Ann Allan : Spotlight Special.

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Rewind that, I shouted to the hubby. I had, as usual, got my head in my iPad commenting on Twitter on something that was brought up in the Sunday politics show. I had just caught the end of the announcement. A special edition of Spotlight was going to be recorded on Tuesday 5th and viewers were invited to go apply for tickets. Hmm I though I fancy going to that. One of my usual companions for such an event was in Brighton running the gauntlet at the Conservative conference so I told the hubby,  sorry,  invited the hubby  to come along with me. A quick email was dispatched,  as requested,  and on Monday a reply was received asking me to ring the Beeb and give some personal details.  Well you would have thought I was trying to get into the White House! But having recruited audiences for similar shows in the past  I realised that a good cross-section is needed to balance the audience and the lady on the phone was extremely nice.  Hubby then got the same grilling and we were told we could collect our tickets at the door.

That was when I started worrying. What will I wear? Should I get my hair done?  Will we be seen in the audience?  Will the hubby look as if he’s enjoying himself?  Should I tell anyone to look out for us? Oh God, maybe we will be asked to ask a question!  Decided that the hair needed done and maybe a new top was called for.  However, on reflection, I went for the hair-do but opted for a black tee-shirt hoping I would blend in with the background.

Hubby was excited, ( grumpy about having to get up when he’d rather doze in his chair). Headed into town. Car parking was convenient but we didn’t have enough money for the machine. Tried phoning the number to pay with my credit card. The facility only had details for my old car. Tried three times to give my new registration number and every time the voice repeated an incorrect number.  Could tell the hubby was getting annoyed as he headed off to the cinema on the Dublin Road looking for change.image
Arrived at Blackstaff studios. Sorry  luv,  doors not open yet, come back at 6.30. With 15 mins to pass we headed down Gt.Victoria St.  Reminisced about how it looked in our day.  Where did all those restaurants come from?  As the rain started to fall I began to think this wasn’t such a good idea.
At 6.30 we we headed back to the studio and joined the queue. We showed our ID and were ushered into the waiting area. Unfortunately we were there for over an hour and were subjected to re-runs of old Spotlights so we were reminded of Asher-gate and some homophobic nonsense from Jeffrey Donaldson.

We were asked to write a question to put to the panel. I wanted to know that if Simon Hamilton maintains that the Health Service is working in his absence,  maybe we should be considering part-time Ministers. Save a fortune.  We also got a peep at who was on the panel. Gregory Campbell, Claire Hanna, Mike Nesbitt, Michelle O’Neill and I was delighted to see my friend Mairia Cahill was also on the panel. If it hadn’t been for Mairia I would never have started writing.  Look what you’d have missed.

The staff were lovely.  The floor managers went around talking to everyone ( about 100 in the audience ) thanking us for coming and making us feel comfortable.  A guy sitting next to us had his leg in a cast. He had been waiting for 18 months for an operation. Noel Thompson referred to him during the programme.
At about 7.30 we entered the recording studio and took our seats.  A well-known face from the past, Paddy O’Flaherty, came out to warm up the audience. After a light-hearted bit of banter we were instructed to raise our hands if we had something to say, clap if we liked a point and generally get involved.  As I’m still getting used to my new teeth I decided not to saying anything as I had visions of getting nervous, and my teeth flying across the studio in full view of the tv cameras.
Mr. Suave himself, Noel Thompson, appeared and took his seat together with the other panelists. In the glare of powerful overhead lights the show was about to start. But wait, we heard Noel speak to the producer. He hadn’t got a script. A floor runner was hastily dispatched to get the script which imageapparently  was still being typed. A few minutes later and we were off. No hitches and straight through the recording. All ready for transmission later on Tuesday evening.  All very professional. It was also noticeable that having three female members on the panel resulted in a more reasoned and tempered debate.
Came out to a wet but warm evening and headed for home to watch the recording. Ok watch the recording to see if we could spot ourselves ( we did ). What is the fascination with seeing yourself on the tv?
All in all it was an enjoyable experience and one which I ( and him) would like to repeat.

You can watch a recording of the programme at

http://bbc.in/1RtWeIF

Sarah Walsh: I’m Perfect Just as I am.

