Author: Peteaird

Nothing particularly interesting to say about myself other than after 27 years working as a GP, I was delighted, at the start of December 2023, to start work as the South West Regional Representative of the Slavic Gospel Association (SGA). You can read about what they do at sga.org.uk. I am also an avid Somerset County Cricket Club supporter and a poor example of a Christian who likes to put finger to keyboard from time to time and who is foolish enough to think that someone out there might be interested enough to read what I've written. Some of these blogs have grown over time and some portions of earlier blogs reappear in slightly different forms in later blogs. I apologise for the repetition. If you are involved in a church in the southwest of England and would like to hear more of SGA’s work, do get in touch. I’d love to come and talk a little, or even a lot, about what they get up to!.

IF ONLY…

It goes without saying that this year Somerset’s RLODC campaign has been disappointing. No Somerset supporter would argue otherwise and all would agree that, despite last Wednesday’s heroics by Ben Green, it hasn’t been easy following the team they love when results have turned out the way they have. Earlier in the week I commented that supporting Somerset isn’t just about winning. There were, it seems, those who disagreed, arguing that it was most definitely all about winning. But those individuals were wrong – because sometimes it’s all about defeat.

If sport has any value at all then surely it’s that, alongside the pleasure of competing, it can teach us something, not only about how to win when things go well but also something about how to lose when things go badly wrong. Learning these lessons in the safe environment of the sporting arena has the potential to prepare us for when life itself starts to go badly wrong. Because badly wrong is how things will eventually go for us all.

One of my favourite musicians is Leonard Cohen. Known as the ‘godfather of gloom’ on account of his propensity to sing depressing songs, he was once asked why so much of his music was melancholic in tone. This was his answer:

“We all love a sad song. Everybody has experienced the defeat of their lives. Nobody has a life that worked out the way they wanted it to. We all begin as the hero of our own dramas in centre stage and inevitably life moves us out of centre stage, defeats the hero, overturns the plot and the strategy and we’re left on the side-lines wondering why we no longer have a part – or want a part – in the whole damn thing. Everybody’s experienced this, and when it’s presented to us sweetly, the feeling moves from heart to heart and we feel less isolated and we feel part of the great human chain which is really involved with the recognition of defeat”.

To recognise defeat then is something we all sometimes need to do. The announcement of James Hildreth’s retirement this week is itself proof that even dear old ‘Hildy’ has sadly had to acknowledge a degree of defeat now that the years have inevitably rolled on and he can no longer do what once he could. To pretend that everyone is not only awesome but will remain so for ever is foolishness and puts an intolerable burden on those that we imagine have superhuman powers and from whom we demand perfection. No wonder so many sportsmen and women suffer with poor mental health.

When we fail, as we all have, we would not want others to criticise and condemn us, especially when those doing the criticising are those who claim to be on our side. Neither then should we criticise those who have failed to live up to the demands that we have placed on them to provide for us the glory we could never achieve for ourselves.

How then should we respond to those who are no doubt just as disappointed about how recent games have gone as we are? Well for starters I would suggest that we could show a little humility, recognising our own weakness and our total inability to deliver what we have asked of them. And then we would do well to simply shut up and, rather than trying to advise on matters that more often than not we know nothing about, simply offer our support.

In such circumstances we may feel useless, but that’s not necessarily so. Knowing our own inadequacy allows us to stop being those so called experts who can’t help, and allows us to become instead those individuals who can, simply by entering a little into the grief of those about whom we say we care. In other words, rather than being angry with the team whilst desperately looking for someone to blame, we would do far better by simply sharing in their disappointment. If it’s true when we say we support our team, we must weep with them when they weep every bit as much as we rejoice with them when they rejoice.

In ‘Out of Solitude’, Henri Nouwen wrote,

‘When we honestly ask ourselves which persons in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.’

And perhaps that is exactly the type of supporter who cares too.

