The Elephant Man

"If I could reach from pole to pole

or grasp the ocean with a span

I would be measured by the soul

the mind's the standard of the man"

Poetry quoted by Joseph Merrick

So I have been on a little break from work for 2 weeks...really just needed to get away from all my crazy ,demanding, lazy, rude colleagues.

Don't get me started on the patients!

On Thursday, my son aka The Monkey King,-who is working in the UK for a year-,(Yea!!)- and I went to London for the day...partly to do some sightseeing...partly to do some shopping...partly to go to a few museums...but mainly,to have dinner at the Spur steak house!

Anyway...we decided to visit the museum at the Royal London Hospital because it contained artifacts from both the Jack-the-Ripper murder hunt and the life and times of Joseph Merrick,the Elephant Man.

The hospital which is now a huge sprawling campus, is in Whitechapel,right in the heart of Jack the Ripper territory.

Its a small museum but is chock full of simply amazing objects including original crime scene maps and anatomical drawings from the killing of Mary Ann Nichols,the first victim,showing her stab wounds and the degree of evisceration.

On a lighter note...well...certainly on a more humane note,there is a hood that Joseph Merrick is alleged to have worn when he was out in public.

Merrick's hood

A letter written by Merrick to a benefactor...

...(please excuse the poor quality of the photo)...

And then ,just around the corner from the museum,and only 30 meters from the main Accident and Emergency entrance is a charming pub...staffed as usual by whiny New Zealanders and full of morose hospital staff.

The Good Samaritan pub,Whitechapel.

And then on the train back home I got to wondering about the possibility of a fashion tie-up with some of the online dating sites...so many of the people I meet are so ugly I could probably sell them an Elephant Man mask to wear on the first date.

Luke 4:23

So there I was three weekends ago,in a mad dash across Europe,driving from Caen in northern France down through Spain, to finally reach Lisbon in Portugal,on my way to pick up my ex-girlfriend's children and parents,who were 'stranded' due to the volcanic ash cloud that had closed European air space.

(Of course,she wasn't my ex-girlfriend at the time!)

(Although I have since discovered that she wasn't apparently my girlfriend at the time either...which rather surprised me...although in fairness it also surprised Visa,Amex,assorted jewellers,shoe shops,purveyors of fine lingerie and battery-operated products,Joules clothing and...naturally...many many chocolate shops!)

*sigh*
Man she was beautiful.

*sigh*

Anyway...the children had been on holiday with their grandparents,-(whilst we were in Johannesburg on holiday )-,and were stuck in Portugal...and so after much discussion it just seemed easier if I drove down and fetched them using the ferry.

I choose the Portsmouth-Caen route on Brittany Ferries as there were still bookings available and it was relatively quick and reasonably priced.
It was the first time I have done this crossing and it was very efficient and quite a lot of fun to be honest...I had my own little cabin that I had to share only with my travelling teddy bear.

And so at 06H30 local,I drove her car onto French soil...on the wrong side of the freaking road...and set out for Lisbon.

Of course it wasn't that easy...the SatNav immediately decided that I was parked outside her house and tried to take me to London.
Its odd really...I am in truth a bit of a geek...I got my first computer in 1986...and have always wholeheartedly embraced any new technology.
So there I was...sitting in a car park in Caen,first arguing with the disembodied female voice on the SatNav ,finally shouting at it,demanding it sort itself out.
It didn't...
So I did what I always do when confronted by idiot machinery ....switched it off and rebooted it.
I also switched off the 'female' voice for a 'male' one...cos...thats all I needed I thought...another woman telling me where to go and what to do!

So I settled down for the drive of some 1757 kilometers (about 1090 miles),all of it on toll roads or motorway and actually quite an easy drive apart from the boredom...and remembering to drive on the right.
Actually I only once went the wrong way around a traffic circle...

There are in fact a huge number of toll roads.Indeed I think that it is the new French defense plan for the next time the Germans invade...it will take the tanks so long to put the correct amount of toll into the little buckets that they will just give up and go home.

And I'm also pleased to be able to report to the Academy that motorway coffee and food in France and Spain and Portugal is as bad as anywhere else and that the staff at the petrol stations are as rude and unhelpful as they are in the UK.

And so...at about 15H30 on a beautiful spring afternoon and about 50 kms outside Bayonne, I stopped to fill up with petrol and coffee in preparation for a long push into Spain to try and get through the Pyrenees at San Sebastian and onto Vitoria-Gasteiz,in daylight.

