Post Oesophagetonomy

Guess I knew it had to happen and sure enough here comes the pain.
Last Friday was when I had my Oesophagetonomy operation. Since then I have enjoyed the all encompassing luxury of an Epidural managing my pain.

"On a scale of 1 to 10 with 10 being the worst pain possible what is your pain level sir?"

'Zero' I would blithely reply.

I did not get away with it Scot free though. One ingredient of the Epidural medication mix supported an Allergy I have, of which I was not previously aware, to many of the wound dressings used. This, plus fact my epidural delivery tube loved 'beeping' no matter how I tried to lie down gave rise to some sleepless nights as my skin went on red chilli flavoured allergic fire.

So this mornings removal of Epidural pain relief support was something special. The large dressing sticking all the paraphernalia in place in the middle of my itching back was first removed. Bliss number one. Then lovely nurse massaged a soothing balm into my back. Bliss number two. Finally, due to Epidural being partly a needle in the spine, I was told to lie still, on my back for one hour, within the comforting coolness of the healing balm. Bliss, big bliss number three. In fact big heavenly bliss.

So you see I was having a really good day up to this point. The good time continued too as my sister and hubby called in to see me and I accompanied them on a walk down the hospital corridor dressed in my latest hospital gown fashionably dress accessorised with accompanying five wheel rolling stainless steel drip supporting dangling tubes which protruded from underneath my gown and they were connected to.... mmm! .... another days story maybe?

Oh! I forgot; special for this season too, my nose drain elegantly supported by good old fashioned white surgical gaffer tape. Those coloured nose support tapes are just soooo last year! As I, and my trusty Physio helper returned to the ward I felt the first twinge of real pain in the muscles around my middle which, my trusty surgeon informs me, have taken a real bashing.

Good old NHS though. The new, Morphine pain relief regime was promptly explained to me. You don't even have to go out on the street to buy it down here in Bournemouth. So here's me at seven thirty at night enjoying my fourth 'cup o tea' of the day and reasonably comfortable but now acutely aware of the extent and number of 'surgical slicings' I, or rather, my body have been exposed to.  Coughing, after, I am informed, having my right lung totally collapsed is a new and, let's just say 'different' experience.

Ho Hum and on we go.

A wondering dilemma

My Oncologist spelt it out clearly. He was professional, understanding and, I felt, compassionate toward my dilemma. His phone call to me was in response to my requesting a self funded further CT scan before my major Oesophagael surgery in a few weeks time.

Without medical knowledge I figured it as the only way I was going to know if my cancer tumours had reduced enough for me to make the decision surgery or no surgery. My Oncologist pointed out the danger, of another dose of ingested radiation so soon after my last scan, plus, he stated quite clearly a scan so soon would show little difference thereby leaving me with the same quandary as before alongside the addition of a sizeable credit card bill to boot.  Persuasive evidence.

He was skillfully accurate as he firmly said; 'I have to make my mind up now on the evidence and facts already available' . Hmmmm!

Now; I have never doubted the skill and professionalism of the NHS during my Oesophagal cancer journey. The fact they are offering me a 'curative' option is, in this day and age of cancer complexity and commonality, nothing short of a miracle. My 'curative' NHS surgical option also has a weight of solid evidence available via Internets multiple sources and through personal attendance of survivor groups. A clear, straight forward and powerful lobby.

The downside of this major surgery is merely a compromised body and lifestyle should I be fortunate enough to become a survivor.

So the dilemma, I face is, and I freely admit to it, of my own making. But never the less it is a dilemma that has caused me (and those close to me... Nuff said!) mental lowness, anxiety but most of all frustration.

Being on the edge of huge medical breakthroughs while having on offer 'Clinical Excellence' based on historical evidence is a place cleverly designed to foster such Frustration. You, ie the medical profession, cannot move fast. The mobile phone market, on the other hand, can move fast. Their research is ongoing and live and, as we all know, causes app failure and continuing updating. But it doesn't kill people. That's why the medical world  moves slower and with caution. Clinical Excellence based on historical evidence is there as an NHS discipline because it kills as few of us as possible.

For me, there is no doubt the rise of Genetics, Epigenetics and Gut Biometric science is going to revolutionise medical science and practise over the next decade or so. At present though, and in reference to cancer, such choices come under the heading of 'Alternative'. Exploring and searching for a 'Curative' option down such 'Alternative' pathways has taken me to a place familiar and recognised from my life history. A place where I am pretty good and do on the whole 'try my very best' with usually some success. I do not however; go to a place where total obsession, dedication and precise planning are prerequisite requirements. It just aint me.

What this 'Alternative' research and ongoing practice has given me is greatly increased knowledge and, I believe, a physical body in a much improved cancer fighting/surviving state. What it has not given me is enough solid evidence to enable me to be courageous enough, or to make clear enough judgement, enabling me to say no to the offered curative option of major surgery.

I am sad but not dismayed or particularly surprised by this conclusion. What I am faced with, as always, is the difficulty in now moving forward with this 'Curative' surgical option while at the same time carrying with me the frustration of never quite knowing whether my 'Alternative' had done enough in conjunction with my chemotherapy, and strict continuation of 'Alternative', to enable my rejuvenated physical systems to deal effectively with the cancer residue.

I will always be left wondering.

El Chorro

This post dated 26/01/2015 is one of my favourites & I mistakenly deleted it. This is it now reinstated from back up. Unfortunately 'Blogger' does not allow me to replace in sequence.
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Quote from the 'Rough Guide' for Spain;

'Fifty kilometres NW of Malaga Garganta del Chorro (gorge of ... ) is an amazing place. An immense five-kilometre long cleft in a vast limestone massif, which has become Andalucia's major centre for rock climbers.'

Well here I am. Perched in a prime spot right above 'El Chorro' the village, complete with train station, and looking straight down the first part of the gorge. I tell you it is worth having to park next to the local bin compound for such a view while tucking into a, made it all myself n it's one of my better ones, chicken curry.

The place, as stated, is a rock climbers, mountain bikers and walkers heaven. Not a hundred metres down the narrow track are two vans full of young Brits here for the climbing. The place is not what you would call Mediterranian warm but then it is January and there is snow on the higher peaks. All OK by me. I'm snug as a bug in Sadie.

Last night I stayed near the Buddhist Stupa at 'Benalmadena Pueblo'. A favourite place of mine where I have a quiet and safe wildcamp spot overlooking the coastline all the way up to Malaga. There is a 'teaching' at the Stupa this coming Sunday which I will attend. So; three days to explore the area before I need to return for the 'teaching'. Healthwise I am not feeling too bad either. Its the Onions, Garlic and Avocado I reckon. (they were all in the curry!) Weather forcast is looking good and 'on the improve' for the next few days therefore a good chance to explore the high hilly Andalucian hinterland.

I set off not bothering with Mrs Sat nav as I was only going to nip back down the N340 coastal road to Fuengirola to a Carrfour supermarket.

Mistake Steve. Big mistake.

Took the wrong turn off did'nt I.