I don’t doubt that, for Somerset, winning ways will one day return, but until they do let’s do all we can to lift the team rather than to trample them still further into the ground.

Because #WeAreSomerset and it’s not just about winning.

Other Somerset cricket related blogs:

To read ‘A Tale of Two Tons’, click here

To read ‘A Song for Brian’, click here

To read ‘A Cricket Taunt’, click here

To read ‘How Covid-19 stole the the cricket season’, click here

To read ‘Eve of the RLODC limericks’ click here

To read ‘It’s coming home…’, click here

To read ‘A Song for Ben Green’, click here

To read ‘Enough Said…’, the last section of which is cricket related, click here

A Jack Leach Trilogy:

To read ‘For when we can’t see why’, click here

To read ‘WWJD – What would Jack Do?’, click here

To read ‘On Playing a Blinder’, click here

To read ‘Coping with Disappointment’, click here

To read ‘Somerset CCC – Good for the soul’, click here

To read ‘Longing for the pavilion whilst enjoying a good innings’, click here

A TALE OF TWO TONS

On Wednesday 10th August 2022, two Somerset players made remarkable centuries. One was scored for Somerset by Ben Green in a RLODC tie against Durham at Taunton, the other, the first ever in ‘The Hundred’, by Will Smeed for Birmingham Phoenix in a match against Southern Brave at Edgbaston.

Both performances were exceptional and both worthy of the outpouring of praise that followed but, for me at least, it is the innings of Ben Green that will last longest in the memory. This is not simply because Green’s 157 was the higher score, nor because, after a relatively slow start, his last hundred runs were made considerably quicker than Smeed’s 101 not out. And neither is it down to the fact that I am somehow biased against Smeed because his runs were scored in a tournament that has already undermined county cricket and threatens to be part of changes that will bring about its’ complete demise.

So let me be clear at the outset that, at a personal level, I was delighted for Will Smeed. Watching him score runs in the Vitality Blast has been fun and I hope that he will continue to delight Somerset fans for many years to come. But equally I hope his extraordinary talent will extend to longer formats of the game and that in time he becomes a regular red ball cricketer too.

So having said all that, why do I think Ben Green’s century will be remembered longer than Will Smeed’s? The answer is quite simply because of the context in which they were scored. Green’s century had a backstory, his innings, kindled in the furnace of affliction, took place as the wheels were coming off Somerset’s run chase and at a time when defeat seemed inevitable. Emotionally engaged in the team I was supporting, it was a privilege to witness the innings even though, in the end, the victory that had always seemed improbable remained tantalisingly and agonisingly just out of reach. Perhaps I’m just a sentimental old fool, but there was a tear in my eye as I stood to applaud Green’s heroic efforts.

In contrast Smeed’s century was scored in the way that the shortest format of the game demands, with his foot down on the gas from the very start. When such an approach is dictated, however skilfully an innings is executed, it leaves no room for a narrative to develop. And so, though pleased for Will Smeed on a personal level, and glad that it was one of Somerset’s own who achieved the honour of being the first to score a century in The Hundred, with no emotional investment in the team for whom he was playing, I took only a passing interest in his achievement.

When the ebb and flow of a game of cricket is lost, the result is that every game ultimately becomes the same, distinguished only by how successful, or perhaps lucky, the batsmen are in connecting bat with ball. Games like that witnessed by the Somerset faithful at Taunton don’t come around every day, not even every year, but when they do show up, oh how thrilling they are to watch. This is in contrast to high scoring games in the shorter formats which really are becoming two a penny and, for me at least, less interesting and enjoyable as a result. And so, ironically, the very efforts to make cricket more exciting have only succeeded in making it more dull.

