Hurrah next week I start two weeks of treatment to harvest stem cells. I shall be quite ill.

In case I die, unlikely as it is not a dangerous procedure at all, but as death by some other means – excessive sloth, excessive gobbiness, assasination or excessive consumption of parma violet chocolates – made in York and unsurpassed in the canon of great choccies, is a distinct possibility, I thought I would supplement the well known ten commandments with some more of my own, updated to take into account my whims and changes of resolve. BTW – One of few things I find unacceptable about Jeremy Corbyn is his reluctance to change his mind – this is a dangerous characteristic he would do well to moderate. There is nothing like a good U-Turn to command my respect – only complete monsters are ‘not for turning’ and we don’t want anymore of those. Showing unassailable resolve only pleases the sort of nits who think the second word war ended in our favour because we had a leader in Winnie who showed resolve, conveniently forgetting about things like the Russian Front, American cash, the weather and luck.

While I remember – I have redesigned my main page to make it easier to access my wisdom – personal, professional and poetry – go to www.gravityisahat.com  to enjoy my many fruits.

A little navel gazing follows –

I apologise, I guess I really am a pompous old git now. No that’s not it, really – I just like being perverse. I promise I do actually really like most people, nearly everyone actually, but there is something about certainty, about believing stuff, that really rattles me and makes me want to shout at people and hate them. I can’t accept the idea that anything is beyond the reach of ridicule and debunking. Nothing is sacred, absolutely nothing – I could really offend (but I wont) by listing the things, people, ideas that are subliminally designated by the Appleton set (model for many other similar ghettos) no-go areas when it comes to a good arse kicking – I was recently reminded by  friends of a few I have already targeted that can be safely repeated; poppy day (the biggest changer of my blog), being charitable, social responsibility, earning a living, knowing stuff, doing stuff, owning your own house, sending birthday cards, jacuzzis, reading books, – seriously would you dare go to a friends house for dinner bearing a half decent bottle of prosecco from Waitrose and pronounce “Actually I encourage my children not to read as I can’t be bothered to read those poxy boring kiddie books with them.” – all I am saying is, that this view,  along with any other contrary view imaginable has more power to disrupt, to cause change, to entertain and to puncture complacency than the self congratulatory remarks we (especially me) made as competitive middle class parents about reading the complete works of Turgenev to our children when they were two. Its also massively more fun and fun is fun. Middle class social interaction requires that you spend a good part of your energies in constructing a persona who has a ‘very little brain,’ but is not half so appealing as Pooh Bear.

Things I still really care about – no U-Turns yet

• My beloved family and friends – without them the universe is nothing
• Speaking my mind – being ill has empowered me – I like the ill me so much more than the well me. Sadly others don’t.
• ‘Strictly Come Dancing’ – the passion that drives people to compete, perform and to care so fiercely – also the production standards are through the roof
• That all gods are bad news and we should learn to do without them
• That we need an equal gender divide in politics and all positions of power
• My cats and the hens that live in the field – not so much the ones I eat.
• That we could do without government all together
• That we need a government that taxes us fat-cats to blazes to pay for
• …the staff at the Magnolia Centre in York who look after me
• Vintage telecommunications applied to melodrama, music, opera and sound design
• That we don’t need borders, nations, races, genders or santa
• I really must finish my Teddy poems and my photography project.

Things I pretend to care about

• Socialism/politics
• Anyone beyond my family and friends and whoever catches my attention on the BBC news – come on lets face it if I really cared I would not devote my time to poetry, melodrama and old phones
• Cancer – I care to survive I don’t care to know or to revel.

Things I have wasted my time doing in the last 18 months

• Worrying – trouble is I’ve done it for 58 years probably can’t stop
• Fiddling with things beyond my capability – difficult programming requiring mathematical literacy, small mechanical items eg clocks – not got the brain, patience or dexterity
• Following plots eg. Dr Who, Endeavour, just about anything with more than two characters – utterly impossible
• Being nice to bigots who deserve to die
• Being angry with bigots who deserve to die
• Selling on Ebay – who cares about making money its only fun to spend it and buy stuff.
• Replying to e-mails that are headed ‘Staff development opportunity – coping with stress’ – just got one and can’t cope.
• Tracking my children using ‘findmyphone’ – really not healthy

Things I am really pleased with –

• My gorgeous family – this sounds sickly but they are the highest of earthly achievements a little bit thanks to me.
• My phone box – I love it and all it does for me – even when it hurt me badly
• This blog – I think its great. Naaahhhhh!

