Seeing the World

Three days ago, on 26th June, I attended a rather disappointing Eye Clinic appointment.  They promised me a follow up appointment in six months.  But, excitingly, three days later, they’ve sent a letter confirming time travel is possible and that I can re-attend Monday’s pointless hospital visit three days in the past.

This raises great questions about what other key moments in time I should go back to.  Perhaps a trigger point in the elongated process of diagnosing my cancer.  Pre-pain (as the bugger had already spread by then) would fit.

That strange grumbling in my chest that I ignored at the start of last year.  If I’d insisted on an X-ray then one assumes I’d have had my little killer lumps surgically removed, an elongated recovery process and then back to work!  Within a couple of months that odd, mild grumble had been replaced with bone pain.  It was already game over.  That was my key and very limited time window.

But then, despite (or because of) the death sentence, there’s been something enlightening and freeing in my life.  Going back in time to change things might remove that freedom.  I’d be a desk slave again.  Trips away restricted by work commitments.  My current “who gives a toss” approach to things would have remained one of cautious respect for things that irritate.

I would quite like to go back to the 1992 League Two play-off final and tell the linesman the whole circumference of the ball hadn’t crossed the line just a split second before he outrageously awarded Peterborough an injury time winner against Stockport.  Or teach his mate on the other side of the pitch that day the offside law at some point before the game.

Or 27th January 2013, and watch Jose Baxter successfully chip the Liverpool keeper to put Oldham 4-1 up with just ten minutes remaining of an unbelievable FA Cup fourth round tie.  Rather than lamely landing the ball straight into the goalie’s arms and letting Liverpool fight back to 3-2 and nearly grab an equaliser.

I wouldn’t change marriage, step kids, Chris or divorce.  I’d up my levels of self-belief over the years.  That cost me a lot in the second half of my career, but I still did OK for myself.

It’s strange thinking I might not want to change my current situation.  If I’m being completely honest I think I would do whatever is necessary to reverse this illness if I could.  But it does remind me that I feel happy with myself and comfortable with what life has served up.

But there’s no way I’d attend that pointless eye appointment last Monday again!!

Leveraging the Hotel Special Offer

Most special offers are uninteresting.  Hilton spam me regularly offering 20% off rooms in cities I don’t wish to visit on dates I genuinely can’t do.  And 20% off expensive is still pretty pricey.

But every now and again a gem comes along.  One of the perks of my Amex Platinum card is gold status at Radisson.  On the surface I don’t think it gives me much.  Priority for upgrades.  A few per cent off in an expensive restaurant.  That sort of thing.

I used to use them for work travel in London and did get some useful free nights out of them, including a small suite in a five star beauty between Westminster and Vauxhall bridges in the capital.  The Hampshire in Leicester Square was also pretty nice. Perhaps I should have gone for a week in Sharm with the same number of points!  But no regrets.

Radisson mailed me an offer yesterday that might, with a bit of thought, pay off.  Buy two nights and get a Friday night free.

On the face of it, this isn’t exciting.  But by optimising cheap rooms somewhere, perhaps in their budget Park Inn brand where £45 a night rooms aren’t unheard of, the free Friday night room can then, subject to availability, be taken in any of their hotels in the world between October and January.

In other words, two cheap nights gets one luxury night somewhere – if I can work the dates effectively.  Top end Radisson’s are very nice.

It’s one I’ve registered for.  If I can find two cheap free nights to suit then I’ll definitely be optimising the freebie.  Probably before Australia!

The Great American Railroad

I’ve never been on an American train.  I dismissed a vague plan I had to see the country by train, deciding car is better for the nature lover.

But travelling one arid day through Arizona, as you do, from Sedona to Winslow (famed in the Eagles song Take It Easy) we saw a train.  Not the 7.38am from Manchester to Leeds.  Or a more impressive fly covered Virgin service to London.  But a bloody great freight job on the line that ran parallel with the road between Albuquerque and Los Angeles.