This was brought home to me this week when I was recalling some of the great innings I’ve been privileged to see over the years, be that live or on television. Ian Botham’s 149 in the Ashes test at Headingly in 1981, Ben Stokes’ 135, also at Headingly, when together with Jack Leach’s 1* they together secured another famous victory over Australia in 2019. Roelef van de Merwe’s 165 to bring about an epic victory against Surrey in 2017 in a match when all seemed lost. None of these were in the shortest format of the game – and all of them had context. In contrast, until someone reminded me of it, I had completely forgotten I’d once seen Chris Gayle score 150 in a T20 game at Taunton. Impressive hitting though it undoubtedly was, in a game full of impressive hitting, Chris Gayle’s was not an innings that has remained fixed in my mind because, in truth, it was part of a far less enjoyable game, one that, despite the impressive strike rate, even verged on boring.

Now don’t misunderstand me, I am not such a killjoy as to want to see the Blast disappear along with the Hundred. On the contrary, for me it’s a fun filled few hours to be enjoyed intermittently. Because like fast food, fast cricket should not be an every day indulgence. Just as nobody interested in maintaining a healthy diet should indulge in the dubious pleasures of a McDonald’s three times in a single week, so T20 games are best served as an occasional treat. Three short format games a week, as well as being prohibitively expensive for most, is not good for anyone’s digestion and two short format competitions each season, with precious little to distinguish them in terms of actual game play is, without doubt, one too many. Short format cricket, rather than being the main course, should remain a pleasant enough side dish best enjoyed in small helpings.

As then in cricket, so too in life. Fill our days with superficial amusement and we will find that, though enjoyable for a time, we will be left deeply dissatisfied. We need variety in our lives if we want them to be interesting, with moments of seemingly maddening monotony if we want them to be memorable, if we want them to be meaningful.

And that is why the amount of four day cricket needs to be preserved too. Because if by virtue of the longer format, 50 over games have more variety and are thus more interesting than games of 20 overs or less, so too four and five day cricket, with their infinitely greater potential for variety, will inevitably prove to be the most interesting form of the game, at least for those of us whose love for cricket generates within them the necessary patience to sit through those slower periods of play as we wait for the myriad intricacies of the game to unfold and reveal all their fascinating twists and turns.

So hearty congratulations to both Will Smeed and Ben Green. Both your knocks were genuinely awesome. But I’ll only be boring my grandchild about one of those innings in 30 years time. If Will Smeed wants me one day waxing lyrical about his batting then he too will have to produce a truly memorable performance.

And, immensely talented as he so obviously is, it is my great hope that one day he will. What’s more, when he does, I very much hope it’ll be for Somerset at Taunton where I, along with those who first supported him, will be there to see it.

And that’s something I think that even all Somerset fans can agree on.

Other ‘The Hundred’ Related Blogs:

To read ‘Brian and Stumpy visit The Repair Shop’, click here

To read ‘The Somerset Cricket Players Emporium’ click here

To read ‘A Cricket Taunt’, click here

To read ‘Scooby Doo and the Mystery of the Deseted Cricket Ground’, click here

To read ‘A Cricketing Christmas Carol’, click here

To read ‘The Great Cricket Sell Off’, click here

To read ‘How the Grinch stole from county cricket…or at least tried to’. click here

To read ‘Frodo and the Format of Power’, click here

Other cricket related blogs:

To read ‘At Season’s End’, click here

To read ‘On passing a village cricket club at dusk one late November afternoon’ click here

To read ‘A Song for Brian’, click here

To read ‘I’ve got a little CRICKET list’, click here

To read ‘My love is not a red, red rose , click here

To read ‘Stumpy – a legend reborn’, click here

To read ‘A Cricket Tea Kind of a Day’, click here

To read ‘A Day at the Cricket’, click here

To read ‘Cricket – through thick and thin’ click here

To read ‘How Covid-19 stole the the cricket season’, click here

To read ‘Life in the slow lane’, click here

To read ‘If Only’, click here

To read ‘Eve of the RLODC limericks’ click here

To read ‘It’s coming home…’, click here

To read ‘A Song for Ben Green’, click here

To read ‘Coping with Disappointment’, click here

To read ‘Enough Said…’, the last section of which is cricket related, click here

A Jack Leach Trilogy:

To read ‘For when we can’t see why’, click here

To read ‘WWJD – What would Jack Do?’, click here

To read ‘On Playing a Blinder’, click here

And to finish – a couple with a theological flavour

To read ‘Somerset CCC – Good for the soul’, click here

To read ‘Longing for the pavilion whilst enjoying a good innings’, click here

A SONG FOR BEN GREEN

Is this a picture of Ben Green singing?

