Prostate Cancer 2014, the prostatectomy

In 2013 I’d had it in my head that I would have been treated by the end of March. I suppose it’s a human trait to want to get these things over and done with.
I was now on Hormone Therapy, a horrible experience. But t did make me realise what females must go through with the menopause. Get the HRT ladies, the symptoms I had were terrible.
But the bungled CT scan appointment had derailed that. It was a two month wait for the next one.  And I don’t even now know why I had to have it.  As I understood, I needed to have a detailed scan to give the therapists targets to aim at with the Brachytherapy.  But of course that wasn’t going to happen. It was the knife.
And it looked like that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. Scan in March. Go see surgeon in late April. That seemed likely.
I was getting a bit fed up. I have a daughter in New Zealand whom I had been wanting to visit ever since I was diagnosed. I didn’t want her to worry.  But with all the appointments and changes I wasn’t able to book any dates.  So I decided that whatever happened I would go see her over the summer. So I was ruling myself out of surgery until September.
I have no regrets about that at all. I had the best time with my two daughters (I took my younger one with me for 5 weeks, stopping off in Singapore) and my elder was happy to see me looking well. The surgeon was happy too. He told me that I could delay surgery for a couple of years if necessary! 
I went into hospital on September 29th at 08:00. The hospital being in Edinburgh, and me being in Dalbeattie, and the NHS being happy to take me home but not take me to the hospital, I travelled the day before and stayed at a B&B that night. A pretty sleepless time it was too.
No mucking about.  I was prepared and went straight into theatre.
I was first that day. So at least I was pretty sure the knives would be sharp.

Prostate Cancer next instalment…

The memory of that first cystoscopy still remains with me.. Not just for the discomfort.
It came back to haunt me after I’d had the second biopsy that found the cancer.
Once they’d told me I had cancer I went through what I suppose most people do. What does it mean? What’s the prognosis? I got referred to Edinburgh for a consultation with the Consultant…If you get my drift
He seemed a bit keen on me seeing the surgeon, but I thought Brachytherapy was a better choice and we agreed on that. My only concern was having radio isotopes inside me for some time, and how this might impact on my daughter. I was assured it would be fine. But….  I needed a hernia repair, and the consultant told me that I had to have that done before the brachytherapy as they don’t allow the surgeons to be exposed to the isotopes… Yet it was no danger to me……
So I had a hernia repair. The surgeon was a young lass. When she interviewed me before the surgery she said “ Hello dear” [Dear. Dear me]. “Do you know what you’re in for today?” Me: “yeeeeessssss….. I’m having a hernia repair…..” She” That’s right dear.  That’s where your giblets have popped out and we’re going to pop them back in……” ME: “Really….. Giblets…..” She, for the first time looking at my face”":” Oh, a bit too patronising?  Sorry, It’s been a long day…” ME: “Well can you get me a surgeon who’s a bit fresher then please??????”
I didn’t get a fresher surgeon. But hernia done, I went back to the consultant to say, ‘hernia repaired, when can we go for the therapy???”
And that’s when the cystoscopy came back to haunt me. It turns out that procedure had revealed the presence of another “growth” and suddenly radio therapy was not looking a good option. Surgery was recommended…. How had no-one sussed this before? I was told they had a case review, and the surgeon had expressed concern.  I translated that as drumming up more business. Anyway, I was persuaded to have a radical prostatectomy and that would be scheduled after another CT scan, Scan duly arranged for 20th December 2013.
At Dumfries hospital. Scene of painful cystoscopy and patronising surgeon. So I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when I rocked up on the due date, to be met by the consultant who had a big apology for me.
Someone hadn’t booked the Scanner for me.
My hopes of getting all this sorted in 2013 were then dashed. It took two months to get the next scan date.
I’ll do 2014 next.

Prostate Cancer–my “journey” (I hate that expression)

The discovery that the original PSA test result hadn’t been followed up caused a flurry of activity.
But first a couple of other ironies. I’d just met a new friend who had to tell me they were suspected of cancer. As it turned out she was clear, and then I had to tell her I had cancer…
Because I was bored, I’d promised to do service on a lands End to John O’Groats charity bike ride. It was about a week before we set off that the lead cyclist said to me “It’s very strange how everyone seems to be succumbing to cancer or some other life-threatening thing.  She was a bit taken aback when I said “Well I’ve just been told I’ve joined the club..” But that was the best two weeks I had in 2013. I felt really connected with the fund-raising.
Anyway. I was scheduled for a biopsy, a cystoscopy, a bone scan and a CT scan. All new territory to me. The following is a tad out of order..
The bone scan was hilarious.  It was like a ‘50’s cartoon where the hero would walk behind a screen and the bones would appear.  Yes it took a bit longer in real life but I was in stitches. The nurses gave ne a huge row whilst holding back their own laughs! I asked if the radiation was potentially harmful to my young daughter and they said “no, but don’t spend too much time too close”….?????? I said “good as we’re off to Alton Towers soon”.  That caused some apoplexy, and I ended up leaving with a letter which basically said “If your alarms go off or your machinery is affected as this idiot passes by, he’s not a terrorist, he’s full of radio-isotopes.  Very comforting. As it happened we got stuck on top of the brand-new ride at Alton Towers for over an hour.  I never showed them the letter….
The first CT scan was of course a breeze.
The biopsy was unpleasant. The nurse who did it (who I know, and believe me it creates some social awkwardness when you meet someone who’s been poking about in your bum at the local cafe and pubs after) told me I “would not have cancer, no worries” And the first biopsy was clear.
The cystoscopy was appalling. The “doctor” was unpleasant and dis-respectful.  It was the most painful experience I had ever had. (When I complained later I was told “it just depends who does it”. I was not impressed. However it was the cystoscopy that threw up the complications.
But more of that next time….

Prostate cancer

I really should have started this topic a while ago. Probably in May 2011 when I got the results of my first PSA test. 7.2 (normal is 0-4).

That should have been a wake up call to the doctor, after all he rang me with the results. I had no idea that meant I likely had cancer – the only other person I knew who was having PSA tests was getting results in the 1,000’s.  I know a lot better now.

So nothing happened. Until 2013 when I was at the docs and said I was feeling that I might have some waterworks issues. The initial response was “well you’re depressed and so you worry about lots of things” “But”, said I, fortunately as it happened “I had a PSA test a while ago and it was elevated”
A somewhat pregnant pause. “What PSA test?” asked doc. “Couple of years ago”"….”  Frantic look at computer. “What???  This should have been followed up immediately!” The nurses got blamed.  I was just a tad shocked. But that kicked things off.
Another PSA test led to a biopsy, then another, then diagnosis of cancer, and this September 29th a radical prostatectomy.
Now the point of this initial insight is a warning.  They say that if any many lives long enough, he’ll get prostate cancer.  I don’t know if that’s an empirical fact or not.
What I do know is that I was ignorant.  I had no symptoms, and if I had never mentioned the  first PSA test, I would probably still have no idea that cancer was there.

