The northlondonhippy

Archive for the ‘Bad experiences’ Category

Weird things happen around the holidays, often unexpected and not always pleasant.

I don’t know what got me on the subject in my head, I was thinking about duck and before I knew it, my crazy brain started remembering weird shit from my childhood.

The duck connection: I am cooking a small three-bird roast for xmas dinner.

For those of you who’ve never heard of such a concoction, it is quite simply, a whole boneless duck, stuffed with a whole boneless turkey, then inside the turkey is an entire, boneless pheasant. Larger versions start with a goose, but I’m not serving enough people to make that sensible.

I’m not sure how the farmers get the birds to grow inside the other birds without bones, but getting the feathers off must be a bitch. I guess it has to do with genetic engineering, by I digress. I want to talk about duck.

When I was very young, an elderly relative lived with us for many years, my Aunt Gertie, short for Gertrude. She lived to be 95, died in the mid 1970s and was part of the foster family that raised my orphaned father.

Yeah, I know, get out the violins.

Aunt Gertie lived in our house for four or five years, until her personal care became too much for my mother. Up to that point, her presence meant we didn’t do very much outside of the house, as she needed fairly constant supervision, even more so when she started falling down frequently.

After my parents took the difficult decision to place Aunt Gertie into a rest home, things changed for us and we had some freedom again. The very first night she was gone, my father took the family out to a fancy restaurant for dinner. This would have been around autumn 1972, so I would have been nearly 9 years old.

Now, here’s the fowl connection, that night in the nice restaurant, I ordered Duck l’Orange for the first time in my life and it was the most amazing thing I’d ever eaten. It was a half duck, still on the bone and the wait staff actually helped me strip the delicious meat from the bone.

Its a fairly vivid memory, and I can still remember the four of us, me, my parents and my younger brother all feeling slightly guilty that we were able to enjoy such a fine meal, only because Gertie was in a care home.

Aunt Gertie lived for several years in that care home, slowly, gradually losing her mind. Up to that point, she was scarily sharp and didn’t miss anything and it was only in the last year or two that she started to become confused about things. She passed away just a couple of weeks before xmas, at the same time my half-brother’s wife was delivering her first child in the same hospital.

The last time I saw Gertie in the hospital was about 10 minutes before I saw my nephew for the first time. Even at the age of nearly twelve, I realised there was a weird connection between new life and death.

Gertie died the next day, two weeks before xmas.

But that wasn’t the only death to darken a family xmas, a year or two before, my father’s foster brother, my Uncle Jack, died unexpectedly on xmas. I was probably around 10 years old.

I always liked Uncle Jack, he was very much an outdoorsman, he liked to fish and hunt, which are the sort of cool things that impress a young lad like me. He died on xmas eve, my father woke up to the news on xmas day.

Again, I have vivid memories of that morning. My brother and I burst downstairs, ready to attack a pile of presents left by santa, with enthusiasm, but our mother’s face told a different story.

We both immediately knew something was wrong before she told us about Uncle Jack. She explained how upset my father was, he had not come out of their bedroom yet. I’m sure it was silly early in the morning, my brother and I were both children and probably didn’t sleep a wink the night before.

It was one of the few times I saw my father with real tears in his eyes. He was a strong, imposing man, think Hemmingway without the booze and it shocked me. My dad wasn’t supposed to cry, ever!

It was a very low key xmas that year.

All of this is reminding me of the scene in the movie Gremlins, when Phoebe Cates character explains why she hates xmas and tells the story of her father dressing up like santa and getting caught in the chimney. They find him still there, dead, a couple weeks later. Talk about a holiday downer, I bet the stench would put you off your dinner.

Last xmas was easily one of the worst of my life, my beloved mother passed away unexpectedly.

I was at work, ready for a long holiday run of nightshifts when I got the bad news. I found out at 6am on xmas eve that she died.

The thing about deaths around the holidays is that it doesn’t just bring down the relatives of the deceased, it has an effect on those around you too. It distracts others away from their enjoyment of the season. My sudden, grieving absence from work had an impact on many people and that upset me even more.

Last year’s xmas was very depressing. That’s an understatement, it was devastating. You get the idea.

When you sit down for your big turkey (or 3 bird roast!) dinner on xmas day, spare a thought for all the people whose holidays have been blighted by unexpected bad news and whose future holidays may be coloured by these events.

