Tag: writing

Careful on that ladder…

I read recently that people over 50 shouldn’t be allowed to use ladders. Nonsense I say – we’re the most sensible of all people – we’ve been around a bit, we’re confident, experienced and have survived long enough to not do anything stupid. In my case I’ve done lots of rock climbing, external DIY, up and down ladders, all those things that make you a reliable, capable person who doesn’t do stupid. Heights – no problem, the key is to never forget where you are. Lean too far – NO! that’s what the foolhardy do.

The trouble is, it’s all to easy to get it wrong.  And as I just found out, you go from being this capable, sensible person, into being a complete dork into the blink of an eye. 

It all went wrong about 4 weeks ago whilst cutting my hedge. I’d done most of it, and was actually feeling quite pleased with my self. Finally, I’d done the garden chores for the spring and I could get back onto fun things. There was just that final top bit – slightly out of reach, but OK – everything was stable, ladder fine, etc. No problem. Except, it wasn’t… I felt the ladder tip a bit, backed off, but suddenly I had the choice of riding the ladder down, or jumping off…. I jumped.

Actually, it was probably the best choice, but we’ll never know.

So I’m now lying in a heap on the grass. I could still wiggle my toes, which seemed to be a good thing and overall, I didn’t feel too bad… But it wasn’t right. I could feel it – It didn’t actually hurt much, but I knew this was SERIOUS. I’d had this before – a minor injury, like stubbing your toe, hurts. A serious one feels more… elemental, deeper, worse. I could feel the cold, clammy feeling of shock coming over me. Not good.

No phone, it was indoors – stupid! So I can’t call for help. So I crawled on my hands and knees about 10 yards across the grass to the patio. Eventually I found a piece of wood to use as a crutch. I could put some weight on my heel, but anything else was very painful. I staggered as far as the kitchen and found my phone. Hard work – this is really not good.

So now I had a dilemma – my lovely wife had a social meeting after work with some former, and much missed colleagues. If I’d rung her, she’d have missed out on this, and I’d have felt bad. So, I rang my next friend, S___, to scrounge a lift to casualty in Heath Road. She’s a former nurse, and was characteristically blunt. RING FOR AN AMBULANCE – YOU SOUND TERRIBLE! I didn’t argue, she was right – I did feel terrible. So I did as I was told and was they said it might be an hour or two.

Behind the scenes though, she was quietly playing a blinder! One by one friends in the village began to arrive. First there was St___ and his lovely wife, then D__ from next door, M___ from down the road, then S__ herself. Wonderful – I was feeling a little better and we could have had a very nice afternoon garden party under different circumstances.

Eventually the ambulance estimate became 3 hours, and Stuart offered me a lift, which I gratefully accepted.

The wait in casualty at Ipswich wasn’t too bad, and eventually an excellent nurse-practitioner stepped in and we were sorted. Heidi arrived, not impressed that I’d not told her earlier (you really can’t win, can you!!), but lovely as usual. Everybody was lovely, with the exception of the radiologist, who was horrible. Eventually everything fell into place and I was diagnosed with a ‘spiral fracture of the right fibula’.

PHUQ! I thought – as you would…. They sent me home with a temporary plaster and an appointment card for fracture clinic the next morning.

It got sillier when we got home though… We’d had a power cut, and everything was dark. So eventually, after finding a torch, we sat down at the kitchen table by candlelight and sat there with a glass of wine each, laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

The next day at the fracture clinic I was fitted with a walker boot – a wonder of plastic and velcro – and was told probably six weeks to get back on your feet.

I’ll take that, under the circumstances. But what a bloody idiot!

So a big thankyou to all those who helped, both on the day and subsequently. We’ll fire up the barbecue and pizza oven later when I can move around a bit better, and the drinks are on us!

The Right Music….

… or in this case the completely wrong music. To explain:

I was tired last night, and so spent the evening gawping at the TV. There wasn’t much on, but I did take a look on BBC4 at “Rome: A History of the Eternal City”. (Another repeat from many years ago). It was, as the name suggests, a history of Rome and inevitably the Vatican state and the Roman Catholic Church featured quite strongly. It was pretty standard TV history fare.

But just as the presenter was discussing St. Peter’s Basilica I heard the faint strains of familiar music in the background. After a few moments I identified it as part of Scheherazade, a symphonic suite written by Russian composer Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov in 1888, and one that I took quite a shine to when I was a boy. It’s based on the medieval story, ‘The 1001 Nights’ (or The Arabian Nights), in which the heroine – Scheherazade – tells her new husband stories to keep him interested in her, so he doesn’t have her executed the following morning. (The husband in question was Shahryar, a fictional Persian king whose 1st wife had been unfaithful to him and he had decided to execute each of his subsequent brides after their wedding night so they didn’t get the chance to do the same).

So why is this the wrong music? Well firstly, Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov was a member of the Russian Orthodox church, and relations between the Orthodox church and the Roman Catholic church have often not been particularly, err, ‘Christian’ in nature. Secondly, the music is far from Italian or even European, having a very middle eastern flavour, and thirdly, medieval Persia was an Islamic state, and so Shahryar and Scheherazade would both have been Muslims anyway.

OK, I’m being a bit nerdy here, but it does matter – music has always reflected its historical setting and getting it right can wonderfully enhance the experience. It’s a shame they get it wrong so often. For example, I recall the Kate Blanchett film, ‘Elizabeth’, concludes with Mozart’s Requiem, written 188 years after her death! I’m sure there must be some Italian or European music that would have been more appropriate!