Preoccupied,I stepped out of the garage and tripped over a wheelchair access ramp....how ironic!
I inverted my left ankle,both felt and heard a loud crack,experienced nauseating pain and fell to the ground,cutting my right knee and right hand.

Dear Reader,I thought I had broken my ankle...

So I phoned the ex-girl-(who-apparently-wasn't-my-girlfriend)-friend,asked her to google the nearest hospital and to send me the postal code to plug into the SatNav.She did and about 30minutes later,at about 16H00, I found myself outside a stunning new hospital building in Bayonne ,with a dinky little yellow helo parked on the roof.

I swapped my T-shirt for a Springbok rugby jersey which I keep in my travel-bag in case of emergency,in a vain attempt to get better service from the French given their reported antipathy to the English.

I think God ensures we have some basic survival DNA in the deepest recesses of your brain that make it easy to find the Emergency Medicine Department no matter where you are or what language the signs boards as written in.

A short , squat...and,frankly,frog-looking woman looked up from her computer , and looked me up and down in a vaguely dismissive way .

Oui M'sieu ?

"Bonjour mam'selle...Pardon...non parle Francais...Ummmh...Parle Anglais?"

With a little self-satisfied smirk,she replied, Non!

I placed my passport,European health card and a copy of my travel insurance on the counter.

"Ummh...my ankle?"...at which I pointed downwards in the general area of my ankle...although I did notice her taking a surreptitious glance at my crotch....in a vaguely pantomime way,understanding as I do from all the Pink Panther movies that the French wave their hands around a lot when talking...or eating cheese...or licking garlic...

Sighing loudly she stood up,adjusted her corsets,lent over the counter and took a look at my rapidly swelling and purple ankle which by now was the size of a watermelon.
Okay...not actually a watermelon although it felt that way.

Merde!

She completed the admissions paperwork and then...in a manner reminiscent of Barbara Woodhouse,pointed at a chair...pointed at me and said..Sit!

And so I sat for about 15 minutes until a gorgeous little blond Triage Nurse came to the counter and called out my name.
Oh be still my beating heart!Five different fantasies all coming together...

I limped up to the desk again and lent against it.

Non parle Francais m'sieu?

Shrugging,and with a slight smile,thinking that I look just like George Clooney,I replied..."Ummh...Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?"

She raised one imperious eyebrow,looked me up and down...sniffed...Non M'sieu.Non.

That's probably why they kept me waiting an hour to see the Doctor and probably also why they didn't offer me any pain killers.
Fortunately I had already taken enough codeine to stun a whale so sat peacefully waiting to be seen.

(Now I'm happy to admit that I only speak four languages but in the NHS generally and certainly in the trust in which I work,we have a Telephone Interpreter service...the patient points at a phrase in their language which says....'Point to this line so that the staff can phone someone who speaks your language'.)

Eventually I was taken into the treatment area and put onto a bed without a sheet or pillowcase.

The doctor who saw me also apparently spoke no English,but through my (by now) fluent pantomime skills and with a little smidgen of the Inspector Clouseau accent, I was able to indicate the problem was in my ankle.

He then left the room and closed the door...

I'm not sure what I did to offend him ,but I waited a further hour to have the x-ray taken;and a further 30 minutes to have it reported on...although by this stage I had pulled rank and read it myself....and then self discharged myself.

The doctor caught up with me at the desk and gave me a prescription for paracetamol,ibuprofen,crutches and an aircast ankle splint.
I was quite keen to get the aircast given the long drive still ahead of me and tried to ask him where I could get the prescription filled.

He shrugged in the way that French men do when explaining why they've surrendered to the Germans...

Ahhh...is sunday?...Yes?...Pharmacy closed...Yes?...Try tomorrow.

"Uh huh? "

On my way out of the department at about 20H00 I was stopped by the admissions clerk who was waving an invoice at me.

M'sieu...m'sieu...votre facture!!

"I'm sorry...what?"

Exasperated she waved the invoice...No French M'sieu?!?

I had by now been in the hospital for over 4 hours...had been given no pain medication...no one wanted to sleep with me despite wearing a Springbok shirt...and finally...despite having a European health card,the hospital wanted to charge for their services!

"Oui madame.I actually speak fluent French...Try this...'I am an Allied army Officer...this is the third time we have liberated you from the Germans...give me your chocolate!"

"Bonsoir!"

The Big Guava

So I am on holiday in Johannesburg...or the "Big Guava" as it was unsuccessfully called a few years ago.

Its hot...its gotten very very expensive since my last trip 4 months ago...but still...its Jo'burg...

And as I was driving (very) fast on the freeway today,I heard one of my all time favourite songs...and so...here it is...Enjoy!!

