A Man for All Reasons.
Clang! Clang! Ding-a-ling! Can I have silence in the bar please! Your landlady would like to say a few words.
I would like to propose a toast.
Some of my more regular readers are aware that I have been unwell for a couple of years now, a malfunctioning thyroid, backfiring and spluttering its way through the day has caused all sorts of problems.
Thanks to the wonderful French health service, I have been primped and primed with all manner of substances, and the thyroid is now running reasonably well. No Ferrari, but serviceable.
I’ve never been one to read the instructions, so paid no attention to the blurb on the bottle that said ‘May also cause….’ I should have done.
Yesterday I left the consultant’s office reeling from the effects of – to quote that admirable wordsmith, Anton Vowl – “a pool table landing on my head as I walked through life’s cornfield”. It seems that ‘may also cause’ on the side of the bottle of artificial hormones went on to say, rheumatoid arthritis. It’s a bloody minded disease, and not something you should try at home children.
I was fairly stunned you could say, and it was not just the searing pain. As it happens, we have a house full of visitors at the moment, and a lot going on in our ‘real’ life. I needed to hobble back in through the front door looking full of cheer. Not easy with a pool table on your head.
Mr G. the ever present rock in my life, gave me a few minutes to compose myself, and went on ahead to briefly tell our guests the news. By the time I entered the room, there was a conversation in full swing regarding an ex-neighbour of ours, a stunningly beautiful girl who had contracted the same malady during the hormonal upheaval of her first pregnancy. By the time her son was two weeks old she was in a wheelchair and needed round the clock care from two carers with a third for her son. Two years later the house was a forest of lifting devices, walk in showers and all the paraphernalia of the permanently disabled.
One day she announced that she was pregnant again. Social Services were horrified; enormous pressure was put on her to have an abortion – she couldn’t possibly cope! She sat in my kitchen in floods of tears after yet another ‘it’s in your best interests’ attempt to change her mind. She wouldn’t. Even though she had just found out she was carrying twins…Social Services were beside themselves.
A couple of months later, she went into labour, wheeled into an ambulance with the full panoply of carers beside her. I didn’t see her for three weeks or so. When I did, I was stunned.
There she was, happily skipping down the road, wheeling her new born sons and her toddler down the road without a care in the world. The hormonal upheaval of the second pregnancy had quite literally chased away the rheumatoid arthritis overnight, and was never heard from again.
“That’s the answer Mr G” I said – “you’ll just have to get me pregnant with twins”.
“I don’t think I’m quite man enough for that task” he said. We all laughed. It is the only task I’ve ever set him that he has baulked at.
They say that empty vessels make the most noise – Mr G is a vessel so full that if it does emit a sound when struck, it is not audible to the human ear. The rare occasions when he speaks, and then only when a grunt will not suffice, you can be sure that no weasel words escape his lips, no unfulfilled promises, no carelessly meaningless words of charm and flattery, nor of sarcasm or unkindness; he has no ego, no desire to be admired by the outside world. You will never see a comment on the blog by him – it is not his way. He is a man of solid, silent action. You can set your clock by him; you can bet the farm on his word being his bond.
You might catch sight of him in the distance, sawing an unwanted tree into planks that will turn into an eminently useful table for someone, or whittling a discarded piece of rosewood into a new leg for an old chair, you can be sure he will be doing something of value, some piece of ‘action’ that will benefit someone somewhere. It is his way.
A little later that afternoon, he caught up with me in the kitchen, put his arms round me and burst into unaccustomed expansive speech. “Don’t you worry about twins, I’ll look after you” he said. And he will. He handed me a new walking stick he had made me during the afternoon, fashioned from a piece of Hazelwood in the hedgerow – the centre of gravity just so, the gnarled handle grown at just the right angle for my hand, a protruding joint whittled into a comfortable ‘knob’ to prevent my hand slipping off, – and the right length for my long legs. Practical and perfect.
As I’ve stumbled and groped my way around the house the past few months, sometimes reliant on his arms to move me from computer to kitchen, sometimes doggedly under my own steam, he has developed a shorthand to avoid speech. One quizzically raised eyebrow means – ‘you look as though you are trying to get up, can I help you’, two eyebrows raised in alarm means’ I think you’re going to topple over, let me get it’.