Sour and grumpy – this how I am characterized by our rapidly dwindling circle of friends – why – because, apparently, I don’t like christmas or new year. I say apparently, because it’s not an opinion I actually hold, rather it is one that has been applied to me by others. christmas, new year, birthdays, weddings, parties – all much of a muchness as far as I am concerned, like any other day of the year when you are obliged to do something you don’t want to do, like washing up or emptying the cats litter tray. Not exactly awful, but certainly not special, just occasions when jolliness is obligatory – but really most people would rather be reading a book, walking the dog, watching telly or sleeping. It’s the element of obligation that pisses me off. Why do we have to say ‘Merry Christmas’? It certainly does not make me merry to receive such vacuous banalities why should I give it. Same with ‘Happy New Year’, pulling frigging crackers, giving gifts, eating food, sitting together, talking, laughing, breathing – tiresome obligations!

So much more fun to give a gift when you fancy, to party when you fancy, laugh because its funny, talk and sit together because you like each other and like to watch the same thing on telly. To say ‘have a great day’ because you want someone’s day to be great, not because on December 25^th you must say it,  because everyone else is, because Dickens fans say it should be so, just because a baby was not born 2000 odd years ago on that day – HAPPY CHRIS’s CHRISTMAS! I love it.

PS. And I make no concessions for the ‘joy of wide-eyed children in the morning when they run down in their pink and blue jim-jams.’ The only childhood Christmas I remember finding even a bit special, was when my Nan gave me a gun with a real revolving magazine and bullets that had to be individually charged with gunpowder caps. A meticulous but worthwhile task with many misfires.

No we have not been deluged. We are cut off only so far as not wanting to drive through about 6 inches of water in case we break the cars, otherwise we have been fortunate. The bad flooding has been in the city centre and we feel sorry for the people who live near the Foss as normally it is protected by a big gate thing. This time that had to open the gate so water from the Ouse (the big river in York) flowed into the Foss (the little one) – result slightly less damage to those near the Ouse but very bad for those near the Foss. Poor them. Our stream which is normally about 3 foot wide and 6 inches deep is about 100 yards wide and 6 feet deep. See above –  Exciting for us, miserable for others.

I look back a year or so and I have to admit I am more than a bit embarrassed. I seem to have been revelling in my new found power to publish and be dammed (why didn’t somebody tell me), mouthing off in the most objectionable way about anything – mainly stuff I didn’t know anything about. The ‘newsy’ topical political stuff I wrote about is particularly cringe making. I feel as though I accidentally uploaded my teenage diary together with my teenage pants, it was so full of misplaced enthusiasm for myself and my stupid, stupid thoughts. So whatever happens, in my new state of greater caution and self awareness and acknowledging as one must the heart crushing sadness of the event, I will not talk about the Paris attacks – except to say – and I think I have to – if I hear one more commentator say that’s it’s nothing to do with religion I will self flagellate and crawl with bleeding thighs to the top of whatever hilly hump I can find in the dire flatness that they call the Vale of York. It has everything to do with religion. Religious belief is the safe harbour for the deluded, the desperate, the angry and the lonely. It simplifies and codifies, what to think and how to behave. It encourages tribalism and the suppression of free thought. Until a few sensible religious leaders stand up and say – ‘look actually, this is partly our fault – we are a right bunch of plonkers.” I will remain in a state of insurmountable catatonic outrage every time I turn on radio 4. That is except for hearing from the current Archbishop of Canterbury, who I gather may have lost his faith after witnessing the Paris events. Good for him! of course it makes no difference whatsoever if he has or he hasn’t it takes a truly enlightened nation (not some bloke wearing a cornflake box on his head) like the French to stand up for secularisation but if any of those killed in the stadium were my children I would curse the government and the people for being so brave. Let’s all cow tell (cow tail makes more sense but I think it’s wrong) to the hypocrisy that drives religion, that way we might survive the next ‘Take That’ gig. As @thetweetofGod says “I give up. You’re on your own. Good Luck.”

Now where was I – are yes my new found caution and self awareness.

