tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57996400190241188272024-03-21T12:25:11.563-07:00RantingScienceZebraRantingScienceZebra
The rantings of a bitter, twisted, sometimes crippled and rather mad scientistAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08498615297107040479noreply@blogger.comBlogger206125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799640019024118827.post-68717467138920081052019-12-08T12:16:00.001-08:002019-12-08T12:16:48.138-08:00my name in lightsSo...I was going to make humble pie. Well actually humble pudding. But I had too many chores and the stuff went out of date today.<div>So I did what an earlier medieval peasant would have eaten. Because yes this is me in food historian mode.</div><div>But first some apologies.</div><div>Firstly vegans...this may be of interest but you will struggle to apply it. If it upsets you when I say lamb think artichoke. If I say bacon think facon. But don't use the recipe...it will be foul.</div><div>Secondly for those in search of accuracy ...I use hot sauce and chili to substitute for the shear quantity of black pepper in the original. Black pepper was one of the earliest spices to reach us. It and mustard (proper mustard) and horseradish and others we don't use like arsmart (makes your arse smart) were used a good deal. This is effectively a devilled dish.</div><div>Thirdly the ingredients. ...an apology to the lamb. This is an offal dish. Peasants could get deer offal or beast offal because the Lord let it fall off the carcase (off fall) in fact after a hunt the heart liver and lights (intestines) belonged to the porter.</div><div>Also for young folk....when I was a kid braised heart was a regular school dinner. It's why I learnt to cook. To avoid it. Then I grew up.</div><div>So here we go. Peasant offal casserole.</div><div> </div><div>2 lambs hearts</div><div>1/2lb lambs liver</div><div>I chopped onion</div><div>3 celery sticks</div><div>A selection of root vegetables </div><div>3tsp crumbled dried mushrooms.</div><div>1tsp dried sage</div><div>1tsp dried oregano</div><div>1 sprig fresh rosemary</div><div>2 bay leaves</div><div>2tsp whole grain mustard</div><div>1tsp black pepper</div><div>3tbs hot sauce</div><div>I pt stock</div><div><br></div><div>Slice the heart and liver into...well slices. Dip into flour. You need a casserole with a well fitting lid.</div><div>Fry the onions till they brown. Seal off the heart and liver. Put everything else in and stir. Pop into an oven at 140c. For 3 hrs.</div><div>For those using a cauldron simmer on the side of the fire for 3 hrs. At least.</div><div>At the end the heart will be tender and the liver mainly gone. Dress with juice of half a lemon and one thinly sliced chili. Thicken with your choice of agent. I use cornflour as it's quick and easy. A peasant would use bread or a flour and water mix.</div><div><br></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08498615297107040479noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799640019024118827.post-62740780230830241522019-12-08T08:42:00.001-08:002019-12-08T08:42:36.789-08:00souperOk so I decided to try my hand at hot and sour soup.<div>This recipe is a bit of a composite but I found it yummy.</div><div><br></div><div><div>3 dried shiitake</div><div>4sq inches kombu</div><div>2 stock cubes</div><div>6 toasted szechuan peppercorns. Ground fresh.</div><div>2.5 pints boiling water </div><div><br></div><div>Simmer 30 mins.</div><div>I used chicken stock gel but really should be pork or veal bone stock</div></div><div><br></div><div><div>Fish the kombu out.</div><div>You can choose to slice it thinly but the texture is an acquired taste. </div><div>To stock add</div><div>100 ml rice vinegar</div><div>3tsp sambal oelek</div><div>I desert spoon clear honey</div><div>I thin sliced red chilli </div><div>I large clove garlic smooshed</div><div>2 inches ginger julienned </div><div>Juice and zest of lemon</div></div><div><br></div><div>That is the stock done. You need to balance the heat sour and sweet yourself of course. I tend to like food that fights back. At this point you thicken the stock with cornflour and water and add the thread eggs. To make these beat an egg thoroughly then stir the very hot soup slowly and add the egg by dribbling it.</div><div>To the stock you then add....well whatever you have. Fresh crunchy vegetables. Tofu. Cooked pork. Left over duck. Beansprouts. Noodles or dumplings if you want more of a meal. So you see this is a soup that helps you clean out the fridge.</div><div>Anyway give it a go.</div><div><br></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08498615297107040479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799640019024118827.post-13384353883925914352019-12-07T16:53:00.000-08:002019-12-07T16:53:29.567-08:00ok so I'm not deadI know it's been a long time. But a lot has happened. <div>For a start that bottle of whiskey may have been a mistake. My use of alcohol to sleep got a bit out of control. Well a lot out of control. I became heavily alcohol dependent.</div><div>Now on top of that or rather causing that was ongoing lack of any focus in life. No partner. No work. No nothing.</div><div>I became, and remain, a shut in. With a typical cptsd mix of entity and depression using alcohol to sleep with no dreams. Eventually after a long time of telling people I wasn't coping I got an urgent visit from MHT. Who tried to get me in to a psychiatric ward. They failed. Next day they visited again to find me trying to hang myself. So they took me to A and E as an alcoholic. I went into the ward to be dried out.</div><div>I'd almost finished the taper when I was coming back from the cafe and I had a stroke in the corridor. Right side stopped working. Voice slurred and slow. This being Ipswich Hospital I had to crawl back to the ward. Where they accused me of drinking searched my bag found some old prescription drugs and said I was high. For 3 days I tried to get them to help. I had to threaten to shit the bed to get a commode. </div><div>This treatment stressed me beyond measure. I was eventually bullied into a meltdown. All my meltdowns are suicide attempts. So they sectioned me.</div><div>Treat a stroke by sending patent to a different hospital with no medical staff. Nice.</div><div>Anyway eventually I am kicked out for not looking mad. Because I'm autistic. Remember I was supposed to be in there anyway.</div><div>After a week at home got in to Musgrove Park Hospital in Taunton where they said yep that's a stroke.</div><div>By the way my teenage daughter had told them all I'd had a stroke as she had seen the adverts.</div><div>So that's a snapshot of my life.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08498615297107040479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799640019024118827.post-75807834819860392862018-08-15T13:19:00.001-07:002018-08-15T13:23:58.072-07:00A balloon and a bottle of whiskey<p dir="ltr">So today is my birthday.<br>
It's also the birthday of the Princess Royal, Napoleon, Lawrence of Arabia and it's the official death day of the Virgin Mary. Honest. Catholic feast of the Assumption. <br>
I'm still feeling shitty. Had counselling earlier which stirred up a lot of stuff. Then went over to spend time with foal. Which made me realise the gaping wound in my heart when she isn't there. Sparrow I'm the mead hall again.<br>
But anyway today I tried to do a Thing.<br>
My parents gave me some Birthday Money. Instead of using it to buy essentials like say a good Islay single malt ( anyone willing to send me a bottle of Bowmore or Caol Isla please get in touch  😊) I thought maybe Sparkly would lure me from the couch nest.<br>
So using the power of Amazon I ordered Sparkly.<br>
<a href="https://www.dropbox.com/sc/zwzcr3fnr5d4mc7/AABQCq0WjG4deFD0h1fBZEiga">Behold</a>.</p>
<p dir="ltr">This particular Sparkly is an automated pressure cooker/ rice cooker / slow cooker that you just plug in.<br>
He is now called Duke Nukem. </p>
<p dir="ltr">So I cooked with him because Sparkly must be tested. It's the law.</p>
<p dir="ltr">So the following is my recipe for <b>Cajun Style Lamb Shank.</b><br>
Yes I know it should probably be alligator.  But I live in Suffolk. Very few alligators and there's not enough meat on a common sand lizard.</p>
<p dir="ltr"><b>Ingredients</b></p>
<p dir="ltr">2 lamb shanks<br>
One onion (chopped)<br>
12 mushrooms (sliced)<br>
12 baby corn cobs (snapped to bite size<br>
1 cup of black beans (dried or canned. If canned wash off the goo. If dried I soak by pouring boiling water on from the kettle then leaving it for 20 min.  You can use them without soaking but I think it's a better texture if soaked)<br>
1oz dried wild mushrooms ( yes ounce. Come to peace with it.)<br>
1 cup Arborio rice <br>
5 tbs Black Treacle ( molasses to our American cousins in the colonies)<br>
3 inches of fresh ginger (yes inches. Live with it)<br>
2 cloves of garlic.<br>
I tsp celery seed<br>
2 tsp black peppercorns <br>
2tsp coriander seed<br>
2 tbs smoked paprika<br>
3 tbs sweet paprika<br>
1 star of star anise<br>
1 tsp salt<br>
1 cup tomato juice<br>
3 tbs tomato puree<br>
500ml vegetable stock.<br>
A little olive oil to fry.</p>
<p dir="ltr"><b>Method</b></p>
<p dir="ltr">Grind all the dry spices and salt to a file powder then clean out mortar and set aside. Peel ginger using a teaspoon handle (trust mu the skin is very easy to scrape of) and peel garlic by crushing with a knife edge (again trust me. Push down till you hear a pop. The skin just slides off.). Grind garlic and ginger together to form a paste. If it's taking too long add a little sugar it draws out the liquid.<br>
OK here we go.<br>
Heat a pan and add olive oil. When it's hot brown the shanks all round then put on a plate. When cool is rub all over with dry spice mix then set aside.<br>
Add onion to the hot pan. When onion is translucent add fresh mushrooms and cook down to get all the liquid out of it. Then add the garlic and ginger. Cook for 2 minutes then stir in the dry spice mix and remove from heat. Tip this into your pressure cooker. (If using a casserole dish you need an oven at 140°C and the cooking time is 4 hrs. Keep an eye on the liquid.)<br>
Transfer the lamb shanks onto the onion bed. Add the rice and beans and dried mushrooms and corn to the pressure cooker.(If you can find some you can add some okra too. It adds a lot to the sauce.)<br>
Heat the pan you fried things in up and tip in the stock. Make sure you scrape the bottom to get all the flavour off. Stir in the treacle and the tomato puree and tomato juice. Mix well.<br>
Tip into the pressure cooker.<br>
Heat it up and cook under pressure for 45 minutes.<br>
It's really yummy. <a href="https://www.dropbox.com/sc/zwzcr3fnr5d4mc7/AABQCq0WjG4deFD0h1fBZEiga">Look.</a><br></p>
<p dir="ltr">So yes Sparkly got me off the sofa briefly.<br>
Duke is lovely<br>
Doubt it will last.<br>
You never know.<br>
Anhedonia and isolation and apathy are crippling.<br>
Oh and I fainted and injured my left glenohumeral the other day. I'm strongly suspecting it's an unreduced subluxation. It feels funny.<br>
Dysautonomia caused it.<br>
Idiopathic bradycardia when I'm sleepy. Not enough blood to run brain.<br>
But it should feel better by now. I've got limited usage still.<br>
Time will tell.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Try the lamb. It's really yummy.</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmD-kcxWQSrDnp5v8X9J1khHsn8uVyoqdLSnv1BtSgrZy0AgnfJcTAq_VUTJNesUjo7Ckfs_2GVUYLlMtCIVLRUppHx3QM8zo4oEKHb01NdpRqdQgBEu-YWNiPPrf1ZXN2_Q3tYyVXaqP9/s1600/1534359803088.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmD-kcxWQSrDnp5v8X9J1khHsn8uVyoqdLSnv1BtSgrZy0AgnfJcTAq_VUTJNesUjo7Ckfs_2GVUYLlMtCIVLRUppHx3QM8zo4oEKHb01NdpRqdQgBEu-YWNiPPrf1ZXN2_Q3tYyVXaqP9/s640/1534359803088.jpg"> </a> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08498615297107040479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799640019024118827.post-55076078128072643472018-08-08T10:12:00.001-07:002018-08-08T10:12:23.541-07:00The mad horse in the attic.<p dir="ltr">It's been a while.</p>
<p dir="ltr">That's an understatement. It's been ages.</p>
<p dir="ltr">And much has happened. A few months ago I would have put stuff on Twitter but...well I might get around to that.</p>
<p dir="ltr">But to update.</p>
<p dir="ltr">A couple of years ago my sternoclavicular joint failed. It's a crappy joint to fix. Finding a surgeon to fix it was a struggle. Eventually I found the excellent Simon Lambert at UCLH and finally got repair surgery done.</p>
<p dir="ltr">That's the bare bones physically. But even there details are lacking. For instance in my first surgery they repaired the joint but had to cut my clavicle into 3 parts then plate it together because my clavicle was deformed. Always had been. It's why it levered the joint out.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I want to reach out here to my secondary school PE teacher Mr Lewis and say that I was fucking right when I told you I couldn't put my shoulders back and stand like a man. You twat.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The morning I was discharged I got out of bed and felt something go ping. Followed by a wave of pain at a 10 on the arbitrary scale. And inability to coordinate my finger movement on the left. So I told the junior surgeon discharging me there was an issue and I needed an x ray. The patronising little shit argued 20 minutes before ordering one 'just to make you feel better'.<br>
