compulsory love...

The doctrine of compulsory love plays a pivotal role in Christian theology. The essence of sado-masochism, exemplified in the master/slave relationship, is being forced to love the one we fear: a divine commandment which is impossible to obey. God created us sick, yet commands us to be well. He made us flawed, yet commands us to be perfect. We have doubts, yet God requires us to be certain. He gifted us intelligence, yet forbids us to use it. God made us sexual beings, then commands us to be chaste. By demanding our submission to such irrational demands, the God of the Bible set the bar too high.

Message via Mandy...

Just to say I hear what you say about the blogs i have posted, and what you may not know is that I am not able to type more than a few words. So when I am writing about the event we had or anything to do with the family, its not that i don't have anything to say, it is difficult almost impossible to say what I want to say. So thats just me trying to write something when you see something i have written earlier, that is something different altogether. A quote from the book is very different from writing something off the top of my head. For that I need a bit more help so I don't want anyone to think that I am not grateful for everything that you have done. I just cant, I just find it difficult to write and I don't know if you understand this. So I am hugely grateful for everything, even if my responses sound rather short...

 

A turn for the worse...

Everything is changing... and not for the better. If you plan to visit, hold back. More news tomorrow...

From me to B...

Even in a vast and indifferent cosmos the righteous are convinced that humans are the crown of God’s creation. And not just humanity in general, but a small sub-section of humanity in particular: the kinship group of religious zealots to which they happen to belong. This narcissistic idea is repeated, with monotonous regularity, throughout the holy books of the Abrahamic tradition. No thought or deed escapes God’s attention, or so the Bible insists. Yet, individually and collectively, we humans may be over-estimating our importance, our singularity, our special status as the ‘chosen ones’, our centrality to the creator’s intentions. 

     Despite enjoying a starring role in the psychodrama of our lives, our influence and indispensability – even in our own locale – may not match our own lofty estimation. The truth is that most people in the world are getting on just fine without us. If you can’t imagine your own non-existence, just take note of how keenly your absence is being felt, right now, in New York or Paris. No one is missing you on the trading floors of Wall Street or in the pavement cafés of Montmartre. Life, I feel compelled to say, is carrying on pretty well without you in almost every other town and village on the planet. 

     We project ourselves into the centre of the action where we have no claim to encroach, then orientate the world to keep ourselves at the heart of things. Anyone who has a satnav already knows how this works. With every mile we drive, and every bend in the road we negotiate, our surroundings are constantly re-aligned to reflect our current position, our direction of travel and our choice of destination. The world seems to revolve around us; we no longer travel from A to B but from me to B.

Needless complexity...

Maintaining a portfolio of irrational beliefs is no project for the work-shy. What began as a “simple belief, sincerely held” is now a multiplicity of moving parts, which exhibit not just complexity, but needless complexity. The righteous create complexity when it’s not required, and disclaim transparency where it’s most needed. While science demands explanation, religion tolerates – even celebrates – mystery, with true believers relishing ineffable experiences which resist explanation. They devise problems which can never be solved, riddles which can never be deciphered, and antagonisms which can never be concluded. True believers relish the contradictions, the ambiguities, the enigmas and the opportunities they present to by-pass the rigours of rationality. “God”, according to 1 Corinthians 14:33, “is not the author of confusion”, yet only in a dim light can complexity be mistaken for profundity. 

     Rendering a belief system ever more complicated is a diversionary tactic, distracting their followers’ attention from more material misgivings. My theory – make of it what you will – is that the human representatives of many religions are content for theological debates to continue. As long as Christians are trying to decipher religious riddles – like how many angels can dance on the head of a pin – they may fail to notice the even greater absurdities which shore up their faith. As long as they are arguing about the exact nature of heaven, and what they must or must not do to ensure a warm and uncritical welcome from St Peter, they are making the casual assumption that life does indeed continue beyond the grave. 

The price of admission...

“A good day ain’t got no rain. And a bad day is when I lie in bed and think of things that might have been” (Paul Simon).

