He had to go down on his hands and knees

 

Red Bull Writers'

He had to go down on his hands and knees. He crawled to the side of the foot bridge. The view was dizzying. He could see a doll's house village inhabited by ants below in the valley. He clung to the rail and tried to stand. It was no use. He felt sick. The comic in him fleetingly wondered, what would happen if he vomited over the side. The mathematician in him started to calculate the speed of the decent not just for the vomit but for his body.

The platform on which he was kneeling and clinging on to for dear life was the footbridge on L'Aiguille du Midi which he had been informed was the absolute dream, the place to see at least once in a life time. He knew it would certainly be a once in a life time experience for him vowing that he would never ever do this again but at this departure the pessimist in him thought, it could be his last,

Some how he managed to reach the platform which connects the cable car station with the Central Piton terrace. An elevator inside the rock rises by 42metres to the top terrace which would mean that he would be at an altitude of 3,842metres.

Now he had to decide. He had come this far would he be able to take the elevator inside the rock which would rise even higher to a point for the Panoramic Mont Blanc cable car, the highest cable car in the world, which connects France to Italy.

Or could he be satisfied here at this station. He remembered the publicity which described, the Aiguille du Midi as having several terraces, restaurants and services where visitors can take in the spectacular views of the French, Swiss and Italian Alps. At this point he realised that he wasn't dying. He was suffering from altitude sickness.

'That's it then. I will rise no further. He crawled into the restaurant found a seat on which he manage to climb, by a window.

'I am happy,' he said raising the cup of brandy laced coffee,'I am happy to toast the views of the Alps of three countries from this restaurant window'.

The writer and optimist thought, ' I'll write about this and read it at the next meeting of the 'Kidsgrove Band of Writers'.

The Long Sleep Dialogue with Myself 268

 

The Long Sleep Dialogue with Myself 268

I know I am not dreaming.

Are your sure?

Of course my eyes are wide open.

How do you feel?

I feel tired. I have been tired for a week haven't I?

Yes but you're not getting any better even though you have done absolutely nothing. You haven't washed or dressed for days.

Like I said I'm tired. I'll be better tomorow after a good night's sleep. Maybe one more day of rest will do the trick. I've cancelled all my meetings. Trying to decide things is tiring.

Maybe if you go to a meeting you will feel better,

Yes but then I would have to get dressed and that means deciding what to wear that's the problem and what if it's raining?

You could take a taxi.

That's not easy, sometimes when I ring they are busy and they put you on hold. A cup of tea would be nice. When did I last have a cup of tea? Is it nearly bedtime? Maybe I'll get dressed tomorrow.

What if you have visitors.

They always ring first. Where is my phone? Never mind if someone rings I'll hear it. I know I am not asleep and I am not dreaming. I am just so tired. I can hear singing.

Did the door just open? Did some one come in? Who's talking? I can hear singing.

AS the congregation sang the coffin slid forward and the curtains closed. Our exhausted character will now enjoy the endless sleep for which she had longed.

Eight Thirty

 Eight thirty

This is a true story. During my teaching career I held a post deemed 'Teacher in charge of the nursery and remedial education.' There were two nursey classes of twenty five children, each having two nursery trained nursery assistants.. 

I soon realised that as far as the Head Teacher was concerned my post was in name only. Her ideas were, how shall I say? Old fashioned. As I was recently qualified my were somewhat different. 

I did try to engage the nursery staff in new ideas but failed miserably. I suggested that I could arrange exchanges for a day or even half a day with other nurseries. These were nurseries that I had visited and found them to be innovative. My suggestions were met with blank refusals. The staffs stubbornness to change was evident to me when I discovered that the wall displays were taken down at the end of each term, placed in the store room and taken out and reused the following year. The furniture in the rooms was never, I mean never, moved or re-arranged. One member of staff was away on maternity leave and the other teacher and the temporary supply teacher re-arranged the tables and cupboards. The new mother returned and after two weeks I asked her how she was coping with the new arrangement. She said that it took all her control to stop herself from screaming for the first few days but she had gradually become used to it.

