Resolve or not to resolve?

Now that Xmas has been and gone it’s time to reflect on the year that’s almost over and look forward to the one that’s about to start.  That’s a perfectly normal and thoughtful thing to do and that’s as it should be.  Why then can’t we just leave it at that?  Why must we insist on cocking up the New Year before it even starts by setting ourselves unachievable goals in the form of New Year’s Resolutions?  Most of us have, at some point, fallen prey to the temptation of torturing ourselves with targets.  Again and again and again!

The top 10 impossible-to-keep resolutions that crop up year after year are generally concerned with stopping or starting something.  ‘Stop smoking’; stop drinking’; ‘stop swearing’; ‘stop eating so much’. ... All very negative don’t you think?   No wonder we’re all depressed before the year has even begun!   Even thinking about putting a stop to those deeply ingrained vices that have taken decades to cultivate is enough to make anybody miserable.   

On the ‘start’ side there’s invariably the ‘start exercising’; ‘join a gym’; ‘start another diet’ and for some strange reason - ‘start being nicer to people’!  What’s that one about I wonder?  Unless we resolve to do otherwise, do we normally set out to be horrible to people?  Having said that, we’re bound to be horrible to everybody – given the suffering we’re enduring as a result of the self-imposed denial of everything we love so much!  

Nobody will be surprised to learn that only 12% of people actually manage to stick to their resolutions.  How smug that little gang must be!  The rest of us, the remaining 88%, are doomed to failure.  Hardly surprising either then is it that February is such a miserable month?  By then the entire population is shrouded in a cloud of despondency and despair and the kind of self-loathing associated only with abject failures!  

So, unless you are 100 percent confident that there’s a place reserved for you in the elitist “12 Percenters”, then perhaps it’s time to put a stop to all this.   

Let’s consider our options. -

If we are positively determined not to be a failure then we can resolve to do absolutely nothing at all.    Start nothing; stop nothing.  Easy!

Perhaps too easy?  Is that too much of a cop out?  By not making any kind of resolution are we declaring ourselves already perfect, or are we so fearful of failure that we won’t even rise to the challenge?  Either way, the danger of beating ourselves up remains.

To avoid this completely we must make it our business to change the nature of these resolutions to something that not only can we keep, but also actively achieve. 

How about...

·         Join a wine club

·         Save for a face lift

·         Chuck away the specs and get my eyes done

·         Try out a new restaurant at least once a month

·         Cook and eat every single thing in the ‘Good Food’ magazine

·         Drink only champagne on Fridays... and Saturdays....and...

·         Treat myself to a new pair of shoes every month

·         Keep a diary of the all the fun things I’m getting up to...

Well that’s a bit more like it!  With that kind of happy list we could even inadvertently hit the ‘be nicer to people’ one. 

So whatever you decide, whether you resolve to resolve or resolve not to resolve or resolve to make yourself a happy list...

... Have a very very Happy New Year!

The Treadmill won't work if you just sleep next to it!

Haven’t we all done it at least once?  Haven’t we all been tempted at some point in our lives to buy a piece of exercise equipment in a desperate bid to get fit?     Well, I am no exception. I am now the owner of a glorious treadmill that stands proudly beside my bed like a sentry on duty. 

I have tried the gym, but I’m not a fan.  I’m not even a fan of exercise.  I really wish I was.  I wish I liked it even a teeny little bit!  I’m so envious of those people who exercise with passion and fervour and actually enjoy it.  And then there are those even more amazing self-disciplined people who don’t particularly enjoy exercising but do it anyway!  These people think nothing of pounding the treadmill for at least an hour at a time and easily clock up 50k a week.   For my shame, my entire family seems to fit somewhere into these two categories, all of whom think nothing to running the Great North Run every year, and do so seemingly effortlessly. 

Well, determined not to be the family laggard, the order for my treadmill was placed.  Bursting with enthusiasm and, like the road to hell - brimful of good intentions, I awaited its arrival with eager anticipation.  I even dashed out and bought the ‘gear’ which I’ve since decided is far too nice to get all sweaty in, so I keep that for when I’m not exercising!