No rain today. And any day is a good day when I don’t piss or shit myself, or need to totter more than half a yard unaided. Hooray…

From here onwards the ‘price of admission’ will be a laptop, and help with getting my thoughts down on paper. With a bit of collaboration, there may yet be an extra chapter towards the end of BF, SR, which may be worth the telling. So help, please, to get the most out of these days or weeks…

Gritted teeth...

The heartfelt plea – “why can’t we all just get along?” – finds no warrant anywhere in either the Bible or Quran, and no amount of cooperation, social activism, community cohesion, missionary outreach, collaborative partnerships, constructive dialogue, platform-sharing, bridge-building, face-painting, placard-waving, prayer meetings, pluralism, performative gestures, multifaith initiatives or hands-across-the-sea internationalism can alter that.

     There is a call, in Isaiah 2:4, for an end to war – and for swords to be beaten into ploughshares – though the message fails to land with the thunderous authority of God’s first commandment. The only multifaith initiative worth a damn would be for the leaders of all the world’s faith traditions to abandon their tiresome insistence that they – and they alone – have access to absolute truth (and hell will have frozen over before they agree to that). Religious tolerance – at best a ‘gritted teeth’ kind of getting along – is about the limit of our ambitions. This too is better than nothing, though I’m yet to be convinced that monotheistic religions with supernaturally revealed ‘knowledge’ can ever truly be at peace with one another. Despite the performative gestures of goodwill, do believers really respect the doctrines of any faith other than their own? 

No other Gods...

Christians are convinced that the only way to live an ethical life – and ensure heavenly bliss in the life yet to come – is by accepting Jesus Christ as their lord and savour. They are unlikely to entertain the idea that St Peter will open the pearly gates, and offer an uncritical reception, to pious Jews, Muslims, Hindus, Jains or the members of any other religious tradition. Even religious tolerance has limits. Christians must confront God’s definitive commandment, in Exodus, for his followers to “have no other gods but me”. This isn’t just some throw-away line, tucked away towards the back of the good book; it’s the very first – and therefore, we must assume, the most important – of God’s commandments. Equally, Muslims hoping to extend the hand of friendship to those of other faiths must confront a slew of equally dogmatic statements in the Quran and Hadith about the supremacy of Allah, the treachery of Jews and Christians, and the dangers of fraternising with kafirs, infidels and members of other faiths. 

     Though some individual clerics may promote religious tolerance, their laudable aims receive no divine endorsement. If God had wanted the members of all the different religious traditions to coexist in ecumenical harmony, he would have emphasised tolerance, diversity and inclusivity. Demonstrably, he didn’t. The doctrinal differences between the religious traditions seem to be emphasised more often than their many – and very obvious – similarities. Though any ceasefire in the ongoing wars of religion is to be welcomed, the foundational tenets of the Abrahamic religions lean away from – not toward – any genuine acknowledgement of our shared humanity. Despite the best of intentions, most multifaith campaigns are little more than window-dressing. 

Ventriloquism...

The clerics have traditionally assumed the role of go-betweens, linking the realms of God and humanity. This role combines self-importance and faux-humility: two attributes which, when juxtaposed, almost define the concept of religiosity. It’s a role the clerics have been reluctant to relinquish. Because it’s not always easy to hear God’s voice above the clamour of everyday life, it is incumbent on you and your fellow clerics to interpret his message for humankind.        

     In your role as a conduit to the celestial realm, you can tell your followers what God has said, or would have said, or, indeed, should have said. This may require some skill in ventriloquism: pretending that man-authored edicts are voiced by a silent, uncooperative and absentee God, and making the trick look and sound convincing. This shouldn’t be a problem, since, in accepting your religious propositions without question, your followers have already demonstrated their credulity. People who might query your directives, if you voiced them yourself, may be more easily persuaded if you insist that they are commandments from on high. Despite Mohammed’s insistence that he was not divine, he recruited God to voice many of his own concerns. The prophet stated plainly this idea of divine ventriloquism. “Whoever obeys me”, Mohammed said, “obeys God”. For a mortal man, that’s quite a claim...

Trick candles...