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Chatter has gone global. I am delighted to publish Sarah Walsh’s courageous account of dealing with her disability. Written when she was just thirteen it shows a great maturity on her outlook on life. Ann Allan

My name is Sarah. I’m in a wheelchair and I’m 13. But that’s only the outside stuff, the obvious things. I have Irish heritage on my dad’s side, and Scottish on my mum’s side. I was born 30th May in Canberra. I have a thing called Ulrich Congenital Muscular Dystrophy which basically means weird skin, weak muscles, thin bones and this is all caused by a lack of collagen 6. But the weird thing is, I didn’t have that diagnosis until I was 7, so for 7 years of my life I was basically living a lie.
Over the years I’ve had many significant moments, all worthy of being in this speech. But there’s only one moment that really deserves to be said aloud. That moment is my first MD camp.image
You see, in 2007 I had an operation to try to help me walk, but it had the opposite effect. It stopped me walking altogether. So, I kind of wasn’t myself for 2 years, saying things like “I hate myself” and apologising when anything happened that involved my wheelchair, as I felt it was my fault I was like this. Really, when I think about it, the only thing that ended up taking me out of that phase was this camp.
I can remember that I wasn’t too thrilled to be going. I don’t like being out of my comfort zone, and the idea of making new friends really scares me. Of course, seeing that nothing ever happens in Canberra, we had to go to Sydney for this camp Narrabeen Sports and Rec camp to be precise. The drive took at least 4 hours, so naturally I was bored out of my mind. When we arrived, you can imagine I was nervous as I just couldn’t imagine 30 kids in wheelchairs being in one spot all week. It would just be hectic and there wouldn’t be enough space. Or so I thought.
So we went to meet my carer,  Kelly,  who would help me with everything throughout the week (the carers were physiotherapy students). We went to our room and a few minutes later my roommate arrived. Her name was Bodene and her carer was Elise.  Bodene was 4 years older than me, but that didn’t stop us from clicking straight away. After we settled in and had the first awkward conversation and figured out that Bodene and I were completely obsessed with Twilight, we were told we had to go out and do the first activity.

We were put into groups and, because this camp was near Halloween, we made banners for our groups with Halloween kind of names. My group was called the “Bloodsucking Campers”. Unfortunately, Bodene and I weren’t in the same group but it was also a good thing. A little friendly competition never hurt anyone.
The rest of the week went by in the same way; spending time in our room getting to know each other, an activity, and back to the room partying and getting to know each other better. The more I got to know Bodene, the closer we got, and I found myself somehow forgiving myself for what happened on ’07.  Forgiving the surgeon and realising that I can be who I was; I just needed to understand that I won’t be the exact same, that things have changed. When I realised that, I was able to have more fun, throw more of me into the activities and not be so reserved.image
My favourite thing on this camp had to be the Halloween party! It was awesome!! It was on Wednesday night, so I had basically fully become a child and was doing everything I wanted and doing it with a smile on my face a smile that almost never left my face, which hadn’t happened since the operation.  We all had face paint on, and it wasn’t the face paint you get at fetes, this was movie worthy face paint! Warts, blood and all! The hall was filled with all sorts of things: streamers, Halloween decorations and Halloween food,  all of which Bodene and I helped set up.

They also had karaoke. I was so happy there was karaoke because I’ve always wanted to do it and I said to Bodene, “Dude, we have to do that”, but of course she said no, because she was too chicken! So I went with Elise because I didn’t want to go up alone. Then the next few times I did it, Bodene did it with me! I remember saying goodbye on Friday was really hard. There were quite a few tears, but I knew I was coming back next year as I just had so much fun and, for the first time in ages, I was fully myself and felt as though I belonged somewhere.image
This camp has helped shape my identity by making me realise that I’m not alone in what I’m going through. If I’m having a rough time, all I have to do is call my best friend and ask her for help seeing she’s already been through most of it.
This camp also shaped my identity by making me who I was when I was 10: a person who always smiles and makes pathetic jokes but still laughs like crazy at them. Without this camp, I would still hate myself, wishing I was “normal”. I’m perfect just as I am. And that’s the most important thing this camp has taught me.

Ullrich Congenital Muscular Dystrophy | MDA
https://www.mda.org/disease-name/ullrich-congenital-muscular-dystrophy
31 Mar 2015 – Children and adolescents with Ullrich congenital muscular dystrophy or Bethlem myopathy are invited to participate in a study of a daily …

Ann Allan: Send in the Clowns.