In fairness a PSA test is probably one of the least reliable tests that exist. And the following procedures are so invasive as to be positively medieval. So checking is not a barrel load of laughs.

BUT…. Men, if you have any concerns, go get a PSA test, and know that anything over .4 (point 4) should be monitored.

I was advised to have surgery because of a complication I had. There are new and effective other treatments available.
I’ll post more on my “journey” later.

Rewind

The previous post is one I deleted some time ago.

I don’t know now why I did.

Trolls are trolls.  They have no guts to confront in person.

Normal service soon.

Police state --- ment

I’m not sure if this is something I should put on my CV… Maybe it’s a more common occurrence than I think. Have any of you ever had a visit from the Police to tell you you’d done nothing wrong?

I have.

Yesterday two Police people turned up at the house.  Here’s a bit of background.  Friday past I went to collect my daughter from her Granny. Granny totally ignored me and so to avoid making a scene in front of my daughter I texted Granny later to ask why she had ignored me. A couple of texts passed back and forth.

So the Police rock up to tell me that I had nothing to worry about, I’d NOT been abusive, I’d NOT been harassing, I was asking a simple question which was totally reasonable.   That was the Police statement.

Followed by “..but your ex Mother-in-Law  doesn’t want any contact with you” I assured them


that was not difficult to arrange.

Now, I’m not an expert in the deployment of Police resources but the incident did raise a number of questions.

Not the least being what this kind of thing does to how my daughter perceives me. Maybe not such a coincidence  that she is not talking to me.

Posted by David Link at 02:04

4 comments:


Darryl 17 April 2014 07:15

Hi David. Darcy knows nothing about the police. No matter what you think. My mother and my grandmother  do not expose her to your endless awkwardness  and bitterness. Darcy, although  is not a stupid little girl, as, of course,  you know. We are all trying to get on with our lives and it seems  to me as you have nothing better to do than make everyone elses life more difficult, because of your own loss.
Now, this is no coincidence  that your daughter does not want to see you, it is your own fault, for openly talking about your bitter feelings towards  my mum, in ears reach. Ask most  people  this  side  of  the  border  and  they  will  say  you  are  a  difficult  man  to communicate  with. Fact. Nobody wants to be spoken to the way you speak to people.  I know you will assume  that that is everyone elses fault, of course....  Well if so, 'sink' to everyone elses level for a change, make things easier for yourself.
I have had enough of the hurt you have caused. And still I look back on times that we have had that have been nice, and positive, but, overriding  this I think of times where you have hurt me, very deeply.  That still to this day effects me. I know the wonderful things  you have  done  for me.  The  moment  you put  down  my dad  is the moment  I looked  down  on you  as  a condecending,   ignorant,  pig.  No  matter  how  hard  I  try  I cannot  see past  this monster  you  have  become.  I will always  appreciate  the  lovely things you have done for me, as I say, it doesnt quite match up to the awful things you have done to this family.
Darcy is sitting infront of me, a happy  girl that is unaware  of the mental battering  you put my mum through.  I was the one who hugged her when she cried throughout  your endless arguments  at 'home',  she heard your booming  voice degrading  her mother  to the point of tears. She wont forget that David. My mother  is a beautiful human  being, Darcy knows that, we dont care if shes disrespected  you, its nothing on what you have done to her. Permenant damage.
I hope you read this and it changes something. Just please try and make things easier
for everyone. Again, i will state, this is from my own mind. Nobody elses.
Getting out of touch with my female side



David Link         17 April 2014 07:39

Hi Darryl.

I hope you, Marc and Willow are well.

I'm not entering into a Public debate about this with you.

But I think you have the right to know. Your Mum will probably deny this, but you should maybe ask her the reason why we went to Turkey,  why she pleaded  with me to not mention what I had found out - a promise I kept.

As for my mental state  after  losing  Cameron,  that  was explained  to you all,  and  the advice you were all given was pretty clear.

I am sorry you feel the bad times outweighed  the good times. I don't recollect  putting down you dad, but obviously you feel strongly about that.

If your remember  it was you who asked for us not to have any communication,  and  I
reluctantly promised to abide by your wishes. I don't know how you found this blog.

Darryl I continue to send you my very best wishes and my love, and will continue to be here should you ever need me for anything.

If you want me to I can delete this whole thread. You are an adult Darryl, and as adults we are both responsible  for 50% of any communication  we have. That was the same with your mum and I, and applies to all human relationships.

In any event, as I say, I wish you every happiness and best wishes.




Dawn Roberts  17 April 2014 07:59

And again you try to bring me down. My family know everything.

Probably best you remove this.

Reply Delete

Replies

David Link         17 April 2014 08:15

Darryl is an adult. If she wants me to remove the thread I will do.

I'm not trying to bring you down. Darryl has been very forthright about what she thinks of me; if she wants to start a debate about this I would welcome her here any time to discuss it. It's part of her history and as it is often said, history is written by the victors.

If your family  know everything  then they have  only heard one  version.  I've certainly never mentioned  it to any of your family. They've  never mentioned it to me.

Believe me I have  enough  to worry  about in the future  and I would  dearly love to bury the hatchet. However Darryl has made a number of allegations about my relationship  with Darcy, and  if Darcy is in an environment  where Darcy's  family  is  comfortable  with  blaming  me for  all  ills,  and  where  her Granny is comfortable  with sending the Police  to my door, then surely you must see why I am worried this will influence what Darcy does.

I thought  things  were  going  quite  well in  our attempt  to  support  Darcy  in dealing with whatever it is that is causing her current behaviour.

I'll repeat. I would have done anything to get reconciled  with Darcy. I've only ever loved  her. I'll also repeat  if Darryl wants me to take  down this thread then I will so do.

Reconciliation? Not for these acid-hearted oaves

Let’s get this straight right off, so you know where I’m coming from.  I don’t subscribe to the “Forgive and forget” philosophy. Why? I don’t think it’s healthy, and there’s too many folk who will not do the most important bit.

Forgiving.

I can forgive a lot of things that I think it would be stultifyingly stupid to forget. Else we wouldn’t learn. But here’s a couple of things have happened to me recently, which, to me, demonstrate who some people seem to have to carry hatred to… well I don’t know what. Justify their own position? Take the focus away from their own faults? You decide.

Case1
I was out having beer with a pal.  After a while I noticed that some what I thought was a random, was literally following us from bar to bar and using up a fair amount of energy staring at us. Towards the end of the evening this individual approached me and identified himself as the ex- boyfriend of a girl I dated over 30 years ago.

He gave me a dissertation on how I had ruined his life; he had to leave the area, I was the source of all his ills [I should maybe have taped this diatribe and sent it to his wife and children…] But this wasn’t the thing that he was desperate to let me know, Oh no.

He wanted to tell me that he was pleased my son had died because this in some way levelled the playing field for him.

