Virtual Reality versus The Real Thing

Today I heard an ageing rock/pop performer lamenting the fact that 'social media' is occupying so much of our time.  He said "We spend our lives in virtual reality, while our bodies slump in a chair waiting for our minds to come back".

It struck me quite forcibly as being only too true and, set me wondering just why this particular activity has taken over the world.

For some, I'm sure, it is the lure of the next new gadget, toy, piece of technology.  For some it is a way of contacting shadowy people who would never normally come their way.  For others, myself included it is a means of printing my thoughts and the events of an ordinary day, in a manner which hopefully, will gain a response - if you like, a way of side-stepping loneliness.

But there is another, slightly more worrying reason which appears to be a means of  avoiding real life while playing at it on a tiny hand-held gadget.

In fact so-called social media is in fact exactly the opposite, a completely anti-social habit forming way of ensuring that the fleet-fingered/thumbed practitioners remain in splendid isolation.

Yesterday, my stepdaughter and step-grandson visited me (the first time for about 10 months), because the grandson is briefly on R and R from Afghanistan and he is due back this weekend.

He is a technological whiz and spent about a half an hour setting up some of the functions I wanted on my IPad for me.  He doesn't have to think when asked to do something, he just knows how, and on the rare occasions when asked for something he hasn't encountered before, can work it out in a couple of minutes.

I am very grateful for his help (and have been reading aFREE book this morning), but I am beginning to wonder whether it is a good idea.

I was delighted to own such a 21st Century piece of equipment since I am very much a 20th Century piece.
But and it is a serious concern, should I ever become truly competent will it in fact begin to take the place of real life.

Simon's life is all too real, and for him, it is probably a way of staying sane in a mad world, so I could never begrudge him his collection of gadgets, but at what stage does reality bow out?

As he drove off in his Ford Focus SR (another of his passions) I couldn't help but wonder what would happen to the gadget addicts should their toys suddenly become inoperable overnight.  Whatever would they put in their place?

Talk to the Animals

This is the 'bun on the run' I wrote about last time, on the first day of his bid for freedom.

As you can see, although he is eating an apple core i threw out for the blackbirds, he is fairly fat.

By the time he was captured and returned to his not overly concerned owners, he was thin and bedraggled looking.

This evening I  have been pulling up tons of forget-me-not which have been making my nearly impenetrable jungle even more so.

Stupidly, I left the back door open.  I know, asking for trouble, and it arrived, in the form of Hercules the red terror of a previous post.

He is a beautiful, well-fed, ginger cat friendly and well-behaved around humans, but an evil predatory killer of all feathered things.  So, generally speaking I do not welcome his presence, particularly during the breeding season.  He has single-handedly, so to speak, polished of about a third of the local bird population and has the even more charming habit of leaving their feathers, beaks etc. in my next-door-neighbours garden.

As you may imagine he is not the most popular animal on the planet and I chased him away from the area I was working in and then forgot about him.

Having done about 20 minutes hard weeding I'd had enough and headed back indoors.  As I did so Hercules shot out of the kitchen and fled,

Heart in mouth I pelted upstairs and yes, of course, there is a lovely set of muddy footprints right across my pale pink duvet.  (Bless his little heart - which, if I catch him - I may just cook  and eat)!

It is my own fault for leaving the door open, and I do love all cats - well most cats - I will make an exception in his case.

Later this year I am hoping that my lovely Iconographer friend Constantina, will begin on an Icon of St Francis for me, details to be discussed.

Famed for his love of all God's creatures, I can't help wondering what he would have made of Hercules.

The pictures are just a few of the Jubilee decorated St Mary's, not very good pictures but if you double click on them more detail can be seen.

The fourth one is purely red white and (dyed) blue flower heads and is the work of our excellent St M's bloomers.

Unfortunately the awful weather made the church rather dark so photographs by a (at best) poor beginner, do not really do justice to spectacular gasp-inducing 1st sight of our festive church in all its splendour.

Sadly, since then, I have had a longish spell of poor health - see previous post - but am now OK again and looking forward to tomorrow's service and later in another church, a baptism.