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imageDid you like myself and thousands of others stand beside the police at Twadell Avenue and watch a small bunch of thugs launch a horrific attack on our police force? Thanks to the fortitude of RL we watched from behind the camera,  as young boys and teenagers held Belfast up to ridicule throughout the world. We gaspedimage in horror as a missile hit its target and a policeman slumped to the ground. We saw him having to be literally dragged away by other policemen eager to protect him and get him to safety. We were able to see at close hand what these men have to put up with when crowds are brought on to the street without supervision.

Which begs the question, why were the nationalists out at the other side of the road? Why didn’t they go to their homes and leave the police to deal with the situation, or have riots now become a spectator sport? We hear about police brutality.  We were only defending ourselves, is the usual excuse. Well last night there was no police brutality, the police were stoic and patient. I would have been tempted to have gone across and grabbed Joey/James the clown and shoved him in a paddy wagon until he calmed down.

Close up pictures of the crowd showed middle-aged women laughing and egging on the young bucks who thought it clever to attack the police,  because the Godfathers are their idols and they listen to their outdated rhetoric.  Young children looked on, cheering when a missile hit home. Where were their parents? Behind them? Enjoying the spectacle with a can in their hand?  I would suggest that in future the water cannons have a coloured dye added to the water. It would make identification of these thugs a lot easier. Maybe I’m naïve, but I have been around a long time and last night was my first look at a riot from the policeman’s perspective. I scanned the crowds for evidence of a politician or a community worker grabbing one of the rioters and telling them to go home but I didn’t see any.  This was a PR disaster for the orange order in Belfast. It was a peaceful and enjoyable day everywhere else.  Going to bed last night I read that youths in the Bogside were intent in undoing the good work achieved in the city. For goodness sake, somebody, sort it out or we are saddling another generation with this crap.

Send in the clowns, don’t bother there here.

Ann Allan : What is Culture?

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1.The arts and other manifestations of human intellectual achievement regarded collectively.

image2.The ideas, customs, and social behaviour of a particular people or society.

The above are the popular definitions of culture. The word culture has become a dirty word in Northern Ireland, misused, misunderstood and sensitive. I’m not out to offend anyone by my observations as I come from a mixed community background since 1970. I also grew up in a village, before I crossed the great community divide, where there was a toleration on both sides of parades, both on the 12 th July and the 15 th August. A bonfire was a small family occasion where a few logs burned in the middle of a safe non contentious area. No pallets, no tyres, no flags or emblems, no election posters and no ‘holy’ statues.
Move forward 45 years when one would expect that as a society we would have moved forward. But no! Ask one of the bonfire builders why they are building a bonfire and you’ll get the cliché, It’s our culture. Should they be pursued and questioned what they meant by culture I doubt you would get a lucid or reasoned answer.
We hear the cry respect our culture. I’m sorry culture to me doesn’t entail:

The paving stones on the street painted red, white and blue,
Flags flying from every lamp-post for weeks, some in tatters.
Flags of other nations flying. What is the flying of the Palestinian and Israeli flag all about?
To improve the situation and to move towards some semblance of toleration. Let’s start with both sides removing any flags that:
1.Are from other countries
2. Are from paramilitary groups which are threatening to any sections of the community.
This year we have even seen the swastika and the confederate flag. These can only have been put up to offend some sections of our community. The flags are also flown in areas where the community doesn’t want them but that doesn’t seem to be taken into consideration.
In some areas where bonfires are built way in advance of the twelfth, the streets are littered with rubbish both before and after the 11th night. How can anyone take a pride in their area with this being allowed to happen? I feel for those house proud residents who have skimped and saved to buy their houses.  We have seen this year how residents had to move from their homes in Chobam street to accommodate a bonfire. Result people  inconvenienced. Rate payers foot the bill. Fire service on duty to make sure houses not burned down. This is not culture.
Speak out against this situation and you are likely to fall foul of the organisers and some members of the loyalist community. I have friends in the loyalist community so please don’t say I am biased.
So if you want me to endorse your culture, take the sectarianism out of the picture on both sides, promote the good aspects like the bands and the encouragement of young musicians. Don’t turn our streets into what looks like public dumping areas. Enjoy the bonfires. Remove the sectarian aspect and it could turn out to be an occasion without ridicule and rancour.

