Where's the Oil?

A couple of weeks ago a major cyclone hit Burma flooding the Irrawaddy Delta. As a result hundreds of thousands have been made homeless, thousands have died and there are major problems with lack of food, clean water and disease. The Burmese Junta have, however, refused entry to any aid workers and emergency aid supplies are lying idle because they cannot be distributed. As a result, more and more people are dying.

Given what happened in Iraq - invasion by the US and UK on the grounds that Saddam was guilty of genocide against his own people (WMDs a red herring) - why is there no move against the Burmese dictatorship in view of their recklessness and genocide by neglect?

Where's the oil?

Moving Mother

Last weekend we moved mother from her three bedroomed house to an elderly person's bungalow in Stonehouse. She had lived in her house for 45 years and I and my brothers had all seen part of our childhood or early teens in it. It must have been a huge wrench to leave her house and her friends but it became inevitable when father died and she could no longer climb the stairs or look after the house or garden.

The move was accomplished with help from Jon, Val, Clare and Chris (who came down from Loughton to help). It was a long, hard weekend as there was quite a bit of work to do on the bungalow to make it habitable. However, by the time mother moved in it was looking very cosy and she appeared happy enough - though it's always difficult to tell since she is not blessed with a wide range of emotions!

We now have to hope that she will communicate and socialise with her neighbours and form a new circle of friends - not easy at 82 it has to be said. She will also expect and require frequent visits as both Jon and I are now within easy reach - overall though life will be easier for all concerned.

Back to Work for a Rest

Last week Mary and I went up to London to look after our 3 1/2 and 1 1/2 year old grandsons as the nanny was on holiday. Despite the joy of interacting with your own genes this was damn hard work! Quite how my daughter copes with a high power job in the city and these two energy gobbling entities I have no idea. OK, a nanny helps but even an hour of input represents a challenge to patience, intellect and negotiating skills unmatched by that demanded from any adult.

However, it was fun and we were blessed by Mediterranean weather which meant we could chase each other around the garden for much of the day (I'm now fully fit for the next London Marathon).

We also got to take Jamie to school in the morning (he only goes in the morning), which was quite fascinating given the diversity of the pupils and the (to us) alien social culture prevailing in this part of the UK. The road to the school gates was choked by new or nearly new 4x4s of one sort or another. Indeed, one struggled to find a vehicle under 2 years old anywhere in Loughton - do they all just earn a lot or do they spend what they earn on cars? One of life's enduring mysteries.

Age of Frenzy

So it's decided, we're moving my mum to her old person's bungalow on Monday 12 May, which gives us a whole two weeks to get organised - yippee! In having to meet this deadline we need to return from babysitting grandsons in London the previous Thursday. This has caused our daughter much chagrin as she is supposed to be working on Friday and the nanny is on holiday (which is why we are up there in the first place).

All this has caused me to reflect on the pressures of the seventh decade.

When you are a child you have no-one expecting you to accept responsibility for them, indeed you are the one demanding care and attention. When you grow up and have children you suddenly have responsibility for them thrust upon you and, as a result, think this must be the most demanding period of your life. Not so! When your children grow up and have children, particularly in this era when both parents feel the need to work and socialise, you suddenly find you have a responsibility to help your children with their family workload. This is fine but, as in our case, you also have your parents reaching an age when they are expecting you to look after them as their mental and physical faculties fail.

So, at a time when you might have thought you could switch off and put your feet up, your time and energies are in demand from both sides of the generational chasm! of course, we wouldn't have it any other way, indeed we would probably complain that we were being ignored if such expectations were not raised. Ironic though isn't it?

Lunacy at the Council

My mum, who is 82 years old, has just been told by the local council that, after waiting for a year, she has been given an old folks bungalow. She is thrilled as it means she can move much nearer my brother and me. However, when the housing manager was asked about timeframes she suggested that my mum should move from her old house to her new one within 2 weeks. This is after living in her current house for nearly 50 years, so just a little bit of clearing out and packing to do! Also, removals to be organised, utilities to be informed, carpets to be fitted, curtains to be made etc. etc........

Dont'cha just love local authorities? Negotiations will continue.......

Construction News

This has been a hard weekend! Unaccustomed as I am to hard physical work, and given my 60 years, lugging timber up to the top of the garden then constructing the chicken run has left me feeling as though I've been in a train crash. Back to work this morning for R&R!

The chicken run looks impressive though I do say so myself. Unfortunately my quantity surveying let me down and I don't have enough wire netting to complete the job. Finding the green PVC coated stuff has also proved difficult but I have some arriving tomorrow from Screwfix. On the plus side I have the perfect excuse to take it easy this evening!

Sad to hear that Humphrey Littleton had died aged 86. I loved his dry SOH on 'I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue' - I've never known anyone be so filthy yet inoffensive.

Dry Chickens

Woke up this morning to a fine morning. As I leap from my bed my dear lady wife cried 'It had better rain!' 'Why for goodness sake?' 'Because I'm out all day so I can't go gardening!'

Ah - female logic strikes again.

Bill, my Parson Russell Terrier accompanies me up the back garden and past my four newly acquired chickens, still tucked up in their hen house. He runs over for a quick sniff before going to the gate to await lead fitting and 'walkies'. It starts to rain.

Bill and I stride off into the woods for our morning constitutional. It starts to rain hard. We return half an hour later very wet indeed and I notice that my chooks are looking singularly unimpressed with the precipitation - it's not doing their food any good either, it's starting to look like porridge. Queue frantic gathering of old planks of wood to place across the chooks run. I get even more soaked, Daphne (as opposed to Topsy, Betsy or Judith who are still peering doubtfully from the door of the henhouse) looks impressed. Bill looks bedraggled and miserable, as do I.

Good luck chooks, I'm in for breakfast, then work.........