"S'funny Tanya; how come we've ended up down Fuengirola's main, and bloody busy, drag. Ho Hum; concentrate now, Aha! thought so, she's now going to try n reverse into that spot which she aint gonna do cos a large swanky Jag like that aint gonna fit where a battered Ford Fiesta has just pulled out. No good you'se lot behind beepin yer horn at me. We all gotta wait till she of smart Jag importance cottons on. Ahhh; There she goes. She figured it out at last and here we go, all moving again. Hey! Will you look at that Tanya a big parking lot with loadsa motorhomes. Winker on, hang a right and we're in".

We were too. A handy spot to remember. Water available, two minute walk to the beach plus a supermarket just across the road. I thought I would stay the night but after doing my shopping and taking on water I just left. No messin. Turned the key, swung her round and just left.
I wanted the hills not a busy Costa del Sol holiday resort motorhome park.

This time Mrs Sat nav was given full employment in a managerial role. She beautifully guided via smaller roads (read narrow bendy and bumpy) to this lovely spot overlooking 'El Chorro'.
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This area is stunning but decidely Brit land. On my sightseeing trip around the area today I have met: Glasgow couple gathering up all their gear for a days climbing in the sunshine: X pat Dad on a trip with his children to where his wife's, their Mum's, ashes are scattered: Older English lady now living in France but staying locally to paint: "The light here is so stunning my dear": Retired Irish couple from Dublin up from their apartment in Estepona to view the ruins of 'Bombasta'.

These ruins were further down the hill and were the eigth/ninth century stronghold of a local rebel Muslim turned Christian Bully boy if you like. Todays world is unfortunately still very much affected by similar unsavoury characters. Don't agree with the rules so lets do some killing, raping, plundering, land grabbing and enslaving to scare the shite out of everyone so as we can have it all.

Irish lady was upset as she could not find these ruins. I've found even earlier ruins though. By accident. I happened to be parked for the night right by them. They are a series of sheltered Southerly facing wind and rain carved shallow caves occupied from prehistoric time. I noticed the worn steps carved into the rock leading to some of them.

I enjoyed a wonderful meditation in one of these deep overhangs on a precipitously steep slope. Slipping and falling would have been curtains for sure, but you could see for miles. They were indeed sheltered from the cold wind but caught the considerable warmth of a January afternoon sun. I could see and strongly feel why our earliest ancestors would choose such an attractive spot to settle in.

The ruins still attract too. The local herd of bell ringing sheep seen far below on the opposite side of the valley have left clearly visible hoof marks and wooly body imprints evidencing their regular and recent visits.

I've ended up staying two days/nights in this quiet and peaceful spot. Saturday, that's today, has been busier but most of the sightseeing traffic gaze curiously at Sadie as they pass us by on their way to the Mirador (viewpoint) half a kilometre further on.

Earlier today I grabbed binoculars and we took a short walk to the other side of this mountain top resevoir to watch the Griffin Vultures soaring in the updfafts of the huge gorge. Mesmerising and spectacular. Tanya was fine as these birds are on the lookout for dead carrion.

One of their own was unfortunately and decidedly dead just under a tall aerial tower adorning the peak. So sad to see this recently beautiful and giant master of the air deceased. I chanted a wee mantra and restored soaring wings to his/her spirit. I swear the others knew as eight to ten of them stacked and soared in circles above my head. I could hear them chattering away as I quietly stood there. I moved on and so did they. Unexplainable and enriching.

OPA plus a Wiltshire Pasty.

"Two months ago" I exclaimed.

"yes" he replied. "Two months and four days". 

Sat to my left, a gentleman the same age as myself who, two months before had undergone a major surgical procedure called an 'osophagetonomy'. To my right a fifty four year old guy who had gone thru the same op seven months previous.

This was my first 'Oesophagal (cancer) Patients Association' meeting with about seventy others who had either gone thru the same major surgery or who were spouses/family.

I could not believe these two guys were here, stood up on their own hind legs, supping tea and eating cake so soon after such major surgery . My anxieties, fears and worries about this major surgery, of which I was about to commit, were being laid to rest. Not only by the warmth and openness of these survivors but also by the welcome I received from the Portsmouth Queen Alexandria hospitals Oncology team.

My operation will be at a different Hospital but I was encouraged and warmed (almost to tears I may add) by the skill, openness and acceptance from the QA Consultant surgeon who answered my questions honestly, warmly and with not a shred of any 'us and them' mentality.

I felt a sense of relief and a surge of confidence as I talked it over with my son during the drive back. Even later the Buddhist principle of 'Four abundant abodes' came to mind. Love, compassion, joy and to level it all up, equanimity. Our equanimity at the mornings meeting had been a reminder. A reminder that those attending, all survivors of the surgery and immediate recovery period, were the one third, the fortunate one third. The one third who had made it through.

It was a timely reminder that survival and recovery is not a given or a foregone conclusion. I have to put effort in too. I have to reduce risk by keeping fit, eating well & re-building both my gut biome and my immune system back to 'Fit for purpose' after the devastation caused to both by the deadly cruise missiles of chemotherapy.

So, no nipping into Reeves the baker for one of their delicious Wiltshire pasties or sweet Cinnamon whirls. Oh no no no....! I'm sorry Steveboy, it's continue on with the healthy Mediterranean diet & Probiotic pills.

Shhhh, n don't tell anyone but I did celebrate my relief and joy at having made a solid, surgery decision with the guilt ridden purchase of one small Wiltshire Pasty. I'm sure having just the one won't harm will it ..? Gosh it was good though ....

D'you think one more would be ok?

Beast from the East & Caribbean

Well now. That's cheered me up. A blog from M. A lovely solo lady Motorhomer at present in Southern Portugal. As I sit in the warmth of a Wiltshire, UK, centrally heated house viewing the snowy deposits of a meeting between 'Beast from the East' and storm 'Emma' it is comforting to note storm Emma has also affected Portugal with high wind and torrential rain.

I can attest with certainty that a motorhome is not ideal accommodation when faced with more than a couple of days of severe weather. My two remaining brain cells can recall several early morning awakenings to the deafening sound of torrential rain on Sadies/Foxy10's roof as we rocked wildly at the mercy of fierce gusty winds. Most times it was a no brainer. Up sticks and move East or West to better weather, which, of course is the beauty and the whole point of living fultime in a motorhome.

Ironically, and directly related to this March 1st 2018 bitterly cold 'Beast from the East' snow storm, is the very start of my Motorhoming life. On todays UK news they are using words such as 'unprecedented', 'most unusual' and 'once in a decade'. The latter is true albeit it was slightly less than a decade when, in 2010 Scotlands central belt, was affected by similar conditions which lingered, with temperatures touching -15°c, for three weeks.

I was in that central belt, in East Kilbride, during that time. I was not in the best of places having recently lost my dear wife Kate and in general unsure as to where life was going to take me. I remember it was so cold I had to carry Tanya across the treated roads as the frozen salt stuck to her feet and damaged her pads. She loved the open snow though and bounded away into and among it.

One particularly cold and gloomy day, both mentally and weather wise, I distinctly remember, as I despondently stared out of the window, saying to myself;

"Steveboy. We ain't going thru another winter like this."