Anon: Enlightenment.

Posted on by Chatter

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Indoctrinated from birth is what was done.
The religion of mine was a Catholic one.
I went with the flow and sat on the fence,
Though deep down inside it didn’t make sense.

Told to believe in one god – persons three.
Born a sinner, required to be free.
Adam and Eve – they were to blame
They committed the sin, ignited the flame.

If I were good, heaven would be mine,
But if I were bad, hell for all time.
Purgatory an option – still there was hope.
If people prayed for my soul, then there was scope.

The stories of prophets – and virgin birth,
Jesus, miracles, resurrection from death,
Ascension to heaven, for his mother as well,
Forgiveness of sins, to my priest I did tell.

Rejection of satan I had to recite.
Said prayers in the morning and at bed-time at night.
If I broke the rules and died in sin
I’d be gone to the flames, the devil would win.

I now feel free in thought and will,
To discover, reason, learn … and still …
I know what’s good – what’s right and what’s not.
It’s innate in me, a human thought.

Gone are the stories and myths in my mind,
Written in a book for a different kind
Who just didn’t know and tried to make sense
In a world of no science, without evidence.

It’s taken me time to learn and be true,
To think for myself and to accept my view,
To continue to search, to grow and evolve,
And to remember there’s questions that I will not solve …

… but that’s OK!

(Anonymous)image

Anon: girlinawig ( Part 2)

Posted on by Chatter

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March 2015:  Second lot of chemo was on Thursday p.m. I’d called into work for an hour in the morning and had a laugh, which was a real boost.

6 p.m. Chemo round 2. This time I used a hand warmer I’d got stashed away for footy spectating . Seemed to work as the nurse got in my vein first time. Big relief as I don’t want a PICC line fitted that needs to be regularly dressed by a nurse.

Asked about Monday’s blood test results. Apparently all my scores are those of a normal healthy person. Neutrophils too, which is a relief. These drastically drop during chemo so the higher they are to start with, the better. If they drop v low, you can end up in hospital just because of a sniffle. Came home, ate a bit of dinner. Not too bad.

Friday : Felt a bit more sick in the early hours but better after a morning nap. Even got across the threshold this time. Last time I didn’t go out of the house from the Thurs night until the Wed.
Walked up the street to collect my boys from their friends. My lovely friend had brought them home from school and fed them. Walked them back up the street for her to take them to a school disco. Then lovely friend 2 dropped them off. Then I took them up to MIL for a sleepover as hubby was out. Was all planned in case I felt as ill as the last time. Except I didn’t!

Saturday: Got up, not feeling so sick. Not got a bright red shiny face this morning like last time.

Phew!

Saturday was great. Pootled about in the car taking youngest to his friends to play. Even nipped into the Spar garage for stuff. Got my Neulasta injection from the District Nurse…once she’d worked out with her colleague how to open it. Had never seen one before. Yet it would be cheaper for the NHS than an admission to hospital for a few days. Should be given as standard.

Sunday:  BLEURGHHHH.  Neulasta side effects kicked in. Sore in every bone. From top of my spine right down to my shins. But that was it working, forcing new blood cell growth. Fuzzy headed all day. In fact felt like that for a few days. Luckily this coincided with a trip over by my parents .

I napped. I did nothing. They pottered about fixing and cleaning stuff. Things I hadn’t been up to doing in months what with surgeries etc. . It was brilliant to be looked after.

JUNE 2015: First three cycles of FEC went by without too much bother. In the week following chemo I took it easy and while I didn’t feel fantastic, I didn’t feel horrendous either.

Yes there were side effects but they were manageable.

The last three cycles I had were Docetaxol. I assumed that I’d (relatively) breeze through this too.

LOLIMG_0630

So…less nausea but I really thought I was going to die from the pain. Every single part of me hurt. No painkiller could touch it. Couldn’t even cry as it hurt to move my cheeks. Even the duvet hurt my legs. Three days like that. It might have been four. It’s very hazy. I spent Easter week in bed. Finally called my nurse for advice and she brought me in. After a quick blood test, I was given antibiotics and told my neutrophils were very very low, surprisingly. If I developed a temperature I had to go directly to A&E to get admitted.