One Autumn term, in  late in September we were notified that some poisonous fungi had appeared suddenly as fungi is wont to. I forgot to mention that the school had a large, very large playing field. All the classrooms had a door which lead via a flagged patio onto the field. Most classes this was mainly used at dinner time. 

However when the weather was warm and dry the nursery children used the field frequently. We, that is the whole staff were warned about the poisonous fungi which, we were told resembled edible mushrooms. As theoretically I was 'in charge of the nursery' I walked down the corridor to the nursery classrooms. The first was empty as I thought it would be as all the children were out on the field. I went to the second and found one member of staff and a child sitting on a chair. 'Why is Johnny sitting there when all the others are outside.' 

 Unbelievably the answer came. 'He is a very naughty boy. I told him not to eat the toadstools.' 

I picked Johnny up and was out of the door as I heard.  I told him that they are not mushrooms even if they look like mushrooms.'

I ran with him to the office where the Head Mistress rang for his parent. I suggested that an ambulance would be quicker. To be honest I don't remember how he got to the hospital but the head had the forethought to send a sample of the fungi to the hospital where poor little Johnny had his stomach pumped. 

The next day I rang Johnny's Mum to ask about visiting times at the hospital. She said, 'Ate thirty.' 

I said, ' That can't be right. Do you mean eighteen thirty?'

'No, I mean yes ' she said visiting times are eighteen thirty to eight thirty.  But Johnny ate thirty toadstools. That's why he had his stomach pumped.'

When I asked what happened the next day it was his Mum who said. 'He absolutely loves mushrooms. He is lucky to be alive because he ate thirty.

Sugar Loaf Mountain

 Sugar Loaf Mountain 588

'Why in God's name are we spending the last day of our holiday up this fricking mountain when we could be on the beach,' said Paul.

'Please be patient,' said Adam, ' you will thank me for this experience.' and he also thought you will thank God too.

'Are we there yet? ' asked Paul in a half mocking and half joking tone adding, ' I wish I'd worn trousers. I fricking freezing in these shorts.'

'Stop using that word. You know I don't like it. You might as well swear. Everybody knows what you mean'.

Adam put his arm around Paul's shoulder and leaned in and planted a kiss on his neck.

Paul moved Adam's arm away. He walked to the railing of the cable car and leaned over to look at the view of Rio below. He was puzzled. It had been such a wonderful holiday and now Adam seemed to be determined to prove something but about what? He didn't know.

'What's wrong now. I thought you liked me showing affection in public? You know being gay is not illegal here.'

'What has that to do with this Mountain?'

'Nothing really. I thought you would like to take some photos from the top. It really is amazing. There is also a restaurant where we can have lunch and there is a gift shop. We haven't bought any presents to take home and we are leaving tomorrow.'

The couple didn't speak again as the cable car rose higher and higher. Paul had his camera on a strap around his neck. He lifted it and focused on the extraordinary views below.  Adam was pleased to hear the click, click, click as Paul snapped away.

AS the car almost reached the summit a mist shrouded the view. It grew quite cold.

Paul turned away from the rail, saying, 'So that's it then. The end of a fantastic holiday.'

'I am so sorry. I really thought that you would be impressed. I am disappointed as well you know. There is something quite special that we can see, well usually. When we reach the top.'

Adam never did explain to Paul that 'the something special was the almost 100 feet tall statue called Christ the Redeemer.' In a way he thought that it was probably a good thing that the statue was shrouded in this mist.

Adam was a Christian and Paul was an atheist who thought that the bible condemned homosexuality.  Adam's confused ideas had lead him to think that seeing this amazing statue might have an effect on Paul. 

Now he wondered whether the invisible statue was a message not for Paul but from God  to him. 

It would be a long time before Adam untangled his confused thoughts and feelings. The cable car reached its destination.

'Come on. It is the last day and I am freezing and starving. Lets get a hot drink and something to eat. I still love you even though this isn't the beach,.' said Paul.

They walked hand in hand into the restaurant.

An hour later they walked out of the restaurant into blazing sun. 

 Adam looked across the valley to the incredible statue of  Christ the Redeemer and said to himself, 'Thank you God.'

Paul looked over the rail and saw the beach. He said to Adam, ' There is still time to go to the beach. It will be fantastic to sit drinking cocktails while watching the sun go down.'