I now have a date scheduled for my ‘stem cell harvest.’ January 19th – 3 days after my 59th birthday – I have an opera DVD Charles bought me at the ready as there are several 4 hour sessions of complete stillness and no weeing. The name of the process sounds a bit like a new healthy breakfast cereal but is not nearly as much fun as Alpen. The process involves a heavy dose of poison which for some reason encourages the stem cells to be produced. I suppose your system hits panic mode and decides that the only way forward is to make a brand new Chris as the old one has clearly had it. I believe I have to self inject – yikes! I pride myself on not being squeamish and now having bragged about this I am stuck with a bogus superhero reputation among the nurses. I predict the dismantling of my pedestal ( falling like a bronze Saddam) when it turns out that I cry and puke like a baby when forced by macho pride and nurse Richard (my favourite) to impale myself. I really don’t mind needles wielded by others but self stabbing is like making yourself sick – something I have always admired in others but have managed to avoid so far, even after food poisoning in Macao ( when in retrospect I should have followed the advice of my sadistic costume designer – you know the one who left me to burn in a hotel fire – have I shared that story?).

My return to work has been very pleasant indeed. I am very lucky to have such supportive colleagues and a supportive institution. Some of the students remember me and seemed quite pleased to see me. I must say I like them as people. I find the whole student / lecturer status game completely unecessary but if we are allowed to just get on and work on interesting stuff together without all the requirements to fit in with ill informed educational edicts from government, its a great job. Government and hierarchical management ruin everything. As I have said just one or twice before let’s hope one day they all bog off back to to Salieri’s temple of mediocrity where they belong. Long live student power. My phased return is very gradual indeed, and I am grateful for this as the driving is still a bit taxing, not mentally, just a bit knackeringust on the muscles.

I have reconsidered the opening piece for the phone box and have written something less bizarrely out of the blue than originally planned. Why I still maintain its important not to defer to your audience, leaving them in a state of complete bewilderment, as if the event is not bewildering enough, seems pretty dumb,not to say arrogant. This is such fun I cannot tell you. It’s a bit like having a full orchestra to play with after spending years with just a banjo. I just hope I don’t make a hash of it . Then again that prospect is what makes it fun.

Talking of fun I am envious (something as a rule I don’t suffer from) of a dear friend who has a new puppy and my niece who has a new flower/coffee/gift shop. I love new starts – in a way I have had to make one, no bad thing, but I don’t think I will ever stop looking forward to making another one. To be honest when we had a dog I was a terrible owner and I would not be happy about all that walkies nonsense we misguidedly think dogs need – just let them out to run around town like they do in some place in Portugal – never mind this ritualised dog work-out in stupid green wellies with a yellow safety flash jacket and a virtuous smile yuk yuk yuk. – down with ritualised anything, say us dogs. Bite all the doggie walkers, free us from our leads and long live strays!

I discovered something really cool yesterday. In the 19th century while there was the big patent battle over Bell’s electric telephone system some enterprising folk designed and built string telephone systems. Yes they really did operate on the same principle as the tin can telephone. The string was actually very taught steel wire – tight as a guitar string and held in place by bolts and spacers. There were techniques to make it go round corners and it was said it could achieve a range of 4 miles although it was usually used for short distances. Apparently strong winds would cause it to sing and rain caused it to patter and rattle. Snow and ice would stop it working all together. These inventions were around for about 10 years before the electric telephone took over. Ohhhhh to find one of those. Here is a picture

Maria has just finished decorating and as you can see I have added a new fixture and fitting. My obsession with the telephone has reached new heights and they are now all over the house including this A/B box in the kitchen. It’s from the 1940’s (updated in the 60’s to decimal currency). Ignore the Western Electric crank phone, that’s another story .I have yet to find a phone to go with the coin box or the bellset to fit inside it (No. 33) that could take years as they are pretty rare and somewhat sought after. My eventual plan is to simulate a manual exchange by connecting it to the old switchboard in my office, that now works like a dream.

So in future, to place a call, visitors to our house will

1. Pick up the receiver causing the buzzer at the switchboard to sound and the dolls eye to drop
2. Either Maria (putting on her best brief encounter tea lady voice) or me (in drag) will answer “Operator. What number please?”
3. The guest will request a number and Maria or I will instruct them to enter 2p’s and shillings to the correct amount. We’ll be able to check that the correct amount has been entered by counting the gong and bell strikes made by the two different coins (these coin boxes had a microphone installed isn’t that just brilliant, what if you lost count or were tone deaf)
4. We then dial the number and listen for an answer
5. If the call is answered the guest will press button A and the money will drop into the cash box. If there is no answer then they can press button B to get a refund.

What a delight this will be for our guests, who as well as enjoying our sparkling company and conversation will hopefully have gained valuable insights into the mid century telephone system in the UK.

BTW – plan to harvest my stem cells going ahead much to my surprise. Store for a rainy day I suppose.