I  took a couple of antibiotics over the day and sat watching my temp go up. And up. I figured the trip alone to A&E would make me worse as I couldn’t get downstairs again at that point. If I was admitted I’d get antibiotics anyway….so I hedged my bets. Very risky. But it was fine. My temp started to come down at 3am. The next day I felt like a different person.

Side effects, apart from the pain and need for antibiotics, were pretty spectacular. My hands swelled up and were fiery hot and red. After a few days of this the skin began to peel off in big strips. like sunburn peel but much, much bigger pieces.   Lovely.

IMG_0631Anyway scab handed I went to my next checkup, hoping I’d be too ill to go ahead with chemo. Apparently not, my blood levels were ok. However the consultant said he was reducing the chemo dose by 20 % due to my severe reaction. It had packed a pretty hard punch he said, then smiled. Yay!

Last 2 Docetaxols

Rough.

That’s all.

Had been given a co-codamol and brufen schedule to keep ahead of the pain. This helped a bit. Not totally. Mouth sores weren’t as bad, though I ended up with scabby peeling feet instead of scabby hands.

My parents came over to stay for a week each time, given how ill I’d been the last time. This was amazing. I could barely sit up in bed for a few days let alone eat or function. I let them pamper me and hid as best I could how unwell I was from the kids. Childhood comfort food like eggy bread, hit the spot

For the penultimate cycle I was offered tramadol to see if it helped. So I took one in a vain attempt to help pain wise. Never ever again.

I woke up crawling on the bathroom floor, trying to clean it with my hands. I was convinced I had weed all over the floor and bed (not true). When I came to enough to realise I was dreaming, I went back to bed. As I sat down I was pulled onto the bed by hundreds of pairs of hands that I started fighting off. All I remember after that is fighting demons and flying and more fighting.

Yeah.

As my Consultant said afterwards, You’ll never make a junkie.

Suede Head

JUNE 2015: Never fully lost it. Was never a shiny baldy. I kept a v fine layer of grey patchy fuzz. Lost eyebrows, eyelashes and everywhere else though. I am a dab hand at fake eyebrows now. The first pic is about 4 weeks after the last chemo.

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The pic below is tonight. That is 6 weeks exactly since the last chemo.

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It might be coming back with a lot of grey, but it is coming back.

To be continued.

https://www.breastcancercare.org.uk

Anon : girlinawig (Part One)

Posted on by Chatter

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First attempt at blogging. I’m new to all this. But hey ho, will give it a go. My aim is to write about life, right now.

A bit about me : Aged 43, wife, mum of two boys, charity worker and all round busy person. All very mundane.

Why I’m writing this? Well it’s a type of journal. A place to whinge and feel better. Whinge a little. Not too much. Promise.
To set the scene….

Sept 2014.

On my birthday I felt a lump. Yes, a lump. Bit of a rubbish birthday present. Didn’t tell anyone as my folks were over visiting. Plus nothing was actually wrong. Really.

After a few days it disappeared with some bruising, but I went to my Doctor anyway. He said to come back if in a few weeks,  if needed, which luckily I did as I wasn’t happy. He suggested I go to my local cancer charity who do mammograms as there was nothing he could refer me on for as ‘urgent’ . It would mean I wouldn’t get a scan til March 2015 at least , given the pressures on our NHS.
Totally had forgotten the decent health insurance we have via my husbands work which would have done it sooner, but I was seen within two weeks at the charity.
My mammogram was easy enough but something on this got me referred to the one stop breast clinic at the Regional Cancer Centre. The letter said four out of five such referrals were fine. I assumed I’d be one of the four.

December 2014

I spent a morning getting poked and prodded, more scans, an ultrasound and a biopsy. In between which I accidentally saw WAY too many elderly lady boobs in the waiting room, due to the ill-fitting gowns.

Then a meeting with the Consultant. The waiting room emptied. Husband kept saying ‘ it’ll be fine’. Last patient of the day. Consultant came in, I saw her expression….and I just knew.

Small tumour. .04-what-is-that12cm
But…early stages. Type of cancer that responds to hormone treatment.
All in all, very treatable.

But still.
I’m not ill I thought.

JANUARY 30 2015

As surgery approached I began to panic about the general anaesthetic. Silly I know but I was convinced I wouldn’t wake up. Ridiculous anxiety .

