Transition – Isn’t nature awesome!

Back at the start of February when we had a slither of snow, though some would call it a nightmarish blizzard, I stopped on my way to work and took this photograph. Best to click and enlarge it to see how good it looks.

Since then I’ve cultivated a sort of relationship with this lonely tree.

I pass it twice a day to and from work. There’s a small layby where I park up and snap a few shots, gaze across the fields and enjoy a moment of peace after a hectic office session. I take a lot of landscape photos around where I live, although some are not all that inspiring, Norfolk is kinda flat and you have to travel afar to see any drastic change in geology – hope that’s the right word.

I’ve started uploading some of my better shots to Flikr (check the link at the top of the page) mainly of my travels around Norfolk and Cambridgeshire. I’ve just checked through my photo on my PC, dating back to 2002, and was surprised to find almost 5,000 of them! That’s a lot of photos! God bless digital cameras eh! 

So, back to the tree.

In recent weeks the landscape has been transformed, from snow drenched wasteland to brown wasteland and finally to an oasis of colour. This time of year farmers here grow a serious amount of rapeseed and the dazzling yellow colour is stunning. It’s like something out of Wizard of Oz – almost cartoon like, and set against the greenery it feels surreal.

After a few weeks of hard rain the sun came out today.

On my way home I drove with the windows down, sunglasses on, and radio blaring as I chased cloud shadows along the road. I pulled over at the tree and watched pools of sunlight roll across the fields and knew it was perfect timing to snap a photo of my silent wooden pal. Again, it’s well worth clicking to view it larger.

What a difference!

Despite the tree not sharing in nature’s bloom I get the impression it’s happy to be surrounded by a rampant flood of colour. Rapeseed grows very fast, a couple of weeks ago there wasn’t a yellow flower in sight. It gets pretty tall too, I was stood on the edge of the field and the happy sunflower wannabes came up to my chest.

I wonder if the tree could talk it would let me know if it’s happy. I think it is. Now that colour has chased away the barren bleak winter palette.

I had a feeling the tree spoke to me:

“Wonderful to see you again, traveller, thanks for stopping by. As you can see I’m doing just fine on this glorious day. The clouds are racing and the sun is warming my branches. I tip my hat to you, traveller, and thank you for pausing a moment. Same time tomorrow?”

To which I replied:

“A moment is enough to cleanse my head of a busy day. A moment is enough to let the cool breeze, summer sun and tangy mellow yellow chase away the modern world…but never enough to keep it at bay. So yes, tree, same time tomorrow, if it please ya.”

It’s a good conversation.

Held in silence. Held in private with an audience of natures finest creations. Many of us spend way too much time hooked up to modern-day paraphernalia and for me this is a stop-gap method of lowering the background noise of everything busy, noisy and fast. I love technology – the internet, Blu-ray, text messaging and on-demand everything, yet I long for a life without feeling it’s necessary to be a slave to the modern world. So those quiet moments are like stepping into a bubble of joy, where the rest of the world fades away, leaving me alone with my tree.

I hope that didn’t come across as too deep or too hippy but it’s the best way to describe it. It’s the same feeling I get when I need to go to the beach. Not want, need. It’s a strange connected feeling, knowing there’s more out there than a car, tv, noise and confusion. This is going to sound weird because I’m not one for spiritual stuff, but it’s like my spirit/soul/inner light, call it what you like, needs to released once in a while.

Like washing my spirit in a mountain spring.

Or an addict looking for a fix, I yearn for a hit of a vast open space – countryside or ocean. There’s a sudden uplifting sensation, like a shadow shifting away from my spirit. It’s like I’m having my essence washed clean by nature. I love it. My friends are always surprised when I say I’d gladly trade everything I have for a bit of beach, a hut, fishing net, boat and something to write on – pad and pencil will do just fine. I don’t need the modern world. Maybe I was born in the wrong era.

I crave peace. Not necessarily solitude but somewhere without modern garbage.

I took a few shots in different directions to try to capture how much of the landscape is swamped in this beautiful happy yellowness. It stretches out in all directions for several miles. It’s a shame it doesn’t stay like that all summer, but soon the rapeseed will lose its yellow flare and change to a sea of green.

And so I returned home.

To bricks and mortar, to being surrounded by electronic gadgets, noise and all the modern-day demands that don’t sit well with my nature. It may look hypocritical that after dousing myself in peace, with such talk of exchanging all that I have and all that I am, for a life without chaos – that I blog about it. Just like you I am a slave. But I have a good reason today.

I wanted to share this experience with you, dear blog reader, in the hope that you too will find your moment of peace, and enjoy a break from the hustle and bustle of your 24/7 life.

Maybe one day I’ll find my bit of beach, wherever that may be. I hope you can find yours. Until then I have my tree.

Thank you tree.

NHS Direct – Comedy Hour!