I forgave him as I can only conclude he is mentally ill. Over 30 years of carrying that hatred though.

Case2
A person who once dined at my table, accepted my money and help, recently told their friends they were glad I had cancer.

Why? Because they believed a version of the recent past that distorts reality. And I can only assume they are too afraid to clarify the facts with me because that will shatter their world view.

Could I be reconciled with either of these characters? I’ll be quite honest:  I have no wish to be. Can I forgive them? In as much as I’ll never need to interact with them ever again, yes. Can I forget? No. And I think I would be unwise to forget.

Life, it’s quite true, is too short.

No God?? Oh yes there is.

In fact the World's awash with them.

I’ll bet you know at least one of them.  They’re not hidden in mystery, they are hidden in plain sight, walking amongst us mere mortals. In fact you probably already know how to spot them.

They have the ability to re-write history. They simply reconstruct events and relate their version of what happened many times, ad nauseum in fact, until even they believe their stories.

They have such pure and blameless lives that they feel quite entitled to judge others by their own unattainable standards. They dispense their wisdom about other’s lives through whatever medium is available to them – they are well up on technology.  Gossip, mail, email, social networking, media upload sites –  they have it all covered.

And they usually have a coterie with them of mealy-mouthed “yes” people, fawning over their every word like a host of angels lauding their Saviour.

Oh, and they absolutely love memes. Especially ones about being above all that shit, never judging people, and ones that tell folk how strong they are despite all the vicissitudes  of their lives.

Quite a lot of them even rejoice in the sufferings of their victims…errr flock.

Recognise anyone?

Independence Referendum–my perspective from Facebook

I agree with Alex Salmond and the Yes campaign. I don't like the Tories and the ConDem alliance and the sight of the Saltire over Number 10 is beyond belief.
But it's an easy target and does not answer any of the real questions.
I got the government I didn't want. So did millions of people in England, Wales and Ireland.
Here's the skinny. That's Democracy.
To extrapolate that everyone who didn't want them should set up their own State that has one Ideology is, well frankly what ISIL want to do, what Mao and Pol Pot did and so many others throughout History.
And if Scotland does go Independent, it's likely half the population will still get the Government they don't want.
Whatever way the vote goes, nearly half the Population will get the Constitutional arrangements they don't want.
Isn't it time to get real. As in Real Politique?
#indyref #alreadyvoted

Here's a thing. I do like a laugh in the morning!
One of my neighbours was complaining about nuclear weapons being on "Scottish" [he was a bit miffed when I reminded him it was UK] soil.
The danger of being nuked is so high. We can't justify weapons of mass destruction. You know the drill.
I offered him a simple solution.
"Get a gun. Shoot yourself. All your problems solved!"
His somewhat aggressive response indicated he thought summary action was no rational strategy for problems solving.
"Oh" say I. "Well here's an alternative. Follow the Yes campaigns advice and vote Yes to kick out the Tories"
I think the irony of this throwing the baby out with the bathwater strategy went completely over his head!
Thank the good lord the electorate are so well informed coming up to the Referendum! Err... or do I mean voting with their heads not their hearts?
Either seems to me to be a triumph of hope over experience...
#indyref #alreadyvoted

Here's another thing. And I know you'll laugh at this. Really. You'll say "No, how could they be so ill-informed about such a basic thing???" You will. Honest.
There's actually people, here, now, who think that their Primary point of contact with health care, their GP Practice, is part of the NHS!!!
Really. They don't know that most GP's are self-employed and contact to the NHS!
And they believe the claptrap about the only way to save the NHS is to vote "Yes"!
Next they'll be saying they have no concept of the "real politique"...
<< Many general practitioners (GPs) are self employed and hold contracts, either on their own or as part of a Clinical Commissioning Group (CCG). The profit of GPs varies according to the services they provide for their patients and the way they choose to provide these services>>
#indyref #alreadyvoted

Here's a thing. Did you know since the SNP came to power, spending on NHS Private Sector providers in Scotland has gone up?

Here's a thing. I'm just wondering. Will an Independent Scotland have access to British organ donors?

http://uk.reuters.com/article/2014/09/08/uk-scotland-independence-banks-stocks-idUKKBN0H30QS20140908
In case anyone actually thinks that Independence means self-control in this globalised World.
We (us human beings) should all be striving to unite against the small percentage who actually do control things. They would love to keep dividing - because that leads to conquering.

My thoughts and prayers go out to the family of the British Journalist being held hostage by ISIL who is under threat of being barbarically murdered. Given recent events they must be apoplectic with worry.
It seems this family live in Scotland. A salutary reminder that the World doesn't stop at the proposed borders of an Independent Scotland. I am sure ISIL will have made this choice based on my previously propounded explanation "What's in it for me?" They are vicious but not stupid and I'm sure their strategists will have considered the effect of this on the current debate here.
Although I've focussed on this potentially appalling event, My thoughts and prayers equally go out to all families who have been the "collateral damage" of idealists, despots, dictators and fanatics.
I hope for a happy outcome, but I'm afraid that would be a triumph of hope over experience.

Alex Salmond’s Plan D–official!!!

#indyref

#alreadyvoted

Apparently leaked by Link PR?  Some spin merchant company?

Scottish Independence

Can I just clear this up?

Just because I am not banging on about my perspective on the Referendum or replying to the copious posts of some of my social media friends doesn't mean that I am not engaged with the process.

I am NOT anti-Scottish. Voting "NO" is not anti-Scottish or anti-Scotland.

I am not Scottish. I belong to the Human Race (for good and bad). I have lived in Scotland for longer than many of my social media friends have been alive. I am not a clanvestite (although my maternal grandparents were Scottish).  I am proud of my ancestors who had to deal with hardship I will never have to, who existed throughout the millennia and survived against the odds. For if any one of them had not survived, I would not be here. They needed to belong to Clans, tribes, "races", because they were in a battle for survival against other groups who wanted to make sure their genes were the only ones that survived.

Thank goodness it is mostly not like that now. (Although I don't need to look further than the Levant to see there are still plenty who want their beliefs to be the only ones that survive).

I do not live in Scotland because of an accident of birth. I chose to live here.

Shared choices are almost always divisive. I know families torn apart by decisions; friends split up. This referendum will do that too, I just hope the impact is minimal. I've already posted Margo MacDonald's amazing thoughts on this.

New Plymouth ramblings

I've been a little room this in writing my blog. That's because we've been out doing so many different things. New Plymouth is just so much like back home but everything's different. I tell Chloe this is because we're upside down but of course she says we're not.

I don't know if any of you have ever read my blog from 2007 when Darcy and I were away in France.  We had encounter with a lady who I called the pants lady. Well it turns out New Plymouth has one of them too.