This baptism is that of the little one year old sister of 4 year old Scarlet, whose big day was held last year.
Regular readers may remember she is the little girl who objected strenuously to having her 'hair washed'.

Little Zara is fortunately, too small to object in quite the same way, though she will doubtless make her voice heard.

This morning I have been helping some of my neighbour's children to round up an escaped rabbit.  A small terrified brown and white "Dutch" which has been on the run for a week.  Thankfully they captured it and returned it to its owner, considerably thinner than when it did its Houdini-type run.

Have been looking at the wrecked jungle which is currently my soggy, wind flattened back garden and am looking forward to getting to grips with it once both weather and health and available time coincide.

Lots going on, I am profoundly thankful to say.

Pain - when to complain

Not a subject I had ever thought to blog about - physical pain, that is.

Having read a few articles/posts about pain from some of the bloggers whom I read regularly and whose approach I approve and appreciate, I thought perhaps it was time for me to use my normal open and frank attitude to describe my current state.

Generally not a self-indulgent individual and also a fairly private one, it has been 'normal' for me to skirt round physical difficulties, but this latest bout is sufficiently severe I think, to warrant an airing.

For the past forty or so years I have had diverticular disease.  For anyone unfamiliar with the term, may I suggest you Google it.

Prone to bouts of fairly fierce pain in the early days, I responded to the then perceived wisdom and changed my eating habits totally.

A vegetarian and I think, a pretty healthy eater, I nevertheless took the available advice and made further adjustments to my diet and for years suffered little or no pain and very few serious bouts of diverticulitis.

Since late last Summer however, things have changed and there have been a number of incidences of pain and bloating, which culminated in January with my having to be 'taken home' from St. Mary's by a lovely caring lay pastoral lady.

I saw my GP and was sent to see a consultant at the local hospital who examined me and said I needed a scan to find out what was happening.

This I had in April and since then the number of attacks of pain have increased at quite a rate and recently have included vomiting as well as pain.

While I wait for the consultant to advise me on treatment my GP has given me very strong pain-killers and anti-vomiting tablets for any attacks in the interim (the appointment is not until 9th August).

Last Friday I was unable to make the choir rehearsal and again on Sunday, the service.  Walking round and round in dizzy circles, unable to sit or lie.  Groaning aloud, not my choice of behaviour, and trying to talk normally to neighbours (the Jubilee shindig), while hanging on to the last shreds of dignity has given me a whole new perspective on what constitutes pain, but not alas, on how to cope with it.

Today I started without pain, drank two coffees then felt the usual alarming stabs which herald the arrival of the pain and decided rather than suffer in (comparative) silence, I would blog it.

If there is anyone out there with experience of this very distressing complaint who can maybe give me a tip or two on other things I might try, I would be very very glad to hear from you.

Arachnids and Phobes.

catching Well I wasn't going to put a picture of one of 'them' at the top of this post was I?

This morning at 6.00am I evicted last night's leggy visitor with the aid  of my trusty long-handled dust buster.

I opened the window first and lofted him into the morning air to enjoy his first flying lesson.

Felt quite pleased with myself, not even a shiver, despite only about three hours sleep.

Oh how stupid to think the largish, thin-legged chap was a one off.  I should have known better.

Just having a pre-bed wash and there in the corner of the bathroom was a huge - and I mean huge - black, thick-bodied beast about 3 inches across.

I beat a hasty, dripping retreat and tried to work on a strategy.

The dust-buster in hand I crept across the floor and attempted to edge it on to the nylon bushy end, but it scuttled away behind the wash-basin and vanished.

Yes I know they can't really vanish.  I know they pop their bodies into any available crevice and drag their ghastly legs in after them, but there was no sign of it anywhere.

So  far I've made three 'surprise' visits in the hope of  catching it unawares, but spider don't do 'unawares'.

My father used to joke about my terror of spiders and quote "The coward dies a thousand deaths, the hero only one".  To which I would reply "He who fights and runs away, lives to fight another day".