I’d like to share a story with you, dear blog reader, about NHS Direct. This is partly due to my hurtie leg problem (see Owie, Ouchie or Hurtie post) but also my desire to share my general opinion of this service. I’ve called NHS Direct a dozen times over the last several years and the quality of service has ranged from perfect professionalism to abysmal joke.

It should be noted that some of these events are completely false -  a riot of fictional inaccuracies. However, some are not – behind every dirty lying troll is a fairy of honesty. Either way this is what I’m reporting.

Shut Down!

About 2 years ago it was announced that the NHS Direct service will be shut down within a matter of weeks and replaced with 4 phone lines in an abandoned BBC broom cupboard manned by immigrant midget’s who don’t speak English. Excellent news, doncha think? What a smart move by our poorly elected government.

With this brilliant revelation made by the new coalition gang, I mean government, I decided to go undercover and get a job as an NHS Direct call centre operator to find out how this move was being received by the staff and what it was really like working as a professional medical technician. I’ll tell you now, it was a hoot!

Owie, Ouchie or a Hurtie?

I’ve been trying to work out if I have an Owie, Ouchie or a Hurtie.

Before I continue let me clarify my scale of hurtiness.

The Owie.

This ranges from a bruise, tiny cut, bump, knock, tiny splinter, even a spot. It doesn’t hurt as such but it can be quite irritating. If you’re a kid this might need a plaster on it so you can benefit from the placebo induced happy “all better now” feeling.

The owie is the number one classification for the stubbed toe incident or: “OWIE! OWIE! OWIE! OWIE!”

The Ouchie.

Raising the pain stakes here. This can be associated with a nasty cut, like the jolly photo above. It covers anything you might need a plaster or pain killers for, cuts, scrapes, twinges, mild back pain, soreness from too much exercise and so on. More than just an irritation and something that will probably still be there when you wake up in the morning.

The Hurtie.

Here we’re talking extra pain. Big cuts that need a stitch, nasty bump on the noggin, twisted ankle, black eye, fracture, sunburn…you get the idea. The Hurtie is likely to be around for days or even weeks. Big Hurtie’s are the worst, broken bones, big fat stitches, hospital stuff. Not only are these irritating but they hurt like a motherf…well, you get the idea.

My History Of Owie’s, Ouchie’s & Hurtie’s.

I’ve had my share of Owie’s.

Splinters, cuts, the usual stuff kids get when they’re young. I’ve fallen in big piles of stinging nettles, scraped my knees falling off my bike – everyone told I couldn’t make the jump but I had to try.

Bumps and scrapes are part of being a kid, there was always someone at school with a plaster on their knee or elbow. And the good thing about scrapes is that you get to pick at the lovely itchy scab during a boring school assembly.

Even as an adult owie’s aren’t very nice. They remind you that even though you’re all big and grown you’ll still go to great lengths to show someone the mile long splinter that’s violently embedded itself into your little pinky.

Ouchie’s for me have come in all shapes and sizes.

I’ve had ouchie’s a plenty, like the time a patch of ice viciously attacked me on the way to school resulting in a full face slam on the road, much to the amusement of my helpful, sympathetic chummy friends. Otherwise known as “Aww man, epic fail.”

And there’s the time I slammed my own finger in the car door, not only did the ouchie come in the form of a big black fingernail but that unique feeling of stupidity knowing the door was closing, knowing my finger was still there in harm’s way, but being powerless to prevent my other evil hand from doing the slamming deed. Stupid evil hand.

I remember the ouchie’s that came from having a bunch of teeth pulled by the butcher – I mean dentist. Stupid over crowding teeth. Oh and the hilarious time when I had a house brick lobbed at my face, the result was a sudden absence of friends, disorientation and lots of blood. I have a nice scar on my forehead to remind me why toy shops don’t sell bricks and that construction sites are not playgrounds.

And now to Hurtie’s.

I’m quite lucky here as I’ve never been seriously injured. In high school I tore the ligaments in my ankle playing rugby. That was fun. The balloon style swelling and pretty rainbow bruises that stretched up leg failed to make up for the fact that my sports teacher said it was nothing, no big deal, no harm done, man up you pathetic turd…well, he didn’t say that last one but it was implied. He made me hobble around school all day.

Evil slave driving shit eater.

Shame really as I really enjoyed rugby up to that point.

The bizarre thing is that I had only 4 days off school and returned the following Monday with an old man wooden walking stick to hobble around on. A few months later a girl fell down the stairs in the school entrance and did the same thing. She was treated as a serious medical emergency – “OMG! Someone call 999! We’ve got an injured girl here! Get back! Give her space! MEDIC!!!!!”

She was carried off on a stretcher to a nice cosy ambulance, spent 2 weeks off school and returned with crutches, people opening doors for her and several tons of sympathy, cards and respect. How nice for her. Stupid chromosome discrimination.

