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Saturday 28 February 2015

Experimental sheldon biscuits

Eliza acton has a recipe for Threadneedle Street Biscuits. I was intrigued. I have been getting into biscuit baking recently so thought i would try it.
Its a large recipe so i cut it in half to a pound of flour 1.5 oz butter 2oz sugar. I used icing sugar and also a tablespoon of cornflour. Then a half teaspoon of bicarbonate of soda. Rub in yhe fat till it disappears. Then add about half a pint of milk to make a stiff dough and beat the crap out of it. Stiff is the word. Its like pastry. My joints being what they are my trusty kenwood and its dough hook did the work.
Then roll it out biscuit thick. I cut into sheldon shapes.
I also rang the changes by coating some in sugar and adding carraway seeds to others.
Started off in a low oven 140c. After an hour turned up to 150c. Cooking seems to be a process of drying out they crisp up slow but Eliza says crisp all over. The sugary ones seem to crisp quicker.

So in the end how are they?

Hmm. Interesting. V crisp. Rather like a bath oliver but sweet. I think this might be the grandparent of the rich tea. Definitely prefer with sugar or carraway though.

Towards evidence based biscuits.

I am keeping busy. Stopping and thinking is bad mmkay.
So naturally I thought of Eliza Acton.

You may not know the name but you should. Think of recipes...where you have a list of ingredients and times? She invented that. Modern cookery for private families, her chef d'ouevre, was the first cookery book aimed at norms not pros. It also had the first revipe in English for Brussels Sprouts.
Now that alone should get this mother of xmas flatulence a mention. Mrs Beeton came later and robbed Eliza blind.
Now Eliza always tested her own recipes, which Beeton never did. Plus she ran a girls school a mile from my house. So cookery, farts and schoolgirls. What more could one want.
I am fond of many of her recipes. I find her xmas pud way better than the modern ones. But sometimes you need to play with the recipes to see the intent.
Today we are trying her recipe for "a good scottish shortbread" and then her enigmatic threadneedle biscuits which will form part of a later post.
Hoping you can make out the recipe. Pound of flour 9 oz butter 2oz sugar 1oz candied citron basically put dry things together and...this bit is weird.
You melt the butter and squdge it in. Normally the recipes say rub in butter but dont handle too much. This is waaay easier.
Then you squdge it into molds.
Moderate oven is about 160c
She says 20 mins but use your fingers. Like men they should be hard everywhere you touch.
Foal describes the result as yummy. I agree. I recommend sprinkling with demarara sugar before baking as victorian tastes seem to have been less sweet.

Thursday 26 February 2015

Perfect Day...

I am in a bad place as you may have guessed. My expressive and sensitive friend has done a piece about opiates so it feels appropriate to share that amongst my other issues I am coming off tramadol.
I started this 2 days ago and have been slowly washing out.
The reasons are very personal. I am getting some additional pain cover and a cushion from the withdrawal from extra pregabalin. But its not good.
Trainspotting is a good resource on opiates dark side. For me the best scene is when Renton overdoses. He sinks into the carpet while Lou Reed sings perfect day.  That carpet is real. Taking an opiate is like sinking into a big warm shagpile carpet or lounging on a sheepskin rug in front of a fire. Withdrawal is the opposite.
I got the twitches first. Like having too much caffeine.  Jumping all the time.  Then the pain. New pain in odd places.
Today I am drained and faint.

I wanted this post to be longer and more poetic. But a big carpet just spit me out into the cold while Lou Reed sings backwards.

The Scientific Afterlife

I suppose that many scientists do not think of posterity much when they do their work.  in my experience generally you think of the problem in front of you, the bureaucracy around you and beer.

But in a way the output of your career, those papers you fought to get published, are your gift to the ages.  that is why Researchgate and similar H-indexing type sites focus on telling you who is citing you.

Researchgate is like a propellerheads-only version of facebook.  If you don't log on for a week or so it emails you with lots of things you could find out about if only you logged on.  For all I know ( I dont pay much attention to these things, I am a marketers worst nightmare) it is full of targetted ads for designer labcoats and Igor cages.

Anyway one disturbing thing about researchgate is its ability to raise the dead.

A collaborator of mine died last year.  A wonderfully kind and generous man called Soo-Ik Chang, he died suddenly leaving a young family.  I really think the Korean science community has lost a majr asset.

Anyway such is the time delay factor in science that he is still publishing.  People are finishing papers with him on as an author and publishing them.  We are too.

