Seeing the World

I’m a little disappointed with myself.

For the New England trip in June I’d made the decision to check in to hotels on the hoof having negotiated a room rate at the desk.

The idea being that it allows for more flexibility in the route and saves money because I’m so good at negotiating.

In the end I’ve decided that the relatively short distances between planned locations, especially when compares to South West USA, don’t really justify a need for flexibility.  And my experience of negotiating stuff in European markets only had one success.

So I’ll take some time later to book 14 nights accommodation using a mix of methods.  Including redeeming two free nights with my old friends hotels.com.  Utilising a “double free nights offer” with them targeted at my most expensive stay.  And also kicking us off with a posh Hilton somewhere near Salem where my gold status will secure a room upgrade and free breakfast.

I’ve got a mixture of the motel, the B&B, the rustic beach front hotel and more lined up.  And most drives between accommodation come in at less the two hours which means that the strain on me is minimised and any sight seeing is done on our feet rather than being wowed from behind the wheel.

Does anybody remember bring scared witless by Salem’s lot in the late 1970s?  We’ll be checking it out!

Songs For a Funeral

I don’t fear dying.  It is, after all, an inevitability of living.  I worry about how my kids will cope without me.  Even though they cope without me anyway!  And the irritant of pain is something that will annoy the hell out of me.  But the concept of not being here anymore really doesn’t bother me, other than the upset and inconvenience it will cause others.

I should have prebooked my funeral, but haven’t.  I noticed a 10% Coop discount on my bank account today and wondered if it was valid for a funeral.  Apparently not.  Maybe I’ll sort things out when the redundancy cheque lands.

If not, keep it cheap and simple folks!

Which raises the question of music.  What do I want playing at my funeral?  At this stage I don’t know.  At least I don’t need to decide just yet.

Dearest Tricia left us with Frank Sinatra’s My Way.  My uncle had a rather indulgently long Snowy White track played that went on a little too long before finishing with Chris Rea’s Gone Fishing – wanting the congregation to feel that he’d like them to feel that’s where he is.

That triggered a Chris Rea September Blue thought in my mind.  One of the saddest songs ever.  Too sad I think.  Even if I’m cremated in September!  And The Road to Hell isnt really appropriate for a cynical agnostic.

Current thinking is a little more uptempo.  A bit of ELO singing All Over The World at an event where people might cry might be good to lift the mood in that bit before everybody gets outside and breathes a “thank f*** that’s over and done with” into the air while wondering which distant relative or unknown friend to talk to.

That might reflect the travelling I crammed in between diagnosis and departure.  Even if the lyric “there’s going to be a party …” doesn’t quite reflect who I am.

Although the CD will probably jump and skip horrendously bringing giggles to the faces of the mourning.  I think I’d quite like that!

The Saturday Morning Eye Clinic – Partial Deafness

I don’t think I’ve attended an eye clinic since I was four.  Two surgeries by that age and I still got called cross-eyed for years!

After rolling out of bed, driving the wrong way and negotiating the crap signs at Calderdale Hospial I somehow found the clinic in a basement called “Ground Floor” and was attended to in good time.  A sight test where my left eye nailed it beautifully and my right eye was a bit rubbish.  As expected.  As usual.

Thn the dilation drops.  Sweet Lordy poke my eye with a hot pokey thing instead next time that was horrible!

Then disaster.  A forty minute wait.  Not the wait, just the lack of phone signal.  Like hell on earth.  One of my reasons for getting a 30gb monthly data plan was my fear of being stuck in an NHS hospital without wifi.  The things you worry about when you’re staring death in the face!

Next the consultant with the unpronounceable name.  And a nice looking nurse who spent the entire appointment playing with her nails.  I know I’m utilising a drug that costs $90,000 a year but perhaps there are other efficiencies that can be made before they stop treating me.

Anyway, after a lot of finger waving, yellow dye adding and observing my eyes he concluded I had Bell’s Palsy, ordered a scan just in case and prescribed me some eye gel and different drops.

Then something of a bombshell.  He tested my ears.  Fine in the left.  Partially deaf in the right.  Most likely as temporary as the Bell’s palsy.  Or maybe it really does pre-date everything.  I had no idea.

I book an appointment for a month time, ensuring it doesn’t clash with my Ulster trip, and wander out of the hospital into a gloriously sunny day.  SMACK.  Mr consultant, next time please warn me that my dilated eye is going to suffer horrendously and advise me to wait half an hour before returning to daylight!

Ah well, football later.  I’m sure the roar of the Jimmy Fizzell stand will reawaken the ear as the boys in blue create a pleasing performance for my eyes.

The Eye Clinic

The Bell’s palsy continues to trouble me.  In fact the faint glimmer of ability to smile with the right side of my mouth has completely gone.  Effectively a reversal of the only recovery it has made since being diagnosed.

It really is an irritating swine of a disease.  The wonky smile is annoying.  The inability to swallow liquids on one side of my face embarrassing.  The tissue split/heal/split/heal routine in my right nostril stings.  And my left nostril leaks occasionally and I can’t subtly sniff it back up.  In addition a tiny trickling nosebleed occurs throughout the day and the clotting blood makes the tissue beneath sore.

So I went to my GP with a sore eye.  It’s been that way for six months and the big problem is that because of the dreaded palsy I can’t close it.  Night time allows sleep because the eyeball spins upward into my head making me look like Hogwarts teacher Mad Eye Moody.

I now tape down the eye at night.  This involves having no sight, cutting the surgical tape in darkness, hopefully avoiding slicing off a finger, and then applying it across upper eyelid and cheek hoping not to put sticky substance on the eyeball.