We were in the Warehouse looking for some pants. Long story. A random lady came to help us. She proceeded to let us know that she preferred comfortable pants to pretty ones and she never wore frilly ones. I mean. Seriously. I did not need to know any of that. "If you can't find any here you should go to Bindons. They have an outlet on a shopping centre just out of town, do you know it?" ERM, no..... "It's next to a shop called Harvey something and its real good."

I sensed we should leave sharpish. Bindons? "Yiss" Would you spell it for me? "Yiss. B_E_N_D_O_N" I knew it would be BEN...

Anyway we actually found Bindons and miraculously our pants quest was ended.

We thought we'd reward ourselves with lunch, and we lighted happily on the Eden in Bell Block. See my trip advisor review.....

So what's it really like here? Prices are around 10% higher than home, apart from meat. They need a better salad producer. A lot of the housing stock is very poor quality. House rentals are expensive in town. Fuels about the same. They love automatic gearboxes.

The environment is terrific. The people have all been real nice. I can see why folk love it here.

The skinny on Sentosa

I confess I just don't get it with my Western eyes. Perhaps if I lived in this part of the world I would get it.

Universal World Sentosa is a second, maybe third-class theme park when compared to Alton, Thorpe and even Chessington. It has two rides which are must-go-agains, the Mummy and Transformers, and the rapids ride has an interesting twist.

But its set in a resort which also has a massive casino, a restaurant serving £240.00 set meals, McDonalds, Jimmy Choos, Starbucks and Pisco...(more of that later). You can stay in your own suite/lodge, underwater cabins ( seriously) or like yours truly, high- end "budget" hotel rooms.

The hotel we stayed in, the Festive, seemed to have been designed after someone visited Alton resort in the '80's. Oppressively opulent black marbles and other decorations. Over-hyped rooms that just aren't what they're supposed to be. Bad use of space and, astonishingly, badly maintained and cleaned.

I just don't get what market its aiming at, and I suspect it doesn't know itself. If I was in the market for a top end beach side chalet and was used to buying exclusive consumer goods, would I really want it situated alongside the "Lake of Dreams" pumping out the same low grade son et lumiere daily?

Now don't get me wrong. The staff were superb: helpful, willing, friendly, knowledgeable and hard working.

Dubai an upgrade

When we got to check in at Newcastle we had two things to think about. First, what a freakin waste of time it had been getting checked in on line and having the e-boarding passes on the tablet. "Oh we don't use those Sir. I'll print your boarding passes out......" Then "but you can take advantage of our offer on an upgrade...." The offer was £360 each. Now I might have taken that had it been for all our 8 flights. But it was just to Dubai. Not happening.

If I'd known about the obnoxious gasses from one of our fellow travellers in economy I might just have thought again.

The flight out of Dubai was on an A 380. Now those things are just plain not right. Two stories???? 400? In a plane???? Someone's surely kidding. How it took off I've no idea. Great lumbering thing. Then our pilot informs us " Blah blah blah....and as its monsoon season you can expect some quite hard bumps. Good idea to use the toilet while you can......"

It was the red eye to Singapore. Daughter #2 said " I won't be able to sleep as I don't know how to on a plane". She soon learnt that skill. It involved laying on my arm for four hours till my skin was blue and the pins and needles had passed to rigor mortis. Sigh.....

It was of no matter. I knew we'd be seeing daughter #1 soon, so all was good. Pins and needles. Violent turbulence. I laughed in their faces. And they laughed back......

Changi airport was easy. Except the oberlieutenant of a customs lady did challenge the official view that smiling faces were waiting to greet us. Daughter #2 and I lay in wait at the baggage reclaim, and 1hour later we were met by daughter #1. Not a dry eye in the house.

I'll have more to say about Singapore when I'm not worried about being monitored. For now I'll just say their PR people are "creative". I was well disappointed when we arrived at Sentosa. I was more miffed that they took S$400 off my card for " incidentals". What incident are we gonna have???? "Well the WiFi has to be paid for, and any TV."

I was too tired to argued and headed for the King family room..

This turned out to be another PR triumph, the room being half the size it looked on their website. And it was designed by someone who confused retro with '80's trash. I was even more disappointed. All I could see was the stained marble worktops, the badly cleaned floors and walls and the oppressive decoration. And I was sleeping in the kids bunk bed.

What had I let us in for?????

Hadrian's Wall Post

So we set off 12/07/14. It was a lovely morning and we made good time, it being a Saturday and there being a recession on. Apparently. We made such good time I decided to use the Old Military road from Haltwhistle to Chollerford. Along Hadrian's wall. It was well stunning in the early sunshine. Hence Hadrian's wall post. Well I didn't check, but I bet there's a Facebook page. And that made me think. Did he use wallpaper? Hadrian's Wallpaper. I bet it was scraffitti. Then I thought, is there Wallpaper shop near here called Hadrian's Wall paper and paint shop? And if not, WHY not??? Could be an opening. That thought kept me going till Newcastle airport.

Which was deserted when we arrived. Not daunted, we went to Boots and bought stuff ( I told Darcy that I thought Puss in Boots was the chemists cat, but that elicited no laughs.) Then we had a Burger King. And waited. And waited..... By the time our plane arrived the airport was packed. (Note to Government: we got on to the plane without showing anyone our passports.... That didn't worry me.)

The flight was uneventful apart from one tiny thing.... We did the usual security stuff - strip to the skeleton, dissemble tablets and phones, leave behind uncharged pacemaker but I must tell the authorities this. All that is great, but for Gawds sake invent a scanner to see which passengers have been eating noxious chemicals!!!!! Whoever it was farting for 7 hours in that pressurised atmosphere did waaaay more damage, I assure you, than any shoe bomber. Yuk.

When we arrived at Dubai we decided to be true Brits, so we went to Boots to buy stuff and had a Burger King. Newcastle in the Middle East. Globalisation has a lot to answer for. Those of you who read my blogs will by now be saying - " He's not being his normal vitriolic self!!!" That's cos I am worried about all this public WiFi. I reckon it's being monitored. So I'll leave my observations on Sentosa Resort World for Trip Advisor and later. For now, fantastic to be here with daughters, and more later. Oh, and the staff here are amazing. As for the other Guests, well let's just say Pig Ignorance is not a reserved state. But may be directly proportional to height. To clarify, I feel like a Giant and I am EXTREMELY polite.

Sagalossos

Sagalassos

Having taken the roller-coaster ride that was the bus from Antalya to Egirdir, and knowing that I had to travel back by bus, I didn’t relish the day-trip organised for the Group to… Antalya.  So (and this seemed to me to be perfectly logical: at that time) I decided I’d rent a car and go visit Soggylosses

The car hire place was exactly where it would be – in a mobile phone shop. I would never have found this out without the help of Ali the receptionist at the Hotel. Odd really, as most Turks I’ve met have been “all business”, not shy at selling their goods and services.  In fact I had been told by some folk that there was no car hire in Egirdir.