Last night I had a dream, the contents of which may be an encouragement to any Somerset supporters who, after this year’s less than ideal start in the RLODC, may be a little anxious as to how the rest of the competition will play out. And perhaps it might also be an encouragement to Ben Green, a terrific captain of an undoubtedly wonderful team. So here, because all my dreams come true, is a song for Ben Green in which is detailed all that passed before my eyes during the hours of darkness!

WHAT A WONDERFUL TEAM

I saw tons for Green, Goldsworthy too,
And plenty more runs for Bartlett and Rew
And I thought to myself
What a wonderful team

I saw Matt Renshaw, his face bore a smile
Batting with flair and batting with style
And I thought to myself
What a wonderful team

The fielding it was faultless, not an overthrow or bye
All catches they were taken underneath a clear blue sky
The games they were all sell outs, the ground looked at it’s best
[The venues for ‘The Hundred’ though, were like the Marie Celeste]

Aldridge then excelled, he was on fire
Took 6 for 5, like Arul Suppiah
And I thought to myself
What a wonderful team

Pete Trego on the livestream declared Siddles’s spell ‘a beaut’
His secret I imagine is a certain yellow fruit
I saw young Sonny Baker, prove himself –
[And days of free admission for the national ‘elf!]

I saw Steve Davies, light up the place
Batting with poise and batting with grace
And I thought to myself,
What a wonderful team

Then Jack Brooks with his headband on, the one oft known as ferret,
He bowled with great distinction and he batted with great merit
I saw James ‘Hildy’ Hildreth, his technique sound,
Driving the ball to all four corners of the ground

Stumpy was there, and Brian the cat
Watching the game from their retirement flat
And I thought to myself
What a wonderful team
Uhh yeah.

With apologies to Louis Armstrong, George David Weiss and Robert Thiele.

Other Somerset cricket related blogs:

To read ‘A Song for Brian’, click here

To read ‘A Cricket Taunt’, click here

To read ‘How Covid-19 stole the the cricket season’, click here

To read ‘Eve of the RLODC limericks’ click here

To read ‘It’s coming home…’, click here

To read ‘Enough Said…’, the last section of which is cricket related, click here

A Jack Leach Trilogy:

To read ‘For when we can’t see why’, click here

To read ‘WWJD – What would Jack Do?’, click here

To read ‘On Playing a Blinder’, click here

To read ‘Coping with Disappointment’, click here

To read ‘Somerset CCC – Good for the soul’, click here

To read ‘Longing for the pavilion whilst enjoying a good innings’, click here

A SONG FOR BRIAN

On the occasion of a disappointing Somerset performance at Taunton.

Late last night I was wandering the streets of Taunton when suddenly I heard the plaintive sound of a cat meowing. Looking around me I saw, Brian the club cat being consoled by the team mascot Stumpy. This is what I heard him singing!