My GP spent a good four seconds looking at it on Thursday before telling me she’d referred me to the eye clinic.  Excitingly the clinic called within hours and instead of having a lie-in tomorrow I’ve got an appointment!

I’ve no idea what they’re going to do.  I’m assuming shine some lights and prescribe more eye drops.

Even worse, I’ve read that Bell’s palsy sufferers are 40% more likely to develop cancer within five years.  Can’t wait for that …

Thinking About My £8,000 Flights to Boston

There’s not a hope in hell that I could justify paying two lots of £4,000 to get me and Chris to New England in normal circumstances.  I would pay the £1,000 upper class fare on Virgin for a nice comfy seat, but four times that is insane unless your employer is paying or you’re filthy rich.  Or fancied blowing your air miles on one hell of a treat.

When I was initially diagnosed with lung cancer the prognosis was less than nine months.  As type of lung cancer and medication extended that (hopefully) I decided to blow the Avios points on a first class flight.  The Middle East didn’t appeal so Boston moved rapidly to the top of the list and I redeemed just about every Avios point that I had on two return flights from Manchester via Heathrow.  And I’ll say it again, the cash fare for these seats is £4,000 return each.  Or 136,000 Avios to me.

Departure is now less than two months off.  In 29 days I can book our complimentary spa treatments in Heathrow’s exclusive British Airways Concorde Lounge – this will kick in after enjoying the Manchester BA Lounge too.  And apparently a private room (cabana) to enjoy our three course meal in between flights.  Unlimited spirits and champagne too which will continue on to the flight.  I’ll need to be careful how this interacts with that little blue pill I have to take each night!

It’s not quite the same on the way home but BA have just opened a spanking new business class departure lounge in Boston so we will benefit from the best they’ve got there.  No massage though!  Or spanking.

i suppose I should start putting a little more thought into our 14 night summer driving holiday now.  Other than hire car I’ve planned nothing!

Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch

Next Tuesday sees a follow up podiatrist appointment because my feet are a mess.  Trimming my toe nails has become close to impossible and one of the little blighters has cut into its neighbour causing a little discomfort.

Assuming all is well I’ll pop into work and empty my locker for the last time before heading to Anglessy for a couple of days with my sister and nephews.  It might also prove to be a base for short break escapes later in the year.  Getting to Snowden’s summit is on the list.

My initial thought was to do it by train.  A quick look at the schedule of connections  and the price quickly changed my mind.  Halifax > Victoria < Walk > Piccadilly > Chester > Crewe > Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch seemed to be overdoing the intricacy of the rail network just a tad.  Says the bloke who’s flying Manchester > Milan > Madrid > Santiago in Chile.

Instead the Beamer can take the strain and negotiate the North Wales speed cameras for this one.

There’s no schedule for this one.  Just a little chill time.  I have spent an hour on Anglessy before but it was one of those stop on the way home as a kid trips where we drove in, walked on a beach, saw some lug worms and then drove home.

Fingers crossed the weather is kind.

Packing the Emergency Undies

I’m a man who likes a contingency plan.  I have a back up charger for my mobile phone and actually keep it charged.  I print things like boarding cards and hotel bookings as well as having electronic versions.  My passport and afatinib tablets stay in my pocket during a flight just in case the plane gets evacuated and all my worldly travel goods get burned on the runway in a foreign land.  I have spare adapters and spare cables for iPad and phone.  The iPad itself rarely drops below 80% of charge.  I also retain a photocopy of my passport away from the document itself.  Just in case.

I take the time to identify alternative routes home just in case my flight gets cancelled or delayed and I need to prompt an unhelpful airline to provide an alternative.  Or if I need to arrange my own alternative.

And then comes the classic. However many nights away I have I always pack an extra pair of emergency socks and undies.  Who knows what excitement I’m preparing for.  Maybe subconsciously I’m expecting to get lucky with Miss Middle-Aged Montenegro and hurl my stripey y-fronts across her parlour before a few seconds of excitement followed by accidentally leaving them behind and needing to replace them with the emergency pair.

What’s even more extraordinary is that the emergency pair never ever got worn.  The socks are an odd texture that fell out of a posh Christmas cracker one year.  The boxer shorts were the free pair in a three for two offer that are white.  And as any housewife will know, white male underwear is just a dreadfully bad idea.  So rather than wear these items they became my emergency standards.

And as yet remain unused.

Just over two weeks to that Montenegro trip, so you never know …

Efficiency

One day, a long time ago, Dave in Halifax rang his insurer in Bristol to tell them he’s poorly and to ask them for a claim form.

The insurer in Bristol posted three forms out to Dave in Halifax.  Dave in Halifax filled one in and posted it back to the insurer in Bristol.

He took the second form to his doctor in Halifax.  She huffed and she puffed and asked for £105.  She then decided not to be the big bad wolf and said she’d write to the insurer in Bristol and ask them for the £105 instead.

Dave in Halifax saw the third form said “to be completed by employer only” so posted the form to his manager in Cardiff.  His manager in Cardiff discovered the special form filling team were in Halifax so posted the form from Cardiff to Halifax.

The form filling team in Halifax then wrote to the manager in Cardiff to say Dave in Halifax hadn’t signed the “to be completed by the employer” form so they asked the manager in Cardiff to contact Dave in Halifax to ask him to sign a new “to be completed by the employer” form and send it to the insurer in Bristol asking them to forward it on to the administrative team in Halifax.

Dave pondered which of Halifax’s bridges to throw himself off.

Enabling the Kids to Inherit my Pension