Quite an interesting experience

I was woken by the alarm on my phone at a quarter to six and knew The day had finally arrived. It had taken months of trips to the opticians, the ophthalmic department in our local hospital and a bunch of letters to get this far.  For some time my optician had told me that I had cataracts forming in both eyes and sometime soon I would need something done about them. Whilst I know the procedure is straightforward and routine nowadays, I was still a little anxious.

I have always suffered from poor eyesight which remained undiscovered until the age of fourteen when I did not recognise my mother when she came to visit the headmaster to find out why my school work was so bad. The reason it was so bad was that I could not read the blackboard and so never really knew what was going on half the time. In those days, at my school, you did not draw attention to yourself deliberately and so, not knowing what was needed of me during most lessons, I just drifted and got a reputation for being stupid and lazy. In fact I am not particularly stupid and since leaving school have got to grips with many subjects that would have totally baffled my old teachers. Nowadays I would have been classed as having learning difficulties and I do have learning difficulties. I find the calculus behind Quantum Electro Dynamics very hard to follow and I have made very little progress in that field. However, I have made some progress in Einsteinian physics, so it is not all bad.
Anyway I digress, back to my eyes.
I was not exactly looking forward to yesterday having suffered badly in hospitals in the past.  Knowing it is going to be a walk in the park was purely academic, so trying to convince my subconscious mind that this time they will not leave me in pain for eighteen very long hours, or nearly kill me with an overdose of aesthetic, was not easy. I tried not to worry and it was in the end a walk in the park and over and done with relatively quickly, arriving at 7:30 and leaving at 11:15 with about twenty minutes actually in the operating theatre.
I was prepped by a talkative nurse who seemed to be frustrated by various minor problems she was coping with. All very familiar grumbling, like being back at work. I then had to wait in the waiting room and TBH (The Better Half) stopped with me for the next hour and a half until I was called in again for a quick eye test and a felt tip pen cross was written over the eye to be operated on. I was then taken through an area of the hospital which was only accessed by what in MOD terms would be an escorted pass. In an even smaller waiting room were four other people with Xs over one eye. It was like being in some exclusive little club and soon we were chatting and speculating on who was next in line. Three more people arrived after me and then the first man was taken away to be processed. Part of the early preparation was to have a small piece of lint or gauze placed in the eye under one eyelid, which was removed just before going into the operating rooms. You then had to have some blue overshoes of the kind you see in crime dramas, when the police enter a crime scene, and a hair cover. Other than that, there was no need to wear one of those embarrassing hospital gowns that invariably do not have all the tie cords still in place so that they gape open exposing your naked backside as you walk to your treatment room. Once kitted out in blue overshoes and hair net, I was told to lie on a gurney and the anaesthetist set to work. More drops and then a brace to hold the eyelids open, since my blink reflex was too strong for their liking. This put me in mind of the latter scenes in the film A Clockwork Orange, where the anti-hero is being indoctrinated by repeated films and his eyes are held open in much the same way, so that he must keep watching. The anaesthetist’s team were very nice and had an excellent bedside manner, showing real concern for me and making sure I was comfortable. They talked me through each procedure and then wheeled me into the theatre where the surgeon took over. She was, I was told, very experienced, having been doing this operation for about twenty-five years. She was very efficient and was teaching a junior surgeon whilst working on my eye. They discussed what was taking place in terms I could not always follow, since they were talking about bits of the eye I had never heard of. In contrast to the anaesthetists, the surgeon after telling me to tuck my chin in a few degrees more than I could actually manage never spoke to me again. Whilst the electrodes had been stuck onto my wrists and a heart monitor clipped to my finger, I was given a large rubber frog to hold during the operation. I told that if I needed to sneeze or move for any reason I was to squeak the rubber frog. I am not sure why simply saying I need to sneeze would not have been as effective, but there I was clutching a frog and trying to remain as still as possible whilst someone poked things into my, by now, quite numb eye. In order to see what she was doing, the surgeon had a very bright light shining into my eye and all I could see was a blaze of white light. This kept changing as various parts of the process took place and I experienced a number of different patterns. It was all quite psychedelic, if rather monochromatic like something out of a 70s disco. Soon it was complete and a transparent plastic eye patch was taped onto my face and I was allowed to sit up and be seated in a wheelchair.
I was then wheeled out of the theatre by the smallest of the nurses present. Something I felt was rather unfair, since there were several in the room, much heftier and stronger looking than her. She had a some difficulty getting my great weight through the swing doors, so I offered to get off and walk, something I was quite capable of, but she would not let me and struggled me back into the small waiting room where I was left to be fetched by another nurse. TBH meanwhile had been reading a newspaper and drinking coffee downstairs in the café. The nurse had her mobile number and was surprised to find TBH still on the premises. It was expected that the ‘responsible adult’ that was to deliver you home would have to be called back since it was a long wait. In fact it would have been a very long wait if she had gone home, because as we left, we could see that the car parks were all full and cars and busses were queueing right down the road outside and onto the dual carriageway.

