Cocked wrist

Up on Erin Mae the penultimate weekend of July we continued to prepare for cruising – sorting out equipment, measuring up the front locker covers for replacement, etc. Everything was going swimmingly until, for some inexplicable reason, I put a foot in the rightangle gap between pontoon and jetty and ended up in the water. Getting wet wasn’t a problem – but dignity, right wrist and left knee were all feeling distinctly bruised.

With equanimity suitably restored after a shower and a cup of tea, we assessed the damage and began to be a little concerned, both about Sunday’s drive home and the state of the clothes – marina water has some pretty strange components. First things first then – time to test out the new washing machine. Except that it wouldn’t work. Water in, OK. Water out, OK. Turn the drum to actually wash something, nope. And, by this time, arm and knee were really not up to doing much investigation.

In the event, over-use of the arm-rest and under-use of the clutch got us home safely, so my best beloved could get to her Monday physio, and I could start the final week of clearing out my study at the college. Half the books went to the librarian, half came home with me. The arm seemed OK with this provided I didn’t throw things around or twist it too much, and the benefit to my biceps was considerable. I received sympathy for the bruising and mockery at what led to it – just what colleagues are for. Meanwhile Candy turned up trumps and sent a engineer to sort out the washing machine – pulling out the polystyrene packing had apparently disconnected a lead to the motor.

So Thursday came, with its farewells to those who were still around (except that I’ll be back in the autumn to do some IT work). A great weekend at the IWA festival in Burton-on-Trent, and then home for my best beloved’s final physio assessment and discharge. I too had a doctor’s appointment on Monday about something else, but I thought I’d mention the wrist as it was waking me up in the night (that’s quite a feat). Hm, he says, better get it checked out. So we did, and those nice people at Lymington hospital did an X-ray, told me the wrist was broken, and put it in a stookie. You’d think half a ton of books would have told me earlier. Still, it was quite gratifying to have four nurses telling me that I obviously wasn’t the sort of person who did man-flu (they clearly didn’t see the slightly sceptical look on the face of the one who knows me best!).

Erin Mae, we haven’t really abandoned you. We really do want to go cruising. If only it wasn’t so complicated to get to the starting gate.

Retirement stage two

Last night it was my turn for a retirement do, combined with the end-of-year staff social. Not that I retire officially until my milestone birthday in the autumn. And I'm at work again this morning! But the academic world doesn't quite know what to do with people who leave in October. More fish than fowl, and a potential red herring. So the boss said to go in July. With Erin Mae awaiting a first proper cruise, no one's complaining. Colleagues past and present turned up for a meal at Sopley Mill. It was a splendid way of officially winding down.

Equally splendid was what they gave me as a parting gift. There was a Garmin Dakota 20 with an entire UK map. I'd followed up on Bruce's GPS musings, and researched this one carefully, so we knew it was on the cards. Great for tracking our adventure, walking off-piste, going geocaching with the Norwegian kids. But there was an extra, unexpected present, unpretentiously encased in one of those boxes that normally holds several reams of photocopier paper. Neatly decorated with a ribbon for the occasion, it was the oldest Mac owned by the college, finally being retired. An Apple Cube, still going strong after ten years. The machine of which my colleague Mike, a computer engineer and staunch PC man, had said, "I would have been so proud to have designed that." He meant the innards, not the fancy acrylic casing.

The Cube was a brilliant piece of engineering that never quite found its niche. As we move on from where we've been, my best beloved and I are glad that cannot be said about either of us. The niche bit, that is. To complain about the engineering would be unjust both to the original Maker, and to the manufacturer of artifical knee joints.

Joy for two young women

Got home this afternoon just at the start of the second set, and sat through the drama of Petra Kvitova holding her nerve (and her serve) to eventually win her first Wimbledon final. Smiles all round, except for the Sharapova camp, of course. Me, I’d go for the non-grunter most days.

So what's with missing the start of the match? We’d been at the wedding of Ruth, a friend and colleague, to Joe, who I just managed to beat once at skittles. Why do most brides look so stunning? Is it the skill of the hair-dresser, make-up artist, dress-designer? I think it’s got more to do with the joy coming out. Certainly, for these two, that was there in abundance. Not just the happiness of the day, but the result of deep-grown convictions coming to fruition. The church was packed, the singing was enthusiastic, the sun shone, and two people’s lives will never be the same. Joy. Such a little word. Such a lot of meaning.

And as they signed the register at half-time (intriguingly) we all sat and watched this video. Enjoy!

Retirement stage one

OK. One of us is now officially retired. Promoted to a life of luxury and being waited on hand and foot, with all necessities provided at the drop of a hat (the one with Captain on the front, naturally). Guess which of us this is. Answer: the one whose surgery in March meant she spent the last three months being waited on hand and foot, with all necessities provided at the mere flicker of an eyelash. Meanwhile, her willing slave (mine’s the First Mate version) continues to bring home the bacon, cook the tea, mow the lawn, exercise by means of a walk round Sainsbury’s, mark assignments, prepare for exam boards and try to hand over the running of this programme in the best possible order, hopefully in time to get afloat by the last week of July.

Won’t be long. And we don’t intend retirement to be very retiring.

Odd maths

We've reached a milestone on this blog – 1000 hits. It's really nice to know that people have enjoyed reading what we've written on this journey – even though we're distinctly short on cruising time as yet.

However, things don't add up. Sitemeter says we average 3 hits a day, but that would mean the blog had been live for 333 days, and it's only been up since December. Anyone know what's going on?

I'm also interested in whether Sitemeter registers those who read the blog via a newsfeed or Google Reader. I can see this could account for the discrepancy if it includes them in the total but not for the average daily count.

Therapy

My best beloved's knee is not behaving. It's getting its required mix of exercise and rest, stretching and ice, but is resistant to change. They’ve changed the physio regime from a weekly group to thrice-weekly individual attention. The joint itself is fine, manufactured to perfection. It’s the surrounding tissues that are sulking. I can’t really believe they’re missing that grouchy old neighbour which moaned and groaned and gnashed its teeth whenever required to stir itself. But they’re definitely not happy. Can’t flex.

We’ve been trying to set a good example of how to manage change, of course. These things happen, we tell it. Life moves from one phase to another. No point in hankering after what’s left behind. Rejoice in the new framework. Embrace metamorphosis. Welcome transmogrification. Etc.

Knee’s not listening. Hope we do better!

Will the NHS survive?

They laid on a retirement party for my best beloved last week, all brilliantly organised by Hazel, one of the secretarial staff. Boy, did they pull out the stops! Patients in the rehab unit where she works could not quite believe their eyes as departmental heads past and present and even part-timers on their day off turned up to share in the fun. Great therapy! Tables laden with sandwiches, cakes, scones and cream and jam. A photo montage of her from age 3 up (graduation pictures in nursing uniform competing with that 1960s bikini!). The dad of one of the staff entertained all afternoon with clarinet and tenor sax to backing tracks. At one point, all the unit staff donned folded newspaper pirate hats and gave a rendering of "Messing about on the river". There was a seriously complimentary speech by one of the departmental heads, who said "Margaret, you are the Day Hospital". Professor this and Doctor that dropped in to add their tributes.

There were presents. One or two eminently suitable for life afloat, along with a couple of things from the nick-nack table. And finally, the hats. Two of them, baseball cap style with – well, I'll leave you to guess what was printed on the front. If you can't guess, see my post from 13th February.

Thanks, Hazel.