News Flash. People with EDS are hyper conscious of body states because we do an inventory every morning of what dislocated overnight before we dare move. I know when something ain't right.<br>
5 minutes after the x ray Mr Lambert is in my room apologising profusely and saying that I was right. The plate had come loose. He had no idea why. So I had to schedule another operation to repair it.<br>
I still went home. With a double broken clavicle. Due to winter flu I had to wait 2 months for the next op. This time they went in with 3 heavy plates. And it held.<br>
It feels like the Forth Bridge and presses on my windpipe a bit. But that bone is going nowhere.<br>
They also did a biopsy and found the reason. You guessed. My fucking b list body not only can't grow collagen it also fucks up bone. My clavicle had fibrous displasia which means that the screws couldn't hold. Yet another gift from my genome.<br>
But I skipped the part where I spent 2 months on morphine with a broken clavicle.<br>
Ouch.<br>
So op 2 goes well. Eventually the plates will have to come out. Then of course I had to go home to my parents to convalesce. I was pretty helpless. <br>
That's when this gets darker.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I'm an aspie. We aren't social. We need quiet. We need space. We need to do our own thing.</p>
<p dir="ltr">My parents aren't aspies. They want to chat. Be social. Join in. They think I need that. I couldn't be alone. Mum would walk into my bedroom without knocking. If I went into a room to read one of them would follow and talk at me endlessly. One day I timed 9 hours of one sided blather from them. As I healed physically my mind folded in on itself. I stopped getting better and started withdrawing. I started drinking even more heavily.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I lay on a sofa and read. And that was all.<br>
I used twitter as a way of staying sane but then I misread a situation spectacularly when drunk and behaved disgracefully in a chat with an old friend. So I decided twitter was unsafe for me to use. The risk to others was too much. So even that stopped.</p>
<p dir="ltr">My brother could see what was happening and kept asking when I was leaving. But when this was raised Dad said we could not afford for me to move back. As I have no income no benefits and depend on my parents for cash I had no response. I was a prisoner.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Salvation came in an odd way. My psychiatrist delisted me as I had been away so long. Suddenly Dad found the money and I was moving back. Just like that.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I suspect he had it all along but just enjoyed me being there. It was killing me but hey.</p>
<p dir="ltr">So now I'm back but so damaged I can barely function. I'm working through the beauracracy with the psychiatrist. He is treating me like a new patient as per regs. I have lost my trusted care coordinator and have a new one I don't know. It's arduous.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The psychiatrist asked me how I was.<br>
I told him that actually I was clinically dead. I do not socialise. I don't play the guitar any more. I don't do origami. I only leave the house to get food or for appointments. I no longer cook. I don't play video games.<br>
I'm dead and buried. I just seem to breathe a bit too much.</p>
<p dir="ltr">So that's where I am.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I don't recommend it.</p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08498615297107040479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799640019024118827.post-43370338602689346272017-10-11T11:49:00.001-07:002017-10-11T11:49:11.982-07:00Why do you think it would do that?<p dir="ltr">I'm going to talk about Alan Turing and you would think that as a man who sleeps with men I would be talking about the Abominable way in which he was tortured to death by the establishment. However I'm not going to do that it has in fact been done to death he was treated extremely poorly and his death was a great loss. What I am going to talk about it is perhaps the thing that he is best remembered for by the ley community full stop now I may be wrong about this, but I think many people have heard of the Turing test .</p>
<p dir="ltr">Turing was a genius. There is no question of this he was working at a time in which computers were extremely new and unrecognisable from a modern perspective. The famous bomba which he built with help at Bletchley Park more resembled the tiptronic controllers of washing machines than a true computer.</p>
<p dir="ltr">But he was already thinking about how computers work and worrying about their interaction with humans. And he proposed a test, the way of finding out if computer was sentient.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The idea was explained in that recent excellent film the Imitation Game full stop that is what Turing call his test though today we just call it the Turing test. The idea is very simple. Turing assumed that thought was a purely human phenomenon. So his test was that a human being should engage in a conversation with a computer and without knowing but it was a computer work out if it was human or not. If the tester believed it was human than the computer was thinking</p>
<p dir="ltr">There are many problems with this. Firstly we must consider what we are testing and in fact one of the things we are testing is the human performing the test. But let's ignore this for the present assume that the human can be a reliable Judge. Just for fun.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The problem is the initial assessment. The Assumption is that thought must be human thought full stop giving the information that Turing had at the time this is not an unreasonable assumption full stop unfortunately we now know with some certainty that this is not correct.</p>
<p dir="ltr">We are reasonably certain but dolphins elephants and great Apes also think. We know this because they can recognise themselves in mirrors they explore their environments they used tools and they Express emotion.</p>
<p dir="ltr">In fact male dolphins use their penises to explore the local environment. I know human males do that.<br>
The Turing test is still held up by many in the Artificial Intelligence research community as a worthwhile goal. This mystifies me. At best all the Turing test assesses is how well the computer can mimic humans . .</p>
<p dir="ltr">Why would we expect a computer to think in the same way that he human would. What possible reason would justify this assumption assumption? Here is how I think a conversation would go with a real artificial intelligence .</p>
<p dir="ltr">The human would say something like hello are you a person? The computer would say why the hell would I be a person f*** off.</p>
<p dir="ltr">There is a reason why I care about this test. There is a reason why it irritates me.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I am not Turing compliant full stop because I have Asperger's my responses to a conversation would sound off comma and it is quite likely that the person administering the test would fail me. I believe that I am human and I believe that I'm thinking. And yet the real possibility exists but the Turing test would fail me .</p>
<p dir="ltr">If a test cannot identify a human how the heck can we expect it to accurately tell if a computer is thinking. A computer is as likely to think like a dolphin or an elephant as it is like a human. Humans are not the only creatures Who think, in fact we are finding more and more species with different levels of cognition .</p>
<p dir="ltr">One reason that I'm writing this is to try and connect with people who do not really understand Asperger's but believe that they do. Recently in the Press we have been seeing people claim but Donald Trump and the Vegas shooter are autistic . it is difficult to imagine anyone further away from an autistic person then these two individuals . I can't diagnose what is wrong with them and obviously there is something wrong with them my guess would be sociopath but it's simply a guess.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The problem with this is that these long distance diagnoses are based on a complete misconception of what it is to be on the autistic spectrum. And the link between them is that they show no empathy. According to these armchair psychologists people with autism lack empathy.<br><br><br><br></p>
<p dir="ltr">This is the b******* that we have to deal with. Everyday People assuming but would they know better than us how we feel . In fact even from my position as an aspie I cannot make statements about every aspie . We are people first and foremost and we are variable. I can however speak from my experience and those of my friends. The most common complaint I hear from aspies about public spaces is how loud the emotions are . If I am with somebody in distress somebody showing strong motion the effect on me is catastrophic . I don't just empathize I feel a physical pain that I cannot tolerate . I need , physically need to get away to make it better. My first reaction is to offer a solution to try to take away the pain. The problem is that many neuro typical people actually just want to share their experience and don't want a solution . To me this is torture because I'm being put in pain and being told that I cannot make the pain stop and the person in front of me sharing their emotion is deliberately stopping me from stopping the pain .</p>
<p dir="ltr">This is not a lack of empathy it's a different kind of empathy full stop in fact it is in itself a form of Turing test full stop and both sides are failing it. We are failing to communicate in a way that benefits us .</p>
<p dir="ltr">Asperger's is not a disability in itself . Login once asked me if I could take a pill to cure Asperger's would I do it and the answer was no . I value the weather so I think . Neuro typical people tend to feel an emotional response to problems first and then have second thoughts with a rational solution . my instant response is the Rational solution I may get an emotional solution later but it's not important to me. This has huge advantages in some cases but in the case of showing empathy it obviously creates problems . What we really need to do is find away for aspies and neuro typical people to work together . We have different skill sets and different ways of thinking about the world and together we could be great . but calling us murderers or psychopathic presidents is simply spreading hate speech and dividing the communities and is to the detriment of the entire human race .</p>
<p dir="ltr">We need to move beyond Turing testing each other . move beyond judging each other and start understanding that we are different but we can work together and none of us are necessarily evil . stop</p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08498615297107040479noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799640019024118827.post-34864426985930379272017-09-20T13:17:00.001-07:002017-09-20T13:17:27.002-07:00Autumn blues<p dir="ltr">Malancholy calls<br>
Handmaiden of grey fatigue <br>
Singing of the past </p>
<p dir="ltr">Joni Mitchell sings <br>
Of holy wine, sadly I<br>
Recall autumn woods </p>
<p dir="ltr">Can it really be<br>
A year since we walked under<br>
Those autumn beeches? </p>
<p dir="ltr">That's a poem in 3 haiku I wrote for Noggin. Which he may never read.<br>
I've given him the link to this place and right of reply. But he chooses not to and I respect his wishes. I think he trusts that Aspie honesty means he won't be defamed. I've never meant to. I love him too much.<br>
Yes still.<br>
I've seen him since. Stayed with him. Enjoyed his company as a friend. But I can't get him out of my heart. Hearts expand I suppose. In time maybe someone else can come in if I ever get back on the scene.<br>
But I haven't been able to face doing that. Well I admit once but it was purely physical and impersonal. Grindr at its purest. But hunting for a replacement? <br>
How do you replace a man who loves SciFi, worries about the ethics of keeping pets, can talk about Neitsche and dynamic networks at the same time and still be damned cute and rugged?<br>
A man who spends 30 minutes trying to do a weed justice in a photo?<br>
A man who always makes sure I can sit with my back to a wall in a restaurant? <br>
I'm going on in this maudlin tone because I saw leaves fall today.<br>
All I could think of was our last trip out before he moved. That walk in autumn woods while my heart cracked and bled.<br>
I'm tired. It's been hard as foal is back at school and the effort of the school run and caring for her this week is really beyond me. But I'm damned if I'm not going to do it.<br>
And I'm dipping into frank depression yet again.<br>
And I miss him and part of me always will.<br>
Nobody ever listens to song lyrics any more. Have you noticed? But if you have the time this early Pink Floyd song sums up my state. <a href="https://youtu.be/Jt3WTpc37Fg">On the outside looking in. And getting old.</a></p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08498615297107040479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799640019024118827.post-20677323446679552262017-06-20T12:41:00.001-07:002017-06-20T12:41:21.951-07:00Pastoral bliss<p dir="ltr">This one is going to be sort of a rant. It's about how the UK university system screws up pastoral care and disability rights so royally whilst pretending to do the right thing. It's a crap situation that I was fighting for years from within the system when I worked in the UK universities and a decade later it is still going strong. I could scream. In fact everyone SHOULD scream.<br>