Anyway, got to the day ward for 7am. On my own in a taxi, so the kids wouldn’t be disturbed or know anything was awry.
Starving.
Anyway met 2 chatty wonderful women , we collectively rallied each other’s spirits and moaned about being hungry.

There was no surgery in the morning due to theatres being inspected. While inconvenient, it was good as I knew they would be spotless and everyone would be on their toes.

9am. A trip for me and an older lady up to radiography to receive a tracer isotope. This was to enable the surgeon to locate and remove sentinel nodes -lead lymph nodes that can show if cancer has begun to spread.

How they do it it is, in hindsight pretty funny. But at the time it was excruciating.
A portly bow tied gent introduced himself with a radiographer.
After which , he injected the side of my nipple with radioactive gunge.
That wasn’t the worst. The worst bit was then having to massage my own boob, for a couple of minutes , under the watchful eye of said Doctor.

The scan after that , was pretty easy.

Got back to the ward and the other lady came and sat on my bed. She was a bit out of sorts bless her. She said “I’ve never done anything like that in front of a man. Never in all my puff” .

Time rolled on. We could smell the nurses lunch. Even the magazines we had between showed page after page of food. Humour got us through.
Then one by one people were wheeled off. I was the only one left. It was 4 p.m. I knew I had to recover enough by 8p.m. or I’d have to be admitted as the ward was only a day ward.

4.20p.m.. Finally wheeled down. Pretty panicky and my heart rate went up to 140. Last thing I remember is the rapid ‘ping ping ping’ of the monitor.

Woke up crying at 7p.m.. Has happened before with anaesthetic. But partly relief too. Made it down to the ward and forced the mandatory tea and toast down. Walked out the door, 8p.m. on the dot, having put a bit of make up on.
We picked up the kids from MILs, and that was that. Almost normality.

Well. I was told all along that I’d lose my hair. Never quite believed it. Joked that no doubt it would fall out for  Valentine’s day.images

Day 11:  Had scalp tingling on day 11 after chemo. Having looked it up I knew it was a sign that the epirubicin (part of the FEC treatment) was working to blast all the fast dividing cells. Unfortunately some of the fastest cells are in your hair follicles.
Day 13:  Ran my hands through my hair. About 20 strands came out. Ran them through some more. More came out.
This happened through the day. Was surprised at how low I felt about it.
I know it’s temporary. I know I am choosing to have the treatment to ensure I have another 40 years hopefully.
But…..

Day 14:  A lot more. Going to have to arrange to collect the wig.
Going to have to tell the kids too.
Mood isn’t great tbh. But I’ll get there once I get my head round it. No pun intended.

Day 15: Run my fingers through and loads comes out. I definitely have less all over. Ordered a spare wig online. Hopefully will arrive in time.

Sunday: Out in absolute handfuls. Looks straggly. Pony tailed it all day to hide from the kids. This resulted into a third of said ponytail coming out when I took out the bobble.
Wishing I’d taken the plunge and got it short before it came to this. But that would have meant explaining things at school gates. I.e. Drastic haircut. Then sudden long hair lol.

Monday: Went to get my wig fitted. Booked myself into a Look Good Feel Better thing run at the Macmillan Centre. And a makeup demo. Mainly because you get freebie products but also shown how to draw on eyebrows. Which will be useful.

As I was collecting the wig, a teenage girl was coming out, with her mum and wigs. I will never complain about having to wear it. Imagine being 14 or so and having to wear one. Doesn’t bear thinking about.

So..kept it on from the fitting. Nipped round Sainsburys. Did school run. Nobody even noticed. Not even the kids. My spare cheaply wig from Annabelle”s Wigs online arrived today too. Only £26 and actually looks like the posh one.

Wednesday: Not much left. Straggly long bits and handfuls and handfuls out. I got a hairdresser to cut it v short. He says clippers would be too traumatic. After this I looked pretty good. Patchy but good . Wigs fitted better too.

Couple of days of jumping out of bed to put my hair on before my boys saw. Took it’s toll though. I had to tell them so they wouldn’t be upset if they came into our bed for cuddle. I said ” Mummy’s had some medicine like strong antibiotics. It’s made my hair fall out a lot, but it will grow back in May’. They accepted all this, didn’t ask why. No further questions. Told them their teachers knew, if they ever wanted to talk about it, but that it was just a side effect.MARGIE WON Phew!

https://www.breastcancercare.org.uk

To be continued

Ann Allan: What’s Happenning?

