This week KEN THATCHER has to take drastic action when he finds himself getting a little green around the gills
I have always thought of myself as a fairly average-sized fish in a fairly averaged-sized pond. Events recently have given me cause to rethink my position.
It all began on February 9 2017, I’d been having some trouble with my knees and the doctor had recommended a course of treatment. I attended the appropriate clinic, was given a temporary diagnosis and was told that I would be called for further treatment at a future date with the health warning that it could take maybe nine months to work its way through the system.
Given the difficulties under which the Health Service has to labour I thought this a not unreasonable gestation period.
As time went on I began to worry that things were not working just as they should, I had been rather optimistic and imagined that my turn might come round fairly quickly or my case might come to the attention of someone who knows me and they might show some compassion for the elderly and see me sooner rather than later.
I became a little anxious as the old knees were getting more painful and decided that I should be a bit more proactive and go and see someone. In my opinion it’s hard to beat looking some one in the eye when you have a question that needs answered.
I cast around for a phone number or an address where I might go to speak to a human being but came to a dead end. Nothing. No one, no where, I was stumped, it was impossible to find a person to speak to or a place to go to.
Serendipitously, whilst undertaking an errand for my wife, I stumbled across exactly what was needed, a contact number. It wasn’t the face-to-face opportunity that I had hoped for but it was a start.
Immediately I got in touch with the necessary department and explained the reason for my call.
I was concerned when there were long pauses between responses and colleagues to be consulted but the gist of the matter is that I had slipped through the net. My notes had been missed by the computer and the paper version of the said notes had become stuck in the wrong department.
On the bright side, given the amount of people that the NHS has to deal with, as soon as the error had been found people were quick to make amends and I have been fast-tracked, in a slow sort of way, and everyone is doing their best to make sure that I get the appropriate treatment.
Now either the NHS is using very broad gauge mesh in their nets or I must face the fact that I am really quite a small fish in a very large pond.
Old school
This month saw the death of one of my former teachers and colleague Mr Denis Helliwell. He had the dubious pleasure of teaching me English at A level. He was a gentleman at a time when not all teachers were.
At that time there was a theory that education could best be instilled through the liberal use of violence.
Let me give you an example. In a Maths class in the mid 1960s a teacher was trying to instill some Geometry into a class of reluctant learners. He was quizzing the class on the different names for geometrical figures.
"What is a many-sided figure called?" he asked. No response. "Poly…." he hinted.
"Put the kettle on?" one foolish youth ventured.
Violence ensued, but I’ve never forgotten what a Polygon is.
Denis was certainly not of that ilk. I had the pleasure of purchasing Denis’s library recently. He had decided to move back to his native Yorkshire after a life-time living in Derry and Donegal.
You'll take the High Road
Today is the 65th anniversary of the sinking of The Princess Victoria car ferry during a storm on its passage from Stranraer to Larne.
I notice that a Liverpool-based architect is proposing to construct a bridge between ourselves and Scotland.
Having travelled on the old Laird’s Loch, been on the hydrofoil between Larne and Cairnryan when the pictures on the cabin walls were swinging through 360 degrees due to stormy conditions (and the fact that the North Channel is full of unexploded munitions dumped after the Second World War), I wonder if he’s got his head screwed on?
Since we have sufficient trouble getting to grips with the construction of the A5 and the A6 and an enormous inability to repair potholes on our local roads perhaps we could get that sorted out before we embark on some highway in the sky to Scotland?
Secretly though, it would be a brilliant drive.
Home truths from abroad
And finally a home truth from ‘The Derry Girls’. Their Ukrainian guest sums up our religious strife rather aptly with a pithy remark suggesting that at the end of the day what we are arguing about are only different flavours of the same religion. If you want real bother, try Ukraine she suggests.
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