This thing impressed.  Not for its dirty great open trucks, or shabby looking branded sealed units.  But it’s sheer length.  This thing went on forever.  As we were heading in opposite directions it was hard to estimate that length.  A mile perhaps?  It would certainly overrun the platform at Sowerby Bridge!  Subsequent trips out west have matched it.

This month’s journey from Mount Washington to Manchester Village in New Hampshire ended at a motel overlooking another railway line.  We heard the horn of an approaching train. A sense of excitement at the chance to see another of these monsters go by.

Another horn.  The sound of motion now nearby.  Cameras at the ready, despite New England’s green summer shrubbery partially hiding the railway line.  A bright yellow monster of an engine came into site.  Video camera initiated.  The highlight of the trip’s only damp day to follow.

A few seconds later three trucks had passed by and that was that.  This was not quite in line with our expectations.  A tad shorter. Video deleted.  Enjoy The Eagles.

As I Start to Run Out of Holidays, the New Football Season Approaches

The football season is important to me.  The quality of the action I pay to see may be lacking at times.  But it’s a cornerstone of my life.  My existence.  Who I am.  It’s what I do.  It’s what I do with my son.

It crossed my mind yesterday, when being taken by surprise at a lunch with many old colleagues, that I’ve not got much lined up for the remainder of the year.  Anglesey in good company at the end of this week.  A Wimbledon final.  Chile.  And Australia.

The Oz trip is the one I’ve always wanted to do.  That’s always been my “I will interrupt the football season for weeks to do this” trip.  But my sequence of three to four day European breaks was invariably built around the fixture list, hospital appointments and where’s cheap to get to.

I might have to be more brutal around missing matches, despite having paid for a season ticket.  That purchase in March was as much a two fingered salute to my cancer as anything else.  I already knew I was going to miss a significant number of games, including the opening fixture.

I might need to be a little more brutal in my planning.  I definitely want to do a USA South West “farewell tour”.  September perhaps.  That Pompeii and surrounding area trip still hasn’t fallen into place.  The Grand Prix in Baku at the weekend opened my eyes to a more distant destination – perhaps one to fly to/from in steps via other city breaks rather than suffer seven cheap hours of Wizzair.

So I’ll get back from Chile jet lagged.  Drive Chris down to Walsall the next day to get our football fix.  And then get to work on what I want to see and do before the weather turns and The Ashes arrive.  Scotland’s coast too!

Did I Miss a Smug Moment Opportunity Flying First Class?

This is very much a rhetorical question.  The opportunity to fly first class isn’t going to happen again.  I’m just too tight and don’t have the Avios!

But as we left the Concorde Lounge to head for our plane to Boston, the usual two queues had formed for priority boarding on the left and the longer prole boarding on the right.

Priority boarding with BA is something of a joke.  If you have status or a posh seat they invite you on board first.  If you had a posh seat 18 months earlier and are now travelling with the masses you almost certainly have status.  You are in the left queue and will board faster.  In other words, 25% of the passengers can get on the plane first.

Geting on board early doesn’t usually bother me.  But if I’m travelling long haul in business or first class it’s nice to get used to the chair, receive a glass of champagne, stretch out the iPad and books.  Glance backwards to see if they’ve closed the curtain to stop the poor people looking in …

On this occasion it seems the walk and monorail from the lounge had us among the last to board the plane.  No significant queue, straight on, welcomed by name and taken personally to seat.  Lovely.

The Flyertalk online forum discussed much the same subject in a thread that started yesterday.  The main complaint was the size of the priority queue and what a poor way to treat first class passengers.

One poster said that if he’d been flying first class he’d have ignored the queue and just marched to the front, expecting to be boarded.  I’d have loved to do this.  I doubt I’d ever have the guts to do it, but to brazenly wander past dozens of people with an air of “my priority is more important than your priority” really appeals.  I think I’m just too nice (or polite Brit) to try it!

Another poster said that he’d seen this happen and the first class passenger was challenged by others in the burgeoning queue.  He responded by producing a silver status card to supplement his first class boarding pass with and continued, successfully, to the front.  One wonders why a gold card holder didn’t start playing top trumps with the guy and push ahead!