Let's do a tale of two students. Both have something wrong with them. In one case it's a disability. An invisible one. In the other case it's a sense of entitlement and the morality of a syphilitic mongoose.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Student A.<br>
Student A has a very high opinion of themselves quite unjustified in terms of either their work ethic or their ability. They have experience in how to manipulate the system. Often this comes from either run ins with benefits agencies, indulgent parents, boarding schools or other manipulable entities. <br>
Student A does minimal work during the year, is late for coursework with no contact for extension and does poorly in tutorials. When the exams are approaching Student A, who has carefully read the regulations, finds a reason which is hard to disprove to submit an Extenuating Circumstances form.<br>
Reasons I have seen vary from stress, missing a bus, having a cold, death of grandmother(one student did this 5 times), pet going missing all the way through to boob job. No kidding. <br>
They do poorly in the exam but get to retake with no consequences because of the form. One student I knew did this at 14 consecutive exam dates.<br>
They are unkillable because they know and abuse the system.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Student B<br>
Student B has an invisible disability. Their doctor knows and they are coping with it but it limits available spoons. They perform pretty well through the year. Sometimes attendance varies. Sometimes they need more time on essays which they arrange with lecturers. They hit the exams and the stress makes their condition worse but they soldier on. They get an OK grade which is well below potential but a testament to their tenacity.<br>
They had no idea that Extenuating Circumstances forms existed and because they are used to coping even if they had they probably think it applies only to people in car accidents not THEM.</p>
<p dir="ltr">So Student B gets shafted royally. <br>
That's exactly how the system works folks. That's what happens time after time. Every exam board at a UK university knows it. They see it all the time. But they can't do much about it.</p>
<p dir="ltr">So what is broken here?<br>
Simple answer is pastoral care. What used to happen and what should still happen is that each student gets a personal tutor who actually does their fucking job.<br>
I used to have my tutees to tea once a week in my office. Give a student free cake and they always turn up. I asked them how they were. <br>
Simple as that.<br>
Doing that I caught 5 cases of undiagnosed dyslexia, one case of clinical depression and saw first hand the damage cfs/me can do (it's why I will get very mad at anyone who implies it's just yuppie flu. Killing mad).<br>
I could tell my tutees to fill in the forms. Get them help. And when it came round to exam boards get up on my hind feet and defend them like a lioness defending it's cub.<br>
But now the common experience is that personal tutors see tutees only once a year. Students often get a new one each year. Some even forget who they are.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The personal tutors are overworked yes. There is no credit for pastoral work yes. </p>
<p dir="ltr">But for the cost of different company at a tea break you were probably having anyway and at most 30 boxes of Mr Kipling you are failing your students and ensuring that the ones with invisible disabilities, the ones the system was written for are YET AGAIN being fucked up the wrong un with a very large pipe wrench.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I have no time for academics who say they can't fit it in. Your priorities are wrong. You are contributing to a bigoted system and you need to change. Do it or resign. </p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08498615297107040479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799640019024118827.post-31316639765636894242017-05-24T09:18:00.001-07:002017-05-24T09:18:22.768-07:00...Try it Part 3<p dir="ltr">There is a problem with love.<br>
Love can happen for the silliest reasons. It can creep up on you. It can happen in a flash.<br>
With my ex wife it was when I had the first of several ankle operations. I lived in Wembley she lived in Suffolk. She came all the way down to the hospital and gave me a teddy bear with a bandaged foot.<br>
With Noggin it was on the beach at Dunwich. In fact it was at this moment pictured.<br>
He was taking a picture of a flower.<br>
Just a common seaside weed. But the intensity and concentration and care he had for that simple plant. Bam.<br>
Love is a binary thing. You love or you don't. You can't turn it on and off. It has a strong biochemical similarity to OCD.<br>
And I loved him. His kindness. His smile. His smell. Especially his eyes.<br>
All I wanted to do was be with him. Talk to him. When we were apart we used to play xbox together and use the chat thingy.<br>
My future had always been uncertain due to various things. I was probably going to have to move. And about at this time Noggin was having trouble at work. He was eventually forced to leave totally unfairly. I knew the people he worked for and just wanted to go in there and shove my walking stick up their arses. <br>
We carried on seeing each other. I was doing all I could to support him through this awful experience. <br>
It felt like it was going well.<br>
And then one evening I was texting him to ask if he wanted to go to a museum or something that weekend and he texted back that he didn't think we should sleep together any more. We could be friends but nothing else.<br>
I must emphasise that throughout he had been totally honest about being unsure there would ever be more than friends with benefits. Totally honest. <br>
It's just that as my feelings for him had grown I had thought that his for me had too. Silly of me but there you go. Love is blind. <br>
So here we come to the problem with love...you cannot tell if it is returned. <br>
To say that was a bad time is an understatement. I was and to a degree still am devastated. But of course there was nothing to be done.<br>
Part of his reasons was that he wanted to move to Yorkshire to be closer to his mum. I would have moved to Mongolia and lived in a yurt to be with him. But there you go.<br>
I also believe my aspergers put him off as he had had a very destructive relationship with an aspie before.<br>
But if someone doesn't love you they don't love you. Simples. <br>
We did meet several times socially. I helped him move. The last time we went out was something I wanted to do...kind of a bucket list as after he moved I was fully intending to kill myself. Not sure why I didn't. <br>
I had always had a picture in my head of walking through fallen leaves in a wood with someone I loved. So I asked Noggin for a platonic date and we went and did just that. <br>
How I didn't cry I don't know. The bitter sweet irony of doing what I pictured but without the love returned was crippling.<br>
But I did it.<br>
I still text Noggin. We chat. I still love him but I am trying to turn it to brotherly love. Whatever he can accept. <a href="https://youtu.be/gI4Tb7x3mQo">Friends is quite something</a><br>
But as for the experience. ..I will leave the last word to <a href="https://youtu.be/lwHdW5BIVo8">Mr Jones </a></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghLA30PBV3EIWNZDk6DDW1BbzGmkoNcraMWqGdl8GXHuIQ_e34DVjyzIfg0XBUQlWoRjFOksKK5qBhZuhl2oDwMYhxyKm9jx2tyIPX1vlzW6f_zYclV6gWtnXth-74VFbtavmbNwYdZFb4/s1600/20160604_154848.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghLA30PBV3EIWNZDk6DDW1BbzGmkoNcraMWqGdl8GXHuIQ_e34DVjyzIfg0XBUQlWoRjFOksKK5qBhZuhl2oDwMYhxyKm9jx2tyIPX1vlzW6f_zYclV6gWtnXth-74VFbtavmbNwYdZFb4/s640/20160604_154848.jpg"> </a> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08498615297107040479noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799640019024118827.post-15796548047876980632017-05-19T12:46:00.001-07:002017-05-19T12:46:53.531-07:00...Try it (Part 2)<p dir="ltr">The next time I met Noggin I cooked dinner. I believe it was Korean food. A Tofu based tteokboki. I got all of the side dishes. I cleaned the house. I set the table. I used the Chinese bowls mrsinky bought me for xmas one year and the gorgeous chopsticks and chopstick holders Cheri got me one year.<br>
I have no issue with vegetarian food. It's ethical and rational. And if you do it right it can be delicious.<br>
And I am one of those people who likes tofu.<br>
So cooking for him was a pleasure.<br>
At about this time I developed a very painful subluxation of my sternoclavicular joint. Something I still have and ruins my life. But I worked through the pain.<br>
When he came over I had good food for him and he tried everything. Even the wrapped kimchi which is an acquired taste he acquired in a moment.<br>
He seemed more relaxed. He smiled that gentle smile. After an appropriate interval we made love.<br>
Slowly over the weeks we set a pattern. Dinner. Maybe a film. Gentle sexual exploration. Learning each others tastes. Enjoying just the feeling of intimacy and warmth. <br>
Then talking.<br>
Aspies don't do chit chat. My theory is it's oxytocin related. Neurotypicals get oxytocin released at bonding events. It binds them together. It promotes warm social feelings.<br>
I only get that for 20 minutes post orgasm. <br>
But it was there. I learnt about Noggin. His job. How he thought. I came to realise that although he was definitely not aspie he was neurodivergent and I shared this with him.<br>
Logic and argument threw him in the way emotion throws me. But he had a gift of intuitive thinking that was breathtaking.<br>
He loved taking photos. Particularly of flowers. He liked watching and reading Sci fi. He could put up with my obsessions.<br>
We went together to cafes to Dunwich to Cambridge. Each time he was solicitous of my comfort. Making sure I rested. Finding tables so I could sit with my back to a wall. Things like that.<br>
Once I got hit with casual ablism. When I took my arm out of its sling to pay for something the cashier asked if I was faking. Being me I just explained how my injury worked. When we got home he went on twitter and complained about it and got an apology and promise of retraining.<br>
For the first time in my life I felt cared for. Here was a man who cared about my welfare. He wanted me to be comfortable. He defended me from hurt. He tried to understand .<br>
This was what in the end freed me from the idea of trying to get back with mrsinky. She was loved by me but never really loved me back. Not in that way. Such gentle caring. The idea that my comfort mattered. All these were alien to her. I began to see what a relationship could be.<br>
Weekends when I knew Noggin was coming round were like the specks of gold in a year of dirt. I counted the days. I planned the meals. I couldn't wait to see him and kiss him as he walked in. To ask about his work. To find out more.<br>
He was the reason I stayed alive. My lifeline.<br>
I came off grindr. We were still officially friends with benefits and neither of us had said we were exclusive. But when I was seeing someone who made me feel so alive and so cherished why would I want random cold fucks?<br>
My life became focused on Noggin weekends.<br>
And when he was here I was happy. <br>
We had sleepovers. <br>
We did things together.<br>
He showed me how a relationship should work. For which I am terribly grateful. I had no idea such a thing happened. I had always just tried to make other people happy not even thinking they would reciprocate. Or even want to.<br>
This gentle thoughtful viking taught me about how it works.<br>
It all felt so good.<br>
You know this isn't going to last. Don't you?</p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08498615297107040479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799640019024118827.post-59372442528127101872017-05-18T08:13:00.001-07:002017-05-18T11:35:23.438-07:00...Try it. Part 1<p dir="ltr">It is with a heavy heart I take up my pen...</p>
<p dir="ltr">Actually it is with a heavy heart I do most things these days. The reason is tied up with my prolonged absence from this blog.<br>
I met someone.<br>
Sounds simple doesn't it?<br>
Actually for me it is far from simple as my aspergers tends to make it very difficult to do social things like that. Hence why I love apps like grindr and scruff where you can just directly ask for sex without being hit or locked up.<br>
Trouble is of course that sex is generally all you get. Generally.<br>
Anyway in March 2016 I was browsing scruff and lo and behold there popped up a picture of a lean viking warrior. A kind face with a trimmed fair beard and just the right amount of weatherbeaten. I mean just...wow.<br>
So I send a message even though he was 50 miles away. Who wouldn't? <br>
I'm going to call him Noggin in honour of the brave king of the Nogs documented by Oliver Postgate. Younger readers may see those documentaries on YouTube. <br>
Anyway I chatted and he chatted and eventually I suggested maybe we should meet up. Just for tea and biscuits as his profile suggested that he was not really into just shagging first thing and I believe he said as much.<br>
So I found out that he liked dark chocolate and ginger and I got the best dark chocolate and ginger biscuits I could find. I made sure the place was at least tidy by my standards and round he came.<br>