The only thing is, flight is not an option, and if I have to get out in the night (as it were) 'it' will be waiting for me.  So now what do I do,  hang from the ceiling like a bat for fear it will run over my feet?  Or just sit up all night AGAIN?

Nocturnal reflections

The first night which sees the return of my friend Insomnia.

We have been close associates for most of my adult life but recently (since the advent of the new bed) I have been sleeping an unusual percentage of the night.
Sometimes as much as four hours at a time.

No particular theme comes to mind for this post so it's just a question of odds and sods, sorry, for my more sensitive readers - odds and ends.

The first this which strikes me is that it is cooler tonight than for the past week - no bad thing methinks - but still with too many windows open I am attracting unwanted company from first a largish moth (not my first choice of visitor), and worse, much worse, a quite large spider.

He is of the medium small bodied, very long legged variety and I want him OUT.

Damn it!  He is now lurking behind a chest of drawers behind me, so this is being typed faster than I wanted with much glancing over my shoulder in case he has re-emerged.

I had meant to write a post about the Jubilee service at St. Mary's on Sunday, which was attended by the High Sheriff of the county, the Bishop and the Archdeacon.

The church looks absolutely wonderful, with flags, bunting and millions of flowers - yes I have taken photographs and will post them at some stage, though not in this present over-populated space.

I have unfortunately had a few spells of illness recently and am currently not up to scratch so blogging has not been the first thing on my mind.  But, when things return to normal I shall probably get my old enthusiasm back.

Oh dear, oh dear, There is now an other sound which needs investigating...........

Just nerves getting the better of me I think.  It sounded as though someone was on the roof. !  Not possible, I think, but, just in case, I have now shut all the big windows which were open.

When the British Gas engineer came (see recent post) he solved the water heater/radiator problem and went up into the loft to check that everything was OK up there.  He assured me all was well, which I assume also includes the fact that no-one has taken up residence up there.  No, I'm not serious, I'm really not that nervous.

It is strange though,  isn't it how general debility added to tiredness can send the imagination into overdrive?

When I was a child my mother had to check my wardrobe and under the bed for me before I could settle to sleep on many nights.  My general jumpiness caused John much amusement (and occasional irritation) and it was not until after his death that I suddenly ceased to worry about who or what might be lurking in odd corners.

Tonight is an exception!

Senses and sensitivity

In case anyone hasn't noticed, it has become very warm.

Lovely, some people think.  Too hot too soon, other people think.
Let's get the "barbie" out, quite a lot seem to think.

Hold your nose time again. I think

What is it about the first few sunny days which causes half the human race to lose its mind.

Why is it a good idea to sit, sweating profusely in a group of equally sweaty, pale-skinned (from living under a stone all Winter), people of all ages types, sizes, shapes and tastes, in order to celebrate the return of the sun to our cold and drafty island?

Having been talked into communal eating al fresco, regardless of dietary peculiarities, and the obvious penchant of the local insect population for greasy smelly food, it is deemed odd, or fussy to say in a small, uncertain, wavering voice "Er, I'm a vegetarian".

Reactions can vary from "Ooh what do you eat then"? to "well, you won't mind eating (burgers, sausages, etc) just this once will you?" or even sometimes "We know that don't we, so we've got you some (invariably salmon) fish.

If I dare to say, which has been known, "I'll have a jacket potato with some cheese" they look pityingly from their sweating, glistening with fat, faces, "you don't know what you're missing". they say.

Neighbouring barbeques compete, with the smell of chilli predominating.  Smoke rises from a dozen gardens.  Pongs fit to make your eyes water fill the hot humid air and everyone is suddenly silent as they/we stuff our faces as though food were going out of fashion,

The gardens which, in the early morning were full of the scent of lilac and soft Spring fragrances are reminiscent of some North African street market,  Even the birds have departed, overcome by fumes.

Luckily, this type of weather is comparatively rare in our hallowed land and the public feasting phenomena
equally rare, so as I remove the clothes-peg from my olfactory organ and escape to the comparative cool of a silent empty house with all its windows open, grab a huge glass of water and heave my hot feet onto a footrest I muse in blessed odour-free, silence on the strangeness of the 'reserved' British at play.