More importantly, I sincerely hope its not you and yours who is the recipient of anything untoward. However, if it is you who draws the short draw and catches something unpleasant, know that you’re not alone, it can happen to anyone.

And if it is your turn, just remember that it will get better and I hope you have plenty more festive seasons awaiting you that might in some ways, make up for it.

From everyone here at the northlondonhippy, we wish you nothing but the very best of the holidays.

Oh wait, its just me here on my own, but the sentiment very much remains the same!

The Climate Change Summit opens up in Copenhagen on Monday, where a bunch of world leaders will add to the problem by producing a lot of hot air, but probably no viable solution to this very real problem.

Yep, I believe the climate is changing. I can see it and feel it and have done for a while now. Here in the UK, the winters seem milder and though last summer wasn’t one of the hottest on record, it was hot enough. I’ve seen what’s happening to the polar ice caps, not first hand, but computer graphics aren’t that good, so the footage has to be real.

Is it just a normal cycle? Maybe. Is human activity contributing or accelerating the process? How could it not? We live in a closed ecosystem, our atmosphere is sealed tight against the vacuum of space. The more greenhouse gasses we pump into this sealed bubble, the hotter it will get.

I don’t want to be a hypocrite, I want to do my part to help prevent climate change. I use low energy light bulbs, which aren’t as bright as the old incandescent style. I recycle as much as I can, which is messy and time consuming. And I don’t take unnecessary car journeys, which means riding the bus and tube with unwashed strangers.

I know its not much, but its something. I’d like to do more.

That got me thinking, what more could I do to help slow down climate change? Then it hit me, there’s something we all could do that would have an instant, immediate and measurable effect on the amount of greenhouse gasses released into the environment.

All living things exhale carbon dioxide, or CO2 as its known. Humans are the only living creatures to understand this and to be able to adjust their own output.

I’m proposing that every human being who is physically able, should hold their breath for at least one minute per day. You could do it all in one go, or you can do two 30 second periods. You could even go longer if you like, but I can’t be held liable if you pass out, fall down and hit your head. I only suggested a minute a day.

If everyone held their breath for one minute daily, that would have a huge impact on the amount of CO2 released into the atmosphere annually. These things add up quickly and if I were a scientist I could estimate how much CO2 would be saved, but I’m not, so I can’t. So we’ll stick to “a lot.”

Look man, if we don’t do something and pretty goddamn soon, breathing won’t be an issue that most of us will need to worry about any more.

So I’ll be holding my breath, and not just for one minute every day. I’ll be holding it while our leaders meet this month to work out whether they can save the human race. If they do come up with a solution, I’ll certainly be surprised, but I’ll also finally be able to exhale.

You don’t want me to turn blue, do you?

You might not have heard, but Michael Jackson kicked the bucket recently. You’d think that sort of news would get around.

In truth, it did get around, shockingly fast. Thanks to TMZ.com and Twitter, the sad news spread around the world at the speed of tweet.

And just for today, MJ doesn’t mean marijuana here, it stands for Michael Jackson.

I was working the night he died, just heading into the office as the news broke.

I was early and paused outside the building to have one last smoke before going to my desk. As I flicked through a Twitter app on my iPhone. I caught one of the first tweets that stated MJ had been rushed to hospital in an ambulance with a suspected heart attack.

A colleague of mine joined me at this point and as he lit up a cigarette of his own, I told him what I had just read and we started speculating on “what if” it turned out to be the worst case and he was dead.

For both of us, working overnight in a newsroom, MJ’s death translated into utter fucking chaos for many, many hours. Whatever the outcome, I knew it was going to be a nasty-assed night.

In reality, it exceeded my expectations.

Beyond that, the rest of my night at work is not really important. It was yet another busy one, dealing with a large breaking story. I’ve had countless nights like that.

It wasn’t until after that night, and the subsequent few at work, that I really had the chance to consider the significance and magnitude of his death. That’s not meant to be an overstatement, its huge news that will carry on running for a long time, as will MJ Inc. which will exploit his passing even more than the media ever could.

Before you start thinking I’m some mega-fan of MJ’s, I’d like to take a moment to point out that I’m not. I didn’t hate his music either and I can appreciate his undeniable talent, I was just never a fan of his solo stuff.