Opposites attract ain't that the truth.

Chess

Chess

My latest addiction is chess. Once I had played in the library in Alsager I discovered that opportunities were ubiquitous. The church hall on Monday, the new café in Alsager and the Blue Bell on Tuesday, Wednesday I mentioned, Thursday Red Bull, Friday Sandbach library, even Kidsgrove library on Saturday mornings all provide opportunities to play and a warm space which is an added temptation.

Then of course the internet on my phone. Any where any time, sitting on a bus or even waiting at the bus stop. Waiting for the washer or dryer to finish. It can almost be a pleasure to go to the laundrette with chess. com.

But there is no need to leave the house at all. Chess.com allows me to play on my computer, lolling in an armchair, sitting up in bed. Then, not answering the door or the phone, or checking emails, certainly not reading a book, not painting or writing. Writing.

What day is it? Second Tuesday, First Thursday. Is there a chess session anywhere? Stop, stop and think, writing. When did you last write your blog? Have you written anything for the Kidsgrove group. Oh no, it's today. What was the topic? Oh dearie me. You should remember you chose it.

Cinema

 Addiction 816

The addiction to sports, marks an arrested development of man's moral nature.

Addiction focuses on desire.

Living with an addiction can be very stressful. It can seriously damage your work performance and relationships.

Eg Computers Gambling  Shopping Work 

What made you want to write a memoir now about your “addiction” to film?

My first addiction was the cinema. This was the pre TV era. There were so many cinemas to satisfy me. Goldenhill was within walking distance. 

Then there was Kidsgove I could walk or take the bus. My brother and me/I were given half a crown each to go to the pictures as we called it then. I took the bus, went in the 1/6's, bought chips after the film and took the bus home, leaving no change. My brother walked there, went in the nines and walked back. He saved 1/9. Oh yes, and now he is a millionaire and I am practically broke.

I remember the cinema in Tunstall. It was called Barber's. Like most cinemas at that time, everyday there two films, an A film and a B film at each showing and there were two showings a day. I think they were called first house and second house.

There were two programmes a week. One ran on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday and a second on Thursday, Friday and Saturday.

But an extra delight for children was Saturday morning Chum's Club.

Gosh what a smorgasbord of delights that was. Trailers for the forth coming films, a serial which always ended on a cliff hanger and then of course the main film. This would usually be a comedy if I remember correctly. Bud Abbot and Lou Costello, Laurel and Hardy and my favourite Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis.

But the main attraction for the girls before all these delights was a live performance by a local boy. A tall blond, heart throb with a voice like an angel. The screams and shouts of the girls almost took the roof off. Now I can't even remember his name.

In my teens it was always Second House on Saturday. We, that is my friends and I used to queue outside the cinema at 7.30 because although the film began at 8.00 cinemas were so popular that we needed to be first to enter in order to get a good seat. Oh and there was another reason. We were saving places for the lads who were in the Plough which was across the street. They were drinking - under age drinking.

The main subject of the films, was WAR. The second world war of course. US versus Germany. I am sure Japan featured too, The other main subject was cowboys and indians. The cowboys always won of course. The truth later proved the portrayals of the Old West to be outdated and often offensive. Of course there was also a plethora of Hollywood musicals and love stories. The famous scene of Fred Astare singin' in the rain is still frequently played on TV.

But it wasn't tap dancing and singing games that featured in our outside play. That was a time when we played in the street. No, we always played cowboys and indians or armies. Everybody wanted to be a US soldier or a cowboy never a German or an Indian.

Of course all enactments featured guns. Shouts of 'Bang,Bang, your dead. Lie down'.

'No I'm not, I'm only wounded.' Was the usual often repeated script.

After a night at the pictures, the next day the boys re-enacted the whole film in the playground remembering every action word and gunshot.

Looking back, I see how a whole generation was indoctrinated.

This leads to an addiction I have today, American politics. I remain puzzled and enraged that the word immigrant never refers to the present population but is outraged against the people trying to enter the so called land of the free. There is rarely a mention of the indigenous people. What I find worse is that the American Indians cared for the land and animals far better than the present occupants.