Last night as I made dinner for our guests, I reached for a lemon, he handed me a different knife – ‘try that, it’s lighter and I’ve sharpened it’, it sliced through the lemon without any pressure from me; before I had finished, the lemon squeezer came down from its high resting place without any reaching from me, strong hands volunteered to extract the juice ‘while you check on the rice’. Seamlessly, silently, he pre-empted my every need, and tactfully took care of any action I might find difficult. To the untrained eye, I was still in charge of cooking dinner for my guests. We had a wonderful evening, full of laughter and joy and light.
It has been difficult to keep the blog going the past couple of months; I have made mistakes and released posts earlier than I should have done; sent e-mails to the wrong people, with potentially deadly consequences; written leaden prose; stupid errors of fatigue and too many pain killers. I am going to give it a rest for a bit; ten days, two weeks, three weeks?
I don’t know. I need some time to train the binary habits of the new medication into something I can cope with. At the moment it veers between ‘not working yet’ and ‘so you wanted to sleep for 12 hours did you’.
I leave you in the capable hands of my esoteric choice of bar staff, SadButMadLad, Andrew, Gildas, Gloria and the rest– a crew so varied that you never know what to expect next – but they will continue to man the pumps, pull you a pint, open the doors each day, light your fag for you, and encourage you to join in the conversation. This blog has never been about my voice, or theirs, but yours; mine just happened to be the name over the door.
I shall be back; soon, I just can’t give you a date at the moment.
In the meantime, would you raise your glasses and join me in a toast to Mr G? – a quite remarkable man, a real man. When the going gets tough, the sort that is right there where you can lean on them. You can keep your silver tongued charmers.
I am an incredibly lucky woman.
February 22, 2011 at 12:14
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Wonderful. As I expected, you delightful hooligan !
- February 12,
2011 at 02:14
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All the best Anna, I’ve similar probs so can empathise. Wish I was in
France rather than the doom-filled dungeons of shadowy, leafy Kensington. I
mean that. Great writings too. Liz
- February 11, 2011 at 15:53
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Best wishes to you and Mr G. Hope you feel better soonest.
- February
10, 2011 at 10:50
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Ouch to the pain, and congrats on the man.
- February 10, 2011 at 09:42
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“Santé” to both of you!
Crossing my fingers for a speedy return to a
painfree life.
- February 10, 2011 at 00:25
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Best wishes, have a rest and enjoy the spring.
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February 9, 2011 at 22:22
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All the very best and a big Cheers! to Mr G.
- February 9, 2011 at 18:42
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Please take care of yourself – we’ll all be waiting to greet you when you
return.
I think you’ll find that Bruichladdich is an effective remedy for most
muscular pain – please help yourself to a 40-ozer from behind the bar as you
go.
Mr G. sounds like the kind of man I’d like to become myself.
- February 9, 2011 at 12:41
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Good luck with the new medication(s) Anna – I’m not sure if I’d advise you
to read the small print this time – it might turn you into a
hypochondriac!
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February 9, 2011 at 11:01
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Anna, don’t worry, we’ll keep an eye on the staff for you ! Good luck to
you & Mr G. Have you tried Hatha yoga ? There is an excellent book,
something like Richard Hittlemans 28 day exercise plan , worth a try ! ps,
FWIW, have found some of your prose pretty sparkling of late !
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February 9, 2011 at 10:20
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Cheers to Mr G!
As I always said, your health is most important. I always put it first with
myself and all loved ones, especially as middle age kicks in. I can’t presume
to tell anyone else what to do, but we have tried some alternative forms of
treatment, with a reasonable amount of success. Just depends on finding
competent ones you feel happy with.
Best wishes anyway.
- February 9, 2011 at 10:15
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Not to get to soppy/sloppy, but your post is a wonderful testament to all
that is good about human relationships. I wish you both well.
Lovenkisses…
- February 9, 2011 at 09:20
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Hey Anna… saw your post late. I wish you (and Mr G) the very best, hope you
beat it fast and return to blogging. I’m on the oncology ward at present,
trying to cope with twelve weeks of chemo followed by six weeks of
radiotherapy. After that — guess what — they’ve found what they call a “mass”
on my thyroid. Dunno what it means, but maybe you could advise.
I will try to send in a post sometime, but at present the best I can do is
the odd comment.