As a child, I did like the Jackson 5, but it was practically children’s music. A-B-C, its easy as 1-2-3… It was like Sesame Street does Motown, before Sesame Street existed.

I liked some of his music videos, because they were innovative, ground was broken with several, but I never bought an MJ record.

I should also mention that I believed the allegations about him. Always did, still do. Perhaps its just my view of the smoke+fire equation, but everything I read about it, makes me think there’s something to it.

Everyone seems to be skipping over that part of the story right now, perhaps I should too.

I’m old enough to have vivid memories of Elvis Presley dying. Its difficult to really explain how momentous this was at the time. Elvis was even younger than MJ when he died, all bloated, pinching a loaf while squatting on the bowl.

Not a pretty picture.

Elvis was big when he was alive, they didn’t call him “the King” for nothing, but in death Elvis was even bigger. You only have to look at his estate’s accounts to see that he’s grossed more money since he died than he ever did alive.

Now, think of the “King of Pop”, or MJ Inc. as I’ve been thinking of it. MJ’s music is more modern, his audience is still on the young side. Elvis’s audience was mature when he ate his last fried banana sandwich, yet he has still kept on selling.

Also, MJ’s music sounds more modern, it can easily sit on the radio along side music being released today. An Elvis song sounds old, because they pretty much all are now; perhaps “dated” would be a more appropriate description.

I liked Elvis, I thought he was cool, at least until his 1968 comeback special. If you’ve never seen it, it really is worth your time. After that, he kind of became a parody of himself, which was sad to see. I do have one Elvis CD, a compilation of his Number 1 hits.

And even though I like Elvis, I’ve still managed to make a couple of jokes at his expense. Imagine the MJ jokes I could make; or better yet, don’t imagine, just think of some you’ve already heard from your mates.

Only the really funny ones, please.

Its too soon, we have to continue to feign reverence for a while longer, before we can stop whispering the jokes and speak them out in full voice, in a crowded room, to thunderous laughter without a hint of shame. Try it now and all you’ll get are muffled giggles and undeniable gasps.

No one dubbed MJ the “King of Pop”, the title was self-anointed following a spontaneous introduction when being presented with an award. Once adopted, MJ’s PR people forced the media to refer to him as “King of Pop” and after a while it stuck.

Now, no one could take that crown away from him if they tried.

His death was tragic, as is any death at a relatively young age, but his is made more so because of his immense talent. If ever there was a tortured artist…

MJ didn’t have a conventional childhood. How could he when he was rehearsing and performing from such a young age. His father sounded like quite a taskmaster, which is polite speak for motivating Michael and his brothers by beatin’ on their ass(es).

Michael told Oprah as much on tv, so it must be true.

MJ was screwed up, dysfunctional even, but I believe the current, accepted term to describe him is: eccentric.

The problem with being the King, be it Elvis or MJ, is no one ever says “no” to you. For Elvis, it was fatty foods and prescription drugs, for MJ, well we can be fairly certain it wasn’t fatty foods.

If we believe what we’re reading in the media, then MJ was using all sorts of doctor prescribed goodies that most likely killed him. Most disturbing is the report of one of the drugs being Propinal (AKA Diprovan), a powerful anaesthetic that should only be administered in a hospital because it is a continuous IV drip and requires full monitoring by a qualified doctor. The risks include respiratory arrest, which is fancy doctor-speak for: shit, he’s completely stopped breathing!

Fuck. Why didn’t I hear of this before? Talk about a celebrity endorsement! Where can I get my own private medical doctor to come round and make a few days just zip right by, while I’m comatose and probably millimetres from death? All the cool kids are going to want to do some POP (PrOPinal = POP as in the King of, its new, street name).

How messed up in the head do you have to be to want to be dosed up like you were having your appendix removed? How much would you want to escape both the entire world and yourself?

And what sort of licensed physician would administer that to someone privately, in their own home? Don’t they take an oath that says something like, “First, do no harm?”

Playing with anaesthetics sounds seriously harmful to me.

Which brings me back to where I started, with this becoming an ongoing news story. One of the biggest, most controversial pop stars in the world died suddenly, possibly at the hands of someone else.

Yes, I am talking murder.

And so is the LA Police, or so it would seem to me. Just because they say they don’t suspect foul play, doesn’t mean they don’t suspect something foul happened.