Ali wasn’t there on the day in question, but his replacement. Ali (I know, I expect they use the same professional name to amuse the guests) was just as helpful and took me to the aforementioned phone shop in the Hotel’s van.

One thing everyone should know is that you cannot conduct any business in Turkey without partaking of cups of Çay (chai, tea) and these were provided by the owner of the next door shop – to be honest I couldn’t figure the connection, my Turkish having only expanded to “evet, Yok, Çok, Çay and Yavash-yavash” But we all had tea and smiled pleasantly at each other.

I asked for some idea of how to get to Soggylosses and the car hire man very helpfully drew a few squiggly lines on a post-it note – sadly I threw it out with the trash last week else you could have all wondered at its meaning just as I did.

The car of course had no fuel in it, but Ali#2 went with me to put some in, and he even pumped the tyres up (tank = no fuel; tyres = no air). How often would that happen back in Blighty?

Armed with my squiggly lines and not at all nervous about the somewhat whimsical ways I had observed in their road users, I set off for Soggylosses.

And wonder of wonders I got there! Not least because the roads I had to drive were the same ones I had enjoyed being driven along by the crazy bus driver.

Sagalossos is pretty spectacular.

 

However I was first visitor of the day, and I was surprised that the four attendants were each equipped with what looked like high-powered rifles. When the saw me approaching these got hastily put away. I didn’t ask. Couldn’t. I did however make the mistake of wishing a car load of tourists “bon journée”. They were actually French, and they took my greeting to be the prelude to us being best buddies, and I spent the next four hours wandering round the ruins and trying to translate the English details about the exhibits into French. I don’t know if their Frenchness rubbed off on me, but bizarrely when I was on my way back to Egirdir I stopped for some more fuel and the garage man and all the Çay drinkers spoke to me only in French. I spoke more French that day than I did on a typical day when I lived in France.

Grief is a country

Grief is a country most of us have to visit some day. If you've already been there you know the landscape only too well. If you haven't there is no Trip Advisor for grief. You simply cannot imagine it. It's a country as big as the Universe, populated by millions, each with their own unique experience. As they travel through it in the isolation that comes from not being able to speak the language, not being able to put in words their experience, they constantly come across new vistas, new ways of being reminded of their loss. Eventually they know most of the map, but there are always new places that are painful reminders. They get used to the weight they carry around in their emotional backpack, but it always has to be carried, because putting it down risks inviting Guilt to be a travelling companion.
Grief is another thing that should tell us there is only one Race: the Human Race. And we have much more in common that should bind us, not set us against each other.

Talking Turkey Transport Part Too and a bit

About 30 minutes into the journey came my first wake up call.  Not that I was asleep. I was wide awake. Like a rabbit in the headlights.

I’d pretty much got used to the bus driver smoking and being on his mobile literally all the time, but I wasn’t prepared for bus driver #2, also smoking and on his phone, swapping place with driver #1 while we were doing about 60 mph along the motorway. None of the other passengers were phased, but I was well less than impressed….

But I soon was wishing driver #1 was back at the wheel (he had now gone to the bed area that the bus drivers refer to as “the coffin”) as driver #2 had a very interesting game to play.

The game involved the bus and a lorry. I can’t say if the lorry had to be a special size or colour or from a special country, but this one was a 40 foot container truck from Turkey.  The game was played like this; when we entered a “built-up” area with a speed limit, the bus would observe this rigidly (they never observed any other limits so I can only presume this was a “rule”).  The lorry would come screaming past (most roads in these built-up areas were dual carriageways. When we got out the limit, the bus would catch up to the lorry and greet it with much horn hooting and the bus would then overtake. It didn’t matter if it was on a blind summit, or corner, uphill, downhill, the bus would just go by. And I had a bird’s eye view of the many near misses on the video monitor… Sheer madness.

Just so I didn’t get bored with this, the locals provided more entertainment. I saw a tractor and trailer bimbling along the same road; the trailer had about 20 small children on it, and as we neared I saw an adult on the tractor.  But as we passed, it was revealed that the adult was sitting on the wheel arch, and a young lad of about 12 was actually doing the driving…

We swerved violently at one point as a quad bike shot out a side road into the path of the bus. As we passed I could discern that another boy was on it, and it had been pushed into the road by an adult (dad?) – the purpose being for the boy to bump start it…

I stopped looking soon after that and we started to climb up some serious mountains on single-track roads.  The switchback effect going up, relatively slowly, was bearable, but coming down the other side taking hairpin bends at breakneck speed whilst driver was smoking and talking on his mobile was not.

nearly four hours into the journey we arrived at Isparta, with me still no wiser as to how far the journey actually was to take, or indeed where I was (apart from I knew it was Isparta, a bustling, big modern town). We parked at the Otobus park, and I spent the time thinking (if only I knew how long we would be stopped for I would go and have the wee wee I was now getting desperate for. 20 minutes later we, without warning, set off.

There was a treat in store on the next leg.  During the journey the other passengers had been helping themselves to cold drinks – me not knowing how long the journey would be was more concerned about how full my bladder was than having a drink.  But I’d seen the sign for Egirdir and worked out the drivers would eat that distance up in about 40 minutes, especially as we were back on dual carriageway.

Blakey assembled a trolley, equipped it with hot water, coca cola, orange juice biscuits and nibbles, and starting at the front of the bus duly dispensed these free of charge as he progressed. I was looking forward to a drink and snack, but when he got to me he simply waved his finger to say “not you” and went by. Nothing for me. I don’t know if I’d bought the only ticket that didn’t include coffee and cakes, but I suspect it had more to do with my casual seat taking at the start of the journey.

Anyway, the road down in to Egirdir had it’s own ample supply of hairpins, but Blakey approached me to say “next stop you”. So I prepared to depart.

I was expecting to be at the Egirdir Otobus park, and so where the people waiting to meet me.  Instead I was ejected at the roadside.  Some locals were amused at the sight of me chasing the bus and shouting “my bags!!!!!!” at the top of my voice.  Fortunately the bus stopped and Blakey retrieved my bag.

So I was not where i was supposed to be.  It turned out that the bus I was on had another 20 hours journey to do, and I had come the scenic route. It dropped me at the side of the road because the bus park would have charged them to stop, and they had no passengers to pick up.

But I needn’t have worried.  I had only walked a few steps towards town when a young man on a moto stopped and said in perfect English “You are David?  I will take your bag” Never seen him before, but they had figured out why the bus wasn’t at the park, and Mohammed came literally to find the mountain. Me. He turned out to be about as helpful as you could want, but more of that later.

Right then, all I wanted was a cup of chai.

Talking Turkey Transport Part Too

On the bus.

I was ushered on the bus still proclaiming “I was told Peron 4!!!!” but that made no odds either to the disgruntled passengers (has anyone ever been gruntled? Sounds like a deviant practice to me….) or the 12 year old clippie (well he looked 12 year old) and the bus set off promptly 5 minutes late.