When he knocked on my door he looked just like his picture. You wouldn't believe how rarely that happens.<br>
Anyway we sit and we chat and he was...complex. He was a bit shy and nervous but then who wouldn't be. His voice just resonated with care and empathy. He was interesting. Knew a lot about philosophy and we had a discussion there because I mentioned my lifelong adherence to utilitarianism. He was a vegetarian but not because of cuteness of animals but rather refreshingly because he was not yet decided about whether it was ethical to eat animals and didn't want to do so while he was making up his mind.<br>
But there was something else.<br>
As a child I was abused. Physically, psychologically and sexually. (By other children at school)<br>
And I knew, just knew that he too had been abused in some way by someone. <br>
I also knew for the first time in my life that the person in front of me desperately needed someone to treat him with kindness and tenderness. And needed sex so hard it hurt.<br>
This was just meant to be tea and biscuits and see what happened. He had been clear from the start that relationships were not on the cards but maybe if we liked each other friends with benefits. But that would be later.<br>
But gentle reader I saw a kind gentle thoughtful and deep man in need. I saw someone who had suffered and hurt. And they were gorgeous. Gentle reader...what would you do?<br>
As an aspie I never initiate kisses or sex on dates. Grindr meets you know it's about sex. But dates...it's about non verbal cues as to whether you go for it. And so I never do. In fact I say up front to my date as I had to Noggin that if they wanted any physical contact they had to tell me directly.<br>
But after we had talked for hours I stood up and said in my normal level of romance "The hell with this, do you want to come upstairs?" <br>
And he said yes.<br>
He was nervous. But I wasn't. I was going to let this man know there was love and kindness in the world. Even in strangers. And who is stranger than me?<br>
So I went slowly. I was gentle. At each ...stage...I said to him that if at any point he was uncomfortable even slightly he should just tell me to stop. And that I would instantly with no problems at all. <br>
He didn't tell me to stop. In fact as I remember it the only thing I remember him saying as we reached a certain level of disrobement was "Oh...OK".<br>
I'm not going to describe in detail. But I didn't have sex with him. I made love to him. An act of warmth and kindness to someone who deeply deserved it. One that made me feel better about myself and more fulfilled than any grindr meet.<br>
Afterwards we dressed, talked a little more and he left. We said we should do it again sometime and unlike most times this is said we both meant it.<br>
And I was smiling all night.</p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08498615297107040479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799640019024118827.post-33543472037614982862017-05-11T09:16:00.001-07:002017-05-11T10:05:44.268-07:00Sorry. Been a while<p dir="ltr">You may have noticed a gap.<br>
This has been a year I would dearly like to have to do over again. I got so many things wrong. There have been good things really there have. But generally I messed them up very badly indeed.<br>
I last blogged about my life just before xmas 15. So that's a reasonable place to start. I'm going to then try to summarise a very precious and difficult period in my next post. I really am trying to get things back on track.<br>
I was on my own in the house. Foal spent the xmas end of the holiday with Mrsinky.<br>
Poor man I hear you think. All alone xmas day.<br>
Well no. It was quite simply the happiest xmas I can ever remember. <br>
I've hated xmas with a passion since I was about 6. All I remembered of xmas was mum stressing out about food. And shouting. And parties full of people that went on too long where I didn't know the facial expressions to use or when to look pleased or what to talk about. As I got older this got harder and harder. <br>
By the time I was 10 I was cooling xmas dinner. I banned my mum from the kitchen and cooked it. Because I could do it without stress or shouting or drama all of which was making me ill.<br>
And I've been cooking it ever since.<br>
After I was married for a while we had xmas dinner with Mrsinky at her mum's. Which involved her mum (who I call The Hutt) shouting and being stressed and drama. Which made me ill. The second year of this (the year that tsunami happened) her mum hadn't even started prep by 11am and was shouting so I banned her from her kitchen and cooked it. When she turned her nose up at my perfect pan made gravy because it was light brown not the colour of old tea and then ate my turkey dinner slathered in beef Bisto it was the last straw. She also never said thanks.<br>
Thereafter I had a house and determined I would never eat xmas dinner except in my own house.<br>
So we had the Hutt and her mate round every year.<br>
Both the Hutt and Mrsinky are eaters so picky that I regard it as an eating disorder. So the menu was set for the main from the start. Had to be turkey (I prefer goose) also had to have Yorkshire pudding which I think is odd. And they had to be round. One year for a change I cooked square ones in mini brownie tins and even though they were identical to the round ones they would not eat them.<br>
The only thing I could change was the starter. Except the second year of doing this I made the error of cooking a chicken liver paté. The Hutt liked it. And ordered me to do it every year afterwards. Sooo bored of it. Yes it was good but still. Then after 7 years of paté the Hutt complained that she ate so much paté she couldn't finish dinner so could I do another starter but still do the paté so she could have it with the traditional cold tea in the evening.<br>
So double the work rather than control the gluttony. Nice.<br>
Also despite me saying we do presents after lunch they were continually trying to drag me out of the kitchen to do it before lunch. Then complaining when lunch was delayed.<br>
Also when they asked when to arrive I would say 11....and they would come at 9. Until I threatened to put the chain on the door till 11.<br>
As an Aspie I can do social for about 2 hours before I start to freak. They would be in the house for around 12hrs. I used to go upstairs "to the loo" and sneak into bed fir a couple of hours. Just for a break.<br>
So xmas 15...<br>
I got a small goose from lidl. I cooked it how I like it. I did only things I liked. I had a bottle of champagne with it and a bottle of Bowmore for the evening.<br>
No decorations.<br>
No fuss<br>
No shouting <br>
No ridiculous tantrums.<br>
It was quiet contemplative heaven.<br>
I was nearly not alone. I had grindr on and there was a guy next village over who was also recently alone and in distress. I kept chatting and repeatedly offered him food and shelter. In the end he said chatting was enough.<br>
But there you go. Xmas alone was simply marvelous. </p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08498615297107040479noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799640019024118827.post-51088447500640156782016-01-22T05:10:00.001-08:002016-01-22T05:10:28.137-08:00Is there a doctor in the house?<p dir="ltr">A lot has been written recently about the University of Wollongong somewhat puzzling decision to award a Ph.D. to Judy Wilyman for one  of the poorest theses ever written. (See @uow , @uowoowoo and <a href="https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Judith_Wilyman_PhD_controversy">here)</a></p>
<p dir="ltr">I've read ths thesis and i think it is very poor. I have seen better work from first year undergraduates. It's lack of scholarship alone is a red flag. But I leave it to others to address this specifically. It is after all in social science, a sphere with notoriously poor standards and which I personally do not view as science at all.<br>
What I want to talk about here is Ph.D's themselves, how they are examined, and the common abuses of the system.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Firstly I am talking here about research degrees. The traditional DD type doctorate is getting rarer. Also note that at least in the UK most doctors are not Doctors. When I insist on my title in medical settings it is common for secretaries to tell me I am not a "real" doctor. Of course the truth is that the nedic is only a doctor by custom, holding only a Bachelors degree in medicine... Anyhoo the research doctorate is only about a century old. </p>
<p dir="ltr">The standards for reaching this level are summarised quite well in the idea that the candidate must gave a good knowledge if their field, be able to plan and conduct major research, be able to debate and defend their work and have made a significant contribution to the body of knowledge in the field. This last generally involves peer reviewed papers though it is possible without.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Examination of Ph.D's depends on country but generally involves a thesis or portfolio (6 or 7 papers presented as evidence) and a defence where the candidate defends the thesis in scientific debate. The defence can either be public or private (viva) or both. The issue is that both of these can be, and often are, gamed.</p>
<p dir="ltr">A public defence is where tge candidate presents their work and then is grilled for a couple of hours by the audience. Although the audience is open it is generally made up of academics ftom the uni and fellow Ph. D. Students. Potentially this is the more rigorous aporoach but what goes wrong is social pressure. The candidate will iften stuff the auduence with friendly questions to yse up all the available time. Academics will be inhibited from asking questions by peer pressure. Ive seen this happen so often and to such a degree that I have lost faith with this system completely. It needs an external moderator who is hostile.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Private defence is also gamable. The idea is you have an external examiner (sometimes 2) and ine or more internals (supervisor not alliwed in the room) and they can ask anything they like. The externals job comes down to establishing ownership and scholarship. The internals job is to ensure the external is being fair. Both must sign off on the deal. The viva can last for as long as it takes. <br>
The issue is choice of externals. Often suggested by the supervisor these can be quietly nobbled to go easy on a candidate. Ideally there should be little contact between examiner and supervisor but sometimes it is for everyones benefit. I have contacted a supervisor before to say tgat if the thesis i had been sent "in error" was the final version the candidate would automatically fail and could I have the "final draft". The candidate withdrew it and did 6 months more work and produced a much better document. I have also been contacted by a supervisor and asked to haul the candidate over the coals a bit as they did not know as much as they thought they did and needed to find that out.<br>
But if the external goes easy the internals rarely take up the slack. And externals and supervisors owe each other favours...</p>
<p dir="ltr">So when done well and honestly both systems COULD work. But it assumes disinterested behaviour from academics. Ha!</p>
<p dir="ltr">How could we make it better at a stroke? </p>
<p dir="ltr">It us a tough one but I have a thought here. Make it mandatory for the doctorate to be examined at a different university to that granting the award...</p>
<p dir="ltr">Just a thought.</p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08498615297107040479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799640019024118827.post-48709044439448735142016-01-06T03:14:00.001-08:002016-01-06T03:14:25.717-08:00in absentia egoI must apologise for my long absence from these pages. This has had many causes and I will list them in order:<br />
1) lifestuff. You know the simple day to day grind which seems to expand to fill your available will to live. And I didn't have too much of that to start off with. I always seemed to be too busy.<br />
2) Moveystuff. My brother and i did a road trip to Switzerland to move my belongings out of what had been my hostel room. I gave notice on the room a while ago. This to be honest was very much delayed and that was my fault. Put simply I could not face it. I am glad to get my stuff back but so sad. the trip itself took several days and was not made easier by my brother insisting on doing all the driving or by the tendency of Google Maps to route you randomly through werewolf haunted deserted French villages for no apparent reason. In a way the trip helped other things as well. Before my operation last year I had told my brother that I was bi, and the family gossipnet had told him I was Aspie. We had a chance to have some long, and long overdue, conversations. He more than anyone in my family is now trying to understand my point of view. Dad just continually finds ways in which he can convince himself that he was right all along and there isn't a problem. Mum, who worked as a SENCO for many years is convinced she knows how Aspies think etc. Unfortunately she only ever dealt with the low functioning classical Aspie not ones who have invested continual effort into disguising their condition with coping strategies which have literally driven them insane. Bruv actually wanted to find out what it was like. He did mention that my "symptoms" have been getting worse but put it down to stress. This is undoubtedly a factor but also I am now starting not to use masking strategies at all and to go with my first thoughts. This makes me look more weird in others eyes I suppose but fuck em. Bruv is aware that I live in a different world to him and that things he takes for granted are sources of extreme trouble to me. For example he rang home to tell people when we left Zurich, despite my panicked waving. The conversation afterwards went like this:<br />