This 2018 winter with it's coincidentaly similar 'unprecedented' wintery conditions is the first full winter I have spent in the UK since uttering those words. My many Blog entries tell of my intervening fultime Motorhoming 'Continental winters'

Not that it is all doom and gloom mind you. Far from it. I am now on my 3rd and final round of Chemotherapy and here I am feeling Ok and with zest for life still coursing through my veins. Foxy10 is with a local motorhome dealer on a sale or return basis and, as far as I'm aware, not yet sold.

Steveboy has a plan!!...... I know... I don't do plans do I. OK; so let's call it an idea. You see I have a few weeks of recovery before my surgery is due where I may just go get Foxy10 back, load her up again, and head off into the sunset for one more adventure. Watch this space.
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Richard & I have just been graced by the appearance of Hana for a few days. Hana is from the Czech Republic and a former carer for Richard. She is an outward looking and adventurous girl and en route to 'Dominica', a small Caribbean island with connections and friends from her previous adventures. The island was recently and seriously devastated by Hurricane and Hana was returning to help out wherever she could.

She arrived with clothing all set for her Caribbean adventure and understandably was a little disorientated to find herself in extreme UK winter conditions more akin to the Artic.

I accompanied her to Salisbury station this morning and am pleased to say, despite all the rail and road chaos she is now on a London bound train and hopefully will make her flight from Gatwick tomorrow.

Bon Voyage H and please send back a little of that warm Caribbean sunshine.

Now on a different journey.

As I read the comments and stories on one of the Facebook Motorhome forums I subscribe to, I looked at the pictures of my fellow Motorhome travellers in familiar loved Spanish and Portuguese locations and felt undeniable envy and sadness.

Shaking my head I thrust smartphone back in pocket, raised myself from the chair and turned once again to the re-usable supermarket bag in front of me that was full of yet another jumble of life's accoutrements. These were all being slowly removed from Foxy10 to be sorted and re stored in my brothers house.

A Cancer journey is difficult for anyone who has to undertake it and I am no exception. Inevitably one life has to be halted or at best pushed aside for a while to make way for another journey to commence. Such a continual and repetitive process of losing something and starting something else is of course life itself. Attach the word 'Cancer' however; and what gets placed in the mind is a strong connection to Mortality, which, can so easily tip mind over into 'poor me', anxiety, worry, big fear, lethargy and depression.

I am still at the very beginning of my 'Oesophagul Cancer' journey with first Chemo starting in two days time. I am managing mental wellbeing OK so far although I have no illusions as to the potential affect this journey will have on me. I have not travelled this far in life without becoming very aware of my minds immense, creative, and mischievous shenanigans. Give mind the right circumstances and it can, and will, and does, strip me instantly, at any moment, of the capacity to retain any semblance of zest for life.

Which brings me neatly back to my re-usable bag full of accoutrements. You see it's about decisions. Mental/physical vulnerability loves nothing more than to render both body and mind in apopletic lethargic inaction. The very will to 'do something' can so very easily be drained away leaving an armchair full of dumbed down incapacity to while away the day, or days. That is why a decision has to be made. Making decisions is the precursor to doing something and, as we all know, doing something, anything, is better than sitting around feeling sorry for yourself.

A decision to sell my beloved Foxy10 Motorhome has been made hence the trips with re-usable supermarket bag as I slowly empty her out. She is now a Motorhome in need of further adventure and travel. A very good Motorhome too and one lady of whom I am confident will give excellent service to new owners.

So that is one decision which, at present is 'a task to DO' and pushes 'poor me' firmly aside. (except when I pause to peruse Facebook... lol! ) I hope too, that it will boost my finances some time during the next couple of months.

The second decision has been to research, and organize a 'supportive of Chemo' complimentary alternative. This sort of 'Holistic' approach to cancer treatment seems much better accepted and used in other parts of Europe and the world. Our dear NHS, bless em, present with blank face and stern disapproving look at any mention of 'Alternative'. Now they may well be right to be rigidly locked in to strictly evidence based medical system/practice and I am certainly not going to criticise. Indeed I am not. How could I when I am so very grateful for the excellent professional care and treatment I am at present receiving.

However; handing complete care and control over to others is just not me. I also need some control, some involvement, something I can DO. So off to Google I go and, as expected, I am soon overwhelmed, depressed and thoroughly confused.

"Y'know Steve, you're gonna have to take a punt and trust someone in this vast and confusing alternative maze. You're gonna have to choose and go with what is recommended".

That is why I am presently following, to the best of my ability (because as regular readers will know Steve and Plans don't usually go together.) a set of guidelines as laid out for me by Chris Woollams of the website www.canceractive.com.  Whether such action makes a difference or not is, at the end of the day, immaterial. The fact I will be able to say; "Well at least I had a go", is the important bit, the crucial bit, the bit that reduces anxiety, fear and worry.

What there is though, most definitely, is a nurturing and healing of both mind and body emanating from swilling down various supplements, vitamins and herbs or eating some Rainbow anti cancer diet that I personally have chosen to do.

May you all have a happy, healthy and peaceful New Year.

Yorkshire & Perseverance

I'd be lying if I said it wasn't difficult leaving Alison & Roberts lovely home in Oxenhope, Yorkshire. I had enjoyed ten days of very comfortable accommodation with wonderful company. Tanya too was settled and very 'at home' having taken over Vita's bed and got to know all the local sniffs.
In particular, after my initial diagnosis of Oesophagal Cancer and while I am still unsure of full detail of its severity, the fact I was within familiar and much loved wide family support took on extra significance. My vulnerability to the cataclysmic shifts of emotional wellbeing such delicate ground bequeaths is difficult to manage.

This morning I mused on such facts and vagarities of the human condition as I rested abed and supped my early morning tea while viewing the wide sunrise vista of 'Lower Middlemoor'. I was parked on the grassy, and famous horse racing moorland just above 'Pinkers Pond' and just a few clicks away from 'Middleham' itself with its impressive castle.

"I do just love this wandering lifestyle of mine." I mused.

Which is probably not the best thing to be reminding myself of just now being on the cusp of a Poison, Slash, Burn NHS process. (Chemo, Surgery, Radiography) This upcoming entry into the realm of Cancer treatment  undoubtedly heralds an end to my much loved independant wandering motorhome lifestyle.
What such a life shifting event also does is to focus me acutely on the joy of right now, right here in this very moment. A reminder to work and practise even harder on that quiet meditative focus over the next, and final, few weeks I have left of this lifestyle.
That is why when I left 'Oxenhope' I quickly converted my emotional vulnerability (not good when driving a 3.5ton motorhome on busy roads) into my favourite task of driving the, 'not designed for motorhomes' minor roads heading high and deep into the north Yorkshire moors. The strategy worked. Emotional equanimity and wellbeing duly returned. However; nothing in this world is permanent and I am well aware my emotional roller cancer coaster, has not even left the fairground pay booth yet.

And so we roll on deeper and higher eventually stopping for lunch at the 'Tan Hill Pub' boasting its status as highest Pub in England at 1732ft. Later I pause again, pulling in to a conveniant veiwpoint. I pulled out my comfy beach chair and drowsily continued my musings.
Earlier I had passed columns of thick smoke issuing forth from the practise of burning clearings among the heather clad high dales to encourage and maintain Grouse numbers.

