House Cleansing With Guru Rinpoche.

To my right is my vajra and of a course a glass. To my left is our mobile phone, my wallet and a CD of Tibetan Master Chants with Lama Tashi.

I have just sneezed because the house is so very full of incence smoke.

I have been chanting OM AH HUM, VAJRA GURU PADMA SIDDHI HUM for about thirty minutes in deep voice and waving my vajra around in each and every room. I sensed some resistance in one of the rooms so I stayed there and went deeper into deep voice. There were a few hackles raised. I am unafraid.

Bring it on…

And now it is time for tea…

People Do Not Like Being Real

Big sigh…

They do not wish to face an uncomfortable reality. Reality makes them want to shit bricks, so they take refuge in platitudes. They mean well, but…platitudes do not really help.

Over the last few days or so I have been the bearer of bad tidings to several. The wife has metastatic, stage 4, disease.

On Friday, the doctor bottled and left if to me to spell it out to her. It is not the first time that this has happened. Maybe I have a bigger pair than most.

People do not like being real.

I know what this means and come what may I can hopefully handle it. It would be better if it was me, suffering, but it is not.

I cannot control everything.

Yeah, it is interesting at times of crisis you can see how far some people have their head far, oh so far, up their own arses. Crisis demarcates and brings clarity.

I reckon me being real has been at the core of many of my problems with “political” society. They foxtrotting hate it.

I do not give a shit right now.

Big sigh…

I have had a nice pizza and tomorrow the space aged car on autopilot will take me to the hospital one more time.

I have written to my pal Elon Musk to thank him for the taxi service.

He was already putting AI into 10-year-old Peugeot 207s. Luckily ours came from area 51.

Just like the Bill Gates vaccine chip…


People do not like it.

What a Whirlwind Week!

It is cold and windy outside. I have gotten drenched with rain and hail. The log burner is now up to temperature. There are multiple incense sticks burning. There is a glass of Sauvignon Blanc next to the mouse mat. To my left are the detailed 18F-FDG PET scan reports which I have been trying to interpret and translate. I think I have the gist of them now.

Well probably more than that. I can understand medical journal articles. Sometimes comprehension is a curse and not a blessing.

At the hospital, face mask on, with my alcohol gel washed hands I went to the wife’s now calm single room and set up the 4G box for a Skype call with her concerned brother. I had summarised the findings to him the night before. We can do comms from there, from that sanitised place. Comms operational. You have to wear a mask to see someone with an advanced cancer. It is protocol don’t you now.

Foxtrot foxtrot sierra!

It was only last Sunday that I took her into A&E. What a week! After removal of shit loads of liquid from her lungs again, her oxygenation is above 96%.

She is off to the University Hospital in Rennes next week. So, I might treat myself to a really nice hotel room so that I can visit in style. I know how to do hotels. Rennes is 140km from here. I might rent a gite, later on.

The bloody car already knows the way to the hospital. I don’t have to drive it; it goes there on its own by autopilot.

When I arrive usually at 1pm, 1.5 legs lady is sat in her wheelchair by the front door having an after-dinner smoke. We will perhaps be saying tu to each other soon…

Big sigh…

They don’t do afternoon tea or cucumber sandwiches here.

So, I will take the French coffee press, some finest Brazilian ground coffee, and a kettle.

I’ll smell the damn place out with some fresh gourmet damn fine coffee!!

I had better have something to eat…now.

Chilli chicken and pilau rice, methinks.

On the Phone Hook

My life has changed in a strange way since the wife was hospitalized. I am now on the ‘phone hook so to speak. I listen out for messages and even answer the ‘phone if it rings. Normally it is the wife who answers the ‘phone because who ever is calling will be speaking in French.

I even pick the ‘phone up from time to time to check for messages.

This is something I have not done for nearly three years.

It is weird just like everybody else I am beholden to a piece of silicon-based technology.

No wonder relaxation is not all that common.

I even know where the ‘phone is.

So, until a week ago I had not had a personal ‘phone call in three years.


What The Foxtrot is the Collective Christmas Acid Trip About Man?

This afternoon after I left the hospital where my wife is to understate uncomfortable, I walked into a supermarket. There amidst the blade runner advertising screens touting products and the chintzy cheap Christmas decorations there was a “happy” Xmas song track playing on their shit  and tinny sound system.

In these circumstances foxtrot foxtrot sierra is poetically inept and inadequate. A tear perhaps is dramatically enough.