A weekend away

So I spent the past weekend in an "English Country Cottage" just outside of a charming little town called Dorchester in Dorset...our cottage was about 500m from the house in which the writer Thomas Hardy was born...and in which he wrote 'Far from the Maddening crowd'.

And I say "our cottage"...because I should probably tell my faithful reader that I am wildly in love with the most beautiful girl in the world...(apart from my daughter obviously)...and who I have been dating for the past 6 weeks...which explains why there have been fewer postings than normal...and we went away for a romantic weekend to explore our burgeoning relationship..."Woo-Hoo"

*sigh*

Anyway...Dorchester is a very old and quaint town,with evidence of pre-historic settlements ,and is believed to have been fortified and settled by the Romans sometime around AD70.

Its built in a series of squares and is very easy to walk around once you have mastered the nonsensical one-way system, and we were blessed with beautiful Indian-summer days.

Now as TMBGITW and I wandered hand-in-hand through the town we couldn't but help notice that the local yokels looked like...well...yokels...and like there were lots of first-cousin relationships...indeed,driving into the town,we were surprised to find that the car stereo could only pick up station - "Hillbilly Radio"- ,...and the only song they seemed to be playing was 'Dueling Banjos' .

Walking around the town and speaking to people was a bit like a cross between "Shaun of the Dead" meets "The Stepford Wives"...because I can honestly say that without exception everybody we spoke too was polite and pleasant and helpful...

We went to M&S as we had a desire to get some lobster for dinner...
Yes...yes...I know that there is a recession but really...why take it out on the fishermen?

So we asked one of the shop assistants if they sold any dressed ready-to-eat lobster...-they didn't;and if there was anywhere we could get one in the town...-there wasn't.

But whirling around like a trolley-dolly on a low-budget,eastern-European airline, and gesticulating wildly, she kindly gave us a series of directions to three other shops all of which started "...turn left at the bread counter...straight down through lingerie...past hats...out the front door... ....until you come to a stall...that may,or may not,be open..."

Helpful though,like you just don't find anymore!

Nevertheless,as the sun started to set, we were aware that the town was silent,the locals were warily eyeing the two exotic foreigners and we kept a sharp eye open for the crowds with pitchforks.

We ate lunch here on Sunday and I have no hesitation in recommending this restaurant...we stumbled across it quite by accident...and had one of the best meals I have eaten in the UK...

TMBGITW had the roast-lamb lunch and I (being a peasant at heart) had the full English breakfast;and with desserts (orange brioche bread-and-butter pudding with custard and vanilla ice cream) and 3 soft drinks and 3 cups of coffee the bill still only came to £25-00.

The food was fresh and clearly 'home made' as it were.Neither of us were able to finish the meals...well...we did of course but it was a struggle !

Its well worth a visit and they even have gourmet tasting nights!

Rome - part four - top tips for surviving Italy

Fly 'Alitalia' :-this will give you a head-start on the insults and indifference to which you will be subjected during the course of your holiday before you even get to Italy-indeed ,if you fly from LHR,before you even leave England.

You will also understand why the Pope kisses the ground whenever he disembarks from an Alitalia plane...and why Italians in general pray so much.

'Cheese' is considered to be one of the five-fruit-and-vegetables that its recommended that you should eat daily.

As is pasta.

And meat.

If you want a salad then find a McDonald's.Really!!

Many of the locals will be better looking than you are...almost all will be better dressed.Get over it...however try not to highlight the fact that you're ugly and that your mother has dressed you funny by avoiding the following common fashion faux pas:-

1.If you are from Europe,specifically the UK or Germany then please note that sandals are never,-under any circumstances whatsoever-,to be worn with socks...especially if you are wearing shorts and/or knee-high socks.People will quite rightly point at you and laugh.

2.'Plaid', the patterned material so beloved of Americans was originally designed as a joke by effete New York liberal intellectuals on over-weight middle-Americans;and in itself,it derives from 'tartan',a joke played by effete Scots on ...well...everyone.

If a snobby or rude waiter or hotel receptionist is trying it on, because you speak little or no Italian,remember the following phrase..."I'm sorry I do not speak much Italian...but I am a British (Allied) Army officer...and you can surrender to me!!"

This phrase will be helpful in most social situations.

Do develop your own phrase to us on other English-speaking tourists...there is no law that says that you have to talk to your countrymen when on holiday...specifically if you are on holiday.

