Panic over - it looks like we're getting out respective mother-in-laws out of hospital this week. One's missing a hip and the other parts of her spine and a chunk of brain. If we could get hold of one those teleporters from The Fly we could merge them into one complete unit. Although their combined madness would probably result in some kind of psychological singularity resulting in hideous overtones of 28 Days Later.

 

My turn under the knife is this Tuesday and, frankly, I'm looking forward to the break. A week in bed pumped full of strong painkillers doesn't seem like to bad a prospect at the moment.

 

That said, I have to write like a demon over the next four weeks to hit a deadling. There's no chance of getting a complete book finished, but as long as I can get the outlining complete and at least the first 12,000 words in post-draft form I reckon that would be a result.

 

 

The on-going saga of my and Mel's mothers still shows no sign of ending. While my mother-in-law has been moved from intensive care to a high-dependency unit (a good thing), my mother is having a shunt fitted today that will drain fluid from her brain into her stomach (a bad thing). That's one hell of a way to carry a packed-lunch.

 

Alex's brick-like molar is still coming through. While waiting for that she's popped out a lower incisor and what appears to be a canine. Way to go - we're running seriously low on Bonjella and breastfeeding is now beginning to resemble a scene from Hellraisor.

 

Some excellent news on the book front (completely unrelated to anything I've written to date) - but I can't really say anthing about it for at least 10 weeks. D'oh. Sozz kids.  

You know, just when you think you're getting on top of things, chaos erupts and you find yourself desperately trying to keep up...

 

For example, four weeks ago I was cracking along on a number of writing projects. Things were going well and, for once, I was actually showed some discipline when it came to sitting down and bashing out a few thousand words. 

 

Cue the last fortnight:

 

Mother-in-law

Following on from the multiple infections kindly gifted to her by the non-existant hygeine practices at East Surrey hospital, she's now in intensive care with septicemia. The infection entered the line they insterted into her heart in order to flush her body with antibiotics following the last (staph) infection they gave her. Things were looking desperate at the start of the weekened - fingers crossed they'll pick up this week.

 

My mother

Following a diagnosis of Chiari's syndrome, my mother's been in hospital to have a small bit of her brain removed (unfortunately for my step dad, not the bit that controls speech) and parts of her first four vertebrae replaced with plastic. That was two weeks ago. She's still there, suffering from a fluid build-up on the brain that's causing crippling headaches. They may need to operate again this week if things don't start getting better.

 

Baby Alex

Teething started at the weekend. Unfortunately for her, it's not one of those little cute bitey ones at the front. Oh no, her first tooth is some kind of molar-like grinding stone that's tearing its way through her gums at the side of her mouth. We're lucky to have such a placid child, which makes the evenings when she's crying with pain all the more difficult to bear.

 

I've also recently met up with my Dad for the first time in a decade (a long and very complicated story). This means that I'll shortly be back in touch with three brothers and a sister on that side of the family. Christmas is going to be very costly. The total number of siblings is now three step brothers, one step sister, three half-sisters and four half-brothers. That's eleven for anyone too lazy to count.

 

So a busy fortnight. I'm almost looking forward to my operation now - a quiet week at home hopped-up on the best painkillers the NHS can provide.

 

Assuming they don't bodge that up as well.

It's a three minute walk from the door of the office to my train platform - a mere 180 seconds of strolling with the herd. Yet, in London, it's enough time to be offered free newspapers by eight different vendors (that's an average of a paper every 22.5 seconds for those who can't be arsed working it out).

 

I have two words for AP and NI: Fuck. Off.

 

To elaborate - these papers are shite. They're produced on a shoe-string budget, designed as nothing more than advertising vehicles wrapped around a few bland words and stock photos to tide commutors over on the short hop home. If you've got a longer journey then you're shit out of luck. Anyone who takes longer than 10 minutes to read one of these rags probably has some kind of learning difficulty or typically buys the Daily Express.

 

On top of vendors (who I don't blame - they're just doing their job according the company script) who get in the way and push papers in your face regardless of whether you've got a spare hand or carrying a dozen copies of their free sheet, is the ecological impact. Westminster council estimate that 25% of their waste is now freesheets. As these papers usually end up in the bin they can't be recycled. AP and NI, with both eyes on the prize of knocking each other out of the freesheet game, unsurprisingly, stick their fingers in their ears and go "la-la-la" every time a local authority suggests they pay for recycling points.

 

The only way to put paid to this shit is to stop taking these papers. They're rubbish on more ways than one and, hey, you've probably spent half the day on the web catching up with the news and gossip anyhow - why do you need London Shite or The London Bogpaper anyway? If one in five people who usually take these papers stopped, that would be enough to give the advertisers the fear and cause a rethink by the publishers.

 

But if you really, really have to have a free paper then, please, take it home with you and recycle. Don't chuck it in a street been where they council has to landfill it along with McDonald's back and Redbull cans or leave it on the train where it's going to undergo the same fate.

 

 

With all the excitement around Al Qaeda's latest attempt to explosively bitch-slap ordinary citizens, the tabloid press, in their customary fit of outrage, seemed to have overlooked this:

 

 

 

 

Mr Cottage is white. His accomplice, a near-pensionable dentist, is also white (what is it with healthcare professionals and bombs?) Both are BNP members and, judging from their shopping list, what they were going to build would have been a damn sight more effective than the crackerjacks that failed to explode last week.

 

Full story here:

 

Latest on the trial here:

 

I can't help but wonder what kind of press coverage this would have received if Cottage's surname had been Al Mohammed instead.

The Hike
The weather, as usual when I’m on Dartmoor, was horrendous. Saturday was persistent rain, constant wind (I estimate 20-30kph) and thick fog which presented a number of navigational challenges. On top of that the heavy rain meant all the usual fords were impassable necessitating a few extra mile on the day to find safe crossings or full detours.

The definite low-light was Fox Tor Mire. It’s sloppy there are the best of times – and it was a real mess this weekend. I actually don’t mind bog-hopping or wandering through mires too much, they’re an interesting challenge if you don’t mind ending up with wet feet – but with the weather the way it was it certainly was as much fun as usual.

The additional work of trailing though such slopping ground means my legs hurt like hell today. Still, there’s a certain amount of pride to be had in navigating the south moor in those conditions. This was evidenced on Saturday night at the Plume of Feathers in Princeton, where a group doing their DoE Silver award had to be brought in owing to the conditions. It was just as well, a few of them lost tents over night in the pub’s camping field. Heaven knows what would have happened if they were exposed on the moor.

Gear
Gregory Z55

Likes – the bucket pocket! The side pockets on my old Lowe Alpine Skyline were a pain. Having a large, drainable bucket pocket on the back meant I could store my wet gear (including my Akto’s flysheet) in there and keep the inside of the pack comparatively dry. The internal space is also excellent. I’ll never go back to side pockets again.

Dislikes – the amount of straps. I’ve never seen a pack like it.

Unsure – the back system, while practical, takes some getting used to. It wasn’t as comfortable as expected. A few more trips should help me make up my mind.

Montane Superfly XT 
A truly excellent jacket. Coped well with the conditions, incredibly breathable and never too hot – even when I had it on in the sun returning last night.

Montane Atomic Waterproofs
Combined with the Terras, they worked exceptionally well for lightweight protection. I’d have no hesitation in using them in worse conditions.

Bushbuddy Ultra
One word: Brilliant. Three words: Use a windshield. Incredibly easy to get going with a fire steel and tinder paper, burns nice and hot, doesn’t scorch the ground and is just great fun. Only used on Friday night as Dartmoor lacks trees and I burned all my wood in one sitting J