The chaos that true believers can cause, when fuelled by sectarian grievances, is disproportionate to their numbers. As we have seen in recent years, it only takes a few religious fundamentalists – or just one ‘lone wolf’ operator – to precipitate murder and mayhem. And even when the dust has settled – after yet another bomb blast – the aftershocks continue to reverberate. Though politicians vow “not to let the terrorists win”, their responses tell a different story. Vigilance comes at a price, and any attempt to restrict the free movement of terrorists also imposes restrictions on ourselves. In our attempts to make ourselves safe and bullet-proof, we become more fearful, insular and paranoid. Instead of welcoming strangers in our midst, we are more likely to view them with suspicion. 

     Religious intolerance is like one of those trick candles which, even after being blown out, can spontaneously re-ignite. With superstition coming back into fashion, irrationality may burst back into life at any moment. However well-intentioned, our silence in the face of religious sectarianism may simply be adding fuel to the fire. Even those who don’t believe every word of a holy book to be undeniably and demonstrably true are probably sharing their lives with people who do. We only have to look across the Atlantic, or to any region where Islam prevails, to see the damage being wrought by religious fundamentalism. 

Fountain’s Abbey...

A wonderful family day-out at Fountain’s Abbey; even the weather obliged. Thank you to everyone who helped to make it so special…

Misotheism...

Quietly and unobtrusively, millions of people across these British Isles are leaving church and deciding instead to embrace a secular lifestyle. The move may give them no obvious discomfort; it may even be a relief to lay down the burden of unevidenced belief. A little-used term – misotheism – defines those who are said to hate God (or gods), though we may wonder why anyone would waste time by “hating” an imaginary being. Despite what believers may say, atheists aren’t “rejecting” God (and even to talk in this way is to beg the question: that there is a God who atheists are too stubborn to acknowledge).
     Once the religious proposition has stopped making sense to them, atheists are not required to engage believers in a war of words, or debate them on the finer points of doctrine. They don’t have to “fight the good fight” in their antipathy to any religious tradition. There is no need for atheists to become argumentative, confrontational or mired in a mindset of dissent. Like Charles Darwin, they may simply walk pass the church door, hear a verse of some half-remembered hymn and carry on walking.
     The point of atheism is not to become the loyal opposition, forever finding fault with the articles of faith. The point of atheism is to leave religious fantasies behind.

Compass bearing...

If atheism is a club, then it’s a club with no one in charge. There are no application forms, entry criteria or any kind of vetting procedure. Candidates are not required to take an oath of allegiance, kiss the papal ring, submit to a cold-water baptism or accept the seven articles of faith. There are no rules, or sanctions, or membership fees. Atheism is a direction, a compass bearing, not a destination. There is nothing which all atheists must believe, and, assuredly, no authority – human or divine – to whom they are obliged to defer.
     Though religious creeds are re-affirmed on a regular basis – during Friday prayers, the Jewish sabbath or Sunday service – atheists are bound by no schedule. They don’t have to keep reminding themselves, or anyone else, about their unbelief; a single affirmation, delivered to no one in particular, will suffice. Since the term ‘atheism’ exists only in relation – and opposition – to ‘theism’, atheists don’t have to keep revisiting the holy books, to bring to mind what they have renounced. I’m confident in suggesting that they have more constructive ways of spending their time, since almost any interest or activity will prove to be more life-affirming than getting lost down the rabbit hole of doctrinal complexity.
 

Whatever...

I’ll be happy to stay under the covers today, until me and my ‘chariot’ are collected. Whatever is most convenient…

Atheism...

Atheism is not certainty; it is the rebuttal of certainty. Atheists don't know – and most don't claim to know – that there is no God. This is a proposition which can neither be verified nor falsified. Trying to prove that a supernatural being doesn’t exist is a fool’s errand, and trying to prove that an absentee God does exist is an assignment too taxing even for the most eminent of theologians. While evaluating these possibilities we should keep in mind the maxim, promoted by Christopher Hitchens, that “what can be asserted without evidence can be dismissed without evidence”.    
     Without any leverage as effective as the threat of damnation, atheists must fall back, instead, on persuasive arguments. Atheism requires no special protection against recrimination or ridicule, and atheists should always be willing to subject their ideas, opinions and intuitions to a critical review. While the righteous have invented terms – heresy, blasphemy, apostasy, etc – to stigmatise those who don’t share their beliefs, atheists neither require nor demand such ideological conformity. The only commitment to orthodoxy that we might expect from atheists is their determination to find better explanations for the way the world works, and a reluctance to be taken in by con-artists, charlatans and snake-oil salesmen in this life or the next...