Posted on by Chatter

Those of you who have been following my ‘journey’  to  get my new teeth will be surprised to hear that to date I still haven’t got my new knashers . A very long process I hear you say. You are so right. I’ve forgotten what it is like to have bottom teeth and I’ve even started dreaming about having a mouth full of teeth that are too big for my mouth.  As I had to have bone grafts the process took three months longer as the grafts had to ‘take’. I now have two silver caps where the implants will go and the endgame is insight. I could give yer man in James Bond imagesa run for his money. Interviewed by Paula Geraghty at the recent Equal Marriage March in Belfast I cringed as I listened to myself and my newly acquired lisp. Oh for the pleasure of sinking my teeth into …well into anything actually.

Speaking of the Equality March I was very proud to walk along with 20,000 others in Belfast demanding that equal marriage should be available in NI, as it is in the rest of the UK and the ROI. I’m sure all of us know someone who is gay, whether a family member or a friend. I want them to feel that they are considered equal by the state and have the option to be married. If you don’t want gay marriage my advice is marry someone straight.

Periscope seems to have caught on. Pioneered by Basil McCrea, the number of subscribers has increased.  It is amazing to tune in to different parts of the world and interact with a different cultures in foreign countries for a few minutes.  Here in Norn Iron, the nightly curtain call with Basil ( and his curtains) attracts a respectable number of viewers. I have reservations as to how effective it is. I dislike the fact that it is basically a one way interaction.  By the time viewers have typed and sent an answer the conversation has moved on.  Hosts can IMG_0276easily become distracted and a lot of time is wasted with trivia. It also allows trolls to post comments. But I enjoy getting a look in at an occasion that I would otherwise not have the opportunity to take part in. So keep periscoping Basil.  You’re a pioneer. I’m sorry Basil that I tend to be one of those who distract you.

Unbelieveable  that we are half way through the year. Holiday time again. I have already told you I hate holidays,  so we opted for a couple of days in Portmarnock.  The ROI football team were eating in the restaurant when we arrived and Roy Keane isn’t as grumpy as he is made out to be as he smiled and said hello when we met him in the corridor. We booked a room with a view so hubby could watch the golf when he wasn’t playing golf. Imagine our disappointment when we got to our room to find it was on the ground floor, the window was covered in heavy net curtains and children were playing outside the window.  The second floor room we were moved to was bigger and the view was spectacular and should have been the room we were offered in the first place. A complaint was made and has been acknowledged.  On the second day after a sleepless night I realised I hadn’t packed essential medication.  So we booked out at 6 p.m. and headed home.  Bliss, my own bed and my own pillow.  Holidays are definitely not for me.

As I write the situation re the ‘fantasy budget ‘ remains a mystery. I’ve no idea what’s happening but we seem to have once again stepped back from the brink. Those of you of a certain age will remember Hugo Patterson in the seventies. During the workers strike we spent a lot of time on the brink waiting for the electricity to go off.

The tour of the North took place last weekend. I’ve never heard as much drivel on talkback when Nelson ‘ double glazing’ McCausland and Gerry ‘ Land Rover’ Kelly were debating marching.  For goodness sake grow up. Life is too short for putting so much store on such trivialities.   I hear that the March passed off peacefully. However I believe there was some hugging going on which hasn’t been well received.  As my old granny would have said it would make a cat laugh.😺 Make love not war

Discussing my granddaughter’s new school a little voice piped up from the back seat of the car ‘ I think I’ll probably drop out of school before I get to the grammar,  granny’  said Jack aged 7. He also tried telling me that he had been allowed to look at his report before it was sent out and he hadn’t got a good mark in maths. This is nonsense, of course,  but he was obviously preparing us a poor result. Budding psychologist I think. Got his report today. An A in maths.