Don’t these foxtrotters see?

Oh, that careless whisper when I was shagging someone else…doh

Boris is on about saving Christmas, saving it from what, the likes of you?

The poignancy of our current life circumstance against the shabby background of tinsel, reindeers and credit cards is not lost on me.

Many moons ago, when I had just renounced a something that I dearly loved, on a Christmas day. I drove across London, probably over the alcohol limit. I am a white middle-aged geezer, so unless. When I got home in the hallway to my flat, I found the guy from upstairs. He was not well. He was older than me then and on heavy medication. I asked him would he like to come in. He smelt really bad. I opened my door sat him down and offered him a can of Stella Artois. He could not open it, so I did it for him.  After half a can or so he calmed down. I offered him a smoke. Which shakingly he took. Some shit had gone on. He was alone and close to suicide.

We sat and talked. We had a few more cans and cigarettes. I played some music. And when I felt that his storm had passed, I took him upstairs to his flat. He could not open the door, so I did it for him. On the wall were the stories of him being headmaster at a school. There were plenty of images of busty black women who perhaps had been his weakness.

I put him down on his bed I went out and thought this.

At least I have had a Christmas in the true sense of the word.

No turkey, Brussel sprouts or crackers required…

Getting Into That Hospital Rhythm

It turns out that the visit to A&E on Sunday was a tad more urgent than we thought. They drained 1.7 litres of liquid from one of her lungs. No wonder she was having problems breathing. My total lung volume is 3.6 litres and I am a 90 odd kilo bloke

I am off down to the hospital for a second time today this evening. It looks like she is staying in at least until the weekend. I get to meet the lung doctor…

The wife is looking better and can move around a bit.

The hospital is taking her by ambulance for her PET / CT scan 45 kilometres away tomorrow. It is a at the end of the working day scan which means that the results won’t get interpreted until Thursday pointing at a Friday receipt.

I’ll be back down there tomorrow before she goes.

The other part of the rhythm is an updating Skype call with her brother when I get back to the house.

I could take our 4g box into the hospital and set up a mini network subsequently should there be a need, for a Skype call.

They keep saying that lovely word “rare”. We see the cancer specialist on Tuesday either by car or ambulance.

They are preparing us with the idea of the university hospital at Rennes some 140km away. That is a long return journey.

Which means that I may have to hire a gite or house in the ‘hood. Because it is out of season several are possible. I have checked just now. I may ask for a reduction if we need a longer-term rental.

University hospitals are tooled up with technology. There is a proton beam therapy centre in Caen.

Maybe the wife can get to be a guinea pig and use all the available resources?

It is all subject to change…

It is a Roller coaster and Merry-go-round hybrid…with a French accent and diffuse organisation…

Big sigh…

I briefly toyed with the idea of starting smoking again. It is great when there is a lot of hanging about and waiting to do…


My risk of Covid exposure has never been so high and the French health service have offered me my booster jab…


Five Hours in A&E and Rattling About

It is pissing down outside, and I am alone in this huge house for the first time in over two years. I am rattling about a bit; there a few big sighs and that glass of wine is helping a little.

This afternoon we were planning to go up to the coast as an outing, but the wife’s shortness of breath was getting worse. I read the patient information pamphlet for one of her medications and it said seek advice or go to A&E. Calmly we measured her pulse rate and then got into the car and drove to A&E. She was starting to look a bit grey.

Anyway, admission was swift and within twenty minutes she was in a fully equipped resuscitation room. In these times shortness of breath can mean Covid-19. So, the protocol on admission is rapid Covid-19 PCR swab test. I have had one of these and they are not fun. She is Covid negative.

I waited for ~ three hours in the A&E waiting room and eventually a nurse came to see me. I was allowed into the holy of holies. There she was all hooked up to the machines and with oxygen. Her blood oxygenation was ~ 95 % and she was pink again.

The CT scans show that she has some fluid in her lungs which might account for the shortness of breath.

It is my turn to be the hospital visitor…

I will be back with my Covid vaccination pass tomorrow.

They won’t let me in without one…

What times they are in which we live…

L’Homme Révolté

I have finished reading “Le Chamanisme” by Eliade, all 440 pages of it, and it has helped to extend my vocabulary in a slightly strange way. It is probably only the second full work in French that I have read. The previous one was a play “Le Roi Pêcheur” by Julien Gracq. I bought this in a bookshop in Perros Guirec in 2007.When I showed this to our Sorbonne trained French teacher she nearly fell of her chair. It is at her suggestion that I have moved on to Albert Camus. I bought this in a bookshop in Perros Guirec in 2007.