Birdsong...

Acknowledging the ephemeral nature of life, and the inevitability of death, is bracing rather than consoling, and a counterblast to the infantilising effects of faith. Despite our best efforts to marginalise the subject, death makes incursions into our lives, often at the least opportune moments. If we live long enough, almost every phone call will bring bad news. Our social calendar will one day consist almost entirely of death notices, obituaries and church services, as we attend the funerals of family members – grandparents, parents, hopefully in that order – and too many of our friends and colleagues.
     A time may come when the even tenor of life is disrupted, and we are starkly confronted by the prospect of our own demise. We may be given advance warning: a wake-up call, a medical emergency, an unscheduled visit to the land of the seriously unwell. The doctor may tell us to clear our desks and cancel our appointments, to concentrate instead on undergoing major surgery.
     After the operation, and the weeks of rest and rehabilitation, patients almost always have a story to tell, about how life has taken on a different hue and assumed a more piquant flavour. Jolted out of the familiar orbit of their lives – with habits broken, schedules interrupted and most routine activities suspended – they might have legitimate complaints about the unfairness of life. As they struggle to regain the robust health they had once taken for granted, they might be forgiven for wondering “why me?” Yet if we ask them how they feel about their unanticipated brush with death, we may hear them describe the experience in overwhelmingly positive terms. Having been removed from the workaday world, and compelled to recalibrate their concerns, they may make the unanticipated discovery that life now has new meaning and purpose. Having already contemplated the worst-case scenario, before their operation, they are nevertheless still here, still in the game. The worst that could have happened… didn’t.
     Whatever they used to worry about now seems unimportant. Old feuds are forgotten. Fears shrink – especially their more neurotic fears – as they are forced to confront a genuine crisis. They may experience the natural world – the circadian rhythms, the changing seasons – with new intensity. They may follow the example of poet W H Davies in finding the time just to “stand and stare”. They may listen more attentively to birdsong; they may stop to smell the roses. Colours look brighter; food tastes better; they themselves may be more grateful and good-humoured, less likely to gripe about everyday vexations. Instead of fretting about what they lack, they may be more appreciative of what they have. They may find magic in the mundane and a new enjoyment of everyday activities which, before their usual routine was so rudely interrupted by ill-health, had seemed like tedious chores.
     They may be more compassionate, less self-absorbed, with a greater appreciation of family and friends. They may be more resilient, prepared to embrace the unexpected. Having survived an operation, without any guarantee of a successful outcome, they may be more willing to take risks. They may find reserves of forbearance and fortitude they never knew they possessed; through adversity they may be discovering their better selves. They may finally be present, not absent, in their own lives, as they discover the reality – and not just the abstraction – of living in the present moment...

Birthday greetings...

It’s my birthday. Yes, it’s exactly a year since the last occasion I had a birthday; the excitement is tangible. So I’m looking forward to a couple of ‘family days’ in two adjacent NT properties, after me and my mobility scooter have been picked up by Casey. Note to self: don’t forget the cake in the fridge…

Mortality...

The full implications of our own mortality may coincide with a mid-life crisis: a downbeat epiphany when we realise that, despite our early promise, we might not make much of a stir in this world. We have to confront the likelihood that things won’t turn out the way we’d expected or planned. That great work of fiction may remain unwritten, that expansive gesture left unmade; the mark we had hoped to leave on life may turn out, on closer inspection, to be just an unsightly stain. Our plans for the future may intersect with our regrets about the past, as we ponder the opportunities spurned, the roads not taken and the mistakes we’ve made, which, no matter how hard we try, we can neither undo nor rectify. Worst of all, we may conclude that we shall never represent our country in any competitive sport more strenuous than crown green bowling.     
     Acknowledging the ephemeral nature of life, and the inevitability of death, is bracing rather than consoling, and a counterblast to the infantilising effects of faith. Despite our best efforts to marginalise the subject, death makes incursions into our lives, often at the least opportune moments. If we live long enough, almost every phone call will bring bad news. Our social calendar will one day consist almost entirely of death notices, obituaries and church services, as we attend the funerals of family members – grandparents, parents, hopefully in that order – and too many of our friends and colleagues.