"Never mind that we are at precipitously critical levels of CO2 in the atmosphere. The wealthy must have their Grouse killing fun pandered to no matter what!" I angrily exclaimed as I flung Foxy10 around the next bend.

As I rested in my beach chair the mornings smoke induced anger had dissipated but the reality of Global warming hit home. I was at an elevation of 1700ft and it was November the 2nd in the high and desolate North Yorkshire moors. To be sitting out in such a high and beautiful place in windless and gloriously warm afternoon sunshine was Lovely yes; but also surreal with accompanying feelings of planetary unease.
On the other hand maybe it is not so unusual and was just Universe granting me a few final special memory moments to sustain me on my future, as yet unknown, but definitely different journey.
Who knows.

Hospital visit.... Hmmmm!

"That's an improvement". I thought as I partially stripped and donned the two 'bum exposing' hospital gowns. The two worn together render you decently adorned. Last time I was in hospital for treatment you only got one and exposure of rearward facing body parts was unavoidable.
The waiting around is always nerve wracking and however nervous you are about a procedure facing you I always find it a relief to be called through and led once again through the tick box filling of confirming I am who I say I am.
Next moment I am lying on my left side having the Gastroscopy details explained to me. The back of my throat is spray anesthesised while teeth clamp a plastic protector. For me the discomfort of having the little finger sized camera probe thrust down my throat is easily overcome as I follow the nurses words encouraging relaxing and slow breathing. Regular meditation practice has its uses, this being one of them.
What really discounted any nervous discomfort though, was the amazing and full colour pictures that appeared on the visible screen in front of my eyes. To travel a highly visible journey down your own throat is different and to me, fascinating. To see the scope slow down and hear the highly skilled doctor pause her verbal discourse as a large pink cauliflower blockage is encountered was to me, both expected and confirming while at the same time disappointing and life changing. I could'nt speak with mouth clamped and throat full of Endescope but mind eloquently and silently summed it up with "Shit, that there cauliflower is big trouble!"
I continued to observe as wee snippers were fed down the Endescope and tissue samples taken for biopsy. All in all a fascinating and highly professional video show experience the reality of which I have never before experienced.
What followed, though still highly and compassionately professional, was more familiar in that it had unnerving similarities to a previous, long and difficult journey with my late wife.
The quiet professional voice, the outlining of the next stage, the checking in on my mental state and the gentle enquiry as to support structure etc.
To put it bluntly a 90% indicated certainty of Oesophagal cancer was, despite all the positives of the experience, not conducive to me resuming my day quite as positively as I had hoped and wished for.
The mind races, it storms, it rages and it works through every scenario of possibility or impossibility. It is exhausting. The storming journey has to be travelled though before a different normality can be resumed, which, temporarily and thankfully it has. A normality of acceptance has been reached which is to make no major decision until all information gathering is complete, and there is a few more weeks to go on that one yet.
I have decided, for now, to accept the 'don't know' of it all and to take extra good care of myself.
Which,
right now,
means clear away the breakfast and head off to Strathclyde Park for a good Tanya walk in the sunshine before the rain returns as per the forcast.

NB- Apologies if this is a bit of a shock to you dear reader. But I have made one other decision. Writing this Blog helps and supports my mental wellbeing. It allows me a different perspective and, I hope, is readable/acceptable to you. If that should be the case then I am happy. Thanks.

Arbroath

Seaton Cliffs, Arbroath. Very pleasant on a mild and dry day in September. I look NE across the wide Tay estuary to these cliffs on my morning Tanya walks from Barbara's house South of St Andrews.

Arbroath is also a part of my history as I was stationed here at HMS Condor for my basic Fleet Air Arm Air Mechanic training in 1966. Part of HM forces accepting me for service, given my miserable academic acheivements at Grammer school, not the best place in 1966 for an undiagnosed dyslexic to end up, was to attend, and wait for it, 'Backward Mathematics' classes.

In those days the system for coping with such stigmatisation, bullying and harshness (these days the latter very correctly re-labeled as 'abuse') was 'get over it and move on'. For me, at that time, despite such a military climate, those 'Backward Mathematics' classes were to have a profound affect on my future life.

Today I repeatedly hear, or read about 'those who have made it' referring to an influential teacher or mentor in their early life. Someone who gave them self confidence and belief in themselves. Well; my big burly bearded Petty Officer 'backwards mathematics' teacher was to some extent my early mentor. He was the first teacher I came across who accepted and encouraged me. He made maths simple, understandable and fun, something I had previously never experienced.

I remember him, and the few weeks of tuition well. He encouraged me to further self study via 'Maths made simple' books which I did. Now I'm not saying I became a maths wizard and it still took a further 22 years before I dared enter further formal education. That was when I commenced training as a mental wellbeing counsellor. But those few short weeks of empathetic backwards mathematics teaching gave me a confidence I did not have before and which I subsequently used during my career of wheeling and dealing with the canny skilled and mathematically adept farmer/dealer community.
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Right now I am even further up this beautiful East Scottish coast. St Cyrus beach, Montrose on a warm sunny blue sky no wind autumn morning. A morning to be welcomed with a long beach walk and leisurely breakfast.
Next week I move west again for my Endoscopy appointment at East Kilbride hospital. Who knows what will be the outcome of that. All the more reason to put the kettle on again and enjoy another leisurely coffee in the sunshine.

Puffball.

A large white ball like growth was nestled deeply in the undergrowth. We were walking on the coastal path between Barbaras house in Boarhills and her favourite beach on this length of the 'East Neuk of Fife' coastline South of the well known and popular University town and Golfing mecca of St Andrews.

"Come see" I said to Barbara as I scrambled among the damp dappled green undergrowth.

"I think it's a 'Pufball' mushroom and if so is edible." I said to the both impressed, cautious and sceptical Barbara as she touched its firm white outer surface.

The last time I'd seen or tasted a Puffball was way back in my teens so I too needed confirmation as to its safety over and above a dim and distant memory. Mushrooms kill and seriously damage unaware or foolish humans. I had no intention of becoming a victim. I know how powerful perfectly safe mushrooms can be if consumed in quantity when very fresh having recently been high as a kite at three am due to over indulgence of delicious and very fresh Shitakee mushrooms. At the time it was OK and entertaining but it also granted sobering thoughts as to consequences of 'wrong' mushrooms.

We moved on leaving the fruiting fungi behind while noting it, and its larger companions, location.

Once back in Smart phone signal range 'You Tube' soon confirmed I had correctly identified an edible Puffball mushroom. Next days early morning Tanya doggy walk saw me returning bearing one large white spherical 'Puffball mushroom. Slicing it in half and seeing the pure white Tofu like consistency gave further confirmation of safety to consume. Frying up half inch, steak like slices in melted butter, adding salt to taste, and eating them was sublime satisfaction.
I'm also still here to tell the tale and none the worse for it. Plus there is an additional bonus. You can slice up and freeze this fungi. Mmmmm... I'm looking forward to my next fry up, mushroom omelette or whatever idea or recipe takes my fancy.

Droning on in Welsh & Irish.

"Well I've thought hard about it, and for what it's worth, I think I'll give it a miss the next time round". (Jacki Whitren. From the album 'Raw but Tender.)

