Rachel Cook and Migraine

Not that I want this to turn into yet another migraine blog , since CatCalling is far more interesting , but this article which appeared in yesterday's Observer I found fascinating . Her first experience of an attack closely resembled my own which took place when I was around the same age as I was at Junior school so was probably around ten years old .
Still semi caught up in the throes today I will add the link for anyone who is interested . Migraine and me: Rachel Cooke on two decades of pain Life and style The Ob

Bank Holiday Monday :Castle Howard, Yorkshire

Apologies for the out of date posting .

A combination of factors , CatCallings ( bliss ) , out of action with something ( possibly a mix of migraines and an abdominal who- knows- what culminating in a breakdown in normal service ( almost) yesterday whilst I applied myself to the task of "dealing with things" in the bathroom .

Today I am almost back to normal and jubilant -with- it as my esteemed sister stares out at me unexpectedly from the pages of the Sunday Times magazine as I have my morning coffee in bed , fighting for space with Alice the now not so skinny greyhound . Ha! Fame and recognition at last ! One wonders rather how the deputy head will feel if he takes the Times but that will be faced as and when no doubt as these things always are after a press outing .

Janet Street Porter no doubt cared not one jot for the comments of Helen Comson in the Hexham Courant this week after her highly entertaining session at the BookFest last weekend . Helen simply found her "charmless" . Interestingly Patrick Gale didn't get a mention , the Hexham Courant not being ready for the gay man yet , possibly . It would have been beyond the realms of possibilty to find him charmless , better thus ignored ?

How I love the boar at Castle Howard , parked up in the rain and watching the world go by , mostly clutching their umbrellas and wondering if they have missed the tractor-giving-rides-back-to-the-car-park as indeed Nat and I had . Having sat out in the drizzle for ten minutes , we forayed into the gift shops in five minute bursts and still managed to see the thing disappear into the mist . Another half hour wait for us , and oh dear , another half hour wait for D and the dog at t' other end , by now thoroughly drenched and dying to get their teeth into the picnic .

Ah the picnic ... made it all worth while ... rocky road , home made with up- market chocolate almost as we left and pushed into the freezer to set as we packed the car . A poppy seed cake heavy with gritty seeds and butter and eggs from Laura's rescue hens . Cocktail sausages , olives , egg mayonnaise sandwiches , coffee in stainless steel flasks , salad in trays , porkie pies , what more could we ask ? I should have photographed the food . Or the damp dog .

Roll on next Bank Holiday .....

Me and Patrick ....

Philip Hensher fails to make the Book festival due to an " accident " but Patrick Gale kindly agrees to have his phtograph taken with me instead . What more can I say ?

Janet Street Poster ( woops Porter ) surpasses herself with an hour of straight ranting , reminding me of delicious little words like " bilge " and interestingly , the useful " bitch " , a word I rarely employ but when she uses it to describe a woman in an overall closing up a tea shop at four thirty pm with glee just as Janet is steaming up the country market town in search of a scone and pot of tea after a hard day's walking in the Northumbian hills , hey , this is the word used to perfection .

I must away now to hear about the Bloodaxe poets .....perhaps a picture of my sister with an axe will be this afternoons offering . .

BookFest, and the Hideous Coat Convention

Today I am excited beyond belief . The day I've been waiting for ....the Hexham Book Festival is here Hexham Book Festival or at least I assume its in hexham and I too shall be there in a few hours , after I have finished revelling in these last few anticipatory moments , and cleaned the porch floor ( I had almost forgotten about mopping floors so little rain have we had these last few weeks ) and decided what to wear .
Nat refuses to allow me to leave the house in my old beige linen -belt- up- and -go mac ( gifted to me second hand by my sister's employer some years ago ) and when I asked her to explain why on my return from the Coffin Car expedition when my friend Deb had complimented me on its stylishness .
Nat rather too willingly took me in hand in front of the mirror and showed me the reason .
Look Mother , she said . Its pointless reducing from a , what is this coat , here , a size fourteen , to whatever you are now , a ten maybe , and dressing yourself in the same shapeless old garments , so that you look like a Sack . Its time to Move On .
So , duly , she took me to town and insisted I buy a black mac , in a size ten , and very nice too ( ish ) , but on Thursday when I washed it ( in preparation for Literary Fest and Mother and Daughter Bonding Pizza of Friday Night ) Something Wierd happened and it shrunk out of its seams and when I placed it on the ironing board , not a thing I am terribly familiar with , the words shapeless , hopeless and dishrag sprang to mind . So back to the department store I headed , ( sans receipt of course ) but with arguments mustered , and explained my predicament . Yes , according to the instructions . No , no special instruction on the chart about ironing or drying ( she got her specs on to check , as I had done .....and we laughed companionably as people of a certain age are wont to do ) and my cash was handed back . And there I was , with free reign in town to choose my own mac , no Nat to guide me .