A change in the weather...

Off to the NT holiday cottages tomorrow, just a few miles down-dale. It sounds like fun to have so much ‘family time’, though the time may have come to conserve what little energy I still have…

Dog and bone...

We don’t have to welcome death, and we are certainly not required to follow the example of Islamic extremists by claiming to “love” it. Even if we don’t much care for the idea, this life is almost certainly the only one we have, and sacrificing it for an imaginary life yet to come is wishful thinking of the most deluded kind. We should be careful what we wish for, since forfeiting the present for a putative future may not represent a fair exchange. In one of Aesop’s fables a dog is carrying a bone across a river bridge. Looking down, he sees another dog with what looks like a bigger bone. He makes a grab for it, thereby losing both the real bone and its watery reflection. Because of his greed, the dog ends up with nothing. Though Muslims look forward to “grabbing” their posthumous life in paradise, is there any evidence, that isn’t merely anecdotal, for such an afterlife? Might the Islamic martyrs, like the dog in the fable, end up with nothing?

Delusions...

The prospect of death may seem like a bitter pill to swallow, but swallow it we must. With our greatly extended lifespans, allied to a historically low rate of infant mortality, we have become strangers to the reality of death. In the theatre of life, death now usually happens off-stage. We are more likely to hear about death than to witness it, and we hire a team of undemonstrative men, in black suits, to fulfil the legal and emotional obligations of a funeral. Few of us will ever see a dead body.
     While our fear of death may be the cause of sleepless nights, it is the denial of death which poisons our days. It is better to accept the temporary nature of life than to resist it. Maintaining our eternal-life delusions is exhausting and time-consuming; the sooner we acknowledge the truth, the more meaningful our remaining years on earth are likely to be. Only then will we have accurate data to inform our choices; only then will we be able to celebrate “the texture, forms and forces” of this world...

Pale Blue Dot...

Whenever we ponder “the meaning of life”, we frame the question in a way which presupposes that we would recognise the answer, and that it would dovetail neatly into the portfolio of beliefs and convictions we have already assembled. But, in our search for meaning and purpose, what kind of response would satisfy us? What particular choice of words would fulfil the brief? A single unambiguous instruction chiselled into a tablet of stone?
     We assume, too readily, that there must be one coherent, over-arching purpose to life, which would make sense of our existence and answer our most searching questions even before we’d asked them. But meaning isn’t something to discover, like a cache of buried treasure; it’s something to develop. Instead of asking “what is the meaning of life?” (without ever wondering why there should be just one), we might usefully follow the example of cosmologist Carl Sagan who, in his book, Pale Blue Dot, gave short shrift to the false consolations of faith. “The significance of our lives and our fragile planet is determined only by our own wisdom and courage. We are the custodians of life's meaning. We long for a parent to care for us, to forgive us our errors, to save us from our childish mistakes. But knowledge is preferable to ignorance. Better by far to embrace the hard truth than a reassuring fable. If we crave some cosmic purpose, then let us find ourselves a worthy goal”.

In Defense of Atheism...

With but a limited time on the planet, why waste it on baseless suppositions? As Michel Onfray writes, of Judaism, Christianity and Islam, in his book In Defense of Atheism: “Not only do they celebrate ignorance, innocence, naivety, obedience and submission, the three religions disdain the texture, forms and forces of the world. The here and now is irrelevant”. For those gazing heavenwards, or anticipating the imminence of God’s kingdom, the present moment may indeed be a blip, a distraction, a minor temporal inconvenience, a mere dress rehearsal for a more important and long-awaited event. However, for those of us who prefer to live in freedom, not serfdom, the “here and now” is in no sense irrelevant. The righteous diminish the importance of the present moment until it becomes little more than a corridor linking their memories of the past to their expectations for the future. It is squeezed so hard between past and future that, like the grin of the Cheshire cat encountered by Alice in Wonderland, it almost disappears.