Cheer up, Brian.
You know what they say;

Some times the batsmen fail
They can make you weep and wail
As you wonder how things ever got so bad
But after that collapse
Let’s still support the chaps
Remember all those times they made us glad

Always look on the bright cider life
Always look on the bright cider life

When you wish you weren’t alive
Cos it’s seventeen for five
And life, it feels, will never be the same
Though the wickets they keep tumbling
It ain’t the time for grumbling
Remember after all its just a game, and

Always look on the bright cider life
Always look on the bright cider life

When the target that was set
The opposition get
With overs needed being far too few
When the bowling wasn’t tidy
Don’t insist on an inquiry
The team will know just what they need to do, so

Always look on the bright cider life
Always look on the bright cider life

When your top players have been taken
By a format godforsaken
Unwelcomely imposed from those above
Though The Hundred’s on the telly
Will we watch? – ‘Not on your nelly!’
Cos Somerset is still the team we love, and

Always look on the bright cider life
Always look on the bright cider life
(C’mon Brian, cheer up)
Always look on the bright cider life
Always look on the bright cider life

[With apologies to Eric Idle and Ian Shepard, the title of whose excellent Somerset CCC Podcast, I pinched for the refrain of Stumpy’s song. That Podcast can be found on the Podbean app .]

Other Somerset cricket related blogs:

To read ‘A Song for Ben Green’, click here

To read ‘A Cricket Taunt’, click here

To read ‘How Covid-19 stole the the cricket season’, click here

To read ‘Eve of the RLODC limericks’ click here

To read ‘It’s coming home…’, click here

To read ‘Enough Said…’, the last section of which is cricket related, click here

A Jack Leach Trilogy:

To read ‘For when we can’t see why’, click here

To read ‘WWJD – What would Jack Do?’, click here

To read ‘On Playing a Blinder’, click here

To read ‘Coping with Disappointment’, click here

To read ‘Somerset CCC – Good for the soul’, click here

To read ‘Longing for the pavilion whilst enjoying a good innings’, click here

IN JUST A LITTLE WHILE

‘In just a little while’ – Psalm 37:10

I love the honesty of the psalms, I love the way they reflect the reality of how we sometimes feel, the reality of what we sometimes see going on around us, especially when what we feel and see is not what we want to feel and see.

Sometimes the wicked do prosper.
Sometimes the righteous are oppressed.
Sometimes our sorrow is intense.

And sometimes the wickedness of our own hearts cannot be denied.

But we are assured that the current unsatisfactory state of affairs is only temporary.
And not only is it temporary, the pain and sadness will be short lived for, ‘in just a little while’ [Psalm 37:10], order will be restored – the wicked will be no more, the meek will inherit the land, our tears will be wiped away and death shall be no more. [Revelation 21:4]

In just a little while the former things will pass away.

But there will be those who might understandably say that they have already suffered for a long time. Their pain has not been ‘light and momentary’, rather it has been intense and prolonged. How then can the psalmist speak of all being well in just a little while, when some have had to endure hardship for decades?

The answer comes when we step back and consider the future and recognise that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us. [Romans 8:18]

Furthermore that glory will last for all eternity. [2 Corinthians 4:17].

And just as our future glory is immeasurably greater than our current suffering, and our future joy immeasurably greater than our current sadness, so too will eternity be immeasurably longer than the time we now spend in this vale of tears.

So yes, weeping may tarry for the night time, and though for some the night has already been long and the day still seems a long way off, even so joy will come with the morning. [Psalm 30:5].

In just a little while, the sun will rise.

‘So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.’ [2 Corinthians 4:16-18]

Jesus himself says, ‘Surely I am coming soon.’ [Revelation 22:20] and when he returns we will see what currently we cannot.

And whether that be in our life time or not for another thousand years, what we will finally see on that great and glorious day will be infinitely worth our present ‘momentary’ wait.

For the ‘little while’ we have waited will not be worth comparing with the time we have to enjoy being at home at last in the presence of our loving Heavenly Father.

In just a little while, Jesus will come. And all will be well.

Even so, come Lord Jesus.

Related blogs:

To read, ‘Weeping with those who weep’, click here

To read “Suffering- A Personal View”, click here.