What can I say ?

I take the new beige mac from the wardrobe later with a flourish on its lovely hanger and Nat looks it up and down . I apply it to myself , pointing out it was ( is , indeed ) a size 8 . Hmm she says , giving it the benefit of the doubt .... but already starting to shake her head and wag her finger at me .
I await the verdict .

"Mother....... "she says in mock Indian accent ( as in Indian mother speaking without reticence to young teenage daughter ) ..... "This coat is ideal if you are attending the hideous coat convention . You will certainly win . "

She advises I wear my leather jacket for our bonding pizza night ( last night ) . And again today for the literary fastival . Perhaps she is right . But I am keeping my mac , even if it means I am now looking for that coat convention . Its time I won something after all .

This afternoon I am seeing Patrick Gale ( oh the excitement !! ) , Philip Hensher , newly discovered , for me , and Janet Street Porter .

If I had more time I would have included Irma Kurtz , Libby Purves and Benjamin Zephaniah.
But I must to my porch cleaning . And reading abit more of Philip H ....
Etc .

Scratty Hens

Hens are such delightful creatures . I first heard of the latest addition to our extended family when my sister sent a text including a photo of a hen house being hoisted over her garden wall . At that I knew hens were imminent although she did say it may well be another two years before the required run would be built ( foxes and her own little terrier Grommit coming down on the wrong side of a risk assessment ) . Even at that point she did add that she may acquire her hens and hope that this would force the issue of the run .It seemed not a matter of hours before a text arrived to say to say she now had six scratty rescue hens and the little poppets had produced three eggs at breakfast time and a further three at tea time .

I could scarcely contain myself and invited myself along to visit on Sunday afternoon , a box of cream cheese frosted carrot cupcakes and a tray of rocky road as offerings and Alice sworn to good behaviour . Alas , the latter was so thrilled to see Auntie Laura she raced round the sitting room fourteen times in quick succession and then forced herself into a miniscule cat basket on the window ledge so that promise was broken within seconds . But no matter , Auntie Laura understands greyhounds and she and Alice have a special relationship forged on the last visit when Alice became over excited and quickly gave her a French kiss on her arrival much to the surprise of all . Alice is usually most reticent with her greetings and rarely even wags her tail .

The hens .... I digress . Hardly scratty at all in my humble opinion and though still waiting for their run to be built , the posts have been sunk and it will not be long before they can roam free-ish range . Their current arrangements are their hen house and on fine days taking turns in the guinea pig ark with Grommit keeping an eye . Grommit is definitely a fan of hens and would quite like to eat one for dinner . The hens seem unconcerned by his interest and merely scratch on and make fascinating noises as he over excites himself bringing stones over and burying them under piles of grass , perhaps demonstrating how he would deal with their remains . I love the noise of the hen as it goes about its business ;although the attached video clip is short and to the point as understandably when I switch on the camera they turn shy and silence reigns .

I will post again in a few weeks when they will be pretty hens and scrattiness will be a thing of the past . Their horrid days in the Intensive Farming Units will be forgotten as they content themselves tormenting Grommit and perhaps occasionally Alice ( who also adores birds ) and poing about in the garden for fat grubs and worms .

"Today may be a tough one for you, shelagh. It might seem like nothing is fitting into place. Could it be that you are trying to be someone that you are not? If things don't seem to be working out, don't press the issue. You are better off waiting for a time in which you feel more confident about who you are and where you are going. Meanwhile, pour yourself a cup of tea and relax. Releasing stress can clear up a great deal of energy for use in other things. "

Thus reads today's horoscope courtesy of a free online service that delivers to my inbox just like the milk used to be brought to my front door in former times .