Of course the same is true of Australia. Australia's first people—known now as Aboriginal Australians—have lived on the continent for over 65,000 years. Diverse and culturally distinctive, they are represented by more than 250 distinct language groups spread throughout Australia.  About 3 percent of Australia's population has Aboriginal heritage.

But the origins, and fate, of Australia’s native peoples are still the subject of heated debates—ranging from social disparities to legal representation, and even whether their genocide can really be considered a genocide.

I have to stop here because there is so much to say. A current theory holds that those early migrants themselves came out of Africa about 70,000 years ago, which  would make them the oldest population of humans living outside Africa.

Now don't get me started on Africa.

Tobacco

 Tobacco

I remember my first cigarette. I was on a day trip to Blackpool with the Youth club. The coach stopped at a pub so that we could buy pop and crisps. We weren't old enough to drink. I was 15 as was my friend who had acquired some cigarettes. She gave me one. We both lit up and I told myself that I would not inhale. However rushing back to the coach which was about to leave I had to jump over a puddle and I took a big intake of breath and smoke. It wasn't pleasant. It felt sharp on the back of my throat and it made me I leaf dizzy.

I can't remember my second or third cigarette. I can't even remember becoming a regular smoker after that first one. All the adverts at the time urged and encourage everyone to smoke no matter how much the costs went up after every budget. Of course once begun it was difficult to give up such a powerful addiction. It was socially acceptable. It seemed that everyone smoked- parents, neighbours even film stars and TV personalities. We could smoke anywhere and everywhere, in pubs in cafes and cinemas. We viewed the screen through a smoke filled theatre.

We were surrounded by bill boards telling us that we 'were never alone with a strand'. Craven A started using the slogan "For Your Throat's Sake" around 1939. It had a famous slogan, "Will Not Affect Your Throat". Many advertising posters were made to promote Craven 'A' cigarettes.

Cigarettes were heavily taxed. The government knew in the early 40's about smoking and cancer but the tobacco lobby was very powerful and the government did exceeding well out of the purchase tax which was raised at every budget.

My first few days at college were lecture free and we students were left to get to know each other and the college geography and I suppose leisure possibilities. The girls on my floor all collected together in one room and talked. Talked and smoked. We all smoked. We smoked Gallois which were very strong. And we smoked a lot in those first few days.

After college when I was married I continued to smoke and so did my husband. He chained smoked. He gave me his wages and I bought his cigarettes for the week, 10 packs of 20. That was 200 in a week. He did smoke at least 20 a day. I must have smoked the rest. If I ever suggested to him that he should stop he flew into a rage. So I realised that he couldn't even consider giving up. He died of lung cancer.

I did manage to stop. I learned TM and my teacher told me not to try to stop smoking, not to even think about it. It would just happen, and it did. I was sitting with my feet in the oven, I was living in a freezing cold flat, I was coughing, and rolling a cigarette. I was on the dole and money was short. I thought,'What are you doing to yourself ?' I threw the tobacco and papers in the bin and I have never smoked since. That was over 40 years ago.

Lung cancer was once a very rare disease, so rare that doctors took special notice when confronted with a case, thinking it a once-in-a-lifetime oddity. Mechanisation and mass marketing towards the end of the 19th century popularised the cigarette habit, however, it caused a global lung cancer epidemic. Cigarettes were recognised as the cause of the epidemic in the 1940s and 1950s, Cigarette manufacturers disputed this evidence, as part of an orchestrated conspiracy to salvage cigarette sales. Propagandising the public proved successful. As late as 1960 only one-third of all US doctors believed that the case against cigarettes had been established.

The cigarette is the deadliest artefact in the history of human civilisation.

Cigarettes cause about 1 lung cancer death per 3 or 4 million smoked, which explains why the scale of the epidemic is so large today. Cigarettes cause about 1.5 million deaths from lung cancer per year, a number that will rise to nearly 2 million per year by the 2020s or 2030s, even if consumption rates decline in the interim. Part of the ease of cigarette manufacturing stems from the ubiquity of high-speed cigarette making machines, which crank out 20 000 cigarettes per min.

Cigarette makers make about a penny in profit for every cigarette sold, which means that the value of a life to a cigarette maker is 10, 000 US dollars .