterfall.

I thought I should catch up with Josh while his experiences of his time in Israel are still fresh in his mind. Mind you, given the fact he was wounded, I suspect they will forever be just below the surface of his memory. He and Libby are behind the counter and Libby’s happy to let him come and chat so, grabbing a couple of coffees, we find a secluded corner table.

“It’s good to see you back, Josh, relatively in one piece! I hadn’t imagined you would have travelled to Israel in November until Duncan told me. Why did you go? You know we had a candle on the counter while you were away?”

“Yah! Luke told me. You know I’d never thought about my Ukrainian grandparents much, not interested in where they had come from – well, not until they had both died and then I rued the day I hadn’t spoken to them more. I had no idea about their lives in Lyviv and why they fled to Britain. You’re old enough to remember the 1988 hit The Living Years aren’t you?”

“Absolutely. No idea who sang it …..”

“Mike & the Mechanics ….”

“Ah! Yes! But you’re thinking about those poignant lines ‘it’s too late when we die’ to regret not asking the questions, although the song was more about a relationship with one’s father!”

“Exactly! Well, I felt I had to do something after the horrific Hamas assault on kibbutz in October, me and many other members of the Jewish diaspora. After some very difficult conversations with Luke, I reported to the London embassy in early November and before I knew it, I was in Israel, in uniform and in the midst of some extremely intensive training, mostly about weapon handling and survival. I don’t think they intended to use those of us who had absolutely no military experience anywhere but in static observation posts!!”

“You were up on the border with Lebanon?”

“Yes – not that the Lebanese have any say in what happens there; completed dominated by Iran’s proxy Hezbollah.”

“I was within a month of being commissioned at The Royal Military Academy when Israel launched its assault on Egypt, Jordan and Syria in what’s now called The Six Day War (5-10 June 1967). That’s when they annexed The Golan Heights in the north.” Note 1

“I never knew Richard you were in the Army. How long did you serve?”

“Almost twenty years! I left before you were born! Actually in my company at Sandhurst we had a chap called Tim Daghestani who was from Jordan. I remember how badly he took that conflict!”

“You would, wouldn’t you! They say, whoever ‘they’ are, that warfare used to be 90% boredom and 10% action but up there looking out over southern Lebanon it was full on. Drones have totally altered the battlefield and we had to be alert all day and all night; no respite!”

“So how long had you been up on the border before you got injured?”

“About six weeks. Fucking drone flew overhead and dropped some grenades. It was raining, dark and windy and no one saw it until it was too late. Israel has, for its entire existence, coped with minor conflicts so the process of recovery, rehabilitation and repatriation was a well-oiled machine.” 

“Now you’re back, do you think you made the right decision, to go?”

“Oh! God! It’s so complicated ….. this heart and head thing! Obviously Hamas decided that enough was enough, that their often reiterated raison d’être was the destruction of the Jewish State, and that the time was right. Did anyone in their leadership think what the response to their murder, rape, torture and kidnapping operation might be? (Ed It sounded as though Josh was talking ‘bold’.) I assume they couldn’t care; bit like Stalin, ‘one death is a tragedy, a million deaths a statistic.’ And no one can be anything but aghast at what is happening to the Palestinian people, with no end to their suffering.

So, yes! I am pleased I went, pleased I came back in one piece, pleased to identify as a Jew, but saddened how many innocent people die or are simply displaced in conflicts, whether it’s this one, or in Syria or Ukraine with whole cities flattened, with the Rohingya and Uyghur genocides, not to mention the Sudanese conflict. I came back on 1^st February and am having a few counselling sessions to make sure I put the experiences in context.”

“Well done you, Josh! I was going to say you can tell your children about it but I have no idea whether you and Luke want children?”

“A conversation for another time maybe?”

 “Before you go back to help Libby, you might like to hear this, extracted from the obituary of a civilian doctor who had gone to help out during our military operations in Afghanistan:  

“As someone who had gone on peace marches, I thought soldiers were stupid and unreasoning. After my ‘vicars and tarts course’, a six weeks’ intensive training at Sandhurst for professional recruits such as doctors, lawyers and dentists (Ed: Dr Chris Bulstrode was the oldest ever Officer Cadet at 56) I was posted to Afghanistan. After six months working as a front-line doctor in Camp Bastion, I changed my view. I liked and admired many of the men and women I met. They were a team of hugely loyal, talented, committed individuals who were passionate about their jobs. There are plenty of things I don’t like about the army, like the staggering weight of full-combat gear and the gut-challenging responsibility of going out on patrol, but I did savour the absolute simplicity of the life.” (Dr Chris Bulstrode CBE surgeon 1951 – 2023)

“That’s exactly it! Spot on! Hey! Must go! Thanks for listening.”

While Josh returned to his barista duties, I looked around this delightful café, so pleased to be part of its vibe. Must catch up with Mo on my next visit.

Richard 15^th March 2024

Hove

http://www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Note 1 Possibly the shortest ‘war’ was the military conflict between the United Kingdom and the Sultanate of Zanzibar in August 1896. It lasted about 45 minutes and if you don’t know its details, it’s worth finding out.