A tap on the shoulder...

We are misguided in so many of our attempts to make sense of the world and our place within it. Think of the efforts we make to raise our social status and enhance our reputations. Think of how we write a screenplay for so many of the projects we undertake, and then judge their success by how closely they conform to our original script. Think of the way that football fans outsource their mental equilibrium to the fluctuating fortunes of eleven footballing millionaires. Think of how we assume that the authentic life we crave is just around the corner. Think of how we convince ourselves that, with better time management, we really can “have it all”. Think of how we hold ourselves – and others – to standards of behaviour which are impossible to meet. Think of how we compare ourselves, unfavourably, to other people, especially in trying to meet current standards of beauty and body image. Think of our vain and expensive attempts to “reverse the visible signs of ageing”, instead of adjusting, with equanimity, to the passing of the years.
     Think of all the imaginative ruses we employ, to maintain our illusions and keep life at arm’s length. Think of the energy we expend, to avoid learning anything new. Think of the strenuous efforts we make not to be in the here and now. And then, perhaps even before we’ve learned how to live, the grim reaper taps us on the shoulder and says “game over”...

Robert Browning...,

A song thrush is singing outside my window.

 

"That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,

Lest you should think he never could recapture

The first fine careless rapture!"...

Marcus Aurelius...

It is almost 2,000 years since Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius gave grateful thanks for the blessings of this life. “Observe how transient and trivial is all mortal life; yesterday a drop of semen, tomorrow a handful of ashes. So spend these fleeting moments on earth as Nature would have you spend them, and then go to your rest with good grace, as an olive falls in its season, with a blessing for the earth that bore it and a thanksgiving to the tree that gave it life”...

 

All wind and piss...

Feeling invigorated, rather than knackered, after my evening with Howard and the ‘York lads’. Fun to feel normal, conversational (even if a ‘trip to the loo’ required a discreet piss into a bottle)…

Draughts...

The punishing new schedule of care home events includes Prize Bingo, “Let’s Laugh Day”, Gardening Club, “Knit and natter”, silent disco, and draughts. I’m off out this evening; the draughts can wait…

Sparks...

It’s almost three months since my head exploded in a shower of sparks. I had no idea that the experience had anything positive to offer… and yet it has. Strange days indeed…

Seeing the ‘boys’ this evening in Grassington. “We want the finest wines available to humanity. And we want them here, and we want them now!”...

Sunday lunch...

Nothing to organise today. Phil & Colleen are taking me to lunch at the Rose & Crown in Bainbridge…

Visitors...

A busy schedule of visitors today; I’m definitely more popular now than when I was alive. I think I arranged for Gordon at 12, Rachel and Tony at 1pm, for lunch, at the nearest wheelchair friendly pub in Grassington… the Black Horse, close to my ‘digs’. Then Phil & Colleen at 4pm. There’s food on all day. My phone: 07941-630420. If I’ve got the timings wrong… just blame the drugs!…

Calm...

I’m woken up with a start, as a mug of tea appears, bottles of piss are decanted down the loo, and I’m told that it’s raining. I feel calm, pain-free and lazy. Maybe my job is just to listen to the chaffinches and feel the meds’ analgesic balm…  

Meds..

Still feeling good, but energy depleted… especially after I’ve taken a handful of meds in the morning. Best time to visit: afternoons… 

Lazy day...

A lazy day, propped up by soft pillows, as the meds start to take effect. So far, so predictable. A woman came round, to convert my talons back into toenails; next week’s highlight is a haircut. Living the dream…      

Casey...

The mobility scooter is now charged up and working… and the maintenance guy’s name, no kidding, is Casey! Off into town for a look-see, and to sniff the springtime air…

Diary...