So this mornings email from researchgate was a bit upsetting.  It featured a picture of Soo-Ik, smiling like always, telling me he had cited my work.  Strange how these things work out.

Got a little black book with my poems in.

Thi pist was written in late february. Mrsinky originally asked me not to post it. I think now it is appropriate. 

This post contains lyrics I didn't write.  I hope the authors will understand my usage of them.  It comes from profound appreciation.

Roger Waters is a prophet, a genius and a symptom.

I mean sure there are bands that sound more miserable than vintage Floyd.  The Smiths come to mind ( never could stand them.  I studied in Salford, everyone had their photo taken outside the lads club. but gah). Leonard Cohen on a good day could sound more depressing I suppose although actually his poems ( I dont think of them as songs ) have a rare and fragile beauty. Anyone in a distance relationship will find
I loved you in the morning, our kisses deep and warm, 
your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm, 
yes, many loved before us, I know that we are not new, 
in city and in forest they smiled like me and you, 
but now it's come to distances and both of us must try, 
your eyes are soft with sorrow, 
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.

something enormously descriptive of the process. Cohen's work is often covered by others but they tend to leave out the tough bits. Chelsea Hotel with it's killer line "we are ugly but we got the music" is simply beautiful. I am certain that Janis would approve.  People like Radiohead are novices by comparison although I do think Airbag conveys the feeling of depression well.

Like many people my age Pink Floyd was a huge part of my young life. It started, typically, with The Wall.  The Wall is arguably the best concept album ever produced.  And also the worst represented in terms of singles.  Everyone remembers it for "we don't need no education" aka Another brick n the Wall and yes, I have to say that was my introduction.  But then buying the album they would find, instead of the expected anti school songs that the whole thing was the story of a man in a job that took him away from home and forced him to perform in front of others (rock star in this case).  He had an absent father (dead) an overbearing mother, very poor relationships with others.  He becomes isolated from people, then reality.  His wife starts seeing someone else (it is unclear if this is real or a paranoid fear) and he completely cuts himself off from reality, building a "wall" between himself and others, which finally collapses.  Im not certain if the official interpretation of the collapse being a good thing is valid.

In terms of background my Dad was absent a lot ( not dead just working away) my Mum is...erm...forceful I have a job that requires me to travel and perform (any lecturer who isn't a performer is bad at it) ....you see why he is a prophet?

For those unused to concept albums/rock operas this sounds strange.  I urge you to give it a go. start at the beginning and work through.

Anyway I can say that I probably know every Floyd lyric from every album after ummagumma.  But as tweeted by @bengoldacre recently song lyrics can reveal your subconscious thoughts.  Recently I have found myself singing and playing "Nobody Home"
on the guitar.  And that piano intro is very hard to do.

Since xmas things have been bad. To understand why you have to go back a bit.  Also I am going to disregard the influence my EDS and medication has on this situation, so you have to add that in for fairness.  Also remember this is written from my point of view and so even though I am trying to be fair it must be remembered there is another side.

I got a job in Zurich.  On paper it is one of the best jobs I ever had and at first it was.  Before I took it Mrsinky agreed she would find a job in Zurich and we would transplant.  For one reason or another, not least the financial crash hitting Switzerland and their closing down the borders, Mrsinky hasn't been able to find a job there so we live apart.  At first I commuted every other weekend, flying back on the 7 am flight Monday morning which got me in to Z town work building at 10.30am  On a Friday I would have to leave at 3pm.

My working day is normally long.  Although as I may have stated before I struggle to get in in the mornings I work until late in the evening and call in at weekends so I more than cover the hours.  However my boss really resented the commute weekends.  It felt like he would deliberately schedule meetings when I wasn't there then blame me for not being there.  this is what it felt like, it may or may not be true.  So I ended up going home for one weekend a month.

Mrsinky doesn't cope well with people leaving.  See Leonard Cohen above.  When I got home she would turn on the tv, watch Hollyoaks on the Sky+ and ignore me.  Then when we got to bed turn her back and fall asleep.  She felt she had to reconnect with me, as I was a strange irritant in her home.  When you have 2 days together there's not much reconnecting.  All the way home I would be longing to see her, and yes, I am a bloke, touch her.  Then when I got home I couldn't.  I cannot blame her for this, it is not fair to do so.  I can see her point.  I can also see my behaviour was bad because even if you have been doing nothing but look forward to seeing someone for a week, counting the sleeps, not wanking in anticipation etc. it is wrong to impose your feelings on another.