If I was to gamble, I’d say someone will end up being charged in connection with his death. Someone will become known as the man (or woman) who killed Michael Jackson.

And even though his funeral and public memorial are today, this story will run for years and years.

Expect more revelations about his private life to be competing with the twists and turns in the legal battles, criminal and civil, while he continues to break records for music sales and MJ Inc. makes hundreds of millions.

What does it say about our society that we can worship someone for their talent, while being fascinated by their eccentricity, yet repulsed by their alleged proclivities?

As a character, MJ is about as complex and rich a tapestry as you’re likely to find.

And what does it say about our society that so many talented people, in so many different areas of the arts, are so tragically fucked up? MJ’s not the first mega-star to succumb to such a sad end.

He won’t be the last, either.

There’s was an avalanche of media bullshit this week over a documentary aired on SKY REAL LIVES which showed a man with motor neurone disease taking his own life at a Swiss clinic in 2006.

Switzerland is currently the only country in the world which allows foreigners to visit and partake in a spot of assisted suicide. Go Switzerland!

I say the media was full of bullshit because most outlets concentrated on the issue of whether or not you should show the “moment of death” on television, for fear of “glamourising death”.

WTF?

I haven’t seen the entire documentary, but I have seen some clips and how could showing a man with an absolutely horrible disease ending his life in any way glamourise death? There were no Hollywood films stars or strippers cheering him on, the room he did it in wasn’t kitted out in fur rugs and leather sofas and they didn’t even have a live band.

There was no glamour at all, but then there was absolutely nothing glamourous about it.

Taking your own life is a serious decision, certainly the most serious decision any individual can take and it was clear this poor man deliberated for a very long time before making this final decision.

The debate should not have been about whether or not they should have shown this on television, but why more countries don’t have systems like they do in Switzerland.

Why is it against the law to provide the ultimate relief and end the suffering of another human being? We do it for dogs and cats and horses – do they matter more than people?

There are some rather horrible maladies and afflictions out there which are horrendous and could cause immeasurable suffering and pain to the person affected.

A slow, protracted death is one of my bigger fears, but that fear is exponentially exacerbated by the fact that I know if I wanted to choose to end the suffering, it would not be possible because of our archaic view of euthanasia.

The people most unsurprisingly opposed to euthanasia tend to be religious nuts who believe only god’s will can decide when your life ends.

What a fucking bunch of fucking bullshit. If that’s true, then anyone with a gun is god, because they can choose to end anyone’s life with relative ease.

I have a real problem taking anyone seriously who is deeply religious to the point of it clouding their every thought and opinion, especially when those misguided views increase the suffering and pain of others.

That’s one of religion’s speciality though, causing others to needlessly suffer.

I’ve recently been in touch with a distant relation of mine, who was in charge of dispensing a small stipend to myself and all my cousins following the passing of a beloved aunt of mine.

When she wrote to me, her letter was peppered with all sorts of religious references. I half expected her closing salutation to be “Yours in Christ” and was relieved that it wasn’t.

I had to really reign myself in when I replied to her, by keeping my secular humanist views at bay, though I couldn’t resist wishing her a “happy holidays” in response to her “merry xmas”. Of course, she wrote out the entire word and capitalised it.

I have nothing against my distant relative, the fact is I don’t really know her, having maybe met her twice before the age of 13, but its the way in which religious people think everyone else should be equally religious, and not just that but we should follow their religion, because the other ones, even variations on Christianity, will send you straight to hell.

There is no hell. Hell is other people.

No, hell is being forced to live with a debilitating and terminal condition, needless suffering a long, drawn out death because the law won’t let one be the architect of one’s own fate.

The law is an ass. Or is that asshole?

The idea of my mind, my personality, the internal bits of my brain continuing to function as they do now, while being trapped in my body, wracked with pain, or worse paralysis is a fate worse than death. Compared to any of that, death would be a trip to Disneyland.

And for all you religious nuts out there, let me ask you this: If heaven is so goddamn great, why can’t we let the sick people arrive a little earlier than expected? Surely a just and loving god would welcome them with open arms.

If there were a god, he wouldn’t make us suffer.

If there were a god, he wouldn’t let us die.

If there were a god, there would be no need for heaven, because heaven would be here on earth and we would all already be angels.