There were maybe 15 people on the 40 seater + 2 drivers and the clippie and I took a window seat towards the rear. Not being unsociable; I wanted a clear view of the scenery I planned to enjoy and I’d seen Turkish driving before and reckoned being over the rear wheels was safest.

This did not amuse the clippie. On spotting my casual seat-taking he availed himself of his computer print-out passenger list, puffed himself up to his full 4’ 11” and came at me like some demented Blakey (you might need to Google that). With no concession to nicety he let me know through very precise non-verbal communication that no casual seat taking would be acceptable on HIS bus. I was seated in my assigned seat next to the continental door. With a great view of the road ahead….

I was pleasantly surprised at the state of the Turkish main road system. Dual carriageways, good road surfaces, but with one prophetic and disturbing feature: on each side of the carriageway there was a hard shoulder (which came in useful for some of the delegates to cry on, but more of that later) or emergency lane, but next to that was a dirt track used by motorists to travel against the flow of traffic….. I have to admit I found this somewhat disturbing, being used to motorways fenced in by armco barriers, but I soon got used to the flow of tractors, donkeys, mopeds, cars, and people going by the wrong way.

I settled back and watched what was frankly a rugged landscape, punctuated by marble quarries every couple of kilometres. I of course had no idea how long this bus trip would take, and was thinking about getting the Sudoku out, but Blakey had different plans. He presented all the passengers with a pair of neatly rolled up headphones and indicated to the screen in the back of the next seat. Sadly I didn’t have any microbiological wipes (well you can’t pack everything) but I thought “what the hey” and got kitted up and plugged in.

The offered fare was live Turkish telly. If you’ve followed my assorted Internet ramblings over the years you may have seen my bulletin from Lagos, Nigeria when I described the lavish game shows with prizes of Penguin paperbacks, falling over scenery and regular adverts for Cock Soup. “Give your man Cock” blared out with an alarming regularity. Turkish telly was not a great advance on that. I lingered a while on News Programmes, Game Shows, Soaps and a heap of music channels all playing Shakira then eventually I settled on what looked like a Travelogue. Video of a motorway very similar to the one we were travelling.

Yes, I know I should have been more switched on. But to my shame it was several miles before I realised it was in fact a live feed from a camera in the front of the bus…. That was to be significant. I’ll let you know why next time…

Talking Turkey Transport Too

I have a bit of experience in driving abroad; lots of countries in Europe, several in Africa and North America.  Not to mention Scotland. Which I know have mentioned.

My first experience of Turkish Transportation was on a tour bus two years ago. On this trip I needed to go to Egirdir and I was told to “get a bus”. So I awoke looking forward to my days travel.  The fact I didn’t know where Egirdir was, where the bus station was or what the bus route was, in my mind this was a mere bagatelle. I had my smartphone GSM and a good civil tongue in my head so I felt very confident…

I asked the Pension manager for directions to the bus station and got told I could get the tram which went as far as it could and then get a bus to the  bus station. He took me to the hotel roof and showed me a minaret and said “Go there”. Which was fine.  On the roof. But Antalya Old Town is like all medieval  towns – a warren of little streets with limited views and of course so dense that my GSM didn’t work. Not that I would have known where to set it to look for.  “That minaret” being probably a tad imprecise.

So when I can across a “taksi” office I thought, that’ll do me. Very nice manager type asked where I was going. Bus station. No problem. “And where are you going to on the bus?” “Egirdir” (Now in fact it to about 5 minutes to establish whether the pronunciation of “Egirdir” I had been given was correct. Like St. Austell, or ‘Snozell’ as the local call it, it was a matter of preference.

“We take you to Egirdir – 200 Euros!” “Erm, no thanks, just the bus station” “ok” So bags are put in, and we set off. The Taksi driver didn’t have such a command of English. “I take you Egirdir” “Erm, no thanks, just the bus station” “I speak to boss, he do you best price” “Erm, no thank you, just the bus station” This goes on against a background of roads I never saw before, heading to a destination I have no idea where and in pidgin English. He gets on his mobile (in Turkey it must be part of the Highway Code to always be on the mobile while driving and if possible be smoking as well) long conversation after which he hands me the phone. The manager. “My driver take you to Egirdir, I make you god price, 200 Euros” “Erm no thanks. We started out at 200 Euros and I just want to go to the bus station” (Still driving along what looks like motorway, no signs of Otobus park, taksi filling with smoke and me getting a tad worried) “Then we take you for 190 Euros” “Erm, no thanks. Just the bus station”

At this stage I decided it would be best if the mobile signal dropped, and I gave the driver the phone. “We go to Egirdir?” “Erm no thanks, just the bus station……is it far????”

It turned out to be not that far (I have no idea if we went the direct or tourist route) and eventually I got out at the bus station.

If you’ve ever put a light outside on a dark summers night, that’s how I felt when I entered the Station. About 15 ticket agents descended on me extolling the virtues of their particular agency. I felt like a mas murderer entering the Old Bailey pursued by the Paparazzi. Either that or I felt like committing murder.  It was a close thing. I got selected by an agent, taken to buy my ticket, at 10:25. The ticket seller (who the agent had told me “he speak very good English” said “Bus leave 5 minutes. Go Peron 4” Which was great apart from I was desperate for a wee wee and what was a Peron?

I won’t take up your time with the complicated financial transaction that was initiated by the need for me to find 1 TRL for the toilet. I had no Euros (see previous post) and it was then that I found the nice man who met me at the airport had given my my change in bits of sterling, what I assumed where drachmas from years ago and a few other coins. Negotiating financial exchanges when desperate for a wee wee is most definitely not recommended. Suffice to say I think it was the most expensive penny I have ever spent but, much relieved, I found Peron 4.

Where I waited. No bus. Odd, I thought as it was now 10:30 dead, time for said bus to leave, not arrive. Fortunately the ticket agent who’d selected me passed by. “Why you at Peron 4??” “well because the ticket seller told me to…” Bus leaving now Peron 7!!!”

Big rush, much to amusement of locals and seasoned travellers, bus reached just in time and seat taken. Phew.

Well when I say seat taken, I have to say that Turkish bus conductors are very strict in the allocation of seats. There were about 15 people on the bus.  But I had sat in the wrong seat. So I was duly and with a look that said “stupid foreigner” moved to the correct seat.

Feeling quite relaxed, I sat back and thought I’d enjoy the scenery. Enjoy. That thought would come back to haunt me…

--Part Two next…..

Talking Turkey Day One

Two hours in a queue at Gatwick to check my bag passed slowly and tediously. Thanks Easy Jet. And your “system failure”.

The flight out was full, and I shall be eternally grateful to the higher power who seated me in front of mum and child; aforementioned child spent its four hours repeatedly (and surprisingly powerfully) kicking the back of my seat.

Well it saved me from passing the flight in the land of nod.