I have read quite a few science papers and parts of theses in French.

Here is my favourite quotation attributed to Camus:

Le seul moyen d’affronter un monde sans liberté est de devenir si absolument libre qu’on fasse de sa propre existence un acte de révolte.

The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.

Feeling Like an Alien

I’ll speculate that many other people have at one time or another, felt like an alien, an outsider and perhaps from another planet. For whatever reason there is a feeling of not belonging.

I didn’t realise that I was an introvert until I did Myers Briggs and suddenly a whole bunch of stuff made sense. Prior to this when I was told that I was a dreamer and not a stalker it made sense.

Human mind and in my opinion, specifically scientifically trained mind, is pretty damn closed. It is resistant to anything which outlies current doctrine. It can speculate on there being alien life, but it tends to cast it in a form of human image, perhaps reptilian but certainly corporeal. It imagines carbon based cellular life forms. Science would be very unwilling to accept that a causal vehicle from another solar system could travel from there and incarnate into a human embryo.

If there is no body, no matter, why would such a thing be impossible?

Humans are pretty stuck in energy, space, time and matter. These are the cultural bedrocks of the perhaps illusory reality shared across the common view of the world. The world is interpreted by humanity from a perspective that is IN matter. The means, the apparatus of interpretation is biological, meaty and material.

To suggest that consciousness exists outside of matter is an anathema to a material obsessed and meaty being. The meat does not like such a concept even if it has a Ph.D. and is a Fellow of the Royal society. “It is simply not possible old chap!”

I first felt like an alien when aged 5 in an experimental hippie primary school in Bristol I learned chess. Once I had learned the rules sufficiently and was able to beat my father, I lost interest. I had understood the concept, subsequent victory was boring.

A couple of years later in the Mount Isa Mines School I was a pom with a Bristle accent. They deducted multiple marks from my schoolwork for my scruffy handwriting. I thought that this was petty and ill-founded. The content was OK, the presentation not. I lost respect for my so-called teachers. I thought they were small minded. As a result, I was close to bottom in my class. When a babysitter asked who was the smartest in my class, I said me. This got out and I was bullied as a result. I doubt anyone else from that class got a Ph.D. at The Royal Institution of Great Britain / University College London.

There are multiple instances of my alien nature which I could bore you with.

I incarnated to extrovert parents and an extroverted sibling. They thought I was shy. My most abiding memory was, “Please for foxtrots sake can you just shut the foxtrot up for once in your lives? Pretty please with sugar on.”

I learned sometimes painfully to become a chameleon.

Now here is the real funny bit, when you tell people that you are a chameleon, they don’t believe you!! They think that you are actually like the behaviours you are mirroring / reflecting for them so as to blend in.

When we came here 18 million years ago from Sirius…

Do you ever feel like you are an Alien stranded here amongst this odd species which denotes itself homo sapiens?

Unexpected Tooth Extraction

My face is starting to become less numb now. With everything else that has been going on I have had a course of antibiotics for a painful dental abscess which worked. The dentist then tried to put a temporary repair in, and I was due back there in a couple of weeks’ time. She was going to try to save my tooth.

But the temporary filling came out, so I was back there this morning. She has the most comfortable ergonomic dental chair that I have ever sat in. She examined the hole where the filling was and noticed that the tooth had now cracked. It is a bit odd having a dental exam in a foreign language. There are only so many things that can be said so it is possible to interpolate. She removed a cracked piece of tooth and then tried to budge the remainder.

I don’t know if they use more local anaesthesia here or not, but it didn’t really hurt. It did move a bit, so she called in her husband who is also a dentist, and he completed the extraction. I was tag teamed by a couple of married dentists, a first for me. I think they are both very skilful.

It was the least painful extraction I have had and one which I was totally not expecting.

It is probably best that the little blighter of a tooth is out. It will mean one less up and down horse on the medical merry-go-round. In a short while it will be up to the pharmacist to get my prescription and to find out what the hospital has faxed them for the wife.

Yes, they still use faxes here. I was sat the other day in the surgery, and I heard the tell-tale sound of a fax transmission. It took me quite a while to figure out what it was.

The last time I faxed was 2018 when I had to figure out how the fax on my printer-scanner-photocopier-fax worked.

Guess who I was faxing? It was my bank in Paris…