Cars queeuing on the dual carriageway

Our new hospital was hailed by the local council as a wonderful scheme when it was built a few years ago. It would specialise in day surgery as much as possible, thereby needing fewer beds. It was placed out of town close to the M4 motorway and on a bus route so that it could be easily accessed by public transport. Because, in the eyes of the planners, most people would get there by bus, the car parking space was kept to a minimum. Up until that time, our town had had three NHS hospitals and a private hospital, where all the BUPA members could go. The Princess Margaret hospital was actually larger than our new one and there was a Military hospital not too far away that was almost as large. When the number one son got appendicitis, he was admitted to the military hospital because neither of the other two were able to take him. That was over twenty five years ago and since then three major developments of over six thousand houses have been built and new building is going on all the time. For some unexpected reason, our single new hospital cannot cope. Unexpected, that is, to the short sighted planners. They have since added several new wards and extended the carpark, but the problem is still with us since all these changes to the hospital are going ahead slower than the town is expanding. The net result is that if TBH had gone home, then I would have been waiting for hours and TBH would have been sitting in a traffic jam for a similar amount of time. So she stayed put, at least she could read a paper and drink coffee.

So finally I was out with an eyepatch and a goody bag with eye drops and instructions on what to do for the next two weeks whilst my eye adapts to its new clear plastic lens and recovers from having things make holes in it. Today I am walking around with my glass on. Not glasses, glass singular because I am using a pair of spectacles with the left lens taken out. My left eye has been corrected and it is no longer short sighted. I will have a lot difficulty with this, since all my adult life I have only to remove my glasses to get good close up vision, something very useful when dealing with miniature electronic components, which I have done for most of my working life. Now I will have to wear reading glasses for close vison and I am not entirely sure I like this idea, it will take some getting used to.

Still, definitely an interesting experience and a lot better than my previous visits to hospitals.

A rather scary thought.

When I was a child, one hundred year ago was an eternity. Another age beyond imagination.  Anything that far back was ancient history. Life was primitive and none of the gadgets and things I took for granted were yet dreamed of. But recently, I had a very disturbing thought. One hundred years ago, my parents were children! Suddenly one hundred years does not seem quite so long ago. Funny how your perspective changes as you age.

Spring, or is it?

This winter has been one of the warmest on record, but now it is officially spring the weather has become wintery and we are having frost and snow in some parts of Great Britain.

The earlier warm winter has confused the plants in the garden, with several kinds that usually turn up one after another are all in bloom at once. In fact, our daffodils which are usually around in March were in bloom with the snowdrops in February with the crocuses arriving after the daffodils, instead of before.

Only the Bluebells (top of the picture) have not yet come into flower, but they are well advanced and will not be far behind. 

Well I never!

I have just discovered that Sony stopped manufacturing Betamax tapes only last year! This came as a big surprise because, like most people I had believed that Betamax, like the dodo, had long gone extinct. During the 80s, there was a big war between VHS and Betamax and despite being an inferior system, VHS won.

This was largely due to the fact that the major TV and video rental firms struck a deal with JVC to supply their recorders and JVC used VHS format. It is not common knowledge, but despite Betamax losing the domestic market war, for all the years the VHS recorder was recording everyone’s TV programmes at home, the majority of TV broadcast video was played on a system known as Betacam.  The professional form of Betamax.  Very similar to Betamax, this was the standard for professional quality TV recording until SD digital video came along. No professional ever used VHS because it was not very good and thankfully long gone. Betamax on the other hand, it seems, lasted 41 years!

Sclupture

What do you do with all the bits left over after you have stripped down a number of dud hard disks to get the magnets out of them? Make a sculpture of course.

This is made from three read write head arms and a set of the ball races they swivel on.  The engineering inside these machines is really something and seems a waste to just chuck it when the drive has failed. 
The magnets are very powerful and you find two in each hard drive. 