Anyway after xmas I found that I was increasingly in the position of the guy in the song. Calls, texts and emails were not returned, either through bad luck or happenstance.  My world began to fall apart.

I have to apologise to Mrsinky for sharing this stuff, and I hope I am being fair to her.  I am trying to say what my perception was and to be fair.  I am sorry my darling.  I love you so much. If I don't connect with someone, even these imaginary people, I cannot go on. Please understand.

Anyway for the first time in my Marriage I didn't feel like she was there.  In the back of my head I always had her there with me, wherever I was.  I don't know if I ever told you that sweetheart? I always knew you were there. Now she was gone.  So  was my anchor to reality.

Oddly from a work perspective it began to look better.  Things from my cavernous Moebius To-Do list began to be done.  But this was not a good thing.  I was clearing my desk.  I began looking up LD50 data on all the lab chemicals to see how much I would need to take to be certain of death.  I stashed some polythene sheeting in my cupboard to spread on the floor under my corpse so that the mess would be contained if the poison made me shit myself.  I worked out which day to do it on so the cleaner found me, not my colleagues.  This may seem rough but frankly she is a cow.  I got down to two items on the list when a row errupted with my boss over funding, we had a meeting and then he basically ordered me home to talk to Mrsinky.

At first we did not talk at all.  My Valentines gifts sat unopened on the table. By the Wednesday ( I flew home Friday night) I was sat on the couch as per the Dalek post, fighting the suicidal ideation.  I was too scared to move.  The truth is that I need her.  Only time will tell if I get to keep her but I need her.  Without her my world stops.

Mrsinky and I have started talking.  It hasn't been helped by the GP giving me some news that has completely removed any basis for my identity.  I spent 2 days unable to be in the same room as mrsinky or to talk. I have eaten 3 chocolates (Sprungli, shoot me.) a yoghurt and a pot noodle since Monday. I am going to the gym, picking machines without mirrors near so I dont have to look at myself and exercising till I feel faint and sick. I am punishing myself.  I still have to keep doing things.  Hence the loser length blog post.  When I stop the images of ropes and knives and pills come back and my world crumbles again.  This time it is worse.  Losing mrsinky made my world stop.  This has removed any chance of a world again, has removed me. I do not know what the future holds because I cannot imagine one.  I cannot live with this.
That is the closest I can get to talking about it.  And that just made me vomit into my latte glass in Costa.

Anyway, I urge you to listen to the Wall, even if only out of curiosity.  After all it does contain the two finest guitar solos of all time.

KJV

My heart is sore pained within me: and the terrors of death are fallen upon me.

5 Fearfulness and trembling are come upon me, and horror hath overwhelmed me.

6 And I said, Oh that I had wings like a dove! for thenwould I fly away, and be at rest.

7 Lo, then would I wander far off, and remain in the wilderness. Selah.

8 I would hasten my escape from the windy stormand tempest.

Monday 23 February 2015

Rearranging the deckchairs.

Today has been so epically shit already that I am hiding out in public places so as to avoid suicide.  There arent words.
However I am doing displacement activity quite nicely.
So here goes. I hate the Daily Mail. It is, in my opinion, a vile hate filled rag. It has not changed much since it was boldly supporting the British Fascist Movement and backing the wrong Mitford sister.
One of it's current idees fixes is that many things cause or cure cancer. This delightful blog has preserved this vital information for Science.
I am heartened by such dedication.

Sunday 22 February 2015

Zoodlewurdle

I am so tired of blogging about my health. It must be very boring for you, dear imaginary reader. I imagine you sitting there thinking "seriously Inky get a life" as you gently rub cocoa butter into your exposed skin, sipping a dirty martini from a chalice carved from an alicorn.
Tomorrow I am seeing my doctor. This poor guy has had to put up with me being his patient for a looong time and you can see his face fall as I walk in.
I have made a list to hand over as I walk in. This allows him control I suppose. I think there are people who visit their GP without a side of A4 close written as a list.
Just to give some insight here it is.

Joint problems.
-spontaneous sublux of hip and shoulder unreduced after 3 weeks

Swollen glands
-submaxillary glands swollen for 6 months. Painfull.

Depression
- suicidal ideation. Active planning of suicide. Anhedonia. Crying. Hopelessness

Fungal infections

- fungal nail infection more than 2 years resists treatment
- hair loss varied regions may be fungal

Retinal heamorrhage

- optician noticed yesterday
- increased clotting times in general

Loose skin

- following weight loss. Very hard to care for. Denotivational.