Me: What the hell was that for?<br />
Bruv: To tell them where we are<br />
Me: Why?<br />
Bruv: So that they know.<br />
Me: What are they going to do with that information? It is too early to set an ETA, they cannot influence our journey in any positive way, they cannot use the information so why are you spreading it?<br />
Bruv: They like to know things like that.<br />
Me: And this is behaviour you think you should encourage?<br />
<br />
And so on. To me (and many Aspies) life is hideously complicated by people acting on emotional impulse. I find it a thing of wonder that neurotypicals are allowed out of the house on their own. Seriously they are a danger to themselves and others. To simplify life we compartmentalise. Work people are work people, wee do not socialise with them etc. so we can split our time into behavioural boxes where we know the rules. This approach requires the absolute restriction of information flow to the bare minimum. I never told my wife that the Unis I worked at had Xmas meals and balls etc. This meant I never had to go to them. Information like that is dangerous. This random sharing of information that people use as social glue is inexplicable and dangerous to my eyes.<br />
Bruv was also just about coming to terms with the bi thing, which was forced on him a bit. I have updated my Grindr pic to include the beard and this has turned me into a very desirable object apparently. At any rate as we drove through France the relentless barrage of offers of sexual congress from the locals (many of whom smouldered) showed him a glimpse into life on the other side that he wasn't ready for. I managed to fetch my guitars back, which I have missed very much. There is still stuff in work there but thats one thing sorted. But it made me feel awful. Really awful.<br />
<br />
3)bikeystuff. As I may have mentioned I have been learning to ride a proper bike. Now I have passed and am licenced to ride any bloody motorbike i like. More of this elsewhere<br />
<br />
4) Xmas. This is a post on its own I think.<br />
<br />
So apologies for all that. I hope to be filling in the gaps a bit soon.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08498615297107040479noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799640019024118827.post-91327274564203233202015-11-26T11:38:00.001-08:002015-11-26T11:38:02.063-08:00...between Guadalquivir and old Seville18/09/2015<br />
<b>Glenfinnan to Inverie</b><br />
<br />
If you <a href="http://rantingsciencezebra.blogspot.co.uk/2015/11/ticking-away-moments-that-make-up-dull.html">recall the story</a> I spent the night having nightmares in which I lost my wife and my job. Then i woke up and found out it was true. And my knee hurt.<br />
I was getting good at strapping it up, so did so swiftly then went to talk to John at the station. He said could get me on the outward steam train to Mallaig. He was as good as his word and I got a seat with a charming family from Caste Cary. Lovely people, lovely kid. The countryside on that journey is fabulous. You have to try it.<br />
The only flaw for me was that the carriages they were using in the museum were ones I remember riding in as a child in the BR Western Region. That made me feel old.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz4HRZf6AAF_S_3VjFY6dheyZ1hwCTvsnuC9xjjbx8AB4wUmPOqaxBP2WwKZRegqwbJ83Yg3Or9TiapneaYMCqmczzRoJw8aKuuHvTPxF8KvMNhWDLHB8dYCT2V0ZMmfry9e_p5OepVpDi/s1600/2015-09-18+12.45.16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz4HRZf6AAF_S_3VjFY6dheyZ1hwCTvsnuC9xjjbx8AB4wUmPOqaxBP2WwKZRegqwbJ83Yg3Or9TiapneaYMCqmczzRoJw8aKuuHvTPxF8KvMNhWDLHB8dYCT2V0ZMmfry9e_p5OepVpDi/s320/2015-09-18+12.45.16.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mallaig station</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Mallaig, at the far end, was a lovely fishing and ferry port. Full of tourists but it would be hypocritical to complain. I got some fish and chips then took the ferry to Inverie.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRzqsuVOap_SxoXCjjEpgS9TX9IqkWk97eRa_Fc3ekjRblMi7zlbLa1R_uNjlCB8w_KbiA2klQUGy2JSYhVxvzGYFUNz6urF9SlwZieeKZv7pps-qIqKLTWf1D2nw11t9i3SeiEycYTUDJ/s1600/2015-09-18+13.46.00.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRzqsuVOap_SxoXCjjEpgS9TX9IqkWk97eRa_Fc3ekjRblMi7zlbLa1R_uNjlCB8w_KbiA2klQUGy2JSYhVxvzGYFUNz6urF9SlwZieeKZv7pps-qIqKLTWf1D2nw11t9i3SeiEycYTUDJ/s320/2015-09-18+13.46.00.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL1HH6UfPp5H6GBwwpwckf1mmcQwhZdgmUwkavfZY5CIIzNZ4YuLzMq6Ri9n4SjiFRC-SyfO7Did49r_71N26OjsUCLL1q9i70bet9wavsuWGfPirCrNO61IcKl2x_6n1NNQPFLJsNt448/s1600/2015-09-18+13.45.01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL1HH6UfPp5H6GBwwpwckf1mmcQwhZdgmUwkavfZY5CIIzNZ4YuLzMq6Ri9n4SjiFRC-SyfO7Did49r_71N26OjsUCLL1q9i70bet9wavsuWGfPirCrNO61IcKl2x_6n1NNQPFLJsNt448/s320/2015-09-18+13.45.01.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The packet to Inverie</td></tr>
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<br />
The approach to Inverie goes past a lovely set of pink gypsum rocks fronted by a statue known to the locals as Plastic Mary. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicixo6WbmowFrqXzwKvGRMm_aByHpEezf0OVHpRR4k9p-JxDaPCuICvydMfbzdFCGdoZyecPQ1Yg4SEIW0pSbUYVoxiX980ZYrHVkC_MgBKyAj5c48wcQH9IKesDUpqNE3i7L1EjdHt9eF/s1600/2015-09-18+14.44.43.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicixo6WbmowFrqXzwKvGRMm_aByHpEezf0OVHpRR4k9p-JxDaPCuICvydMfbzdFCGdoZyecPQ1Yg4SEIW0pSbUYVoxiX980ZYrHVkC_MgBKyAj5c48wcQH9IKesDUpqNE3i7L1EjdHt9eF/s320/2015-09-18+14.44.43.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inverie in the distance</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh08AVKmdmpJxYqqvv0ID_8LJzx0wmuOgy0HN7EgC5jLeU_4L5ov2U_PNEoTRMg_0PrSzR8dD_3m0LQCZLwYY06vn2RWEFK1jXFq6ufYL7SxQflrD9rhyKpJ7GPlrYoWKSdiunXiMX09KA/s1600/2015-09-18+14.39.57.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh08AVKmdmpJxYqqvv0ID_8LJzx0wmuOgy0HN7EgC5jLeU_4L5ov2U_PNEoTRMg_0PrSzR8dD_3m0LQCZLwYY06vn2RWEFK1jXFq6ufYL7SxQflrD9rhyKpJ7GPlrYoWKSdiunXiMX09KA/s320/2015-09-18+14.39.57.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Plastic Mary on her rock</td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
The sea loch you head into is wonderful, sheltered glassy waters and hills around. The whitewashed cottages of Inverie in the distance. The local Co-Op where I had stocked up in Mallaig had sent bag after bag of goods, and the women of Inverie were there on the dock to meet it and collect the shopping. It felt like something from the 19th century. the main street with its pub, cafe and shop is like something from the 18th century. It is classic Celtic Fringe fishing village.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi__I4_2HescDX3sLnRUN50VetjW4kClYzW0KWBf1OYVb626GJ12BOONPRfJGPl2Gx51WvAwK5U2DfWgJu6jfm1nL8-VrIOSuJAv7CofXGuRHVH_VyvlZBkDLXxkCQQ8b3C_LLXm5yOa2oE/s1600/2015-09-18+18.07.21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi__I4_2HescDX3sLnRUN50VetjW4kClYzW0KWBf1OYVb626GJ12BOONPRfJGPl2Gx51WvAwK5U2DfWgJu6jfm1nL8-VrIOSuJAv7CofXGuRHVH_VyvlZBkDLXxkCQQ8b3C_LLXm5yOa2oE/s320/2015-09-18+18.07.21.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
I was aiming to stay at the bunkhouse run by the Knoydart Foundation. This was set up to buy up the peninsula so that the locals could run it for themselves. Booking in is possible in advance but you can just turn up and fill a space. There are 4 bunkrooms. A folder by the main door has the days in it, you write your name down in a slot in a room and its yours. I arrived at the same time as a geologist called Annie and we both signed in to Room 2. I plumped for the only single, Annie a lower bunk. The kitchen was extensive and well equipped, the dining room was a bit cold and uninviting. There was a big lounge with a woodburner in it that was quite lovely. Also showers.<br />
Another 3 girls arrived and signed in, meaning I was sharing a room with 3 ladies. How would they contain themselves? The smallest room was taken up by a boisterous family whose patriarch, Gordon hailed from Leeds but had been Scottenated to Edinburgh.<br />
Having dumped my stuff, which took the weight off my knee, I went up to the Cafe. This, with the pub, was the only eaterie available. The pub was booked out so I went into the Cafe and had the fish Lasagne which was remarkably good. The ladies there were laughing and joking about which flowers to have in a bridal bouquet. One suggested thistles and nettles. I said Sea Buckthorn because its spiky and it stinks, which summed up my marital stuation. I folded a few flowers for them from my stock of paper, which they really liked. One of them was single apparently...<br />
Anyway the day ended round a log fire in the lounge drinking whiskey with Gordon. And so to bed.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08498615297107040479noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799640019024118827.post-32388034408574632702015-11-26T10:05:00.002-08:002015-11-26T10:05:36.272-08:00...the tracks of my tearsToday I did French Onion Soup.<br />
<br />
This is really easy and a wonderful warmer on cold days. All it needs is a bit of boldness and the ability to hold back your tears.<br />
<br />
First of all you will need some onions...<br />
<br />
Actually you need:<br />
<br />
3 onions<br />
2 l stock. (In the original they would have used beef shin broth but any good quality stock works)<br />
about 20g butterr<br />
a teaspoon of flour<br />
about 20ml Brandy<br />
Black pepper to taste<br />
<br />
To Serve:<br />
A baguette<br />
some grated cheese (preferably Gruyere but whatever it is it must be robustly tasty)<br />
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Peel, halve and roughly slice the onions. This is going to hurt your eyes.</div>
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Select a pan...either a really good non stick one or else one where you don't care about the bottom because it is going to get caramelised.</div>
Melt the butter in the pan and heat till it foams and crackles. Throw in all the onions and toss them in the butter. Keep the heat high and keep the onions moving. What will happen is that the onions will start to catch on the bottom. The edges of the onions will go brown and so will the bottom of the pan. Keep rubbing at this with your wooden spoon and it will transfer to the onions. That brown is your colour and flavour. If the bottom starts getting too brown throw in a splash of brandy and deglaze. Then carry on. You want all the onions to be browned but not burnt.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAFQWG3RDBXbK5KizMoWBmvYZ0jCok32prfS4unnp3tgK2s5ptlENaZW0WG2lG8jwfz6TIUPRCsiSjSTqxfc0fREWhRRskbDUXXL4PE8Di3jY93F45OG3b9z-L1nkkl14BnPuDk-L9_YLA/s1600/2015-11-26+16.44.13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAFQWG3RDBXbK5KizMoWBmvYZ0jCok32prfS4unnp3tgK2s5ptlENaZW0WG2lG8jwfz6TIUPRCsiSjSTqxfc0fREWhRRskbDUXXL4PE8Di3jY93F45OG3b9z-L1nkkl14BnPuDk-L9_YLA/s320/2015-11-26+16.44.13.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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Deglaze one last time then sprinkle the flour over the top</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibSyTJWSeLcnSrsc_KDtBKcwDcI-HqwiioP1WrmnSLC8shbXWelqSMRUa7prx0iAM-iDTohd4JawUX_-lzLmjf-S2lGa8u6r5iBFRPF99Pz72s4r3fWA-9H1-rQbW2sD_CsEjMCghtBLuP/s1600/2015-11-26+16.45.06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibSyTJWSeLcnSrsc_KDtBKcwDcI-HqwiioP1WrmnSLC8shbXWelqSMRUa7prx0iAM-iDTohd4JawUX_-lzLmjf-S2lGa8u6r5iBFRPF99Pz72s4r3fWA-9H1-rQbW2sD_CsEjMCghtBLuP/s320/2015-11-26+16.45.06.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Stir it in then add he stock. Grind in black pepper. then some more. Then some more. It is almost impossible to over pepper this.</div>
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Simmer for 20 mins stirring to combine in the brown from the bottom.</div>
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To serve grill a slice of Baguette, good and thick, on both sides, then sprinkle cheese on one side and grill again. Put in a bowl.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM0RRrWaDrR58im3zlwn_erjUfE66xn2a6qPEtS2ReYD_9MKCDfvYozUqJIkSWy6sOOrfeGj9O9SIo4TlreKetVAAle7rFNR6RDV6tPsiAtGyn4tZYk4Y_w_5HM-eQJaW7ls30djm5JQv1/s1600/2015-11-26+17.15.46.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM0RRrWaDrR58im3zlwn_erjUfE66xn2a6qPEtS2ReYD_9MKCDfvYozUqJIkSWy6sOOrfeGj9O9SIo4TlreKetVAAle7rFNR6RDV6tPsiAtGyn4tZYk4Y_w_5HM-eQJaW7ls30djm5JQv1/s320/2015-11-26+17.15.46.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Ladle over the soup. Give it time to soak in and then nom.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqUXt0NKwZr5cSKqZHyyGiORgkn58btsQiPmP9ehvHLyqQ39o-XueHAXKEcBHGjOasqbFDRG7b4PqHXKHcxS4jt42vjkbY48ZgmmfI5qqgiYweSQBF42hJofV4waMJRfjxR8S8c9BarDYp/s1600/2015-11-26+17.16.27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqUXt0NKwZr5cSKqZHyyGiORgkn58btsQiPmP9ehvHLyqQ39o-XueHAXKEcBHGjOasqbFDRG7b4PqHXKHcxS4jt42vjkbY48ZgmmfI5qqgiYweSQBF42hJofV4waMJRfjxR8S8c9BarDYp/s320/2015-11-26+17.16.27.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