Mine include the following:-"Nein hable Anglais" ;"Non parlay Italiano" and "Nie sprechten Inglisi".There is also the ever popular,"No speaka da English".Rest assured that most of your countrymen will have no idea what you have said to them but will be impressed that you appear to be able to speak three foreign languages simultaneously and they will leave you alone.

Roma - part three : the Vatican

So I just wanted to Giotto down some thoughts on the Vatican art treasures...and ...'yes'...that is probably the worst pun you'll read this month !

The first thing that struck me,as I walked from the Ottaviano metro station towards the Vatican was the very large lingerie shop called 'Intimissimi' .

(Have a look at their latest advert at http://vimeo.com/4197532)

Now given that the Clergy supposedly have vows of poverty and abstinence it seems like a really cruel and inhumane punishment for them to have to pass this shop on their way to work...of course,its entirely probable that some of the Nun's...and perhaps even some of the Priests, do in fact shop there...the mind boggles.

Secondly, the queues for the museums are long...loooooooooooooooong...its estimated that at least 30 thousand visitors a day pass through the turnstiles paying an adult ticket price of Euros 14...about £12/$20
Now I have to say that you get to see a lot of art...more than you could realistically see in six months apparently...but given the amount of revenue that is generated,I do think that they could buy something a little more modern...really ...they can't afford a Picasso??

Anyway...the three statues included below are apparently were all crucial in the development of Michelangelo's work...the head of the first was the inspiration for both his 'David' statue and for the painting of 'Adam' in the Sistine Chapel.
The second was the template for the figure of God in the Sistine Chapel.
And the last sculpture apparently changed his style forever...incidentally,he is supposed to have made the apophrycal statement that 'no one who ever painted a ceiling became famous'!!

Finally I include a copy of the museum ticket which rather bizarrely features the middle section of "The School of Athens" painted by Raphael.

The two men are those well known Christians ,Plato and Aristotle...elsewhere in the painting you will also find Socrates...now the painting is allegorical and full of hidden meanings and codas which frankly are too much for a boy from Johannesburg.

And on the way out from the first art gallery part of the museum, don't miss the stunning Caravaggio representation of the Crucifixion...it is mind blowing.

He was the first painter to popularise the chiaroscuro technique...

I had always thought that it was a type of cured pork sausage from the Iberian peninsula!!

(Please note that there is no copyright to the photos as I took them all myself-although they were helped immeasurably by Picasa)

Roma - part two

So there I was on the open top tour bus doing the obligatory 'city-tour' of Rome...actually quite a bargain...I did the trip three times in full...

Anyway...it was about 1750 and we were sitting at a bus-stop just down from the Vatican City waiting for some more passengers...

The temperature in the top of the bus was approaching 40*C and I was basically just sitting in my seat melting...when out of the corner of my eye I saw the couple next to me clearly having a better time than I was...as the photo shows...

Veni, Vidi, Vici

Roma - part one

So being part of the Eurotrash/ idle rich... ie,divorced with grown up children and no mortgage to pay...I find myself -yet again-,on holiday...in Rome.

Ah...Rome...Roma...

Well...thank Heavens for American imperialism...I'm not at all embarrassed to tell you that my first meal in the Eternal City was the from the Eternal MacDonalds...the one just around the corner from the Trevi fountain.

Cos I suppose that I didn't really think this through before I came here but I only eat pasta about once a month and pizza about twice a month...in my quest to maintain my sylph-like figure

(No sniggering at the back there!!)

And,having lived in Jo'burg all my life where there are as many different cuisines as you can think off I suppose that I have been spolit...I just naturally assume that I can get whatever food I want no matter where I am...

Even in "Ingerlund" where I now live,you can pretty much get fish'n'chips with or without curry gravy and as much warm beer as you would ever want to drink jyust about anywhere.

And it is 27C here today...and the only food I could find within walking distance was lasagna or "spag boll"...and I really felt like a salad or some fresh fruit...apart from anything else I am a vegetarian...

(Well...most of the time Iìm a vegetarian...if however I am on a date with a hot woman who thinks that vegetarianism is akin to devil worship then of course I'll deny it and have a steak...honestly...the things you have to do for even the promise of the possibility of sex!!)

Now it must be said that the Italians seem to follow the Pom recipe book of salads... a few slices of dessicated tomato and some dry wilted leaves of something that at some time in its very distant past may actually have been in the ground...thats not a salad even if you charge me

£10 and slather it in olive oil and balsamic vinegar that was jsut drained from the sump of a trans continental lorry...

And so I found MickeyD's...yeah...and in my best Irish accent I ordered the biggest burger I could find and finally didn't have to worry about eating too much meat...