Arriving at Antalya I discovered my lovely telecoms provider (TalkTalk, of whom I have spoken much of in the past…) had barred roaming on my account so I was excommunicated. But I should have had more faith as the man I was told would meet me at the airport, take me to the hotel and would speak English did in fact meet me at the airport, take me to the hotel and spoke English.

That led to my first discovery of note.  You seasoned Turkeyphiles will know this already, but no-one told me Turkish Lira is about as popular as an Englishman needing a doctor in the local hospital (I promise that will make sense later) and pretty much everything has an unofficial exchange rate to Euros.

I, of course, had no Euros.So the man what met me reluctantly took his country’s official currency for the “Transfer” and Ozmen’s hotel chose Lira over a credit card payment of Euros, so make of that what you will. I made of it that the “grey tourism” sector of the Turkish economy is alive and well.

I emailed my lovely telecoms provider, spent a happy time figuring out how Turkish bedding works and drifted of into a fitful sleep dreaming of EasyJet offering me the chance to jump the baggage queue for 20 Euros whilst threatening to put a small child with big feet next to me in the queue if I didn’t accept their generous offer.

I might have been more apprehensive had I been thinking about the bus trip next day….

Talking Turkey

My trip to Egridir was memorable for a number of reasons.

The two hour queue to drop of my solitary bag. Thanks to Gatwick’s “system failure” – like they have one…
The child sitting on mamas lap in the seat behind me in the plane, kicking the back of my seat every 30 seconds for 4 hours..
The rather unorthodox manoeuvre the bus drivers used in changing driver while the bus was doing 70 kph.
Osmens Pension in Antalya what I have now stayed at two nights and been charged variously 38 and 70 Euros -----

Now I really have to say here that Turkey is full of lovely folk, but seriously guys, you’re going to have a very big problem if you don’t make your mind up which currency you’re going to use. Getting charged in Euros at some arbitrary exchange rate and given change in sterling, Euros and Lira is extremely confusing and I know I’ve been “had” several times. Yes only for a couple of Euros here and there, but it adds up. And will piss people off.

Anyhow…

The conference was fantastic. I’ve met a heap of lovely folk and met up with a very (old) friend.

I’m going to post a lot more about this. I know I did a few stories on Facebook, but I got a pile more.
Let’s hope the flight home works out.  Else you’ll never know

Depressingly familiar….

Although I’m sure there are many who disagree, I’m not stupid. I know that what we refer to as “feelings” are simply the result of electrical impulses and chemicals in our brain and I know that the hormone therapy was acting on the pituitary gland in my brain. So to me it’s clear that the chemicals in my brain have been intentionally altered.

My friendly doc tells me that it will take “months” for the effects to wear off (Yes, I came off the therapy because I found the side-effects unbearable) and he has given me yet more chemicals to stop the violent mood swings. 

He also tells me (it was him who put a name 4 years ago to the depression I have) that I should have been warned that taking the hormone therapy whilst having depression would likely amplify the side-effects. But of course in this dis-connected world that calls itself the Health Service no-one talks to anyone else. At least I would have been forewarned.

Now, I’m not saying that the Health Service doesn’t take mental illness seriously.  I’ve received treatment; 6 hours of counselling and tablets. But of course the Health Service is made up of people. And people seem to have no end of prejudice when it comes to mental illness.

People who know I have cancer are real nice. They do walk on eggshells quite often. But with cancer it’s something they can understand. They care.

But even people I’ve know for years, who have seen the effects depression has had on me, especially mood swings and behavioural changes, insist it isn’t the effects of chemical imbalances controlling how I feel,. but that somehow I am inherently “bad”.  Or in some way defective.

I hope the head doctors do find a better way to treat mental illness. But I’m probably not alone in having part of me wishing that people who don’t know about it, or have never had it, or are simply gainsayers about it could experience it for one day.

Because you don’t need to have cancer to empathise with someone who has.

The war is already happening

Fortunately it’s not a war that will set Nation against Nation. But it may well change your lives.  It’s being waged all round you, and you are already siding with one protagonist or the other.

It’s a War that doesn’t respect your Operating System.  (Yes it is a cyber war). IoS, Android, Windows, it doesn’t matter.  Each side is vying to win you over.They are simply the Theatres of this War. So what is it?

Well, most people call it the war between the Web and Apps. And at this time, Apps are in the ascendancy.

Why is this? Well the future of the Internet (or I should more correctly say the future of data sent via HTTP, HTTPS and emerging technologies) is Mobile. By Mobile I mean smartphones, windows phones, iPhone, tablets, phablets and whatever else they invent that you take with you everywhere. And folk prefer Apps on their Mobile device.

So why should this concern you?

Firstly it should maybe make you think about whether to buy that new laptop or (God forbid) Desktop.

Secondly if you have a website, you will almost certainly find that you are going to have to add or maybe totally replace it, with an App. One for IoS, one for Android, one for Windows and maybe more. App designers love this.

At least get your web site responsive. I happen to know someone who seems to be quite good at responsive sites.

Me. Shameless advertising But I too am going to have to learn how to make apps….

Engagement today; Profit tomorrow

Twitter, Facebook, LinkedIn, YouTube – the list is very long. They and so many others use the business model: Engagement today; Profit tomorrow. Get ‘em hooked with free services, then offer paid-for services, extensions and add-ons.

It’s a very effective model.  If you can afford to put the up-front investment in.

But I’m not using this model in connection with business. There’s another implementation of this strategy that you should be using.  If you are a parent.

The engagement you have with your child today will profit you both tomorrow. Talk with them, play with them, educate them as to what is right and what is wrong.  Give them your time – that’s your investment in preparing your children to become independent adults.

That’s all I have to say. I’m off now to adopt a donkey. Or a snow-leopard. I reckon I could fix their problems by sending the donkeys over to the snow-leopards.

And they say I don’t have a heart…

Getting out of touch with my female side

The way I’m looking at it is that it’s been a great privilege. It hasn’t fixed anything, but the Hormone Therapy has given me a deep insight into what it must be like to have the chemical make-up of women.

Now, I’m not saying I “get it completely”. Oh no. It’s been like a journey round the Périphérique: I’ve skirted round all the intense and interesting bits, been frustrated and annoyed, but never confronted the sensory highs and lows of Paris.

I’ve had a taste (no pun intended) of morning sickness; I’ve felt the bodily changes including a nice pair of moobs; hot flushes that have stopped me in my tracks and made me feel like someone was boiling a kettle in my stomach and all the steam was collecting in my head; intense and uncontrollable mood swings; and on  top of that I’ve ballooned.

It’s not been pleasant. So I can only extrapolate how these symptoms might actually feel if they are the cause of natural hormonal changes.

The only thing I can recommend, if you can have it, is HRT. 

Now comes the interesting bit for me: I’ve stopped taking the Hormone Therapy. Don’t worry, the Wizards tell me that it’s fine to do that.