On a side note – I’ve pulled the same ligaments twice more since that happy fun day and I have to say it doesn’t get any nicer. You’d think the human body would get used to that cracking wrenching feeling inside but it doesn’t.

Spike In the Butt Hurtie.

In my late teens I tried to jump a fence in my local town, misjudged the distance on the other side and landed arse first on an iron spike. Not exactly a proud moment. The pain was particularly bad but what made it worse was that my friends had to come and lift me off the spike – several minutes later when one of them noticed I was no longer with them. On the way to the hospital my pal driving the car was very concerned I didn’t get my nasty butt cheek blood all over his seats. I’ve got a nice scar on my left butt-cheek to remind of my inability to jump and measure distances accurately. It’s okay though, the scar looks like a bullet wound, so 10 macho points for me.

Big Toe & Bumpy Head Hurtie .

Other Hurtie’s include a nasty knock to the head whilst on a bus. I spent the morning chundering my guts up in the toilet at work, feeling faint and unable to focus. Just after lunch I asked the first aider on my team what concussion felt like. After answering his questions I was swiftly removed from the office and taken to the hospital. I’m pretty sure I’ve broken my big toe at some point after a trip down a flight of stairs, well, I say flight because it sounds like a stuntman taking a heroic tumble. Truth is the flight consisted of 2 steps which I misjudged and ended up flat on my face.

Stairs are fun aren’t they? Evil shit eaters.

My dilema – Owie, Ouchy or Hurtie?

You that funny feeling you get in a joint like an elbow or knee when it needs to crack? It feels stiff or sore and you straighten it, feel a crack and it feels much better after? About 6 months ago I felt the same thing in my thigh, kinda inside the inner thigh bit. It felt tight. I leaned sideways and felt something tug back into place. Ahhh much better. Guess it was a tendon or something. No big deal. I was probably sat cross-legged on the floor too long.

No pain for a while. But some weeks later I felt a sharp tugging pain in my left thigh, inside like it’s close to the bone, up high next to my chap and his supporters. I stretched a little and it hurt, a lot. It went away. Then came back. I figured it was just an age thing, hey I’m 36 now, maybe this is just one of those ageing body things.

Bit naive to think that really doncha think dear blog reader?

Being a man I put up with it. I’m not going to no doctor so he can tell me to massage it or put an ice pack on it.

Thanks doc. Never thought of that.

Me being stupid I collected a mental list of the pain.

• Sitting at my desk too long, yep, numb and aching. Bit of an owie.
• Walking too long, tight and hot and sore. Mid way between an owie and an ouchie.
• Side stepping around something, ooh, yes, sharp stabbing pain. Yeah, that’s an ouchie for sure.
• Laying on my back, knee up, bending leg to the left – HOLY MOTHER! That’s a hurtie right there!

The last couple of months it’s been a constant dull ache and sometimes I expect to find my leg has actually fallen off when I walk up the stairs. Dozens of times each day it reminds me it’s there by making me stop suddenly as the pain screams like a banshee. I’ve popped some pain pills now and then but they don’t really help much. A hot bath eases it a little but it soon comes back a couple of hours later, aching and stabbing me with a vengeance. Stupid leg.

So in a fit of anger at my idiot leg I remembered the internet is awash with self-diagnosis stuff. I trawled around a dozen websites and failed to understand cut away diagrams of ligaments and way too much medical terminology. I checked out a few video’s with athletes laying prone on a table whilst a sun-baked muscular guy leered at the camera. I couldn’t take the Yankee nasal drawl of the physiotherapist seriously – it reminded me of Homor Simpson.

I came to the conclusion that I either have some kind of localised zombie leg plague or a form of groin injury. The groin muscles are not very forgiving when it comes to strains. Stupid groin muscles.

Today I made an appointment to see my doctor. I’m not bothered about being poked and prodded, I endured that crap when I had my hernia op many years ago. I’ve even had the displeasure of the invasive finger up the jacksy prostate exam. That lasted about 8 seconds and I had sudden sympathy for cats and dogs and their deep-rooted fear of the thermometer up the butt routine.

What’s the moral of this story?

I figure I have a decent pain threshold. That’s not a boast. I’d have to be some of sicko to brag about taking pain like a champ. Actually there are 2 morals here. Firstly, my hurtie is pretty small league compared to child-birth, heart surgery, tumour in the noggin or any other sort of serious shit that wants to kill you. My pain has given me more empathy for anyone with a serious batch of hurties.

And secondly, it hurts, but that’s all. And in the great scheme of things, cancer, war, violence, poverty, disease and so on, I still have 99.99% of my health and for that I’m grateful. Some might say it’s all relative, and one person’s owie is another’s hurtie.

Like Joss, aka The Crowing Crone, who always says “Walk in beauty.”

I keep on going because you gotta laugh, right?

And now I invite you to share your Owie’s, Ouchie’s and Hurties!