xkcd.com

“Overstimulated”

Me and my brain

I stopped working last year when my brain flipped and my sense of balance went totally skew-whiff so that I could barely walk or read.  

This year I finally caught up with the study I should’ve been doing when I was ill and now I have my course result: Distinction.

So take that again, brain.  Think you can ruin my life by malfunctioning?  

Well, you can, for months on end, as you have ably demonstrated.  Well done.  

But I can claw my way back to normal life again, slowly, gradually, painstakingly…

Raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.  

Even though the me I talk about is in fact you, and the you I talk about is me.  

Oh, why can’t we just be friends?!

Museum of Archaeology

The Museum of Archaeology in Southampton is a very nice little museum.  

It is not, as the name might imply, a museum about the scientific study we call archaeology.  There is a small introduction to how archaeology works as you enter the museum, showing a cross-section of ground with various examples of litter from different eras in chronological order, with modern rubbish – some crisp packets – right at the top.  But that’s pretty much as far as it goes in that direction.  You’d probably be better off watching Channel 4’s Time Team if you wanted to get more of a flavour of actual archaeology, albeit it artificially compressed into an unrealistic timespan with ridiculously optimistic goals.  

The museum is actually a museum about archaeology that’s been done in and around Southampton.

It is somewhat disconcerting that the first room you come across is filled with various items from archaeological digs plus labels and pens for visitors to write their own interpretation of what the items are.  I want to know what some learned experts think these things are, not some bored eight year-old idiots on a rare day trip out of their prison who are being brought up to think that it’s fine to make crap up instead of learning deeply about a subject and a skill that you really care about.  Sure, it’s vital to have an imagination, but for crap’s sake, we all have one already.  It’s innate.  That isn’t something you need to teach.  What needs to be taught is that it’s important to end up doing something you love.  For a few kids that will turn out to be archaeology.  But the vast majority of a class would be far better off following their own interests in other areas instead of having arbitrarily chosen subjects rammed down their throat to ensure that they never enjoy those subjects ever again.  

There are exhibits about the Roman period in what was then called Clausentum, the Saxon period in what was then called Hamwic, and the Medieval period in what was then called… er… well probably Southampton by then.  

Hamwic just means home village.  The name changed into Hamtun, meaning home town, and eventually into the one we use today, Southampton, which literally just means south home town.  This is brilliant, that stretching back into time (okay, not that far, admittedly) us humans could come up with practical, boring, logically consistent place names!  It gives me a warm glow.  Maybe we’re not all doomed.  But if it were left to humans today to name places, given what I saw in that first room in the museum, it’s very probable that we’d end up with some drivel like pinkhoneymoondropflower from people who had been taught that it’s fine to make crap up and not develop practical skills or thinking.  So maybe we are still doomed.  

But what I’ll really take away with me, from this lovely tiny museum, is a brand new name for something.  A name which is inspired by my visit and which so very nearly makes sense. 

No longer shall I waste my breath uttering three syllables when two is sufficient.  

No longer will I say “ham sandwich”.  

From now on, I give you… “hamwich”.

Hamwich: the perfect abbreviation for countless ham-sandwich-eating and ham-sandwich-serving people the world over.  And people who order in ham sandwiches to their shop.  And people who are going to a shop to buy a sandwich for someone else but they’re not sure what to get and so ring them on their mobile to inform them of the choices available.  And possibly a cashier on a checkout who alerts a customer to the fact that their ham sandwich has been slightly opened, so would they like another member of staff to go and get a replacement ham sandwich that is properly, hygienically sealed.

M&S inconsistency

Marks and Spencer make some very good food, e.g. a truly superb packet of biscuits called ‘Organic Honey and Oat Cookies’, or their outstanding ‘All Butter Fudge’ which is to be found at one of the checkouts.  

But what on Earth possessed them to make their range of expensive pizzas smell and taste of vomit?  

I’m not 100% sure, but I think the main offender is the provolone cheese they use.  This seems to have become a problem sometime in the last year or so, and yet nothing has been done about it.  Can I really be the only customer who does not want their fancy pizza to smell and taste of vomit?  Is there actually a big demand for that just-vomited feeling combined with loss of money, but without the hassle of actually vomiting and flushing cash down the toilet, and I never knew?  

Or is it just that no one else has bothered to write to M&S to complain either?