If there were a god, he wouldn’t give a rat’s ass if someone chose to end their life because of an intolerable existence.

If there were a god, I wouldn’t get to post all of this on the internet and he’d have a stern word or two for me.

There is no god.

Why not be your own god? Why not determine your own fate?

They say you make your own luck and I believe that’s true. I believe in self-actualisation and the power of an individual to overcome obstacles and succeed in anything.

If the obstacle you’re encountering is insurmountable, then the only path to success is retreat.

If you’re dying a horrible death, the only way to minimise death’s victory over you is to limit the amount of time you spend dying.

I thought about this a lot when I was ill last summer, especially when I could hardly walk and spent over a week trying to sleep sitting up on my sofa.

I imagined quite vividly that my condition could have been permanent and degenerative, and what I would do in that situation.

I think you can work out the answer.

I’ve got a bad case of election fever.

It’s a common affliction, but I feed my addiction with a steady diet of 24-hour news channels.

Don’t worry, I should be cured by Wednesday. We all will be cured then.

I hope, trying not to think of 2000 and poor ol’ Al Gore, who had it snatched from his grasp during a lengthy post-election wankfest courtesy of a conspiracy of scum.

As long as there’s a clear outcome by Wednesday morning, I’ll definitely be cured.

This has been one of the most fascinating, captivating, electrifying campaigns I’ve ever seen. It really feels like we’re watching history unfold.

I hope we are, but I’m still not convinced. I have so many scenarios running through my head where Obama doesn’t win. The polls all show him with a clear lead.

Polls can sometimes be wrong and as we saw in 2004, even when the pre-election polling tells the truth, the official vote can lie.

Come Wednesday, it’s either going to be “Obamamania” or “the death of all hope.”

Please, let it be the former, because the latter sounds like a real bummer, man.

(scroll down for my unsurprising endorsement of Barack Obama)

Back in 1992, it was the “economy, stupid”, but here in the future, its the stupid economy.

The economy is stupid because it has been built on credit, not actual assets. That’s stupid and its no wonder its tanking now.

The people running big business are stupid too, for letting things get to this unbelievable state.

But worst of all are the collective governments dumping tax money into private companies to bail them out. That, my friends is the wrong answer yet everyone is still wondering why the stock markets continue to drop.

Simple, investor confidence is non-existent. How could it be anything else, when governments are rewarding badly run firms with bailouts. That’s not how business works and investors won’t respect it.

CEOs and MDs are used to making difficult and painful decisions, that’s why they make the big bucks. They don’t hesitate to decide to cut 10 or 20% of their workforce, if it makes their companies more profitable in the longer term and screw the poor saps who lose their jobs. Life is tough. I don’t think this is a good thing, I just think it is a true thing.

So these tough, hard-assed managers are used to executing painful edicts for the good of their firms and they’re not accustom to throwing good money away. When a government throws good money away, it worries everyone.

That’s what all this bailout bullshit is, just plain throwing good money away. It’s not going to save any regular folks, its not going to prevent the stock market from plunging and in the long term, its not going to prevent any of these poorly run companies from going under.

Its not going to do anything except make things worse.

They should have let all of these poorly run, badly managed, shitty companies falter. Economic Darwinism and survival of the financially fittest would have been the sensible response. That would have probably resulted in the complete restructuring of the world’s economies into something sustainable and workable. Most of all, it would have sent the right message and let the captalist-pig world know that if you fuck up, you lose.

And then we wouldn’t all be fucked.

Except me, I’m not fucked. I’ve been gathering shells, beads and berries. I reckon I’ll be able to trade them for weed and junk food when the time comes. That’s all I really need to survive.

Don’t throw away all those bills and bank notes just yet, though, as they’ll still be useful as toilet paper.

This is turning into the diary of the infirm.

Sorry, I know this used to be the capital of online fun. Maybe I should bring back the virtual blackjack tables? At least the house would always win.

I’m still feeling crap. The medication I’m taking is providing me with a host of side effects, all of them seriously dull and no fun.

I saw my GP again last week, he changed the brand of the meds I’m taking, which has subtracted a lot of the nausea, but not all of it and I still have the other side effects. Like breathlessness, heart palpitations, dizziness, headaches, tiredness, confusion and forgetfulness…need I go on?