A sentiment with some resonance this year as age loads mind with memories, friends pass, old patterns re-emerge and outside worldly circumstances conspire to dismay, bewilder and sadden.

Or maybe I'm just knackered after walking/cycling for miles along a sun kissed Co Kerry beach with, at times, on the back of my bike two small dogs tightly harnessed in green plastic bucket. There was no rest at the end either for we were then re-united with the inexhaustible energy of four year old Grandson Kaden who promptly had me in the sea where the game allows Grampy Steve, and only Grampy Steve, to be the recipient of a suprisingly well aimed powerful water pistol.

Castle Gregory's Sandy Bay, on the  Mharees was today a blue sky and warm sun beach loaded with tourists and in particular children. They were partaking of the many and varied water entertainments provided by two local competing watersports companies. By the time I had cycled back, thankfully with just one dog this time, I was, and still am, as already stated,  knackered. Hence the quiet reflective evening of music transporting me through layered clouds of emotional melancholy.

My route to Ireland took in Wales and two visits. Firstly my niece and her partner in Llantrisant, home of the Royal Mint, where I was given the grand tour of their recently purchased home. I was impressed that within such sensible commuting distance of Cardiff a solid spacious and well appointed, home could be purchased for real value for money prices.

Second visit was to Talley and Stepdaughter and partners X pub renovation project. Progress here is slow due to various factors one being arrival of Matilda as sister to three year old Mabel. Dad was hard at work as I arrived but not on the house. Oh no! A sophisticated timber childrens play ground was under construction in the garden. Mabel, I think, enjoyed my short visit. I mean, a Motorhome, with a mouth organ inside plus a half finished playground all in the same garden. Three year old bliss I think.

While there my new camera Drone (2nd hand via Gumtree and 'budget' friendly!) was used constructively to inspect and photograph one of the recently re-furbished and very tall chimney pots. My Drone (Syma X5HW) is still in the category labelled  'toy' but even so it completed the task with aplomb impressing both myself and chief chimney renovator, Lloyd.

I freely admit to being a bit of a techie nerd and love partaking, at my 'one above Luddite' level, of todays incredibly rapid technological advancements. Mind you it helps that this particular piece of Drone technology allows access to spare parts. Let me tell you; a cup of tea on the table plus stripped out Drone equals an 'Aaaaah Balsa!' moment as childhood Balsa wood model aeroplane days come round again; bliss, pure bliss! One day I may even gain a 'good enough' proficiency to fly the damm thing without it crashing and breaking. That'll be the same day they announce pigs can fly. I'm also not sure, at nearly seventy years of age, whether my hand eye co-ordination is ever going to match the level that todays computer game raised youngsters take for granted as normal human ability.

Early Buddhist Psychology is another of 'my things'. Particuarly so now that some wonderful translations of the earliest scripts are becoming available. They are a far cry and a breath of fresh air as opposed to the burgeoning religiosity of later Buddhism. Today those very same texts are used worldwide under the guise of Mindfulness. One of the main tenets or understandings is; nothing is permanent. Nothing stays the same.

And so it is with Foxy10. I discovered such this morning as I delved behind Foxy's rear wheel to repair a damaged mudflap. There, to my suprise, I find other bits a-dangling and about to depart their snug, and so say permanent, underfloor home.

Sometimes I can do without impermanence. I had thick head and slow brain this morning. Anyone passing, and maybe then passing again this morning would have had their curiosity raised at the excessive time a pair of legs were protruding from underneath Foxy10. Let me assure that passer by it was me,  contemplating, slowly, as one does when faced with dangly bits that are meant to be permanently fixed bits.

Compromise was achieved after a couple hours wielding cable ties, drilling holes and bending bits of metal. Semi permanence will have to suffice for now. The illusory  permanent and proper fix is just gonna  have to wait till I have better workshop facilities. Ie; Salisbury and Richards workshop.

Next stop Scotland.

The Loire & 'tits-up' sorcery.

As alluded to in my last blog. No; I am not getting very far on my Northwards trip through France. The weather is beautiful, the back roads are empty, and you're a stronger person than me if you can manage to drive through more than two 'River Loire villages' without stopping to explore.

We had not got very far this morning from our wild spot in the woods at the junction of the 'River Vienne' which we had been following, with the mighty 'River Loire'. 'Saint Hilaire St Florent' and 'Musee du Champignon' said the sign. Now I love my mushrooms but also they grow them here in deep cool man made caves. Just the visit for such a hot day. There was even a cool shady spot to park Foxy10. Needed as I had  to leave Tanya behind.

I sampled their heavenly mushroom soup before spending an absorbing hour in the cool and fascinating museum which is also a commercial and experimental enterprise. The 'Shii-takes' plus scrambled egg on toast made a delicious evening meal while the bag of 'Blewits' (good for Cholesterol you know!) will be consumed tomorrow.
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Didn't get far after that. Another day in a shady woodland grove followed by some more pleasant backroad dawdling and there we were, 'Chateau de Combourg'. A good shady spot to park, €3.70 to enter the estate offering both Tanya and I pleasant walking in the cool shadow of magnificent rows of mature Linden and Chestnut trees.

The blurb reads: "In Arthurian legend, it is the family home of Sir Lancelot, Breton Knight of the round table. It rests in Merlin the wizards magical forest of Broceliande and guards the mystical lake of sorceress and Fairy queen Viviane. The lady of the lake".

Well that's all well and good but I reckon our fairy queen Viviane has had her come uppance, what with all her sorcering and stuff. She has had to lie low for a while. I found her in the very pleasant village of 'Gorron' lounging about as if  she owned the place, chewing on a flower and masquerading as a fully 'tits-up' fairy cow.

Sorry folks; but it was such a good foto I just had to milk it for all it was worth.....! (groan, groan.)

Ferry to UK sometime next week.

A pilgrim & a Retreat

So there I was at 'Vers' enjoying helping my friend Mike move house. Only he then turns up with Adrian, a 23yr old German lad who just happened to bump into Mike one evening after I had returned to Foxy10. He asked Mike if there was anywhere to sleep in the village plus where he could forage for food.
Errr! 'Forage did you say?'
Turns out this young man just happens to be walking from the Black Forest in Germany to Santiago de Compostella. The 'St Jaque's' Pilgrim trail. Only he is doing it with no money. He explained further of how he is an activist and involved in the green sharing/bartering movement. Well he was about half way through his 3000 kilometre pilgrimage. He was lean, fit, good company, a harmonica player and Dharma practitioner too (Buddhist). He also plunged with me into the icy cold water of the Vers river for a welcome swim after a very hot and busy day.

Mike took him in and fed him that first night and I was introduced to him the next morning. As we all worked together moving Mikes furniture I offered to take him with me to Plum Village for a few days. Adrian eagerly accepted while I pondered on the fact I'd just agreed to feed and finance him for the duration. However; there was not too much pondering. When Madame Universe decrees and clearly presents the path who am I to argue. He was very good company and also a very hungry young man.