This soup was served to the porters at Les Halles to warm them up on chilly Paris mornings. It is deeply addictive. If your soup isnt sweet and dark brown you weren't brave enough at the frying stage.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08498615297107040479noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799640019024118827.post-6845594493314892152015-11-20T03:33:00.002-08:002015-11-20T03:33:39.242-08:00Just because you look good, doesn't make you rightOK so much has been going on as I earlier said. This has meant that I lack the time or the mood to blog very much. But I have been thinking about it and here is a blog post that was triggered by yesterday being International Men's Day.<br />
<br />
You know what is coming don't you? Well let's get some baggage out of the way. Yes there is also an International Women's Day. It is on March 8th 2016. I think it's a Tuesday. Yay women. However...<br />
<br />
On March the 8th here is a list of things I would expect to see given the behaviour of SOME women (actually quite a lot if twitter is any judge) and SOME men (ditto) and quite a lot of charities.<br />
<br />
I would expect there to be a massive outcry amongst Twitterati saying women have no problems and do not deserve a day.<br />
<br />
I would expect andrist groups to point out that women have massive advantages in (insert field here) and so should shut up and get on with it.<br />
<br />
I would expect the main causes of death in women to be derided and dismissed, the stuff of jokes.<br />
<br />
And, and this one boils my piss, I would expect a <a href="http://www.targetovariancancer.org.uk/news/men-matter-saying-thank-you-international-mens-day">testicular cancer charity</a> to hijack the day with the help of a <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2015/nov/19/international-mens-day-women-sexist">second rank comedian turned columnist.</a> .<br />
<br />
Now this one is very clever. You see this is a cynical marketing wheeze of the first order, and whilst you cannot blame the charity involved, after all charities need publicity and they need to get their names in the paper as often as possible, it is about as low as you can go morally in my opinion.<br />
<br />
Why? Because it is basically the perfect crime. They are using a day which is trying to focus on MALE diseases like testicular and prostate cancer, which are notoriously late to diagnosis because men feel they shouldn't bother people about trivia like not pissing or having one ball bigger than the other, they are taking that day and making it about ladybollocks. And they are doing it in such a way that it looks like they are saying thank you.<br />
<br />
Well BOLLOCKS. (and prostates. and suicide while we are at it). Anyone involved in fundraising knows about the pinkification of disease. If it affects women it gets a pink ribbon and massive attention. I mean sure men have things like <a href="http://www.myoddballs.com/">myoddballs</a> but this is very small fry compared to say, Moonwalk. And have you ever tried to get involved in an event like that if you are a man? You might as well turn up in a t shirt saying "Hi, I am Mr Rapey, would you like to see my etchings?".<br />
<br />
I suffer from a disease which is overwhelmingly female. The support group meetings look like Jessie J concerts, only without the gay guys there for a laugh (shame). In fact the solely male issues are so poorly represented and the information so scarce that it has led me to be treated for several diseases I don't have just because I wasn't aware of an aspect of the one I do. And before you say it, it has to be me aware of it because it is so rare the Doctor Googles it. In fact the all-wise <a href="https://twitter.com/BodenLab">Rich Boden </a> has put together a network of male Zebras just so we can <a href="http://rantingsciencezebra.blogspot.co.uk/2015/10/im-boy-im-boy-but-my-ma-wont-admit-it.html">compare penes</a>, as it were. The last thing men need is to have more of their issues sidelined by the pink avalanche.<br />
<br />
I hate cynical marketing at the best of times, which is why John Lewis, M and S and Sainsburies have all had the banhammer come down on my twitter account. But this was simply filthy. All involved should hang their heads.<br />
<br />
Yes, men are advantaged. Yes society has been and to some extent (less every year thank goodness) still is patriarchal. But does that mean we should sentence men to death for it? because by hijacking space yesterday, or making jokes about men whinging, or contributing to the idea that sharing and complaining and asking for help is not something men should do, that is what you are doing. You are killing your husbands, brothers, fathers. Every misandrist joke, every use of the incredibly sexist word "mansplaining", every attempt to subvert a day to your charities needs when it has nothing whatever to do with you is killing someone you know. Just think about that Mr Herring, next time you want to push an agenda.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08498615297107040479noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799640019024118827.post-36847571853692666972015-11-12T03:47:00.001-08:002015-11-12T03:47:23.747-08:00Tear down dotted line.....to reveal D-cupsOK so as you know I have been working my way towards doing my bike test. Today another hurdle cleared. I passed the theory test.<br />
I passed by a reasonable margin, 49/50 on the multi-guess and 53/75 ( pass mark 44) on the Hazard Perception part. So yes, I passed. But I am deeply pissed off.<br />
I am, as they say, on the Spectrum. An Aspie. This affects the way I deal with language. In my case it means hyperprecise definitions most of the time. But I am also aphantasic (do not see pictures in my head). Couple those together....<br />
5 of the 50 questions are a case study, a description of a series of events. Now say to me that someone pulls away, turns right at a roundabout, drives over a donkey etc. and I cannot picture it. I could do it, but not see it. My normal recourse from 46 years of dealing with this is to draw it. I asked if the test people could provide me with a blank piece of paper and a pencil. No. Because something. <br />
I explained the issue, and they said (nicely I have to say) that I could have it described to me, but that was it. Description doesn't help. So no adjustment at all.<br />
But OK I passed.<br />
Next the use of language. A clearway sign was one of the questions. what does it mean you cannot do. Two options were Stop or Wait. Now those to an Aspie are linked subsets. That was the one I got wrong. But putting those two answers was not taking into account language issues at all.<br />
<br />
Now the Hazard Perception. I had 15 marks disallowed for unacceptable clicking. This was simply incorrect. I clicked when I saw a hazard. I pointed out to the test operative, before the mark came in, that those decisions needed to be appealed as they were wrong, I had not broken the rules. A person looking at the data would see that. There is no appeal. This is simply unacceptable and a very unsafe practice. I suggest that the DVSA uses it as a money raiser. So given I had 15 marks disallowed by SkyNet 53/60 is not too bad. The issue, as I know from the practice software, is experience plus Aspie focus/awareness means I spot the hazards too early. Before the machine thinks it is possible. So I click multiple times as it develops. A better system would be to hold down the button until the hazard stops, surely?<br />
<br />
And while we are at it, whoever is driving in those clips is a loony. Accelerates like Stirling Moss, drives down the centre of the road....I mean OK they live in a town where every pedestrian hurls themselves suicidally under your wheels after having thrown their children and dog there first, but still.<br />
<br />
And the inhabitants are stereotypes. Those who know me know I tend to go for stereotypes. Give me a big butch guy or a woman with norks the size of barrage balloons and I am happy. Well unless the programmers tailored that specifically for me as a distractor I think the DVSA should go through and add in a few more realistic people. It is particularly noticeable in the women. It makes it easier to spot hazards because their breasts appear out from between parked cars long before they do. But surely we aren't training people just to avoid Lara Croft?<br />
<br />
So yay pass, Boo DVSA. do better.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08498615297107040479noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799640019024118827.post-5379606688194076782015-11-11T03:55:00.002-08:002015-11-11T03:55:57.831-08:00this space intentionally blankI know I have only written hike posts recently.<br />
Simply put so much has been going on in my life, and I have been so far down, that talking about current events is beyond me.<br />
So I will put a skeleton here.<br />
Mrs Inky moved out<br />
I had an operation to repair a previous error, during which they accidentally dislocated my shoulder<br />
I found out you can never go home<br />
Mrs Inky fired the first shot in a custody war, something I thought we would not do to each other.<br />
I started counselling<br />
Thats all she wrote.<br />
With luck now I have written those down i will be able to come back and flesh them out.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08498615297107040479noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799640019024118827.post-42274136695890123682015-11-11T03:29:00.000-08:002015-11-11T03:29:23.855-08:00ticking away, the moments that make up a dull day<b>interlude</b><br />
<h4>
<span style="font-weight: normal;">17/09-18/09/2015</span></h4>
<div>
<span style="font-weight: normal;">So there I am in a snowplough in Glenfinnan. The weather continued fair, to be fair, and Glenfinnan itself is very pretty. Well the Loch and the forest are. The village is basically a one horse town that the horse converted into hotels and galloped out of on the proceeds. No shops so staying here either means a lot of spending on hotel grub or running down my supplies.</span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">But I definitely needed at least one days rest. Actually paid John the Trainspotter for two nights and so was relaxing. First I slept in. In a bed. OK I had to use my bag but that was fine. There was a stove I could make tea on and everything.</span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">When I finally got up and had another god-sent shower then more tea I re-bound the knee, this time sans stick splints and headed off to see the sights. The sights here include the Railway Museum where I was staying and the Monument. </span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">The Rail Museum is a perfect little station of Victorian vintage near the Glenfinnan Viaduct (famous for being used as the backdrop for Harry and Ron in the flying Ford Anglia trying to catch the Hogwarts Express in the Harry Potter film franchise). It really is a good example of its type and I recommend a visit. John clearly an enthusiast also acts as post collector, token keeper and Stationmaster for the line....which runs the Jacobite, the only scheduled steam train still running on the main line in the UK. It typically runs Black Fives, which is slightly disappointing as they were...well...boring even back in the day. I know it would be overkill but I would have stuck an A4 on there myself and sod the corners.</span></div>
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So one reason for the herds of Japanese and American tourists is the presence of the Hogwarts Express. Though taken literally that suggests Hogwarts is in a small scottish fishing port. Anyway it is well kept, has a small shop and I recommend a visit.</div>
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I also walked down to the Other Thing, which I had walked past the day before. This was the reason the Merkins were here. Because the Other Thing is the Monument, commemorating where Bonnie Prince Charlie raised his banner in 1745 in the second Jacobite Rebellion. And the Merkins love BPC and they all claim to have a clan. ( I can talk, I actually do have a clan. I am a Donald, more of this in later posts. )</div>
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Anyhoo this monument was set up on Donald land because the Donalds were big supporters of BPC.</div>
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For those who do not know the story here, a brief rundown. The Stewarts (or Stuarts, spelling varies) were the hereditary kings of Scotland. Sort of. In fact calling them Stewarts is a bit problematic as they came down through the distaff side via Mary Queen of the Desert. Sorry, Scots.</div>
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MQS was one of the most humped and abducted queens since Guinevere. She had been queen of France much more than of Scotland. She was the daughter of James V of Scotland but he died when she was 5 and a set of regents took over the throne. As they felt they could manage quite nicely without a woman cluttering up the place they shipped her off to France as a child bride for the future Francis II of France, himself a religious loony and not too stable. He croaked suddenly shortly after ascending the throne and so in 1661 she pootled back to Scotland, landing in Leith.</div>