Two magnets removed from the disk drive

 

They make good tool holders in a metal cabinet or glued onto a wooden one.  They will hold quite heavy tools in place.
They are useful for a number of other things.  Glued to a  stick, you can get that dropped screw out from under the cupboard where it rolled.  Also young grandchildren find them fun things to have.  However, they are very strong and you need to make sure your skin does not get caught between two magnets or you could get a blood blister. They are quite fragile, being a ceramic/ferrite material and they snap easily but then you have two smaller magnets.

The Haunting of Willow Lodge

A true story
Long long ago when the world was yet young and you had to think in terms of pounds shillings and pence and have enough points* to go shopping, when I was still at school, my parents owned and ran a small garage in a village not too far from London. They made a living of sorts, repairing cars and selling the odd second hand car. The garage was on a plot of land which had a large workshop used as the garage, a forge my uncle ran as the local blacksmith and a small house which, two hundred years or so before, had been a pub. The house was called Willow Lodge and was in a serious state of decay when we acquired it and before we could move in, the local council ruled that it was not fit for human habitation so it had to be demolished and rebuilt.

The back of the original Willow Lodge

Quite the opposite of how ancient houses are dealt with now, but that was long ago in a different age, when rationing was still around and everyone had to carry identity cards.
* Points or coupons were issued in rationing books and you tore out the right number when shopping for food. Everything had a price and how many points it took from your ration book. Once you ran out of points, you starved, so people were very sparing when using them.

The old house was duly demolished, plans were drawn up for its replacement, and work started on the new house. After a year of living in temporary accommodation, namely a caravan behind the garage workshop, my sister, mum, dad and me all moved in. It was great, all new and smelling of fresh paint and new plaster and for the first time I had a bedroom of my own.

The new House

We had not been there long before we started to notice odd noises and occasionally doors would open by themselves. My father jokingly suggested that the place was haunted by the old pub staff and we soon got used to the idea of Nellie the barmaid roaming around the house, whilst knowing in our rational minds, it was just our new house settling into its foundations. We lived with Nellie for a couple of years when it started to become a bit more scary.
One night, we were all woken by the most blood curdling scream you have ever heard and I discovered what they meant by the phrase ‘hair raising fear’, it was that kind of scream.  Both my sister and I ran from our bedrooms into our parents' bedroom where mum and dad were also looking rather disturbed.  My poor father was persuaded to go and investigate and he went down stairs armed with a poker, something every household had before central heating, and nervously searched the ground floor for signs of bloody murder.
After a tour of the whole house, he returned upstairs to report nothing unusual where I and my sister spent the rest of the night in our parents' bedroom and eventually got some fitful sleep.

Discussing it over the next few days, my sister suggested it was a vengeful ghost who not only resented us destroying the old Willow Lodge, but my parents had renamed the new house The Willows to add insult to injury and I half believed it could be true.
Incidentally, my parents never altered the deeds when the house was rebuilt and so after we moved away from there, the name has reverted to Willow Lodge and has remained the official name.

Several weeks went by without any signs or sounds of a vengeful ghost, other than the occasional creak or door opening, and we more or less forgot about it. Forgot about it until it happened again.

Once again we were all woken from our sleep by the most horrible sound you could imagine, a long drawn out gurgling scream and once more, white faced and apprehensive, we gathered in our parents' bedroom, smoothing down our upstanding hair.  Poor dad again had to scour the house for headless corpses or whatever. Again he found nothing, no corpses, ghostly apparitions, ectoplasm or even a mysterious splash of blood, so once more we tried to forget and went about our lives as normal. After all, there are only so many nights you can spend hiding under the covers hoping it will not get you before morning and pretty soon you forget.

Several months went by before a recurrence of the sound.

In our new, but seemingly haunted house, the kitchen was large enough for a table to be in the centre of the room and we usually ate there rather than in the slightly grander dining room, which was left for when we had family over, or were entertaining. One evening, we were all sat around the kitchen table eating our evening meal, when the scream happened again, but this time it was here in the room with us all. Electrified by the awful sound, the rest of my family took a few seconds to notice that I was laughing.

A while before we had needed to live in the caravan, our old faithful dog Pip had died and, as parents have done throughout history, told us children we were never never going to have another dog. This was fortunate, as it turned out, because when the house was condemned and the family had to be crammed into a caravan whilst our new house was being built, looking after a dog would have been an unwanted complication.