Plum Village, for both of us, was true, deep retreat experience. Meditative calm and peace, excellent veggie food, beautiful walks and meaningful sharing with like minded retreatants. We made new friends plus I met again friends from my past visits. On one 'Dharma sharing' workshop there were people from twenty seven different countries in attendance.

I could not finance the two of us for the whole retreat but we stayed for five days with one of those days so kindly paid for by 'Dirk', a very special man from Dusseldorf who was also in a motorhome.

Finally, a week after our first meeting, I watched Adrian, now well fed and with his huge rucksack stuffed full of food, set off once again on the 'St Jaque's' route. Go well young man. We shared a special week together. I will not forget.

Poor Tanya did not fare quite so well. She was attacked by an alsation on one walk. Unfortunately he got his teeth into her shoulder before my foot connected with his head making him back off. Plenty of antiseptic and a lot of TLC and she seems fine. There is a bit of a lump and some swelling of which she was initially very touchy. Pleased to report she is now much better but we are both suffering in the very hot weather just now.

I shouldn't complain as we are slowly headed North now. UK bound but in no particular hurry. I usually, when it is really hot, do most travelling in the afternoon, the hottest part of the day. Driving with Mrs SatNav set to 'meander along smaller roads' and the air conditioning keeping us cool is really rather pleasant. Unfortunately, we don't do many kilometres per day so I will probably, and reluctantly, switch to main roads next week.

We're Dordogne at present, out in the countryside well away from the tourist mayhem of a Bank holiday weekend. I will hold onto, for a few more days, Plum Village's mindful and peaceful mindset.

Moments & Mike.

Snow covered Pyrenees fill my distant view. Rolling forested hills dotted with attractive villas and vineyards are my near view. To the right, and below, of me a shuttered up small holiday home or someone's much loved weekend retreat. If there had been signs of occupation, then out of respect, I would not have parked here in this conveniant little pull in by their entrance gateway. As it is I can see no one else as Foxy10 sits neatly in her wee saddle on this ridge of hills between 'Oloron st Marie' and 'Pau' here in SW France.
I'm sat next to wildflowers with the only sound being the buzz of myriad insects as they pursue their daily business. Which; by the way entails a nasty nip at one of my ankles causing the usual swelling and itching.
Wild camping spots such as this are precious. I never hurry and always give time for reflection. Time for reflection on my good fortune, family, health and sufficient wealth. All, plus more, the ingredients granting me in this my third age, such precious moments.

No more so than this very moments contemplating of distant snow covered peaks reflecting the sun which warmed both Tanya and I as we basked in its bright healing rays. The thought popping up in such moments is always, share; share this moment in all its awesomeness. This blog entry is an attempt at that sharing, which of course it can never be. As a photograph only ever captures a specific nanosecond of part of the whole picture, so also my attempt at sharing. I can only give you an approximation of my 'moment'. You can only relate to it by recalling similar, and by definition, different, from your own store of 'moments'.

One of the joys/gifts of my life has been an ability to listen to others as they recount their own moments. Those listening skills were honed and had a keen sharp edge during my years as a mental health wellbeing practitioner (Counsellor). Even now I still love to listen but have noticed that now I no longer enjoy the continuous professional training and support, the bubbling up of my own 'need to tell of my moment' , is harder to supress.

For me, these precious and joyful moments contain strong connecting energy and value. They demand I give due time, consideration, reflection and meditation to them. If I don't I feel I am not honouring or respecting previous generations who gave so much to enable my present 'moments' fortunate circumstances. Nor am I honouring or respecting those present generations who are, for whatever reason, suffering bleak, joyless moments.
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Well that was reflection and now its cutting hedges and shifting furniture. After a slow meander across this most beautiful part of SW France I am at 'Vers'. It is a gorgeous and very small French village right on the banks of the River Lot where it  conjoins with the 'Vers' tributary. There is a lovely, laid back, Aire here and also, if you want to pay a bit more money, a Municipal, and also laid back, campsite right on riverside. I'm here helping Mike, whom I met earlier this year in Spain. He has just signed on the dotted line for a ridiculously cheap, but liveable in, typical old style French village house. The place is huge and on three levels with the main two bedroom, bathroom, living room, kitchen and terrace at the roadside level with multiple rooms and potential below. I helped yesterday by trimming his roadside hedge and firing up his quite modern hot water/heating system. Boy was that cooling swim in the deep pools of the Vers welcome in the 31°c heat of the day. Today it's moving furniture down from his temporary rented Jite. However; he needs very little as at some time the house must have been rented out as a Jite with all the furniture, pots and pans, white goods and even a car trailer included in the purchase. And the price? About the same as I paid for Foxy10 in pounds Sterling. I am tempted, really tempted and one day...... well who knows. My wandering lifestyle suits me just now whereas Mike has family, friends and his artistic community in this area. For him a good and financially sensible move. For me another good friend and beautiful place to visit.

Virgins, millponds & a love affair.

Alone by the side of a track in the rolling plains overlooking 'Segovia' and its magnificent cathederal.

"Ahhh; that's better Tanya, peace and quiet with nobody to bother us".

It was not long, Tanya had only just finished her tea and I had just sat down with my cup of tea, before my peaceful illusion was shattered. A young child came whizzing by on a bike as an adult stationed himself immediately outside Foxy10 and directed the other twenty or so children on bikes down the rough track to the front of us. There is just no peace for this 'wicked' motorhomer not even in the high plains of mid Spain.

The spot is beautiful though and earlier I was watching thru binoculars a solitary high flying Stork being harrassed by a group of beautiful soaring Buzzards (might be wrong on that one as I am not the best at knowing my Eagles from my Buzzards)

My wild spot of two nights ago was also 'a crowd' one. I'd arrived in 'Badajoz' at the free Aire for motorhomes. It was nearly full and the only spot available was tight between a French and a Spanish motorhome. We squeezed in. Tanya and I then exited and headed across the road in the thirty degree heat for a walk in the park by the river. I inwardly cursed as we entered. The place was loaded with geese who upon spying Tanya set up an unholy racket, lowered their heads and made sure, in no uncertain terms, that one step nearer meant goose invasion.

"Sod it" I said to Tanya. "It's stinking hot, a rubbish camping spot and your walk is blocked by bloody geese; we're leaving!" and we did.

Ten minutes later I was parked up by an old mill which I'd spotted, by chance as I glanced between two tall disused buildings. I'd also caught the briefest glimpse of someone swimming. "Now we're talking." I muttered as I negotiated Foxy10 down a rough but short track and stopped right by the old mill and under a tree too, a real bonus of some much needed shade for Foxy10. There was group of about eight local lads and girls plus various tattoos, smokes and states of undress. They were an alright group though and despite no language commonality they acommodated /tolerated me well and pointed out where to dive in and more importantly where not to. There was one girl in particular dressed only in bra, pants, tattoos and purple Mohican haircut who while swimming around showing me "Nada, nada" (no) or "Bally, bally" (ok) kept one hand and her ciggy above water at all times. Most impressive; but I chose not to follow her as she slid down the slippery and green slime covered weir into the froth below. Neither did I see whether the ciggy survived that one as by then I was too busy enjoying my own cooling and unexpected bonus swim around the satisfyingly deep green millpond.
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"If I'd read the rough guide properly I'd have known it closes on Lunes (Mondays). Ah well tis their loss not mine".