To read ‘T.S.Eliot, Jesus and the Paradox of the Christian Life’, click here

To read “Why do bad things happen to good people – a tentative suggestion”, click here

To read “Luther and the global pandemic – on becoming a theologian of the cross”, click here

To read “Waiting patiently for the Lord”, click here

To read “Hope comes from believing the promises of God”, click here

To read, ‘But this I know’, click here

To read, ‘Real Love?’, click here

To read ‘Real Power’, click here

A CRICKET TAUNT

Recently I came into possession of the following, a transcript of the now legendary conversation that took place a couple of years ago at the CACG, the spiritual home of Somerset CCC that is known by some as ‘Fortress Taunton’. The shouted interchange was between the then Chair of the ECB [CE] and an unknown Somerset supporter [SS] positioned high above him in the upper tier of the Marcus Trescothick Pavilion.

As well as revealing the woefully inadequate consultation that took place between the ECB and the ordinary cricket supporter before the inception of ‘The Hundred’, it may also give some credence to the 3452 conspiracy theories that currently exist alleging that the ECB is making concerted efforts to bring about the demise of the county game in general and Somerset CCC in particular.

CE: Hello!…Hello!

SS: Alright me’luvver? Who be you?

CE: It is I, the chair of the ECB, and these are the members of my committee. We are on a sacred mission. Will you ask the chair of your club to join us in promoting a new short format version of the game we call cricket?

SS: Well, I’ll ask ‘ee, but I don’t think ee’ll loike it. Uh, ‘ee’s already got one, you see?

CE: What? You say you’ve already got one? Are you sure?

SS: Oh, yes, it’s gurt lush!

CE: Oh you mean T20. Well, um, will you join us in developing a meaningless second competition?

SS: Of course not! Coz we ain’t money grabbing city types with no interest in county cricket.

CE: Well, what are you then?

SS: Ooo Aah! We be grassroots Zummerset supporters. Why do you think we have this outrageous West Country accent, you silly chair person!

CE: If you will not support this new one hundred ball franchise competition we will simply impose it on you. Then we will prevent all your best players from taking part in the much loved 50 over format of the game which we will downgrade to a development competition. And finally, in time, we will replace all county cricket clubs with city based franchised teams and Somerset CCC will be no more. (He gives an evil laugh)

SS: Ark at ‘ee! You don’t frighten us, you grockle you! G’woam and boil your bottoms, sons of a silly person. I spill my Thatchers on you, so-called ECB chair, you and all your silly financial profit-teeeeers. Thppppt!

CE: Now look here, my good man!

SS: I don’t want to talk to you no more, you empty headed animal food trough wiper!…… I toss my pitchfork in your general direction! Your mother was a Gloucestershire supporter and your father smelt of silage!

CE: Is there someone else up there we could talk to?

SS: No, now go away or I shall taunt you a second time!

CE: Now, this is your last chance. I’ve been more than reasonable.

SS: (to fellow supporter) Fetch the venerable Stumpy!

Stumpy is summoned to the pavilion and uncharacteristically throws himself down on the gathered ECB committee members who, though chastened, remain undaunted and return to London to continue to work out their nefarious plans for the dumbing down of the summer game.

[With apologies to life long Somerset supporter John Cleese and all the other members of Monty Python]

Other ‘The Hundred’ Related Blogs:

To read ‘The Somerset Cricket Players Emporium’ click here

To read ‘Brian and Stumpy visit The Repair Shop’, click here

To read ‘A Tale of Two Tons’, click here

To read ‘A Cricket Taunt’, click here

To read ‘Scooby Doo and the Mystery of the Deseted Cricket Ground’, click here

To read ‘A Cricketing Christmas Carol’, click here

To read ‘The Great Cricket Sell Off’, click here

To read ‘How the Grinch stole from county cricket…or at least tried to’. click here

To read ‘Frodo and the Format of Power’, click here

Other cricket related blogs:

To read ‘At Season’s End’, click here

To read ‘On passing a village cricket club at dusk one late November afternoon’ click here