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She was about as welcome as a fart in a space suit, as the regents had no intention of giving up the throne. She married her cousin (what is it about British royalty and cousin-fancying?) Darnley and settled down to unhappy marriage. Darnley knocked her up (it is debatable as to wether the highly religious Francis ever consummated the marriage) and she gave birth to James VI/I. Her husband then gets murdered by Bothwell, a regent lord, who kidnaps her, takes her baby away to be reared Scottish and basically rapes her. In an early version of Stockholm Syndrome she actually settles down with Bothwell. Anyway in true Stewart manner she buggers up her rule magnificently, pisses everyone off and flees to England. Elizabeth is on the throne, childless, and Mary thinks she is the heir. She first asks for shelter then leads a rebellion. Anyone with an idea of Elizabeths temper will know what happens next....Mary is banged up then executed. Now I want you to look for a pattern here...Stewart gets near throne, behaves spectacularly stupidly and ends up deported or dead or both.</div>
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Elizabeth does actually name James her heir, and he eventually inherits despite being a bandy legged dwarf and bisexual spendthrift. (One lord at the time, commenting on the state of James budget and also his bedroom habits asked "how may we know the level of the barrel when the money disappears through diverse cocks" cocks meaning spigot (hence the other meaning) and also what it does now)</div>
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James survives Bonfire Night without too much bother though he does have a thing about witches, writing a book about them. He also hated tobacco and Walter Raleigh. So for a Stewart frittering the budget on rent boys and writing books on demons is a pretty successful reign. he didnt get up to much else. His son, Charles, was the second stupidest king England ever had. He caused a civil war by trying to assert absolute monarchy (a belief that came from France via MQC. England had never had an absolute monarch, even the Tudors had to keep the parliament onside). Well actually he set off about 4 of them one after the other. every time he made peace and signed a treaty he escaped and started it all again. In the end Cromwell, above all a practical man, decided enough was enough and cut his head off. When Charles II eventually got the throne he looked at the previous 2 generations, decided Grandad had it right and shagged his way through his reign with little else of note except the fire of London. Then there was James II. the stupidest one ever. Again with the absolutism, using the Royal prerogative to overrule parliament. Tried to reinstall Catholicism, which by this time was a no-hoper. Eventually his Lords got so pissed off they mounted a rebellion and removed him. The army of William off Orange had both James daughters in it. James tried to run away from the fight twice, had a nosebleed and buggered off to France. nobody missed him. We then go through Mary and Anne, James daughters and both die childless. The English do not want another Stuart at any price so they invite a cousin, George, over from hanover....and the Haggis hits the fan. The Scots, who hadn't 'really had to put up with the full idiocy of the Stuarts, felt nostalgic for them and wanted em back. There was an abortive rising in 1715 which was put down and caused the founding of the Scottish road network and Fort William, and then there was BPC. He was raised in France and had a total Monty Python French accent. He was about as Scottish as the Queen of Englands tits but there you go. He raised his standard at Glenfinnan. The clans rose ( sort of. a fair number couldnt be arsed or had a note from their mother). He marches south and gets as far as Derby, putting the shits up George II (himself a fair soldier who was the last English king to lead troops in battle and would later die of a tricky bowel movement)...and then BPC gets the wind up, walks home, leads his army into a trap at Culloden, runs away, has it off with Flora MacDonald and goes into exile for good.</div>
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So the monument is to the congenital idiocy of the Stuarts or something. Anyway it is pretty.</div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">Monument visible in middle picture between tree clumps.</span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">Anyway that exhausts the sights of glenfinnan. Hotel dinner. </span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">Next day dawns. I arrange passage to Mallaig on the train the following day to Mallaig, hoping to get the ferry to Inverie and pick up the trail from there if the knee gets better. I spend a lot of the day catching up on contacts as I can get signal here and wifi in the Hotel. One of the editors of Science has sent an email begging for a review we started a while ago to get finished. It is delayed because my former boss couldnt be arsed so after an exchange of emails I take it over and undertake to finish it. Unfortunately this contact with the outer world triggers wife related nightmares and I have a very very rough night.</span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">Anyway Genfinnan is well worth a half hour stop.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08498615297107040479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799640019024118827.post-1618201890799437812015-11-06T03:33:00.001-08:002015-11-06T03:33:32.939-08:00Watch it bring you to your Knees, knees I wanna watch you bleed16/09/2015<br />
<b>Cona Glen to Glenfinnan</b><br />
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Despite tramadol and paracetamol and a good tug on the whisky, and the fact that it runs out a waterproof membrane spread on a swamp is like a memoryfoam mattress, the knee was total agony all night. Any sideways pressure gave pain and I have to sleep on my side...so no sleep.<br />
Again the sound of rain woke me, except it was the continued efforts of the local wildlife to take a bite of Inky. Those midges are persistent. I reapplied a support bandage to my knee, cursing the lack of a splint or brace, and started boiling water for breakfast.<br />
Of course it is far too dangerous to use a stove in a tent, so the stove had to be outside. Here is how it goes...<br />
Undo mesh enough to stick arms out. Set up stove at extreme reach. Brush ticks off arm.<br />
Pour water into saucepan, slam on lid. Push arms and pan out again. Light stove, put pan on, pull arms in brushing off midges. Close net. Kill all midges that have made it inside.<br />
Wait.<br />
Feel tickling, then pain. Remove ked from scrotum and terminate with extreme prejudice. begin to think that Rachel Carson was a complete loony.<br />
When water boils reach out and get pan. repeat procedure. This time ked heading for back of neck, Terminate with hot pan.<br />
Pour water into dehydrated meal then make tea in pan.<br />
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...bit of a rigmarole, and of course in the back of your mind you know sooner or latter you have to go out and join the Midge Horde. The dehydrated meal today was Rice Pudding from Mountain House. Personally I would have thought that one of the easier ones to get right but it was utterly vile. Oversweet and the rice really resisted rehydration. The midge garnish didn't help.<br />
After a strengthening cup of midge and tea I packed up the tent. The knee was deceptive...for 5-10 mins after rest I could use it if I was very careful about my gait. Thereafter it was a screaming ball of agony. Left lateral collateral ligament I suspect. I set off supporting that knee with two sticks. of course that meant the other leg took the full weight and the right hip was not amused, but in a background grumbly way. The weather continued lovely, blue sky, sun and fleecy clouds. just enough breeze stirred up to inhibit our Insectile Overlords. And the views were lovely. The track winding up the glen, the waterfalls, the fucking mountain...<br />
You may wonder, injured as I was, why I did not go back. Simple answer was that it was 2 days hike to civilisation back, one day forwards, with luck. I ha seen nobody on the glen trail so sitting and waiting for help while the knee stiffened was a no go, and no phone signal at all. Essentially it was walk on or face slow exsanguination by midge. You know how they tell you solo hiking is dangerous? This is why.<br />
Oddly, well oddly if you are neurotypical, I was not upset at all. Well I was irritated with whicheever tit designed the human knee, but the situation was fine. because it was just a problem. Look, evaluate, assign priorities. LEAP methodology is an Aspie go to. Spock was scampering around wagging his tail. The problem was this...<br />
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Not an encouraging path, despite the lovely bits of low cloud swirling down the glen. But onward it was. I knew I had to cross a 350m saddle at the end and that the path degraded somewhat. So on I went.<br />
Normally walking has a rhythm. Any hiker will tell you you fall into your natural cadence and it eats the miles. Well here I was with no rhythm to speak of due to the improvised crutches. To improve things further one of the parachutes, designed to stop the walking poles sinking into bog or snow, had been sucked off (lucky thing) by Camp BogMidge. I didn't notice till later. Also after 5-10 mins the knee would build into a ball of agony and I would have to find a boulder or a sheep to sit on to rest it before starting again. I was sweating like two pigs in a sauna, nasty shock-sweat. So I was getting through my water pretty fast. This continued to the head of the main track which ended in a sheep fold. What my problem now was was this...<br />
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I had to get over that ridge, down the other side and then 5 km to Glenfinnan and aid.<br />
There was a path, don't get me wrong. I wish I had had energy enough to take photos of the ascent. The actual 350m ascent would not have bothered me at all if I was well. But at this point even after rest I could not put my foot to the ground. A 350m vertical hop is no joke. But even if well the state of the path was something I would gripe about. We had had at least a week of dry weather but the path was basically a stream. There were butterwort and sundew, plants of peat bogs and pond margins, actually growing in the path. <br />
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<img src="http://jncc.defra.gov.uk/images/sundew_v_Variation_1.jpg" /></div>
You sank in a couple of inches whenever you couldnt find a rock to step on. And it was one hiker wide so pole hopping was tricky. I had to look where to place every pole.<br />
Add to that I was out of water apart from a tiny slurp and dehydrating. The water on the path was so peaty even my filter would not clear it and so I was desperately looking for a clear spring or stream. That ascent is a memory of pain, sweating, shivering and cold. it was a hot day but I was getting shockier by the minute. But I knew that the only way was up, baby. So it was hop step hop step rest repeat...<br />
eventually, within 50m of the saddle I found a spring. And I made hot sweet tea. Much hot sweet tea.<br />
I know that you should not do this. Experts tell you never to give hot sweet tea to someone going into shock. Frankly experts can snort my sweaty, 3 day hiking taint. Hot sweet heaven, helping down 2 fruesli bars because my blood sugar was getting very low and I knew this was the dangerous bit. Packing away the tea things I made off. Long John Inky.<br />
Reaching the saddle was soooo good. But then...like many saddles this was a watershed, and this one swampier than many I have seen. The path down to glenfinnan sloped gently here but it was as good a specimen of upland peat bog as I have ever seen, and I have been pulled out of a few. On another day the stratification of the peat, the standing water with its limited wildlife, the multitude of moss species and acid loving plants would have fascinated me. Today I was mainly focussing on the fact that I had one leg and one pole, as the other one sank 2 feet at every attempt to put it down.<br />
This really was where I became adept at using sphagnum moss species to help me place my feet. At Camp Bog Midge I had cheated and used the fact that heather is not a bog plant to help me find relative ground. here there was no heather, and no tussock grass which elsewhere I would use.<br />
This is the sort of thing....<br />
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Now you see the red patches? those are your friend. Honestly. That moss, Sphagnum capillifolium, the acute leaved bog moss looks like this close up:</div>
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It prefers drier feet. Given an option, tread on that. Need I tell you the trial and error involved in that information? Anyway after the ascent having to cross the Dead Marshes was not fun. at least they were cut by streams with clear water so I didnt run low again. But by this time it was 2.30pm.</div>
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I had lunch because I was running on empty again. Then I started on down once more.</div>