Foxy10 was parked on the steep uphill roadway right outside the locked gates to 'Numancia'. This Iberian Celtic stronghold was one of the last places to resist the advancing Romans. Finally in about 334bc Scipio, erstwhile Roman General, sorted em out. Quietly mind. He just built a bigger stronghold all round them and waited till they all starved or did themselves in rather than be slaves. Nice guy, would make an excellent politician today don't you think?

However; I did leave my mark. Foxy10 being at just the right steeply backward angle of repose had her waste tank tap opened. A satisfying gurgling rush of shower and washing up water gushed down the grassy slope and disappeared within seconds into the arid dry ground. Naughty I know but I felt much better after that, and anyway the Romans are long gone by now, wasn't a sign of them guarding the gate, so no harm done.

The secondary road onwards took me over the high Sierra toward 'Tuleda' and 'Rioca' country. High, wide, empty and somehow I just love it. Maybe it's my agricultural history in and around the wide open Cotswolds that instilled in me a love affair with such places. Who knows; what I do know is you could pick the Cotswolds up and tuck them into a neat corner of these vast low density agricultural Spanish Sierra's so I truly was 'ensconced in my affair' today.

We stopped for lunch at one of the many 'Ermita de la Virgin.... of whatever/wherever'. There seems to have been a preponderance of historical saintly virgins all with their own hermitage in this area. Can't say I see many about just now. I blame t'internet and social media myself. But who knows. Maybe that group of female teenagers who nearly mowed me and Tanya down in Segovia, because they were all heads down and two thumb texting, were all busily texting their daily devotions to the... 'Become a saintly virgin and claim your own hermitage' social media site?
Hmmmm: I wonder!

Blood, Haircuts & a rubber band.

Things around me were definitely a little hazy as I watched the Dettol and water mix in my washing up bowl turn a deep rosy red from blood pouring profusely out of a wound in my foot. Luckily I had only got a few metres away from Foxy10 when the mischievous and devilishly sharp bamboo spike casually sliced through my soft shoe and travelled deep into the sole of my foot. Poor Tanya looked bemused as she tried to work out what the screaming, and frightening for a wee dog, profanity meant and why we suddenly weren't walking any more.
The shock/trauma factor slowly subsided and shaky hands steadied as they gingerly dried off a still bleeding right foot. An injury to the sole of your foot is a fiendishly difficult part of one's anatomy to see. With leg bent double and foot placed sole up on the bed I could at least see over my right shoulder and ascertain I had a clean puncture wound with no bamboo fragments remaining. Once disinfected, dried and plastered it became apparent that I was not going to be walking or driving anywhere for a few days. Fortunately I was at 'Vilamoura' and only ten minutes from where I was staying with my X Bro in Law Ian and lovely wife Aju. Foxy10, with some difficulty, was returned to her spot outside their luxury apartment which is where I am right now and will be for the next few days as throbbing and painful foot slowly heals.

The incident is ironic as Ian himself, a keen golfer, is also incapacitated due to a groin injury. That's two grumpy and immobile males in one luxury 'Vilamoura' apartment. Strange thing is Aju is getting out of the apartment and playing more golf.
Now I wonder why that is? lol!

We all enjoyed a momentous occasion a few nights ago when we visited 'Chicken Shack' in 'Quarteria'. The place is famous for its no nonsense, sit at benches and tuck in to charcoal grilled whole Piri Piri chicken and chips. Delicious, especially when accompanied with tomato and onion salad. However; the meal, enjoyable as it was, was not the 'momentous'.

The 'momentous', and you're gonna have a good laugh at this, was that for the first time in my 69yr life I sported a pony tail. Ok: so it was a very small one, a bob really, and it was held in place by a small green rubber band but the fact remains. I have finally grown long enough hair at the back for a pony tail.
Mind you I very nearly lost it when I recently went for a haircut. I explained to the lady with my best Portugese 'long here' and 'short there' gestures excactly what I wanted. Well, a dubious looking cubicle right by the 'Tavira' fish market advertising Unisex haircuts for six Euros should maybe have warned me that we were not dealing with a 'Vidal Sassoon' hairdresser here. Five minutes it took her. Five minutes of vigorous scissors and wicked looking razor clicking, scraping and slicing unmercifully to deliver a very short cut to behind the ears where a clear line of definition was left between short hair and long hair.
I Look more like a Mohican I do!
I'm trusting (praying actually) that a couple of weeks growth will soften the effect. No matter though, my long hair at the back is still there and my green rubber band awaits its next outing.
Oh! The simple pleasures of a vain degenerate and aimlessly wandering 69 year old eh!
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It is now three days on and I am €80.00's poorer having reluctantly been forced to take my rapidly swelling foot to the local GP. Thought I had possibly got away with it but this mornings foot comparison exercise plus visual confirmation from my highly supportive and appreciated hosts told another tale. Oh well: guess a few more days of foot up draped in cool wraps plus a course of antibiotics will have to suffice for now. Poor Tanya though. She is getting a bit fed up of following this new fangled 'hobble very slowly' master round the same old Condominium block.

My hair is growing though and I have the June 8 election via Facebook to keep me amused. You have to admit don't you..... life is sometimes just soooo good....!!!

Teenagers & Toddlers.

So there I was on a quite and abandoned urbanisation road on the edge of 'Espera' village in the rolling plains South of Seville. All of a sudden a motorised scooter complete with gleefully screaming teenage girl hanging onto daring male teenage scooter driver, shoots by, right under my awning which was out giving shade from the hot sun.

"Uh ho! " I said to Tanya; "looks like we've parked in the local village illicit teenage playground". I moved my camping chair to the middle of the awning temporarily stopping their fun before it got too dangerous.

Now I'm not quite sure how it happened but before long we were all, via smartphones and Google translate (which was hilarious!) having a conversation with half of said teenagers sat inside Foxy10 and the others just outside. They were good kids and throughout the evening various of them would pop in, or by, for another attempt at speaking English with the Gringo from Escotia.
The highlight had to be when they all sang 'Happy Birthday' to me and Foxy10 rocked on her wheels with the 'cheerleader' type dancing (and screaming) from the three girls and one boy inside.

This 'fun with the local teenagers' was all purely by chance too as I had driven through the village, noticing its 'Castillo' atop the hill and continued on toward a lake I'd randomly designated as Mrs Sat Navs destination. You can usually find a spot to park up at near lakes.
A minute past 'Espera' village, and a sudden impulsive decision to turn Foxy10 around and head back for a walk to  'Castillo de Fatetar'. Well it was my birthday and  impulsive decisions are a must on such days. (note to self - please try to curb impulsive decision making on other days....they have a habit of getting me into all sorts of scrapes!) An impressive Castillo it was too plus a very steep and hot walk in the 27°c afternoon warmth. These days I usually have to carry Tanya up the steepest bits plus stopping to give her drinks.

My 'Espera' village teenagers have not been the only ones shattering my quiet solo travelling life this last couple of weeks either. I was delighted to host my son Keith and lively, coming up to age four , toddler Kaden for a few days. They flew into Malaga and were soon whisked off to 'Torrox Costa' where I had already sussed out a safe for toddlers beachside camping spot. Hot sun, sandy beach, safe and shallow sea. What more could a toddler need I thought? Well; as it turned out silly Grampy had not sussed that yes, Kaden does love the beach but..