I read and re read and try to get my head round what exactly is meant . Certainly , as is usually the case , the words strike a chord . Things do feel tough , from the moment of waking at five am with a heavy greyhound somewhere on top of me and refusing to shift , to the "streaming " of my dearly beloved next to me at approximately ten past , despite my changing the entire bed down to the mattress cover yesterday afternoon even though it was all done on Sunday , in case it was the dust , cat hairs , dog dander etc that were irritating his sensitive nasal tubes . We shall say nothing of the tension in the household last night due to his earlier remark that Nat's coat ( borrowed from me ) " did not suit her " and the subsequent peeing on his laudry by one of the cats , presumably in retaliation . The females in this house tend to stick together and Pearl Birman was already bearing a grudge having been retrieved from next door's yard after she had hopped over the wall whilst we were sunning ourselves whilst on guinea pig watch . Of course it may have been Kitty who still harbours daily Feelings about being moved along from sitting in front of the pc monitor where her sizeable bulk blocks the wireless signal ( allegedly ) .
At seven thirty am I unload the washing machine ( refusing to be grateful for the fact that D has re rinsed the cat-defaced load last night when I see that he has mixed my white pillow cases with a mixed wash ... I am such a pedant when it comes to my whites, though admittedly I rarely do them myself these days I still have my standards ) and in a fury notice that N 's school blazer , Dry Clean only , is also on the line , drying in a tatty furball mess . I want to raise my hands to the heavens and run to the country and return after a long holiday when I live in a little tent and eat boiled eggs and bacon and will be grateful for a house and washing line and everything else when I get back .

So what is this about my horoscope and wanting to be someone I am not ? Someone with clean laundry and cats who pee in the litter trays only and a clean bed every day ...

Or am I missing something and it goes deeper ?
I'd better have a cup of tea and relax and wait and see ..... like the man / woman says ......

The Four AM Phone Call

....As the phone starts ringing to the side of my head I know it is my daughter almost before the second note . The digital numbers on the clock show it is four o clock in the morning . In two hours I would up for work . The word in my head is What ? She is staying at her friends at a sleepover and has once ,

in her history of sleepovers , called me to come for her . Not bad , since she started at age three and has reached the ripe old age of fifteen . So , what ? I grapple with the phone and hear her slightly tearful voice immediately and am out of bed as I am talking , pulling on a sweater over my vest top and heading down the stairs and into my Uggs and out to the car , zipping up my puffa jacket and cursing the sea fret . There is quite a fog out there . I am outside the house where she is staying in minutes and so is she , with her bag in her hand and a hoodie over her pyjamas .

Inside another twenty I am wearing more clothes , having returned to the house for cash etc , and we are registering ourselves at our Accident and Emergency dept . She cannot cope with the pain in her head . We see our Health Service at its finest . She is seen inside five minutes by the triage nurse who notes her aversion to the bright lights and ushers us through to the darkened childrens' waiting room and from there to a side ward with a narrow single bed . She leaves a lamp on which I angle so it faces away . Nat lies on the bed and a doctor arrives and suggests we extinguish all lights . The nurse reappears , fumbling in the pitch dark , bringing anti nausea medication , which I know from my own experience will sedate her in minutes .

I settle myself in the small hard blue chair and N stretches her hand out to hold mine in hers . Slowly her hand loses its vitality and she draws it back up beside her and turns over . I ask her how she feels and she says " I have that feeling when you are about to fall asleep and its not quite so awful " .

I breathe again .

From my position facing her bed I have a wonderful view from a high window of a decorative wrought iron overhang on some kind of square or courtyard, painted in pale green . I stare at this for a while and think of the view from my window at home of the old station . Unlike many hospital rooms , we are cool and comfortable . I feel I am on a ship , lurching , as if jet lagged . I need to find the bathroom so whisper this and she nods .

A couple who were waiting in the main waiting area are still there . The man , who I guess is the patient , is in one of the hard chairs , sitting with his head in his hands , far away in some private despair . His partner , who looks familiar , is leaning against the door , staring at something in her hands . I try to see what she is holding but can't make it out . Perhaps a mobile phone .

I find the bathroom and get back to our room as soon as possible . Apart from the couple waiting the place is deserted . I take a wrong turn and find myself in a long ward with banks of nurses at desks . They look at me curiously , I reverse out and find my way again . I am still lurching . I feel like I have made a transatlantic flight and my hands are shaking slightly .

I sit again and close my eyes picturing my chair as a larger , softer version . I count my breaths backwards from ten ( I learned hypnosis from Richard Bandler and Paul Mckenna years ago and it has stood me in good stead ) . Within seconds I am drifting off , dreaming I am comfortable and happy and relaxed .. and thus I spend the next hours , waking each time Nat turns and speaks to me , or a nurse appears ( infrequent ) . Finally , she is discharged with strong medication for the migraine ( thus diagnosed ) and we step out into the fog again , back into some kind of reality but the changed reality of knowing how it is to spend a night in a hospital bed .