In the end, I suppose I’m only in this game for a comfortable seat and a more relaxing airport experience.  But it does amuse me how people can lord it over others, be offended without challenging and get quite uppity about being on a plane two minutes earlier, or later, than somebody else.

What to do With the Redundancy Money?

Although it’s what I expected, I think it’s fair to say my redundancy payout was good.  If I had a life expectancy longer than two years I’d have mitigated the horrible tax bill with a big pension contribution.  If I’m on my last legs before 5th April I’ll make the transfer then to ensure the kids get the tax advantage!

As it stands, I have a decent sum of cash and a plan to demolish it over five and a half years.  Given my life expectancy offers a 14% chance of seeing 2022, stocks and shares are out as an investment plan.  P2P lending has moderately inflexible access arrangements.  So I’m effectively tied down to traditional deposit options.  This is, after all, firstly my fun money and secondly, presumably, part of my kids’ house buying deposit.

As inflation takes off, exchange rates falter and interest rates remain low I’m effectively facing the perfect storm of knowing my money is losing value in real terms daily.  Spending it abroad is a terrible idea!  Tough!

In a longer life expectancy world I’d be opening multiple bank accounts to take advantage of decent rates for new customers with the likes of Tesco.  One reason for not doing so is my number of direct debits has been savagely reduced by no longer being married thus having no household bills, having claimed on multiple insurance policies that have ceased this cancelling direct debits, and no longer being a member of a trade union.  As I no longer have a trade!

The other reason is that I don’t want to make my finances any more complicated for my sister when she comes to act as my executor.  Fewer accounts with fewer institutions is a preferred approach.

I could consider Atom Bank paying 2% for two years.  Or Ulster Bank offering 1.25% for instant access.  Both would be new organisations for me and the Atom option is just a bit too restrictive for my circumstances”  Santander 123 does ok, along with their 5% monthly saver rate.  But neither Halifax or Santander have anything interesting.

So I’ve opted for an option that I’ve spent most of my working life telling customers and colleague is pretty rubbish.  Premium Bonds.

As bank deposit rates have crashed, ERNIE has gradually been elevated to a slightly more advantageous place in the savings league table.  No interest, but a tax free prize pot of 1.15%.  With the amount I’m intending to move that would generate, with average luck, between one and two prizes a month.  At £25 a pop, or maybe more.

I’m a 40% taxpayer this year, thanks to every chancellor of the exchequer in the last 30 years failing to increase the tax free redundancy threshold.  Getting a decent rate on savings will trigger a 40% tax bill on interest.  Sticking the cash in Premium Bonds avoids this.

I can access the cash within a few days.  I already hold an account with £110 in, so it’s no more work for my sister when I’m gone.  It adds a little fun to opening the post in the first week of every month.  It keeps my finances relatively simple.

Genius it isn’t.  Decent investing it isn’t.  But it’s better than what I’ve got at the moment, and seems, somehow, to fit my unusual set of circumstances.

That’s Just the Way It Is

After a hot and steamy lunch date (it’s the gravy), I headed off to Calderdale Hospital for my eye clinic appointment.  Street parking for me, using the disabled badge.  They’ll charge the blue badge holder £2.80 in the official car park.  I’ll struggle with the longer walk rather than pay.

I enter through a back door.  A short wander and by accident I discover the eye clinic  and use the clever bar scanner read my appointment letter and announce my arrival.  Computer says no.  A quick and unexpected side effects dash and then over to the reception desk where it’s confirmed I am real.  I take a seat in the packed waiting area.

I quickly received an eye test.  Right eye rubbish.  Left eye good.  Then I wait.  And wait.  I’m eventually called an hour late.  An hour with no phone signal or wifi.  Hell!

I wander into the consulting room to be greeted by the same consultant I’d seen previously.  He asks me if I’ve had the scan results from our previous meeting two months ago.  I avoid saying “not from anyone in this clinic” and confirm my oncologist has given me results from her viewpoint.  He briefly asks what type of cancer I have.  “Lung”.  How did you find out?” – “Back pain” I reply.