Best of luck!!!
Len
- February 9, 2011 at 08:24
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Very sorry to hear of this. Best wishes to you and Mr G and make sure you
look after yourself.
By the way is Mr G. related to that muscle bound warrior, Mr T. of A-Team
fame? If so, you will have no problems with trips to shops and such, as he’ll
just whisk you around in his helicopter or jeep and use his grenade launcher
against any petty-fogging bureraucrats.
- February 9, 2011 at 00:13
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Nil illegitimus carborundum, Anna, and a large glass of something
appropriate to Mr G!
- February 8, 2011 at 23:58
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I’ve only recently found your site, Anna, and I am so sorry to hear this
news. I wish you a full and complete recovery with or without twins, and look
forward to your return.
- February
8, 2011 at 23:00
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Happy to hear that the primary problem has been controlled but very sorry
to learn of the secondary complication.
I wish you all the best whilst you work your way though this and hope to
see you back firing on all cylinders soon.
Good health, to the both of you. Cheers!
- February 8, 2011 at 21:34
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Get well soon, Anna.
You’ve chosen the bar staff well, a friendly smile,
a knowledge of cocktails and a pickaxe handle behind the bar. The male staff
are also talented.
p.s. don’t let them put a swear box in the bar or we’re all f*****
- February 8, 2011 at 21:34
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I’m very sorry indeed to hear of your health troubles. I think you are
being hard on yourself, I haven’t found any ‘leaden prose’ or ‘stupid errors’,
far from it, your posts are always exceptionally well written and a delight to
read. But I’m sure fighting such difficulty and discomfort must be a dreadful
drain on your joie de vivre and enthusiasm for blogging and your health must
take priority. Meantime we’ll have to make do with your ‘trainees’. I
sincerely hope that the french spring weather, a good rest and Mr G’s
attentions help you feel better, and hopefully enthused to entertain, educate
and provoke us some more with your thoughts and insights in the future.
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February 8, 2011 at 21:22
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This is a holy site. By that, I mean that good people do their best, and
bring joy and laughter.
Well done, Anna.
Now get some
rest.
Bless
G
- February 8, 2011 at 20:32
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I’m sure your readers will happily subscribe to a
year’s supply.
- February 8, 2011 at 20:32
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Mr G sounds a good sort. I’d like to echo the comments regarding your
recent output, which has been superb. Get well soon.
- February 8, 2011 at 20:29
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what an awful thing to happen hope you are well soon, had a little in my
hips many years ago, wore copper bands on the wrists for a few years then
discovered stretching, now at 60 I still rock climb ice climb and ski, oh yeh,
consume much red wine.
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February 8, 2011 at 20:17
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Thoughts are with you.
- February 8, 2011 at 19:28
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said it was better than walking kept the weight of his joints
- February 8, 2011 at 19:27
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chin up, my father had severe rheumatoid arthritis, but rode a bicycle till
he was eighty, so anythings possible
- February 8, 2011 at 19:26
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I’m a bit like Mr G but can’t resist saying your wish is my command. In any
case, I always do what the landlady says. Στην υγειά σας Mr G. Get well soon
Anna.
- February 8, 2011 at 18:23
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Bah, I’m no good at sympathy. Kisses n hugs, get well soon. x
- February 8, 2011 at
18:09
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Here’s to Mr G. Have a good rest.
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February 8, 2011 at 17:47
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I suppose you’ve seen this?
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February 8, 2011 at 17:19
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Gildas to base! Gildas to base! Beep!
We hear you Gildas. Sitrep please.
Over.
Gildas here. Sitrep normal. Everything Fubar! Beep!
Repeat Gildas.
Fubar? Over.
F####d up beyond all recognition. Beep!
OK Gildas, that
fine. Everything nornal. What is your ETA re the Tempranillo and a toast.
Over.
Just entering gym now. ETA rendevous with the Tempranillo at 7.00 pm.
Beep!
That’s good Gildas. Over.
Over! Beep!
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February 8, 2011 at 19:03
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We have contact! Cheers!
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February 8, 2011 at 20:38
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- February 8, 2011 at 21:17
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!
- February 9, 2011 at 00:11
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Or worse still TF BUNDY!