My confidence did not diminish on its arrival.  I started slowly – walking not running, building up nicely to 3k, then 4k, maybe pushing myself to 5k on the odd occasion.  As a result of all this I would float around the house for the rest of the day basking in the reflective glow from my halo, dreaming of the odd half marathon that would soon be within reach...

Then I’m not quite sure what happened.  

Whilst my treadmill is not yet masquerading as a clothes horse buried beneath hordes of dressing gowns, neither is it as busy as it once was.   Nigel, who has a habit of being annoyingly right, finally said, “The treadmill won’t work if you just sleep next to it you know!”

In a very short time this inanimate object has developed some rather disturbing characteristics.  As the first thing I see when I open my eyes every morning it greets me like an eager little puppy and pleads, “Are we going for a walk today...?”   I have developed many excuses for not going for that walk, all of them feeble and pathetic.  Whilst I pretend to look busy and grapple with my conscience it begins to look less like that cute little puppy and more like an admonishing headmaster shaking his head in disgust.  I swear I can hear it tutting!

I seem to have brought the personification of ‘guilt’ into our home and now spend my days trying to justify myself! 

Don’t get me wrong, we’re still friends.  I haven’t given up on it yet.  Maybe our relationship would improve if I were to give it a name?   Make it a bit more of a friend?  How about Trevor?  

Trevor the Treadmill .... well, it has a certain ring to it!

Let's hear it for the NHS!

I realise that to lavish praise on the NHS is not a popular concept.  Indeed, it may even be unheard of.   We’re much more accustomed to the horror stories – and we all have at least one – regaling the ineptitude, incompetence, and negligence of that organisation and all who have the misfortune to work within it.  These are the stories on which our opinions are based.  They don’t even have to be ‘our’ stories, recounting our personal experiences – anybody’s tale of woe is usually sufficient to bring about our wholesale condemnation of that pitiful institution. 

Sometimes, however, I believe our rock solid, immovable judgements might be just a little ill-informed.   Sometimes it’s worth looking at the good things for a change and therefore taking a more balanced view.

Over the last few years, Nigel and I have gained insight into a network of professional health care and support that, whether accessed directly by us or co-ordinated via the Hospice, has operated seamlessly and without mishap.   

As the complexity of Nigel’s need has increased, so has the degree of support and provision of life-enhancing equipment.    We have benefited from the provision of a walker; a powered indoor wheelchair; a medical profiling bed; a shower chair; ventilator;  cough-assist machine and lifting hoist.   Over the next few weeks, thanks to the wizardry of computerisation, Nigel will be able, at the slightest touch of a button, to operate his bed and riser/recliner chair; open a locked door having assessed the caller through pre-recorded questioning; operate the TV, table lamps and make telephone calls on a hands-free phone.  We’ve had nothing to wait for and nothing to pay for and at every stage we’ve received training and ongoing support at home. 

In every case, we have been treated with consideration and respect and, whilst your heart might sink as the next piece of kit comes through the door, it brings with it dignity, independence and control.  Not to mention prolonged sanity.

A cynic might argue that this is just the NHS’ way of making us do all the work.  I would heartily disagree with that.  Enabling care to be carried out at home must be a more difficult and complex strategy for the NHS to pursue than any other.  I’m sure it would be much cheaper and much easier to condemn people to soulless institutions to be cared for by indifferent strangers; where the expensive equipment can be shared amongst many and where dignity and empathy don’t feature in the mission statement.

I would hate to be the one responsible for balancing the NHS’ books or to even venture close to that political quagmire.  But somebody has to allocate the budgets and make the financial decisions. 

I fervently hope that the NHS continues to make decisions based on compassion rather than cost.

Be free of your wardrobes!

In a bid to create more space in our bedroom for Nigel’s ever-increasing pieces of kit, we have ripped out the fitted wardrobes and reclaimed not only lots more space, but also the fabulous parquet floor that lay buried beneath the carpet.   Both space and floor now provide Nige with the perfect arena for practising his wheelies!

Being a bloke, Nigel’s gear was instantly dismissed as a non-issue, but obviously I was faced with the dilemma of how to decant all my paraphernalia into one measly wardrobe and two wholly inadequate shelves located in the spare room.  Impossible?  Ludicrous?  Beggars belief?