Perhaps I’ll never know.

Mathematics is beautiful

Change

The other week I had to make a train journey.  I had booked in advance and had seat reservations.  I arrived at the station in plenty of time, although my train was ten minutes late.  I boarded the train, noticing a lot of noise emanating from the coach my seat reservation was in.  It sounded like the whole carriage of passengers was tunelessly shouting a song.  When I entered the packed carriage I saw about half a dozen white men in their 20s or 30s, all wearing similar football shirts, and it became apparent that they were responsible for the cacophany.  Other passengers – far and away the majority – had a range of expressions on their faces.  Some looked annoyed.  A lot were smiling, somewhat indulgently.  A few seemed a bit scared and worried.  I looked around for my seat number, and with a crushing sense of doom, realised my seat was right in the middle of these men.  At this point, the men noticed my presence.  All their Christmases had come at once, for here, daring to get on their train, walk in front of them and sit down next to them, was a ginger-haired female.  They were so overcome with excitement at this situation that three or four of them started up with different songs, chants and general jeering at the same time on a topic obviously close to their hearts: ginger-haired women.  The whole carriage was serenaded with repulsive, insulting, offensive shit on the subject for about ten minutes, before the attention of these moronic, idiotic, repugnant specimens of the human species turned onto something else, and started singing songs about that instead.  

A few years ago, this would have felt like one of the worst things that could happen to me – public humiliation because of the way I happen to look.  And for a nanosecond, I did start to feel that way.  But now it was immediately replaced by rational thought: these men are being revolting.  I am not going to feel embarrassed by this.  They are the embarrassments.  They are so obviously pig-ignorant, hurtful, plain stupid bullies, that it would be clear to anyone who I would respect the opinion of that they were in the wrong and I had nothing to feel ashamed of.  This was my seat and I was damn well going to sit in it and read my quantum mechanics book, and they could shove it up their hopefully haemorrhoid-ridden arses.  

As chance would have it, also getting on the train and with a seat booked in the same coach was an older woman who I only slightly knew.  We exchanged greetings, or tried to above the shouting.  She went off to find her seat, and I to put my luggage away.  I noticed there was an empty seat next to hers, so I moved my stuff and went to sit with her, towards the opposite end of the carriage.  

Yes, I do now have the backbone to sit in the middle of some bastards, but here was a better offer.  We chatted for the next hour and a half over the din, and it was genuinely lovely to get to know her.  She is in her seventies and has had a very interesting life, and we shared some common ground.

Six (actually seven) month appointment

In the second week of April 2009 I attended my six (actually seven) month appointments with an ENT consultant and a vestibular physiotherapist.

The ENT consultant was the original one I saw when I was at my very worst, back in September 2008.

The last time he had seen me, I had been pushed in on a wheelchair and could barely move my head in any direction. This time, I walked in and my head had regained its ability to move around freely without immense vertigo and motion sickness. He seemed genuinely pleased for me.

He said it was excellent that I had managed to come off the travel sickness medication in December, and that I could try stopping the migraine medication too, as it is usual to do so after six months if improvement has been seen.

If the symptoms start to get worse again, I can see a GP to get back on the migraine medication and the travel sickness medication. Hopefully they will work as they did this time around. If not, I can ask a GP to refer me again to the hospital. Also hopefully, it wouldn’t take as long to get an appointment as it did the first time around.

For many years I thought I had BPPV.  Maybe  I did have that at some stage, but I don’t think it was the real problem for most of the time.  When I specifically asked, he said that what I have is probably migraine associated vertigo, given the evidence so far.

He was very open and rational about it, and while I deeply respect that, it does mean that I don’t get any of the false sense of security that comes from believing that your doctor is an infallible god who knows exactly what is wrong with you and exactly what to do to make you better. But I think that on the whole, I have the better deal. To paraphrase a great person or two, I would rather know the truth and deal with the world as it is, than persist in delusions, no matter how comforting they may be.  Maybe that is the definition of being a real idiot!  Fancy wanting to put up with depressing shit instead of blissful ignorance!  Ah, but facts, skepticism and imagination can reveal wonderful, marvellous truths about the universe, which are a greater source of comfort and joy than any lie or tissue of lies could ever be.  Unless you were really, really good at lying to yourself and had a very fertile imagination.  In which case, there’s not so much in it, but do be aware that you owe a lot to science including not dying at a young age due to disease, having a longer lifespan and the various items of technology which you now enjoy and take for granted.  