Soon after we moved into the house, some friends turned up with the most unfairly attractive puppy. They were people who bred thoroughbreds where this litter was an accident, a cross between a beagle and a King Charles spaniel, and they looked adorable. Net result was we suddenly had a small dog, who became my constant companion when I was home from school.
The breeders had named the puppy Polyanthus, since they were in the habit of naming thoroughbreds with complicated names. This litter were all named after flowers and they had shortened this one’s name to Polly. Ignoring the fact that it was a he and despite Polly not being usual for a  male of any species, by the time we were given him, he already answered to his name.  So we were lumbered with a male dog named Polly.

After a few days, someone sang polly wally doodle part of the old song and hearing this, it was suggested we call him Wally since it rhymed with Polly. He did not seem to be able to tell the difference between Polly and Wally and so the new name stuck and he was henceforth known as Wally.

On the evening of the terrible scream in the kitchen, my chair happened to face Wally’s bed and he was obviously bored with waiting for his turn at some food and was yawning very noisily. He had stretched, and opening his mouth wide, throwing his head back he was making a horrible gurgling high pitched sound as he yawned. It was the sound that had woken us up and terrified us for several months and it was just a noisy yawn. We had never heard a dog make such a blood curdling noise, so we had missed the obvious cause. Funnily enough, I do not recall him ever doing it again after that.

2016 already and no Buck Rodgers suit or personal helicopter yet

Time sure does gallop by these days and last year was something of a fast forward.   It has been a great year, particularly for an astronomy Geek, with lots of events.  Marred only slightly by a recurrence of the dreaded kidney stone and the news that I am diabetic and must stop eating nice things.  Despite these setbacks it has whizzed by at a rate of knots which seem to be accelerating with each passing year.
So here are some of the highlights summarised.

In March there was a solar eclipse visible from our latitudes and we were able to watch the sun being covered by the moon's shadow.

In May we visited an owl sanctuary and got to hold owls

In June we explored South Dakota and visited the endless seeming badlands.  I am so glad we had good roads and a car rather than making this journey in a covered wagon as the early settlers must have done.

Whilst in SD we visited Mount Rushmore, ticking one more item off my bucket list

July was a busy month, the New Horizons spacecraft, after a nine year journey, made a successful flyby of Pluto changing our view from this -

- to this

..

Also in July we visited the Royal International Air Tattoo at Fairford

Finally in July, I part exchanged my old car for a VW, only to find out that VW had been cooking the books on diesel engines for a few years and you could not be sure anything they told you about your car until you had tried it out yourself - for a few hundred road miles.  It seems petrol engines were not innacurate and my car's stats seem to match the stated ones given by VW.

Whilst on the subject of dishonesty, each month, our food products reduce in size whilst keeping the same size packet.  They must think we are all stupid and will not notice.  Maybe a small price hike would be more honest than just ripping us off by small increments and keeping the price the same.  How long before we get an empty packet for our money?

In August we went to see my sister and nephew and whilst there visited Woodbridge

During 2015 the Dawn spacecraft, having left Vesta, moved into orbit around Ceres giving the best views of this dwarf planet ever obtained.

In November Paris was attacked and everyone went paranoid for a while.

 

 I am surprised that no one seemed to point out that these people are terrible cowards and outside their own territories never make any tactical attacks, but pick on unarmed civillians knowing they will not be in any danger until the police arrive.  Then rather than face the music for their callous actions, most often, they will commit suicide or force the police to shoot them and so avoid punishment.  The interesting thing about these attacks, something that has been with us since way, way back, is that it never works.  No one ever learns from history and so they keep turning up, Anarchists, the Baader-Meinhof Gang, the Free Welsh, the IRA and these latest people.  We are not cowed by their terrorist action, we have seen it all before and in fact become more determined not to accede to whatever demands they make.

In September we got up in the small hours to watch the moon turn red during a total eclipse.

Then just in time for Christmas no end of people were flooded out, reminding me of the time my house was flooded way back in 1977.  This is a photo I took that day. My house is just about where the lorry is.  Having suffered the awful problems of just a slight flood, my heart goes out to those peple still cleaning up or living in tempory accomodation whilst their uninhabitable home is slowly returned to normal.  I hope that the new year does not bring them further floods and they can get back to normal as soon as possible.

I

  

Soon it was Christmas and we were lucky enough not to be flooded out and had a good Christmas with the family.  Then seemingly suddenly it was 2016 and we were heading back home.

Not the best journey I have had.  The bulk of the journey was three hours of heavy rain on the motorway, fourtunately with no massive holdups, which was something of a miracle.  

So a happy New Year to everyone.