Sugar Daddy

Whoops! Seems like I have diabetes. The nurse at Whipps Cross didn't need to get a second blood sample; the first confirmed that my sugar level reading was 10 and so I shall be back to see Dr. Sebastian next week.

I had checked my glucose levels the day before and got 6.5 at midday and 8 in the evening before we went out so the only intake I had, after fasting, was my medication which includes a statin. Hmmm.

There was an article in the Daily Mail the day before suggesting that statins can increase the risk of diabetes. And, previously, I had also been on atenolol, a beta blocker, which is a medication also known to have the same effect.

Ah well! I guess another life-style change looms.

has the worm begun to turn?

I have long accepted the evil, monopolising power of the supermarkets in destroying town centres and their shops. It is sad fact of life that we have less choice of food, which invariably is of poor quality, but somehow no-one puts up much resistance. Apathy rules.

It was appalling how our political leaders, MPs and Lords, greedily and illegally abused their expenses and got away with it. People howled with outrage but after a while and a few prison sentences the same bunch are back at Westminster. This was an opportunity wasted.

I was horrified how, after the worlds criminally rapacious bankers destroyed our economy, we have, by and large, placidly accepted that the debts incurred are ours! And we grumble but allow governments to impose financially harsh regimes upon us - for instance, cutting back on health, pensions, schools etc yet maintaining our full commitment to Trident nuclear missiles!

But maybe the worm is turning????

The vile scandal of phone hacking by the News of the World reporters, the cover-up and corruption of the police involved and the wider moral decay within Rupert Murdoch's empire seems to have galvanised the British public into a state of outrage. All three political leaders have united today in supporting the House of Commons call for The Dirty Digger to refrain from gobbling up BSkyB. It maybe that Rebekah Brooks will have to resign; maybe Andy Coulson will face prosecution; maybe a few police chiefs will take early retirement. Maybe.

The French people once lost their patience at being grotesquely abused. Their answer was the guillotine. It would be nice to dream of Murdoch leading a procession of bankers, politicians, footballers, policemen towards the tumbrils. But I doubt it'll happen.

But maybe..

where have my 2 inches gone?

I now have official confirmation that my height has reduced by two inches since my back operation on the 13th June 2006. I always used to be 5 foot 11½ inches tall. This exact measurement was important to me as it allowed me to describe myself, with moderate justification, as six foot tall when asked. I could always add - "well, just under" - if pressed to be exact.

Not any more. My long-time  suspicion that I am substantially shorter was confirmed by the Traps Hill Surgery nurse. No big deal, except that my BMI is affected adversely. What would have been an OK weight for a six footer (well, almost) is not alright if you are a midget at 5' 9½". I now struggle to remain on the right side of normality whereas before I had a few pounds leeway before entering the danger zone of the over-weight.

I now have to get my weight down to 12 stone, or under, to be in the 'normal for your height' weight zone.

supermarket

When supermarkets first opened they seemed to offer a fabulous array of choice foods, far beyond the means of local butchers and grocers,  and quick service at checkouts. Far better than your local shop where, for instance, you'd wait for ages to be sold some manky, earth-clodden turnips by a surly green-grocer (nowadays of course we'd fight tooth-and-nail and pay a fortune to get these wonderful organic foods).

But once they'd stolen the market, supermarkets were no longer interested in pleasing their customers. Only in maximising their profits. Gone now is the quick service. No longer is there choice - after all why offer it when the customer has nowhere else to go - except to another supermarket? But as they all operate a cartel that is no problem anyway. And why not get food into the shops as cheaply as possible? Forget quality or local business or the environment - runner beans flown in from Kenya are the cheapest.

And as for customer service! Make them collect and park their trolleys; charge them for parking their cars if they stay longer than they need to; and if they don't like the long queues let them check-out themselves.

Sadly, though, this phenomenon is not confined to supermarkets. The same philosophy is proliferating throughout our lives into banking (when did I last have contact with my "local" branch?), local government services (refuse collection?), health (Traps Hill surgery is now a 'walk-in' service like A&E), education (TAs now can replace teachers and teaching and learning is about filling buckets not setting things on fire), social life (facebook, chain restaurants etc) and the list goes on.

It won't be long before we are expected to dig our own graves. Or, perhaps, we already have as we seem to be too pathetic to stand up for ourselves against this monstrous relentless drive to squeeze as much money out of the public for as little return as possible.

Postscript: There is a recent article in the Guardian on this subject. The article, though, only looks at what is happening on the High Street and not how this malaise is affecting all aspects of living. A better and more locally pertinent article was written by Peter Wilby, also for the Guardian, a short while ago.

There is also the mystery of why French High Streets manage to keep their boulangeries and boucheries and still have supermarches, which generally are vastly superior to ours. Maybe this problem is a British one?

synchronicity

Jung's concept of synchronicity has always fascinated me. My first experience came after being entranced by an exquisitely exotic flower I saw near Graham's house. I long puzzled as to what sort of plant this was. Much later we were in the garden of Chartwell, Churchill's house, and being with Sue, who is interested in plants, I started to describe the alien-looking flower that had so enthralled me. "Is that the flower?" Sue asked pointing to a passion fruit plant growing behind me.

On my 64th birthday I had my second synchronicity experience. I had been conscious of an irritating redness around my penis and was preparing for the embarrassing experience of going to the doctors. That night I was doing the Guardian cryptic crossword set by Arachne which turned out to be themed around psychoanalysis and Jung. A clue puzzled me and I used a spell checker to look up possible solutions. Although it wasn't the answer, the word "balanitis" - totally unfamiliar to me - sprung up and I realised immediately it would mean something to me.

It was my problem and gave me a solution to it - canesten - which I already had.

I must explore more about Jung's ideas around synchronicity and quantum mechanics. I think it will confirm ideas that I have about parallel/multiple universes and the nature of sleep/dream as the interface between them.