My GP ordered more tests, which he says is to rule out some other things, rather than confirm anything he suspects. I think that’s supposed to be comforting.

My back seems to be holding its own. I still have pain, but I can cope with it. I’m still seeing the chiropractor, twice a week down from three visits and its always better after an adjustment. It tends to slide back a bit in between though, which I think is down to the fact that my thyroid levels aren’t right yet. The inflammation is being held at bay, but it’s not disappearing completely because whatever originally caused it, is still causing it.

My thyroid levels won’t be right for a while, as my GP says the dose I am on now, that is giving me all these fun side effects, will most likely needed to be increased after my next blood test. Doubled, actually. I can’t wait.

I haven’t felt like posting much lately, which is annoying because there’s loads I’d like to write about, I just don’t have the attention span to focus very long.

For all the jokes and references I’ve made about being middle aged, I’ve never really felt it in my bones. These days, not only do I feel it, I think I look the part too. It’s all dreadfully tedious and I’m bored of it all already.

I liked it better when I thought I was healthy. Clearly, I wasn’t really healthy, but I thought I was and isn’t that what really matter?

My doctor says that once my medication is sorted out, I’ll feel better than ever. Right now, I find that really hard to believe. When you feel shitty every day, its hard to be even a little bit positive about anything.

The following is a hippy health update:

I haven’t mentioned how I’ve been feeling for a bit, because I’ve pretty much been feeling the same. There’re two pieces of good news, though…I’ve got a definitive diagnosis. I have something called Hashimoto’s Disease.

Hashimoto’s Disease is an auto-immune disorder, probably genetic in origin and it causes my bodies T-cells to attack my Thyroid Gland, resulting in Hypothyroidism, which is an under-active Thyroid and causes all sorts of metabolism problems.

And Dr. Hashimoto is the guy that discovered it and it is the first recognised auto-immune disorder.

This diagnosis ties together all sorts of symptoms I’ve had over the last 6 months to a year that I hadn’t really put together or even thought were symptoms of anything. I just thought I was getting old!

Mainly, it explains the acute inflammation in my back, which continues to cause me pain, though not nearly as bad as it was when it started. I never thought my back problems would be caused by something bigger and scarier!

My other symptoms included loss of energy, appetite and concentration, poor sleep, a lump in my throat and flutters in my chest. I’ve had all of those things to one degree or another and I simply attributed them to middle age and my erratic work and sleep patterns. Silly me. I didn’t put any of this together.

When the back trouble started, I began treatment with a chiropractor, who I credit with helping a lot, but I still couldn’t completely shake the pain. After three weeks I saw my GP, because I thought I might have Shingles – I had a minor rash on my side. It turned out I didn’t have Shingles, but my GP ordered an x-ray (which was negative) and a battery of blood tests, which included a test for Thyroid function.

The test came back and confirmed my diagnosis. My GP also prodded my throat and said he could feel my swollen Thyroid Gland. I had noticed a slight sensation when swallowing for a while, but didn’t think anything of it. It wasn’t painful, or even uncomfortable, it was just different.

I’ve learned a valuable lesson and that’s to listen more closely to what my body is telling me and to do something about it!

Thankfully, Hashimoto’s Disease is very treatable and I will be on a medication called Levathyroxine for the rest of my life. It replaces the Thyroid Hormone my body no longer produces and once they get my dosage to the correct level, my body will go back to normal, whatever normal is…

I’m having side effects from this medication, nausea, sweats, and palpitations mainly, but these should pass soon. I hope.

Left untreated, it could eventually cause heart failure and death, so its a very good thing my doctor caught this. I’m lucky I have a good GP too.

Oh and the other good news is thanks to Hashimoto’s Disease and my cool new daily medication, I now get free NHS prescriptions for life. Now all I need them to do is approve cannabis prescriptions on the NHS and this disease stops being a curse and it becomes a real blessing!

Anyway kids, your Uncle Hippy is on the mend and it won’t be long before I’m back to my old self and trying to touch you all up again!

Greetings and salutations. Hello. Welcome. Yes, I am still alive.

Well, I’m as alive as I can be, following my recent health troubles.

For the last 15 days I’ve been suffering with serious back trouble. I could barely walk for the first week or so, every step was pure agony. Sitting was agony too and laying down was impossible. I was well and truly fucked.

