The Last Puff

From this weekend the Scottish parliament is banning smoking in enclosed public spaces in Scotland. Never before have I been so pleased about a law. No more putting on clean clothes just to wash them all two hours later. No more ash tray scented hair on the pillow at the end of a night out. Passive carcinogens farewell. As laws go, it feels so useful, so right.

Muriel Gray wrote in her Sunday Herald column that the smoking ban is driven by economics, over and above preventative health issues. She said the tipping point came when too many employees had the potential to sue too many companies, should they get ill.

Like myself and the other 79% of Scotland, she's fully in favour of the ban, however it came about. Yeeehaaa.

-C

Tree Huggers

spotted after the recent snow fall...

-C

The Blind Men and the Elephant

Shifts in perspective never cease to amaze me. See above the work of pavement artist, Julian Beever, viewed from two different angles. It's like that when I come to write my blog. One minute I feel I have semi interesting things to say, the next minute I feel it's all random trivia and who am I to write it? I'm sure I'm not alone in this vacillation.

Sometimes I feel an urge to explain more about the illness I've had for over 20 years. During the worst years I was so severely affected I couldn't walk, talk, watch TV, read or do anything really, other than lie in a dark room in constant pain. Today my life is much more bearable but it still carries huge paradoxes.

When I go out to meet friends they see the best of me. I get revved up on adrenalin and (for an hour or two) I can look as well as the next person. But I always have symptoms of physical pain, weakness and a kind of 'cellular gasping' feeling that is hard to describe. It's as if my cells have asthma and are begging me to lie down. There can also be a 'poisoned malaise'. Like a bad hangover from a cocktail of horse tranquilizers with a dash of arsenic. And the only way I can 'afford' to get out for a few hours is to spend the other 70 or 80% of my day horizontal: ie bed or sofa.

No wonder Joe Public can be skeptical about ME/CFS. (God awful shambles of a name for an illness but I won't get started on that). If I saw myself out and about, *I, myself* would think I looked well and I must be exaggerating about my health problems. I really would.

I've reached a point where I'm trying to stop caring what other people's theories/judgments are. I remember someone once told me that their boyfriend thought I had anorexia. I don't. But that's a terrible illness too. He just mistaken, not malicious. In fact, I hope to live my whole life believing that no one is ever deliberately malicious, just misinformed. If they knew better, they wouldn't judge or speculate erroneously. Myself included. Further reading-

-C

'Glasgow, you slag...'

Francis was lucky enough to get guest list tickets for the stage show of The Mighty Boosh recently. 'The what?' said all my friends. First impressions: we had clearly stumbled into a new religion. The audience went wild for it. It was like Monty Python meets Rocky Horror. Delirious surreal nonsense. Gorilla suits, 'manginas' and quiche. We'll have to check out the TV series.

-C

Just a Wee One

Don't tell Advocates for Animals but this photo made me laugh. I need to get up and get breakfast now. I'm amazed that I have at least one blog reader in Argentina. Hey Argentina: the sun shineth in Scotland today. Don't cry for us.

Is this too short an entry? I feel we haven't talked properly in a while. A bien tot - isn't that French for 'until later' (?) In the '80's, my sister and I would do our French homework and then watch TV as a treat afterwards. We would say 'A bien Top of the Pops' or 'A bien Dallas.' A bien next blog entry.

-C