Totally
F****d
But
Unfortunately
Not
Dead
Yet
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February 8, 2011 at 17:01
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Smudd is gobsmacked to hear this and so, so sorry. Take it easy, Mme R, and
I send my fondest to you and Mr G. And if his dedicated care of you tails off
in the least, tell him I’ll be over there to hit him with his
carefully-crafted stick! xx
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February 8, 2011 at 16:29
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Best wishes to you Anna for a speedy recovery and thanks to Mr. G for the
support you receive. Take care both.
- February
8, 2011 at 16:06
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Leaden prose? We must be reading different blogs, Anna.
I’ll indulge in one of my guilty pleasures, the ridiculous, incredible, and
utterly hilarious soap opera that is professional wrestling. You are like the
Undertaker. A huge crowd favourite, the ‘phenom’.
He’s been in the business too long, his body is beaten and battered, barely
functioning. But he is such a draw, his name on the bill ensures an audience
of millions. He comes out about five times a year, he simply can’t manage any
more, but when he does come out to play, it is sublime and world class.
Pick your fights for the biggest audiences, the best shows and the deepest
impact.
- February 8, 2011 at 15:52
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Virtual glass electronically lifted to Mr G. And may you make a recovery
soon, Anna.
- February 8, 2011 at 15:39
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To Mr.G and yourself. Cheers.
- February 8, 2011 at 15:37
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Looking forward to hearing that you have made either a miraculous full
recovery, or that the medication situation has sorted it out so as to allow
for a near-normal life. Glad you are in France not enduring the NHS. Blessings
on Mr G.
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February 8, 2011 at 14:38
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Be of good cheer Anna and thanks for all the fish. My wife was diagnosed
with RA some ten years ago and we have stumbled our way through various
treatments and medications together with the obligatory household
re-modelling. At least we didn’t have to pay VAT on the bathroom as it was
classed as “For Disabled Use”. It sounds as if you have a wonderful partner to
lean on and support you so don’t be afraid to do a bit of leaning. Take
care.
- February 8, 2011 at 14:20
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I’ll be putting my nose through the door as usual to make sure that the
locum staff are doing a good job.. They’d better keep the beer properly and
clean the pipes..!
I do hope you’ll be OK – and that the arthritis will be kept under control.
My very best wishes to you and yours. The Scotch will follow later…
- February 8, 2011 at 14:06
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I hope you enjoy a well-deserved rest in the capable hands of Mr. G.
There’s bound to be another Sandwell or similar for your delectation when you
return ready for the fray.
Are the medics investigating the sudden reversal
of the disease with that 2nd pregnancy? It sounds remarkable and well worth
following up.
- February 8, 2011 at 14:11
- February 8, 2011 at 14:01
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“It has been difficult to keep the blog going the past couple of months; I
have made mistakes and released posts earlier than I should have done . . . ;
written leaden prose. . . ”
You’re being too hard on yourself! The sun came
out again for me when you returned after your most recent hiatus. And I was
thinking, only recently, that you had returned to the old heights of blogging.
And you kept your troubles well hidden.
You will surmount this hurdle with
help from Mr G – what a wonderful person. And we all look forward to your next
return.
- February 8, 2011 at 13:46
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Cheers Mr G!
Enjoy your recouperation and I look forward to your
return.
Bon chance.
- February 8,
2011 at 13:29
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Your very good health – both of you!
Salut!
- February 8, 2011 at 13:28
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make sure you count the silver before you go.
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February 8, 2011 at 13:27
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Anna, be well, give my thanks to Mr G. for being there for you. Your
postings and those of “the bar staff” keep me sane on my ride to work in
Alberta, Canada.
Regards
The Nosey Mole
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February 8, 2011 at 13:18
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Is this why there are Men in Black following me about?
With admirable
self control my glass shall be raised circa 7.30, after the travails of the
day are done
G
- February
8, 2011 at 13:08
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A toast to Mr G will be made with my pre-supper Tio Pepe Anna. You relax
for a time and allow the new medication to take effect. I’m sure your team of
worthy helpers will keep the place in order. As long as they keep the fire
lit, that’s what matters.
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February 8, 2011 at 13:07
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We’ll do our bit to keep AR ticking over for you. It sounds like Mr G will
keep you ticking over quite nicely.
PS. That explains why I got the letter about the contract killing!
{ 53 comments }