He’s taken aback.  Dead man in the room and no coughing or wheezing!  The conversation returns to my eye and he stares at it through his machine.  He checks on my medication, which he’d prescribed, and I confirmed to him that the gungy gel was particularly effective.  He nodded and said that it should be.

“Next appointment in six months” he says.  In my head I think “He probably reckons I’ll be dead by then”.  I ask about different treatment but there is nothing he can do.  Fingers crossed I’ll still be around in December but the Bell’s palsy will have vanished and I won’t have to attend.

I ask about my deafness.  After all, he’s the one who diagnosed it.  He tells me to see my GP.  I left wishing he’d suggested that two months earlier.  So much for joined up healthcare.

Enjoy a bit of Bruce Hornsby and the Range.  It rather grabs my mood.

Preparing for the Atacama Desert

This Chile trip is looking quite special.  It’s effectively six holidays rolled into one.  And my focus this morning has been on the magic of the Atacama Desert.

For the uninitiated, it’s considered to be the driest place on the planet.  1mm of rain a year.  Manchester it isn’t.

I’m quite pleased with the hotel I booked several months ago, as it seems I genuinely got a bargain.  Prices being quoted at the moment are double what I’ve paid.  Breakfast is included, although I don’t think lama rashers are on the menu.

The nearest town to where we’re staying is San Pedro de Atacama, a couple of miles away.  Although I don’t really do built up areas this one appeals to me as some sort of oversized South American stereotyped shanty village.  A mixture of Internet cafes, youth hostels and the man on the petrol station forecourt looking after his chickens.

But there are some places we’ll be getting out and about to.  Sunrise is 7am.  Sunset is 6pm.  Night temperatures below freezing.  Daytime winter sun between 15C and 21C.

El Tatio Geysers (pictured above) are a dawn thing.  Jet lag will doubtless have us awake for the early start and despite having a hire car on hand I’d expect to book a tour for this.  We both love our geothermal stuff and this might just be more spectacular than Iceland, Yellowstone and the boiling streams of east California.

Another organised trip to pay for will be salt flats at Salar de Atacama.  The stark nature of Death Valley’s salt flats has mesmerised in the past.  These look even more impressive.

Driving to the Alma Telescope appeals.  I’m pondering if this route might be worth a night trip to get the views of the Milky Way and beyond which, due to the lack of moisture in the atmosphere, may outdo the brilliance of the solar system we’ve seen previously in Grand Canyon and Death Valley.

There’s more.  Much more.  Salt lakes to swim in.  Might be cold, but we won’t sink!  Sunset and sunrise views that will doubtless remind me of Sedona on Grand Canyon.  Could they be bettered?  I’d have said no, but research (that’s the posh word for playing with Google) suggests this place might be rather special.

just over three weeks.  Excited!

Next Step in Treating the Dreaded Palsy – More Lube?

It’s back to the hospital today.  Two months since I first attended the eye clinic due to a Bell’s palsy related sore eye.  It’s now almost nine months since I was able to close my right eye.

I had a scan.  My oncologist gave me results from that from a cancer perspective, but this appointment will tell me what they can do to help the eye.  And the answer will be nothing.

Last time I was prescribed eye drops and eye gunge.  Something called lacri-lube.  The lube works well.  In New England I definitely felt happier and less pain driving with a blob of the stuff in the right eye.  Not great for all round vision but my right eye can hardly see anything anyway!  Excellent for stopping the sun hitting the perma-exposed eyeball.

This time I can’t imagine anything other than more lube being prescribed.

The Eye Clinic is also where they identified my deafness in the right ear.  A key question is what can they do about it?  Is it time to get a hearing aid?  Does that entail yet another specialist?  I didn’t even know I was deaf until the eye doctor told me.  Now it’s as annoying to me as the contorted face!

Talking of which, I’m coming up to the key “final” correction point for my Bell’s palsy.  The interwebs tells me that 3-4 weeks, 3-4 months and 9 months are magic times when it corrects itself.  I await the overnight recovery that other sufferers report.   But I’ve long since given up waking every morning and testing my smile on both sides.  I’ve pretty much given up all hope of it ever fixing itself.

Getting More Drugs Without Looking Furtive in the Pharmacy