Off into town today, to buy a five-year diary… to keep track of when chums are arriving and leaving. Feeling rested this morning, after yesterday’s ‘tumble’, but I’m aware that fatigue is likely to get worse, not better, as winter turns into spring…

Feeding time...

Had a (small) fall yesterday. No damage done, and the nurses quickly restored me to verticality. Casey, can you email instructions, please, for the scooter, so I can restore battery power tomorrow? Enjoyed an early lunch in the pub, just around the corner, with Helen and Mandy. I'm very well-fed!…

Pressure drop...

Sleep is elusive some nights - not sure why - but all too easy once I take my cocktail of meds each morning. Dozing under a cosy duvet is never the wrong option, though my determination to write is taking a hit. Thankfully, BF, SR is all finished, so I don’t feel any pressure to produce. Instead I can doze, see friends and pootle about on my mobility scooter… 

Grassington Sunday...

It’s Sunday in Grassington as me and my mobility scooter wonder what the day will bring: church, chapel or Madrassah? In hospital the days went kinda slow; now I’m enjoying the space to think, wander and remember. Not sure how many of my resolutions to keep, and how many to let go. I’m starting to feel the analgesic effect of increased medication; soon my responses will be more sleep than wakefulness…  

Scooter...

Plans derailed this morning, as my new mobility scooter ground to a halt on the cobbles. It was only a matter of moments before a guy stopped to investigate. Five minutes later he’d adjusted the wheels, and all was well…

Jackdaws...

A new day dawns in Grassington, with the cooing of pigeons and the chattering of jackdaws. Lots of plans for today: getting more proficient on the mobility scooter… engaging a young emanuensis to help with writing… drinking a pint in the square with nephew Joe… and whatever else may happen on a chillly spring day in the Dales. Feeling ridiculously healthy, and ready for breakfast…

Mobility...

Casey… the motorised chair is brill (far better than anything I might have bought). I went for a wander round the day-room, practicing my handbrake turns while it was quiet. Mobillity will mean such a lot during these final weeks. Everything I need is now in place… so time to get some writing done…
 

A change of pace...

This is the life: breakfast delivered on a tray, while I acclimatise to my new surroundings, my new role. I still feel like a bit of a fraud - very fit and responsive - though my walking pace is a reminder of my immobility. The answer, though obvious; isn’t one I’d originally considered: a rechargable mobility scooter. A shop in Grassington sells s/h scooters, and I won’t be adding much mileage before it is sold again…   
 

A last pivot…

Casey delivered me to my final destination: a cosy little room at Ghyll Top, Grassington… where I slept and dozed. Saw Chas and his lads today, for a slap-up meal at nearby Linton. All good; just tired… 

Home again...

Casey will pick me up in a couple of hours, and whisk me back to God’s Own County. It’s been a while. Is there honey still for tea?…

Golden shower...

My last full day in Rugby… with an early start tomorrow morning. Very glad I was ‘bullied’ by Matron into taking an early-morning shower: soooooo good…

Plan B...

A quiet Sunday comes to a close with a kind of controlled mayhem. Revised plan: a drive across the fells, from Rugby to North Yorkshire, with Casey at the wheel. Arrival at my Grassington ‘digs’ should now be Tuesday tea-time. Thanks, Casey…

One more day...

One more day before I can head back to Yorkshire, pick up the keys to my room in Ghyll Top, Grassington, and - finally - unpack my bags. My one need is still to get a car-ride from Rugby Hospital to Grassington (approx 3 hours drive) tomorrow?? Any volunteers?? Happy to pay for petrol and a slap-up meal…
 

Monday...

Plan B now is to travel North on Monday, not in ambulance, to reach new Grassington 'digs' by 6pm. Anyone like to drive me north??

Gills Top...

My new abode is now confirmed: Gills Top Care Home, Scar Street, Grassington BD23 5AF. I’m trying to move asap. Gills Top prefer Monday. If I can get a car-ride today, that would be ideal… 

Appetites...

The drugs are working… with the long ‘midnight hours’ filled with easy sleep rather than wakefulness… and no long wait for a breakfast that never seems to arrive. Appetite huge; can’t recall a time when I’ve felt fitter, less in need of an extended hospital stay…