I’ve been seeing a chiropractor and I think he’s helped a lot. I’ve had countless adjustments, starting with a home visit because I couldn’t get to his office. I’m walking well now and have much less pain, I’m hoping to return to work later in the week.

This episode really freaked me out, I was practically crippled. I couldn’t even make it to the loo without assistance from Mrs. H, I couldn’t get dressed, prepare a meal, do any household chores. I couldn’t even sit at my desk and use my iMac, I couldn’t use my laptop for the first week or so. If it wasn’t for my iPhone, I would have been completely cut off from the world.

There’s a sense of panic and desperation that one is overcome with in these situations and I was no exception. As I sat upright on my sofa, for the fifth or sixth night, desperately trying to snatch an hour or two of light, unsatisfying sleep, dark and dangerous thoughts would bubble to the surface of my brain.

What if this is permanent?

What if this is the beginning of my slow, gradual health decline leading to my premature death.

What if I don’t get better?

What if the excruciating pain never ends?

What if….

I found myself having mini-panic attacks, hyperventilating slightly and relief not coming through the codeine or spliffs.

Though my back may be improving, I find myself filled with a lingering, nagging depression over my future.

Is this the beginning of the end?

They say that every second after your born, you are one second closer to death, so in the more general sense, the end has no beginning; or rather the beginning of the end, begins at the very beginning.

But that’s not what I mean. I just have this horrible, deep feeling that my best years are well and truly behind me. It’s probably true, as its undoubtedly true that I’ve lived more than half my life already as the chances of me even coming close to 90 are slim to none.

I’m feeling my mortality and I don’t like it. I feel like I’ve aged in the last fortnight, like my years have finally caught up with me. I don’t feel youthful, as I always have, instead I’ve felt like a decrepit old man.

The thought of a slow, painful slide towards death fills me with dread. I don’t want to suffer through a litany of minor and major health problems until one of them finally snuffs me out. That just sounds horrible!

I suppose death is very much on my mind because of the death of my cat a few weeks ago, which I witnessed firsthand in all its miserable, torturous glory. While her death was mercifully quick, she didn’t go gently into that goodnight.

Watching her contort and struggle against the hand of the grim reaper has had a profound effect on me, though I am still trying to decipher what exactly what effect it has had. I’d never actually been with any living creature, human or animal, at the point of death until her passing three weeks ago.

My younger brother, who is far more spiritual than I could ever hope to be, says I absorbed something from this experience, which manifested itself with my back trouble, or perhaps was this was the trigger for it. I can’t say I am convinced.

When the chiropractor was taking my background and history, one of his first questions was if I suffered any traumas recently; my cat died about a week before the real pain started, though I had soreness in my back a few days before it really hit me.

The chiropractor said that my back trouble was building up over time, that the inflammation had worsened to the point of spasms in my back muscles, causing acute pain.

Is this a coincidence of timing or definitive cause and effect? I couldn’t really say. You could convincingly put across either side of this argument and I just don’t know.

All of this has left me hating aging and mortality even more than before and I didn’t think that was possible. What’s a self-confessed sociopath and amateur narcissist to do?

Keep hoping that someone works out a way to download my brain into a computer after the death of my body, so I can continue to exist, in digital form. How else can I hope to keep posting drivel here throughout eternity?

I am in severe pain and have been for 5 days. I did something to my back.

I have no idea what I’ve done, but I do know it hurts like a motherfucker.

It started on Monday morning, when I woke up. My back was sore and stiff and I wasn’t moving well. By Tuesday, I could hardly walk and by Weds I was glued to my sofa. Getting up is a struggle, walking is nearly impossible. I’ve tried to get out to a chiropractor twice, but couldn’t manage it. I’m getting a home visit tomorrow, he thinks he can help me.

I’m missing out on loads of work, I’m not sleeping well or eating. A trip to the loo takes 10 minutes. This is seriously no fucking fun.

Thankfully, Mrs. H has been around to take care of me, or I would be royally screwed.

It’s a struggle to even type this on my laptop, and sitting at my iMac is not an option. I’ve been surfing lots on my iPhone though. I’m really glad I’ve got it.

I’m heavily dosed up on codeine and weed, which is keeping me chilled, but not touching the pain. Please send me all your cool and groovy healing vibes, because this hippy needs to get better and quick!