To read ‘A Song for Brian’, click here

To read ‘I’ve got a little CRICKET list’, click here

To read ‘My love is not a red, red rose , click here

To read ‘Stumpy – a legend reborn’, click here

To read ‘A Cricket Tea Kind of a Day’, click here

To read ‘A Day at the Cricket’, click here

To read ‘Cricket – through thick and thin’ click here

To read ‘How Covid-19 stole the the cricket season’, click here

To read ‘Life in the slow lane’, click here

To read ‘If Only’, click here

To read ‘Eve of the RLODC limericks’ click here

To read ‘It’s coming home…’, click here

To read ‘A Song for Ben Green’, click here

To read ‘Coping with Disappointment’, click here

To read ‘Enough Said…’, the last section of which is cricket related, click here

A Jack Leach Trilogy:

To read ‘For when we can’t see why’, click here

To read ‘WWJD – What would Jack Do?’, click here

To read ‘On Playing a Blinder’, click here

And to finish – a couple with a theological flavour

To read ‘Somerset CCC – Good for the soul’, click here

To read ‘Longing for the pavilion whilst enjoying a good innings’, click here

A DREAM OF AN ANTIQUES ROADSHOW

I have a dream.

It’s some years into the future and I’m watching television and the continuity announcer is appropriately enough continuing to announce the evening’s schedules. ‘And now’ he says, ‘it’s the Antiques Roadshow which this week comes to us from Westminster Hall’.

Minutes later I watch as the current Secretary of State for Health as he carefully carries an item wrapped up in an old blanket and slowly places it on the table that stands in front of the show’s relics expert. After briefly looking at the mysterious object, she picks it up and proceeds to make her careful examination. Anxiously the one in whose care it has resided waits, eager to know just what it is that he has brought with him. And, of course, what it might be worth.

The expert turns the battered curiosity over and notices four numbers engraved into its base. These are instantly recognised as the year in which the artefact was crafted.

‘1948’, the expert begins, smiling to herself, confident now of what it is she’s looking act. ‘What we have here is a very fine example of what used to be a National Health Service. And what a unique example it is, perhaps the only one of its kind.’ After silently turning it over in her hands for a few minutes the expert eventually continues. ‘It really is a beautiful piece, or at least it was once. It’s clearly long since seen better days and has now lost much of the shine it once possessed’

Overcome by the tatty condition of the once elegant structure she is holding, the expert is temporarily lost for words but soon is able to regain her composure. She begins to point out the numerous places where damage has been sustained. A crack here, a missing piece there and an overall instability that renders the whole thing inherently unstable.

Her assessment complete she finally looks up at the one who had handed it over to her for inspection. ‘This is one of the most remarkable items that I’ve ever seen. In its day it was very highly prized and would have been greatly sought after by everyone. How did it come into your possession?’ she asks.

‘It was handed down to me by my predecessor who had himself received it from his predecessor. I don’t think any of us realised it was anything of any value and so none of us have really taken much care of it.’ The Secretary of State pauses for a moment before asking the only thing that he was ever really concerned about. ‘Not that I’d ever sell it you understand, but could you give me any indication of just how much it might be worth?’

‘Undoubtedly if it had been looked after rather better and was still in good condition what you have here would have been priceless. But now…’ The expert stops and looks sadly down at the item as she places it back down on the table. Then, looking up again, she fixes her eyes on its guardian before delivering her verdict. ‘Now, in its current state, I’m afraid it’s hardly worth anything at all. Having not bothered with it all these years its now not even worth getting it insured. It’s such a shame, If only you’d all taken better care of it in the past’.

And with that an elderly Fiona Bruce closes the programme and the end credits roll a little too fast such that im unable to make out the year the programme was produced.

And then I wake up to the state of the NHS. And I wonder if anyone else will too.