So far it’s been a bit like (I imagine ) taking psychotropic drugs. Manic mood swings; behaviour that is incontrollable; sickness; diarrhoea and vicious acid reflux.

Having a baby it ain’t, so I make no comparison with that, or any other hormonal effects being suffered now by women.   I just doff my cap in respect.

On the plus side: my hair’s never been so shiny….

Scottish Independence

I can understand why the debate on Independence is so polarised. Supporters on both sides are trying to sway us to their view.

I’m just expounding my views. I don’t want you to accept them as “the one way”. But clearly I’m not posting these words in the hope that no-one ever reads them…

#1 Independent Scotland will be one of the richest countries in the world.

Most decisions human’s make are based on the simple test “What’s in it for me”. So it may well be a temptation for people to be part of one of the richest countries in the World.

But here’s another view. We’re now in the 21st century. The World is getting smaller.  What good will it do us to be in the top echelon of financial wealth when Global Warming properly hits; When water supplies start to run out; When food supplies start to deplete; When “Our” gas runs out? For me it’s a question of “What’s best for the World is best for me and my children”. I don’t want to see a World that strives for even more inequality. I actually do imagine there could be a day when we are all citizens of one country, Earth, when we don’t want the rich to become richer, but we want the poor to share equally in Earth’s resources.

 

#2 It’s the birth right of Scots to rule themselves.

The idea that any “Race” is unique is simply not right.  The inconvenient truth is that we are all descended from the same furry animals. The composition of our blood and the location of our birth is an act of pure luck. Even the most isolated of Races have come from the same beginnings and nowadays it is common (in my view thank goodness) for people to have children with mates outwith their local areas.  And of course you can also refer to my comments under #1 above….

 

I’m not saying that my views are the best way.  There’s dangers everywhere in our Environment – and our Environment includes the Milky Way, and apparently Andromeda too. I think it would be better if the World  had less government and separation and that the people of the World would be better prepared for the future if we all started acting in the best interests of Majorities, NOT Minorities.

There is no money

The concept of money is inevitably going to have to change. The reason for this is simple.  There is no money. And that’s a secret hidden in plain sight.

The “money” you have in your pocket is a token.  If you look at any notes you have, they say “I promise to pay the bearer…”, but what would happen if you turned up to collect your equivalent in sterling? Maybe you should try

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sale_of_UK_gold_reserves,_1999–2002 << Have a look at how the UK reserves were sold off. And that was just the start. Then came Quantitative Easing… http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/business-15198789 It’s worth having a look at the Beeb’s guide, especially how this is done not by “printing” notes, but by pressing a button to change their balance sheet, and how “theoretically” this imaginary cash is destroyed at some future date….

But this shouldn’t be any surprise.  If you get paid, you probably don’t get cash.  If you bought or sold a house or car, you probably never saw any cash, it was all done by someone pressing a button {I’ll expand on how the Banks etc. finance mortgages in another post}.

What we think of as money is actually confidence. We generally speaking have confidence that the notes in our pocket or balances in our accounts have a value that we can calculate – how many loves of bread in can buy. If we don’t have confidence that these tokens will buy roughly what we think they will, then we have a real problem. Whatever we use to get these tokens {usually our labour} is devalued. We might even conclude that we would require some other recompense than these tokens. That would be bartering.

So, like the Emperor's new clothes, we ignore this secret that is hidden in plain sight.

For the most part, if we all agree to accept this system of exchanging value {from labour, ideas, invention to somewhere to live and something to eat} then that is fine.

But what happens in a situation like Scotland is facing, with the prospect of Independence? Well, clearly, confidence is King. How confident not just Scots are in the “new” currency, but how confident every other Country will be in the “new” currency too. 

I reckon that’s well worth thinking about.

STRAW MEN ARE NOT WOOS.

Strawman theory holds that an individual has two personas. One of them is a physical, tangible human being, and the other as their legal person, personality or strawman, often referred to as a legal fiction. (The term "legal fiction" is used by woos as if it were synonymous with intangible rather than with its correct meaning.)

The main use of strawman theory is in escaping and denying debts, liabilities and legal responsibility. Tax protestors, "commercial redemption" and "get out of debt free" scams claim that one’s debts and taxes are the responsibility of the strawman and not of the real person, freeing the real person from the need to pay them.

Sovereign citizen's movements and freemen on the land also extend this concept to law and legal responsibilities by claiming that it is only their strawman that is required to adhere to statutory laws such as paying taxes, having licences and obeying traffic laws. They also claims that all legal proceedings in courts are taken against your strawman rather than you as a person and that when one appears in court they appear not as themselves but as representing their strawman. The justification for this being their false notion that governments cannot force anybody to do anything against their will. They therefore create a strawman which being their own creation they are free to boss about at will.

Woos believe that by separating oneself from their strawman or refusing to be identified as their strawman they can escape their various liabilities and responsibilities such as paying their debts or obeying laws they don't like. This is typically done by denying they are a person and the same thing as their strawman or by writing their name in various bizarre ways such as the following:
John of the family Smith
John of Smith
John:Smith
John (commonly known as)

By doing this they are refusing to represent the strawman. In addition to capitals, the use of titles such as Mr and Mrs are claimed to indicate a reference to a person’s strawman. Surnames are also typically referred to as part of the legal fiction and advocates will often insist that they don't have a surname but rather a family name.

Some woos believe that the strawman is created by the government when a birth certificate is filed. Woos sometimes then try and present their birth certificate when their strawman’s name is called for, such as in court.

Oh, if you don’t know what a “woo” is, you can always ask me!

STRAW MEN

This bit is from my Facebook page:

I had partial success in persuading people that there is no money. How about I suggest you don't really know who owns you?
You certainly owned yourself before your Birth was Registered. If you'd never been Registered you wouldn't be a Citizen of the Country you were Registered in and you'd be largely free to do whatever you wanted outside the system. You might have to trade off some benefits (like Benefits).
Once your Birth was Registered you were given a number and became a "legal person". Now the implications of that are huge, but too much for a Tuesday night. If you want to get ahead of the game, Google "STRAW MAN".
You'll thank me for all this stuff one day. Honest.

So why is this important? I’ll expand later on the sausage machine that is the Court system, but there’s one reason why it’s important. If you’re interested you can follow this.

If you’re not, you can have any of my graphics that I post here or at http://www.castle-douglas.com/html/status_messages.html

Ground Zero

It would be rude not to introduce myself. So here I am. Undeniably optimistic; pretty average parent; life has been “interesting”.

So what makes me think I should write a blog? The simple answer is I was told I should. So I did. But really it’s more about sharing the random thoughts that go through my brain, off the social networking platforms. Somewhere folk can meander through my ramblings and hopefully find something that resonates.

I’m going to start my blogging career by re-posting some stuff from my Facebook timeline. That’ll give me some categories to work with. You can follow these categories so you can just read what interests you.

 

Hopefully we’ll be like that graphic. Let’s see what light we can shine on this interesting world we live in.