I had an exam looming in April, which I was not willing to jeopardise as it was already deferred from last year due to the illness. So I didn’t try stopping the meds at that point, just in case I got worse and missed the exam.

The exam is now over, and I have an appointment with a GP to discuss, amongst other things, what I should do about all the headaches I get. I’ll wait to see what the result of that is, and then decide whether to stop the migraine meds.

Incidentally, this is medication about which the ENT consultant said “To be honest, you were on such a low dosage, it’s debatable whether it actually had any physical effect”.

So there we are! The medicine may or may not have worked. I may or may not get worse again. I may or may not get totally better.  I may or may not have migraine associated vertigo.  

Life is full of uncertainties. For humans, that can be hard to deal with emotionally. But it’s just the way the world is, and the sooner you can mentally adjust to it, the easier and happier your life becomes.

We’re scum on the side of a rock in an uncaring universe.

Some things you can control. Some things – most things – you cannot control.  And yet, within these tight constraints, we are capable of a lot.

I filled in the same questionnaire I’d filled in last December when I saw the vestibular physiotherapist.  This time I scored below 40, so apparently I’m now normal.  

I’m not normal, of course, but that’s the nature of questionnaires.  I still have vertigo and motion sickness from time to time.  It’s something I have to live with.  Just the other night I was not feeling well with it.  I had a headache, nausea and constant rocking and jerking sensations despite not moving.  I lay down on my bed and waited for it to abate.  It didn’t look as though it was going anywhere, and I started to feel alarmed.  What if this is the beginning of a really bad patch again… 

Thankfully this time it did abate after taking travel sickness medication, nurofen and having a night’s sleep.

Mens tramline shoes part two

Well looky here, what do we got ourselves?

A brown tramline shoe.  

This gentleman opted for a more casual look than can be achieved with the usual black tramline, and teamed them with jeans, as you can see. 

You can almost feel the pressure on that little toe.

Crossword clues

When I was pretty ill and could do almost nothing, I could sometimes manage to do bits of crosswords with someone reading the clues out and filling it in.  I was bought a puzzle selection magazine and gradually got myself back into being able to read without immense dizziness and nausea.  I’d look at a puzzle for a few seconds, fill in maybe just one or two clues, then put it down and rest.  Through doing this slowly and repeatedly, eventually I got well enough to return to reading maths and physics course materials.  An extremely slow process, but the only way to do it.  You can’t go over it, you can’t go under it, you can’t go round it, you have to go through it.

Now I subscribe to one of these magazines, because it reminds me that everything is achieved in small steps, that living is like a continuous function and you often can’t just jump from where you are to where you want to be.  You have to take baby steps.  Infinitely many baby steps.  

And I also get it because some of the clues are brilliant:

Sea army (4)

Land navy (4)

List of meals (4)

Yellow pudding sauce (7)

Convent woman (3)

Ruby —, hit for the Rolling Stones (7)

What completes the title of the Rolling Stones hit — Tuesday? (4)

Mens tramline shoes

 

I think these are called ‘tramline shoes’ but I am not entirely sure.  They are a type of shoe that businessmen often wear.  They taper off towards a point but get chopped off in a straight line before they reach that point.  They are usually black.  

Here is my specific shoe-spotting collection so far:

^ Exhibit A ^  A classic example, and the photo which began the collection.  

Nb. The shoe in the top right of the photograph is not, unfortunately, a tramline shoe.  Would I ever be so fortunate as to capture more than one example of the tramline shoe in a single photograph?  Surely that is nothing more than a crazy pipe dream?

^ Exhibit B ^ The second spotted tramline shoe.  Worn by a businessman with a long mane of silvery hair tied back into a ponytail and doing some coding.  But hang on – what’s this?…

^ Exhibit C ^ Not noticed at the time, but later on downloading the photos to the computer, there was revealed another candidate lurking in this picture.  Okay, it’s not the most extreme tramline shoe you will ever see, and the angle from which the photograph is taken does not help, but the tapering with the straight line across is definitely there.

However, the next tramline shoe photo did not take me by surprise and I appreciated it fully at the time:

^ Exhibit D ^ Yes, that’s right.  I had been in the presence of three pairs of tramline shoes, at close range.  

To Be Continued…