On a more serious note on Monday I had a fund-raising tea party in order to raise money for Marie Curie. Cancer has touched many members of my family and some of my friends over the last few years and more recently over the last few months. We all hope we won’t need the services of Marie Curie but if we do they are there to offer support both to the patient and the family. So if you have an odd pound you can donate it to my Just Giving page at:

http://click.contact.justgiving.com/?qs=1613965a561de2b5fa3acf0b04a5265d5780a552fff89b5d291314ad4dfc03ccc8e54a796d845f2d

I would like to thank Eamonn Holmes for sending a lovely message wishing the tea party a success. Nice to see he hasn’t forgotten where he came from unlike other so-called personalities

What will the next six months bring.? Well we can be sure of Halloween and Christmas. Both come round so quickly I’m considering leaving the decorations up.  Maybe Paul Girvan will win NI’s Personality of the Year. Gerry Adams will remember he was in the IRA  ( allegedly ) and Pastor McConnell will become a Muslim and follow sha..sharar…sharira  .. law! And maybe Sinn Fein will accept the Fantasy budget. Oh wait? They just have!

Today I got my new car. I had a 4-year-old Citröen that was due its MOT so I took it in to be serviceIMG_0597d.  I crossed the road to the Toyota showroom and I fell in love. It was there waiting for me, a little Aygo excite and it certainly excited me. Top of the range, automatic, reversing sensors, keyless. It was love at first sight. It’s bright orange with a black roof and will get a second look, not just for the car itself but for the white-haired old granny with the large sunglasses behind the wheel trying and hopefully recapturing her youth. Ah well, you only live once. I won’t be taking any ‘contentious ‘ routes!

Just added the photos below cause I like them.

es.wordpress.com/2015/06/img_0274-e1435084322994.jpg”> View from M3[/caption]If you enjoyed re

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Shandon Park Golf Club.
Shandon Park Golf Club.

Ann Allan: Jim Wells, Time to go?

Posted on by Chatter

Thinking over the recent debacle over Jim Wells’s statement , I would like to make the following points.
We nearly all have been where Mr. Wells is now, a relative or close friend fighting for life. It’s a distracting, debilitating and extremely stressful time for those who are waiting for a happy outcome. However, if as member of the general public, you or I, had made such a statement in the course of our work, I don’t think we would be too long in our jobs. I would like to suggest that the DUP has failed Mr Wells in their duty of care in not relieving him from his post on a temporary basis. He has said the reason for his crass remark was due to his mind not being entirely on what he was doing or saying. What other major decisions as our Minister of Health will he have to make in the future and will his mind be elsewhere when he takes that decision?  Were his true feelings revealed when he was under pressure?  I wish his wife well and hope she recovers soon.  I do however think  Mr. Wells position is now untenable.

Fighting Homophobia

Posted on by Chatter

imageI think I have always known that my Grandson was gay. From a very early age he loved to dress up. He hated getting dirty and he didn’t like playing outdoor games. He tended to make friends with girls as he found boys too rough. It was at the back of my mind, as I compared him to his cousin, that he might be gay. His school friends loved the rough and tumble of games. They didn’t care how muddy or dirty they got. And at that young age they hated girls. So it didn’t come as a great surprise when I discovered that my Grandson had announced to his parents that he was gay. He cried as he told them and his parents cried with him. Not because they had any problems with him being gay but because they knew the prejudice he was going to have to deal with as he made his way through life. There was the worry as to whether he would be bullied at school, attacked by homophobes or whether he would be ostracised by relations and so-called friends.

His grandfather and I have no problems with his sexuality and like his parents and close family will love and support him in every way. I’m writing this so that those who say that homosexuality is a lifestyle choice need to think again. My Grandson has not chosen his lifestyle.  Christians who condem homosexualitiy as a sin should consider that if you do believe in God, then you obviously believe that he is a caring and loving God.  Who are you to judge? I seem to remember a quote from the bible which says ” Judge not, lest you be judged” So when you spout your anti gay rants in future, or you vote for conversion therapy, remember young adults like my Grandson may be listening. What you may say, could, through his naïevite, affect the way he feels, and could scar him for life.

Please also tell your children not to taunt or bully anyone  who is different. He/she may not have come to terms with their sexuality and are confused. Please don’t make it worse for them. I am asking this as a fellow parent and grandparent and more importantly as a fellow human being. So we will love our Grandson, we will treat him as we treat his his cousins and we will try to protect him from narrow-minded religious bigots who live in this country and from the religious fundamentalists who unfortunately still hold power in Northern Ireland.

Author’s name has been withheld to protect identity.

http://rainbow-project.org

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