"Grampy Steve, don't you know I live by the beach. I want a playground too".

Foxy10 did her very best at being a playground but violently using the gearstick as a jelly fuelled turbo booster while having to contend with locked steering wheel and verbal limitations to 'DON'T TOUCH THAT ONE' weren't quite hitting the 'I'm an OK toddler' button. We all know of course the opposite, the 'I'm NOT an OK toddler'. World war three plus two adults immediately morphed into slaves alleviating at any cost whatsoever the pending onset of Armageddon itself.

Luck was with us. We set off down the long promenade for a walk and lo and behold wasn't there just the playground to beat all playgrounds right there and free to use plus coffee shop onsite too. Toddler heaven and adult respite! In fact even more. Keith and Justine back in Castlegregory, Co Kerry, Ireland are deep into fund raising for their own village playground having recently, after a three year struggle with officialdom, obtained the go ahead & some funding. Many photos from many angles were taken by Keith as we together assisted one coming up to age four toddler up the 'minimum age six years' tower to the twisty tube slide back to ground floor. Did I, bye the way, mention that toddlers love 'repetition'? To be fair Keith was an impressive and dedicated Dad and not only handled the' playground repetition delicacies' superbly (at least I got my coffee!) but in general made the whole week so easy and such a pleasure for us all. Pangs of sadness touched me as I watched them disappear through airport security at the end of the week.

Normality quickly returned as I tackled the laundry, my goodness that was a big one! Put Foxy10 back together again and headed off to 'Benalmadena Pueblo' and one of my favourite special places. Calm, spiritual energy and peace are always there in abundance from both the alluring cleft in the rock grotto dedicated to Christian themes and the tall Golden topped Buddhist Stupa above. Overall a place of strong and ancient Gaia energy.

Right now I'm stinking!! I'm beachside at the popular Spanish resort of 'Islantilla' not too far from the 'Portuguese' border. I've not washed this morning as the decision is 'Swim' then beachside shower. Such a decadent life eh! I have noticed this year though the manic urge I used to get to swim in every bit of suitable water I came across has subsided. Perhaps it's an age thing. But I notice this morning I keep testing the air temperature then deciding; 'nope, not quite there yet, give it another hour or so'. Nearly time now though. Get clean, refreshed and then I reckon a nice lunch of  'Tostada' and coffee at the beachside cafe.

Got to do it now haven't I Tanya. I mean I've written it up in the blog so got to make it real now. Let me just go sniff that air again........!!

All of life eh!

I pointed down into the gulley at the few fish swimming there. Irish Mark swimming alongside me acknowledged. We perched briefly on a rock and with snorkels out and goggles raised commented how visibility was better out here on the far side of the rocks as opposed closer to the beach. Mark had his full wetsuit plus wet gloves to offset the distinct chill of the sea on this our first sea swim of 2017. I indicated to him that I would head back as my shorty 2mm Summer wetsuit was, after fifteen minutes, starting to let the cold seep through. Tanya, as always, was waiting for me back at the beach as I, grinning from ear to ear emerged from the sea and staggered ashore. Oh! It was just so good to get that first swim under my belt. I was quite happy with twenty five minutes too. A cold cold sea plus me with start of season unfitness. Ten minutes was my original estimate as I plunged in.

At long last it definitely is getting warmer. Twenty five degrees today. As well as the swim I know warmth is arriving as the first insect bite itches and bumps have also arrived. Usually as the season progresses my skin, as I unmercifully expose it and invite Mr and Mrs insect to dine on its soft white surface, gains some immunity helped, I am sure by regular salt water immersion.
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We left La Manga as the weather turned and I got caught in a horrendous thunder storm wirh gale force winds at my first stop, a Motorhome dealer. I was there to pick up a spare for the fridge as it had played up in the heat at La Manga. It was a common gas fridge problem and I soon had it running again so the spare Gas Jet I was seeking was a cautionary preventative measure against future failure. Despite the thunderstorm knocking out electrics and internet and blowing the roof off an outbuilding the very efficient young lady at 'Caravanas Sangar' delved into a parts manual, disappeared out back and returned Gas Jet in hand. Impressed I was, very impressed.
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I am now at a little village just east of Nerja. I did spend one night in my usual spot in Nerja itself, which I call the Bear pit due to it being a low level scrap of land/car park. However; it is very conveniently near the centre but unusually this year was so so busy. I have never seen this whole area so busy at this time of year. Hence I have moved to 'Maro' where it is much quieter although you wouldn't know it tonight as there is a party going on next to me with several families involved. It is Spain though and quite normal up until 11.0pm when it usually goes blissfully quiet.
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Quite a change now. Cool Cloudy and dull as I sit lazily looking out at the sea from my perch here at 'Torrox Costa'. It is just down the road from Nerja but has easier access to the beach. I personally prefer 'Maro' and its steep walk down to a secluded and any or no attire goes beach which also has shady spots under wild bamboo groves. Last week I enjoyed its delights and warm clear waters. For now though 'Torrox Costa' has been designated as a more suitable and accessible beach for a lively four year old Grandson. I've also been to 'Malaga' for a trial run at collecting my Son Keith and accompanying Kaden from the airport for their short four day visit. Not easy in a Motorhome and I am afraid they're going to have to use a taxi to a nearby retail park where I will be waiting.

While there I also found a local free spot to stay the night as their arrival is very late evening. Which prompts a story of one of the somewhat unusual, some may call it unsavoury, aspects of my 'male solo' travelling existence.

My night near Malaga was spent on an empty car park, close to the beach and overlooked by a block of flats. No problem and very quiet. The next day we decided on a bike ride in the large and wild area between 'Malaga' and 'Torremolinas' , a good bird watching area. So I moved Foxy10 to a more conveniant spot deeper inside this wild area. I Parked just by a French van whose solo male occupant, once establishing I was solo also, went into full propositioning mode. I've sort of got used to this sort of behaviour/approach by now and once the differing sexual orientations were established, not easy as he had no English and my French in challenging situations quickly reverts to shouted English, we soon developed a workable rapport. Once we had the 'delicacies' sorted I knew Foxy10 would be OK left while Tanya and I enjoyed our bike ride. And so it turned out to be. However I did not spend the night there as I've found as evening/night draws on frustrated deviants plus alcohol (the two usually go together) can get a little persistent and quite frankly boring. These 'on the edge', and in particular 'at the edge' of towns and cities, groups of 'underbelly society' exist everywhere. Caution, common sense, humour and being male enables me to utilise these areas pretty safely as the one thing I, they and normal society have in common is a want of peace, quiet and non interference by the authorities/police.

What was nice was to wake up a couple days later wild parked on a deserted 'Urbanization' near 'Almayate' and, while walking Tanya, bump into the perfectly normal Linda, who was also walking her dog from a nearby campsite where she and her husband Julian were resting up between travelling Morocco and heading to France in their beautiful old classic Hymer Motorhome.

All of life eh, all of life.