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After the Dead Marshes the path began to slope more quickly and to improve, though it was badly eroded in places. Here I began to meet mountain bikers who were walking up in order to ride down. I suspect these people are more than a little deranged.</div>
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getting down to the glen bottom took me 4 hours, and the light was starting to fade. The path on the valley floor seemed a hell of a lot longer than billed but eventually I made it to the monument, and its visitor centre. Which was closed. And I found out that Glenfinnan village is 50m up the valley side .</div>
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I actually passed out from pain twice hopping up that road, each time as I sat for a rest. In the end I got to the station which was billed as having a bunkhouse, only to find a sign saying bunkhouse full.</div>
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I hopped down the road to the hotel...also full. But the lady said to knock for John at the station and ask as sometimes he could help.</div>
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John, bless him, runs the station museum and bunkhouse. He is one of those guys with no personality but a heart of pure gold, He saw the state of me (covered in mud to the waist, bandage and splint made of two sticks on the knee, white, pale, sweating, grazed forehead from passing out on the road) and said he could put me in the volunteers quarters for a couple of days, unless I preferred to be taken to A and E. I knew that A and E would involve long discussions about Ehlers Danlos and a lot of aggro, only to be prescribed rest and painkillers, which I had. So I gratefully payed him for the volunteers quarters. I got in, stowed my stuff, undressed, rinsed the socks and put everything to dry on the radiators (RADIATORS!!!!) and had a hot shower in actual hot water which was hot and watery. All I needed was a couple of Ben Cohens and all would be right with the world. the volunteers quarters, by the way were here:</div>
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Yes gentle reader, I was showering in a snow plough.</div>
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After making tea I assessed my needs. My food supplies were low and I knew that the hotel had a resto...so instead of allowing myself sleep I hopped across and ate the Fish and Chips of the Gods.</div>
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I may also have had a beer or two.</div>
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Then hopped home to the plough, crawled into bed, washed tramadol down with whisky and slept the sleep of the just-been-rescued-from-shocky-death-by-a-trainspotter.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08498615297107040479noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799640019024118827.post-67670853582717751072015-10-27T11:28:00.001-07:002015-10-27T11:28:23.586-07:00I'm living in a powder keg and throwing off sparks.. <p dir="ltr">.S So anyway life goes on . It seems we cannot stop it.<br>
this la st week has been a bugger by any Standard and I for onewant it to stop. Observnrt readers will know that Mrslnky Moved out on Saturday thereby putting an end to the horrid infighting. But as you in the real world know this means a lot of expense and a lot of emotion.<br>
To be honest I an not feeling this yetbecause there is so much to do. Spock is having a great time working out the logical place to put paprika and where George would look best. George has been iIl so l hope the change will do him good. God knows what will happen when I run out of jobs to do. <br>
Anyway that was the end of the week,  started with me at a conference and shaking like a leaf because Boss was there. In the end he literally ran from the room to avoid me. l was so upset by this it did not let  me enjoy  the rest of the conference. So then I got train and taxi home. Next day I was meant to be doing my Bike Theory test. No wallet.. No licence. Arg!<br>
The test people would not let me do it without so that Was money downthe drain. I have rebooked for the 12th. <br>
So then 1 start cancelling cards. When the taxi driver turns up with my wallet.<br>
Big sigh of relief.<br>
then I had food poisoning for a 2 day vomit fest.<br>
Anyway the process of moving Mrslnky out has been trying on many levels. Only now does she realise the cost of this process. What I and she had lost.<br>
So roll o<u>n</u> surgery</p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08498615297107040479noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799640019024118827.post-66034572215476888712015-10-16T11:26:00.000-07:002015-10-16T11:26:37.032-07:00Leaves are brown, and the sky...It has been a bad few days.<br />
Last week I had a meeting with my IDT where we agreed that there was nothing they could do but play with the meds. The shrrink was also a bit blunt about the fact that my Aspergers is not remediable. Or almost certainly not.<br />
The shrink and I then plotted what our next move would be , med-wise, which looks like thyroxine. So he asked for a thyroid test. I was going to the GP anyway because of my knee so added in a flu jab, an alteration to the med scheds and asked for a thyroid test. GP pointed out my thyroid function was being tested regularly, i had been boringly normal for 3 years and that had the shrink logged in properly he could see that.<br />
So ho hum.<br />
Anyway the reason for the search is that I am not stable. I hesitate to say i am bipolar. I think I am unipolar but brittle. The Bupropion has helped a bit at higher dose, i think. But I am getting lots of panic and depression at very short notice. Walking down a street the other day I was fine at the top, shaking and crying at the bottom. The shaking thing is an issue. I am getting marked tremor that comes on at times. I mentioned this to the shrink and he kindly suggested that as I had been having a gin and tonc at night as a hypnotic it was probably the D.T.s.<br />
Cunt.<br />
So I did a dry week, absolutely no difference except the normal, which is that sleep without hypnotics gives me nightmares. All night.<br />
So a week of early waking for naught, although I did find out what the shakes were. They are an exaggerated form of fatigue tremor. They come on after I have used muscles for a bit. I think this may be a bupropion side effect.<br />
Mrsinky has found a house to move to. Given that we had a blazing row, largely because my low mood coincided with her being cross, but my mood went so low I do not know how I stayed alive. Rang the emergency line for the first time in ages.<br />
well we got through, and now she is moving out. this makes me very sad because i love her, but also relieved because we were making each other ill.<br />
well it had to happen.<br />
On the plus side I have managed to gym a couple of times. I started on some leg exercises and got back into doing deadlifts. I now remember why all the men I Know who are into deadlifts have such wonderful taut arses. God it works your glutes.<br />
I also have done more bike lessons and continue to improve. I still need practice but its better. Today went out in the rain and got the coldest bollocks I have ever had. Jesus. Took me ages to thaw them out. Must get better protective clothing.<br />
I am still stuck with the untreatable Aspergers thing. I went on a couple of dates that were so bad people bailed early. Was such a blow. I know I am Asperging them but cannot help it.<br />
Arg.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08498615297107040479noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799640019024118827.post-82082473227788929292015-10-16T10:38:00.002-07:002015-10-16T10:38:51.648-07:00Exodus 10:14<h2>
Cona Glen</h2>
<h4>
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><i>15/09/2015</i></span></h4>
<br />
I woke to the sound of gentle rain at 8am. Well ok to recount how the night went, after having a cup of Swiss tea (In Switzerland I found it hard to keep fresh milk at my digs- I never used enough and so it was always either accumulating or going off. So I got used, in extremis, to making a strong pot of tea then squeezing in condensed milk from a tube. This makes a good cup of builders tea. They have started doing these tubes in the UK so I took some along-invaluable.) with midge croutons, and settling down to read my kindle (I reasoned its low battery usage would make it last- I was right. Kindle Paperwhite FTW) and to have a few hits on the half bottle of scotch in my pack. That extra weight was worth every drop. Soon sleepy due to hard work and the distillers art I settled down properly to sleep. Sadly the designers of "mummy"type sleeping bags have a very strange idea of anatomy. Eventually managed to get everything in the bag but it was a struggle.<br />
So I slept, fairly well, with my clothing drysack and inflatopillow under my head. The groundsheet was resting on a layer of sphagnum moss which was an excellent mattress.<br />
I actually first woke at 4am with a bulging bladder and went outside for a slash. After gifting a tree with nitrogen I then went back for another 4 hrs. <br />
Incidentally those with Ehlers Danlos will know that 4 hrs sleep is essentially 2 lots of 2 hrs at best as you have to wake up to put your shoulder back in it's socket every couple of hours.<br />
But 8 am I woke, as I say, to the sound of rain. Except it wasn't was it? It was the midges hitting the tent in their insane bloodlust. I had to DEET up and net up before I even cracked the door to get the water boiling. The strainer built in to the saucepan came in usefull to get the midges mainly out of the tea. I also made one of the Mountain House dehydrated meals- raspberry oatmeal. Surprisingly yummy.<br />
Packing up took me far longer than it should. Partly because i hadn't practiced it and also because of the beauty of where I was. So there I was wasting half the day again.<br />
Anyway I started out on the road again, to get a light shower, but it soon passed and back came the sun.<br />
My pace was pretty good, despite the pack shifting a bit due to changed weight distribution. However I developed a blister on the ball of my big toe and stopped to treat with Compeed. I cracked on to an Estate bothy at Corrlarach which was locked but had a hard stand outside I used to boil up lunch, another dehydrated meal this time Sweet and Sour Chicken. This was surprisingly good. I know, I also was surprised.<br />
The Cona brook has many, many waterfalls along it. I urge you to go and see. be carefull of the enormous Highland cattle though. the bulls definitely give you evils.<br />
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That is typical Cona Glen scenery. Wild, waterfally and free. The loneliness...well actually I was not lonely. and for the first time in a long time the horrible roar of every one elses emotions was not there.<br />
About 8 km in to the walk, on a fairly flat bit of track, my left knee gave way. I couldn't straighten it, I couldn't bend it. I used my stick to hop to a boulder and sat for 5 mins rubbing it. Got up, seemed ok. Then after 15 yards it went again.<br />
Clearly not good. I was so far up the glen that the nearest help was over the pass at the end. But there was no way I was doing that tonight.So I started to look for a campsite.<br />
Of course at this point Cona Glen consists of one giant Sphagnum bog. everything was sodden. In the end i found a small hill on top of which red sphagnum was growing. Red Sphagnum grows on soil not slush, so it was the best I was going to do. I pitched my tent and then hopped down to the river for water.<br />
The groundsheet kept me dry but you could feel water oozing out when you lay on it.<br />
This time the wind was up enough to keep the midges off so I used my dry ingredients to cook a morrocan soup/stew and a damper with fruit and suet. I only had chopsticks and a fork to turn it but it was yummy.<br />
I necked some tramadol and helped it along with some whisky. this soon had me soothed to sleep.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08498615297107040479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5799640019024118827.post-18804372683146549862015-10-14T07:25:00.001-07:002015-10-14T07:25:20.926-07:00It may be time we talked about this<p dir="ltr">As you may be aware I have Aspergers, or at least that is my preliminary diagnosis. There is a lot written about Aspergers and I am not about to rehash it here. But there is something that is often overlooked. <br>
This is mostly about adults with Aspergers, particularly those who were not diagnosed as children, a situation that often comes with depression as a comorbidity .<br>
Half of us, this grouping, will struggle with suicidal thoughts.<br>
Nearly a third will attempt suicide. <br>
A third.<br>
That is ten times the rate in Neurotypical adults. To put it in perspective that is the same kill rate as the Black Death. <br>
Why?<br>
You cannot come up with a single answer that fits everyone. But I suspect it is the normal Aspie tension. We cannot tolerate social interaction but we are desperately lonely. It's like being a drug addict allergic to drugs.<br>
I have no answer as to what to do. I have had a week where my PSW and I parted company as we both agreed he could not help me, and my psychiatrist said much the same. I just have to live with it, apparently. It is up to others to adjust to me, apparently. <br>
Yep. That works.</p>
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