Not a bit of it!

I have been ruthless in the extreme.  I feel liberated, empowered, triumphant...even a teeny bit smug!

No longer am I held hostage by armies of clothes stationed in my wardrobe for no other purpose than to mock me.   No longer do I harbour those garments labelled:  ‘for when I lose a bit of weight...’  Equally, there is no refuge for those filed in the ‘in case I put weight on’ section.   Furthermore, all those items that have been waiting for me to suddenly look ten years younger so that they may once again adorn my person, have been well and truly axed.

I have banished without mercy those items of clothing spared in previous evictions simply because they were ‘nice’; ‘smart’; ‘expensive’; ‘worn only once in the last five years’; ‘never worn at all in the last ten...’.

I have finally got rid of all the fashion victim stuff I never liked anyway but didn’t want to admit to the stupidity of buying in the first place.  Out has gone the stuff that I even quite like but has nothing to partner it.  And no longer do I have shoes that hurt!

Not surprisingly my remaining attire fits easily into one robe and two shelves.  These clothes hang proudly like the chosen few - the elite, the special, the survivors!    I have regained power over my wardrobe and rid myself of the agony of gazing upon clothes I adore but look bloody awful in.   Now when I open my wardrobe door my clothes greet me like old, dependable, but perhaps uninspiring friends.  We’re at ease with each other.  I am not challenged to prise my person into anything inappropriate.  I know I won’t spend the day in pain; be forced to adopt a peculiar posture, or be obliged to hold my breath for hours on end.  

There is a compromise to be made of course.  As a result of my purge I don’t expect to waltz down the catwalk like a red-hot diva but I can at least expect some degree of comfort, I can expect to look reasonably ‘OK’, and unfortunately, a little bit dull !

Now, what on earth am I going to wear....?

My new blog

I'm happy to say I've just created my new blog.  I thought it was probably time to get involved in this media and use it for whatever suits me, and possibly others, at the time.  I'm sure it could have many uses.  I think it could be used as a diary of sorts, to be saved only for me, or to be shared with family and friends (assuming I'm feeling conceited enough to believe that others would be remotely interested in what I might have to say!)   It could also be used to record the ramblings of a menopausal middle-aged woman who may or may not have had too much wine.  Or it may simply be a blog:  a place to record thoughts, ideas, events, opinions, anecdotes and anything alse that might just be worth putting on the 'blog'.  I would hope to keep it light-hearted, fun and observational and interesting.

I say all this tongue in cheek because I don't know how this actually works yet.  I must confess to having spent hours already trying to create my 'profile'!  I mean,  how hard can it be to find an acceptable profile picture?  Very hard is my answer!  I always look too old, too crinkly, too drunk, too ugly, too 'orrible....  Consequently, there is as yet, no profile picture to support my blog.  When there is a picture, please accept my apologies!

Equally, there is a part of the 'profile' that any new self-respecting blogger should complete that demands that you declare your interests to others.  So, how hard can it be to list your 'interests'?  Well all I can say is - you have no idea how hard that is!   I went to the 'box', as you do, to fill in the bit that says 'my interests'.... and found myself completely numb - in all senses of the word.  I was immediately transported to being 14 years old and attempting to write my first CV.   I searched my poor head in desperation.... so, what exactly am I interested in, I thought?   I am ashamed to say I couldn't immediatey think of a single thing!   Have I become so apathetic and disillusioned that I can't find a single thing that I'm interested in so I can put it in the box?   Even if I lie?   After a few panicky moments I actually wrote -  " Reading historical novels....".  Now, I ask you...?  Then, to make things worse, I almost wrote...

"Socialising!!"   As it things couldn't get any worse I then contemplated mentioning my favourite newspaper!    As it was, I didn't have the guts to say that I was quite interested in "container gardening, and liked nothing more than potting a few plants on a Sunday afternoon!"  Could this really be me? 

Needless, to say, I left the profile picture and the 'interests' box blank in fear already that if any poor soul did stumble upon this 'blog', they would make it their business never to venture this way again!

Until the next time....