I summarise a bit for clarity. But in all thsts enough. I wonder what he will pick first? My money is on the depression.

I have decided my next job will be as a magic unicorn herder.

Saturday 21 February 2015

Oddly the tennis player they named it after had crap service too...

This may come as a surprise to the able bodied but an awful lot of us cripples use sports centres. In fact in terms of numbers and usage it's a thriving market share.
Why is this? Well many people who are retired or on benefits get cheap memberships and us cripples can even get them prescribed. Its a convivial place to go ....and of course there is physio.
To those who have only sprained the odd ankle physio is that annoying stuff you do 30mins a week with the naggy person and forget to do in between.   For us zebras physio is the only tool we have to fight our illness. My full physio regime is 2hrs per day of gym. If i am rushed I have a 1hr. The recommendation is even if you can only do 10 mins do it.
So you see the gym is a second home. Over here I use the David Lloyd Leisure centre in Ipswich. This is definitely up the crunchy meusli and range rover end of the market, for instance they advertise taking the advice of nutritionists( who are unqualified and unregulated profit mongers. You would be better asking a cat ) in order to provide a paleo diet (a diet myth based on little to no evidence, heavy on the naturalistic fallacy) but it is convenient. You do pay rather a lot for the use of their facilities. But the facilities are good. I mean fair dos the equipment is clean and well maintained and theres lots of it. No complaints about that at all.
But...
You knew there was a but right?
The clientelle in their yuppie trucks cannot park for toffee. The car park fills up at the time of little johnnies tennis lesson. But only near the door. The far reaches are often empty. Near the door is where the disabled spaces are. The photo shows what normally happens. Some lazy sod parks across the pavement adjacent to the disabled parking and goes off to pilates.
Might not sound like much but that pavement allows us lames to hobble along in safety. We need it. All of it.
So obviously when it happens I complain. And complain
And complain.
And tweet. I mean I even joined twitter ( thats @Inky_r folks) to complain after the 10th complaint resulted in no change.
The response is an email sent to the wrong account  and which started off by using my forename despite me not knowing them..hint to young people this is extremely rude. I am Dr Tatus till i tell you different...which says:

" Thank you for your comment card regarding parking. I have tried to call you but have been unable to make contact hence my e-mail.

 

We are aware that some members choose to park in unacceptable places such as on the pathways and under the oak tree. If we are aware who these members are we do address it with them. Previously we did tannoh the car number plate but of course they knew why we were trying to contact them and ignored the call. We have also put notices on offending cars but if you are going to park there in the first place a notice will not change the behaviour.

 

The most frustrating thing is that often there are car spaces but members choose to park as close to the club as possible. Recently we have had staff in the car park and this does work as a deterrent but is not always possible with a busy club.

 

Please be reassured that we are aware of the problem and the frustration it causes with members. I will speak to the management team and see if we can provide a more regular presence in the car park.

 

I will look for you in the club and then hopefully try and have a further conversation but for the meantime I hope this advises you of some of the actions that we have tried to resolve the problem

"
Now this sounds like an attempt to do stuff doesnt it? Except of course it isnt really looking at the problem. It's creative helplessness. We cannot change their behaviour...

Oh yes you can. Look at it this way, if i decided I was too lazy to go to the loo and repeatedly defecated in the toddler pool I would be guilty of misconduct that denied other members use of the facilities. I would be banned, I suspect, or have my membership suspended. So why is it when lazy middle aged women (observation not misogyny. Generally step or boxercise classes) do exactly the same that there is no effort to make them face consequences. The answer is that the able bodied, disproportionately young staff do not see it as more than an irritation. It is a low priority.

I would say that it appears that David Lloyd Leisure is oblivious to the needs of disabled members and deprioritises them. I say appears, as I have limited data. I do find their employees seem to come from a very limited demographic and would like to see their figures on equal opportunities. I have never seen a receptionist with a mild limp let alone in a wheelchair, and their managers normally have sports science graduate/pro football dropout tattooed on the underside of their identical eyelids. Lets see if we can represent the disabled community a bit? Or would that interfere with their cosy Daily Mail existence in the gated community of the Worried Well. The varied Gluten Free menu options do go nicely with the Social Conscience Free behavioural options after all.

