Hippy Shit.

Welcome to another thrilling instalment of Martin’s arthritis diaries.  Well it’s been an illuminating week, a visit to the hospital has brought news which I was not expecting, I require a new hip, apparently one of the two that I came with is what is colloquially known in the trade as totally fuc*ed. Also an operation on … More Hippy Shit.

Starling

Tuesday morning eight a.m. & I creak the twenty steps to the bathroom for morning ablutions, my stick aids my faltering steps, knees and ankles remind me if I needed the prompt that my rheumatoid arthritis didn’t disappear by magic overnight. Business completed I open the skylight and poke my head out of the window, … More Starling

Plan B Thursday.

The days and the months are racing by and though I feel their passing my arthritis has this habit of subsuming any notion of time turning day after day into a Groundhog Day kind of repetition. My daily task more often than not just trying to cope with the pain in my joints and get … More Plan B Thursday.

M.A.D.

I wake on Friday morning at five something, tune in to the BBC World service for the news, there’s something in my head that makes me feel just a little connected to the World I’m in if I listen to it without actually being out there and involved. Unfortunately there have been kidnappings in Nigeria, … More M.A.D.

Satnite

Saturday night London, what will it hold this City of more than seven million souls on this first evening of reimposed lockdown?  Taxi’s here shouts Sam, I am the last out of the house & into the taxi,  it’s a nine mile journey from a North London house into Town, we are all in masks … More Satnite

Love Locks

The first time I remember seeing padlocks on a bridge was in Paris, on the Pont Des Arts, which straddles the Seine close by Notre Dame. When I got there I was amazed, this bridge was covered in thousands and thousands of padlocks. … More Love Locks

F is for Friday

As one of my favourite F words* Friday has to be up there in the top ten, this no doubt stems from the idea of it being the end of the working week – the point at which one relaxes after five days of labouring away, though of course I’ve not worked a proper week … More F is for Friday

Magical Rain

And then comes rain says Elisa, magical rain.  As I read her post on FB and look at the picture that accompanies it I can’t help speaking out loud:  Try London in February, you’d not be thinking magical at fucking all, there’s buckets of the bloody stuff teeming down day after day, there’s no magic … More Magical Rain