Just as with Bloombergs revamp of London City Airport I suspect that no-one with a disability has ever been asked about operations let alone had an influence on them.

So what would I do?

Next time someone parks there follow them to the car. Ask to see their membership card. Take the number. Ban them.

Send a members email out with education on why disabled apaces are important. Why these places mean so much to us. How much abusing the spaces hurts us. And telling members banning will ensue. Dont just leaflet the bad cars, tell everyone. Run a positive campaign integrating disabled members. Get paralympians in to visit the childrens clubs and talk.

If that doesnt work put nerve gas in the boxercise dummies.

Friday 20 February 2015

I may be part dalek

I made a classic mistake a week or two ago. I walked down a corridor.
Now I know what you are thinking...reckless fool how can he be let out alone? Needless to say the corridor exacted it's righteous vengeance by causing my right leg, previously known as Mr. Good Leg, to not work.  For those of you with the good fortune never to have experienced a sublux just imagine that your leg suddenly has no strength in it. You topple over..grab the wall...swear...
Of course then the trouble starts. The sublux may or may not reduce on its own(this one i think has not) but it will have caused damage to the tissue around the joint. So your hip stops being a hip and becomes a toothache.
This means any walk beyond about 50m is impossibly painfull. So Davros the wheelchair comes back out.
For anyone who has not spent time in a wheelchair I urge you to do it one day. Round a town centre. Normal day. Not only does it make everything soooo much harder it also gives people a licence to treat you like a vegetable, patronise you rigid or indeed just deny you service. Places such as David Lloyd Ipswich, about whom I shall be blogging anon. There is no experience like it for making you feel like crap.
Now of course Mr Hip being out of whack makes Mr Knee hurt which makes Captain Back hurt etc etc. In fact hip pain doesnt always feel like hip pain. To me it often feels like someone is squeezing my testicle.
So then theres one whole side of your body you can't sleep on. And that means the other side gets slept on too much. And hurts.
There has been a good deal of Davros recently and no end in sight. Dalekery abounds.
As I mentioned tother day I am a bit depressed. On Wednesday for one reason or another I was alone. I spent it on the sofa. All I could do was think of lots of ways of killing myself. Knives. Electricity. Chemicals. Crashing the car. Hanging. I could work out ways of doing it neatly. Ways to contain the perimortem incontinence. Methods to ensure wife or child did not find me because they dont need that.
But oddly not one method worked on a sofa.
So I stayed there.
So the evidence...I get around on wheels. I struggle with stairs. And sofas offer protection from my weaponry.
I am becoming a Dalek.

Wednesday 18 February 2015

Eponymous

I am seldom at a loss for words. But just now I am struggling even with actions. I have no clear path in front of me and no solid ground beneath me.  Everything I can think of is turned up to shit.
I can barely walk. My good hip spontaneously subluxed last week leaving me unable to do normal things. I get about 10 percent of the way round sainsburys before the pain is crippling. Both my shoulders are bad so i can barely hold a guitar.  I have pains in my thumbs and feet that suggest more joint issues. Such is life. 
It is hard for me  to know how much is real pain and how much is in my head. Its well known pain depends on mood. My mood is so black that i want to take all the things that Mick Jagger painted black in that song and paint them blacker. I did the nhs online depression test and maxed it out.
At xmas I managed to offend my brother. Things are not good at home. Things are not good at work. I am in the shit on every front.
I can blame eds. I can blame drugs. I can blame lots of things.
But I cant see a way out.

Arsebiscuits

I am in the habit of conjugating profanity. This comes from a beloved uncle who once referred to a  wheel nut as a " pissy arsedbastard fuckrot". One of my most common expressions of mild vexation is arsebiscuits.
Foal, a literal soul, has demanded to know what one is. So here we are, our recipe for arsebuscuits.

350g plain flour
100g dark brown sugar
75g granulated sugar
100g butter
3tsp ground ginger
1tsp baking powder
4tbs golden syrup
2 eggs
A few chocolate chips

Oven to 180 C
Combine the dry ingredients. Rub in the butter to form a crumby mixture. Add the syrup, and then stir in the eggs one at a time to make a stiff dough.
Rest in fridge for at least 15 mins.
Take teaspoon sized  lumps  androll into balls. Butter and flour a baking sheet. Put two balls next to each otherto form bumcheeks. Put a chocolate chip centrally to form the nether eye. Bake for about 15 mins till golden. Wait 4 mins to firm up before transfer to a cooling rack.
You can decorate with faux trousers.