To read ‘Mr McGregor’s Revenge – A Tale of Peter Rabbit’, click here

To read ‘A GP called Paddington’, click here

To read ‘Bagpuss and the NHS’, click here

To read ‘Mr Benn – the GP’, click here

To read ‘Jeepy Leepy and the NHS’, click here

To read ‘The Three Little GPs and the Big Bad Secretary of State for Health’, click here

To read ‘Dr Wordle and the Mystery Diagnosis’, click here

To read ‘The Happy Practice – A Cautionary Tale’, click here

To read ‘The Scrooge Chronicles’, click here

To read ‘Jeeves and the Hormone Deficiency’, click here

To read ‘General Practices are Go!’, click here

To read ‘A Mission Impossible’, click here

To read ‘A Grimm Tale’, click here

To read ‘The General Practitioner – Endangered’, click here

To read ‘The Repair Shop’, click here

To read ‘The State of Disrepair Shop’, click here

ENOUGH SAID…

‘I can’t help thinking that’s it’sreally rather easy to come up with wise sounding aphorisms’, said Piglet to Pooh one morning.

‘It is Piglet’, said Pooh, ‘But you’ll find it very much harder to actually live by them’.

#EasierSaidThanDone

‘Pooh,’ said Piglet one morning, ‘have you noticed a bear and rabbit repeatedly turning up on your newsfeed offering the same winsome advice for which we were once known?’

‘Yes I have,’ replied Pooh, ‘and frankly it’s doing my head in.’

#PoohAndPigletPlaySecondFiddle

‘What’s the matter, Piglet?’ asked Pooh.

‘I feel anxious..overwhelmed by all that I’m asked to do working in the NHS’

‘What do you see around you?’, asked Pooh.

Piglet answered quickly. ‘I see a long,long list of those I need to see today, the anguish in the faces of people waiting for pain relieving surgery, the inevitability of ever longer waiting lists, the fear of those who can’t get an emergency ambulance in a timely fashion…and I see no hope of it ever getting better’.

‘What do you hear?’ asked Pooh.

‘Criticism in the press, demands for more from those in power, sadness in the voices of those with whom I consult and desperation in the voices of those with whom I work.’

‘What can you smell and taste?’ Asked Pooh.

‘Whatever it is I can smell, it stinks and as for taste…well it’s the taste of things to come’, answered Piglet.

‘Now…what do you feel?’ asked Pooh.

‘Worse than ever’, said Piglet.

‘Well that went well’, thought Pooh.

#PoohAndPigketReflectOnTheNHS, #Mindlessness

‘What’s the matter Piglet?’, asked Pooh seeing his friend looking sad.

‘Oh Pooh’, replied Piglet, ‘it’s just that The Hundred starts this week and I’m so worried about what franchise cricket will do to the county game’.

‘I share your concern Piglet. That’s why I won’t be watching The Hundred and will be following the RLODC instead’.

‘Will that help?’

‘I don’t know Piglet – but that doesn’t mean it’s not the right thing to do’.

Piglet paused. ‘Who will you be supporting Pooh?’

‘Why Somerset of course!’

‘Will they win?’

‘Oh I should think so. Would you like to come with me to a game?’

‘Can I Pooh? That would be nice’.

‘It would’, agreed Pooh, taking Piglet’s hand. ‘it would be very nice indeed’.

Then Piglet wasn’t sad anymore.

#PoohAndPigletWatchCricketTogether

‘Pooh,’ said Piglet one morning, ‘I’m worried about the rising cost of living. I’ve done as you suggested but looking at the stars and feeling the grass under my feet hasn’t made me feel any less anxious about whether I’ll be able to pay my winter fuel bills.’

At first Pooh said nothing but then a hum came suddenly into his head. It seemed to him a Mindless Hum, such as is Hummed Hopelessly to Others.

The colder it
GROWS-tiddley-pom
The more one
KNOWS-tiddely-pom
The more one
KNOWS-tiddley-pom
One’s
Owing

But nobody
KNOWS-tiddely-pom
How much one
OWES-tiddley-pom
How much one
OWES-tiddlley-pom
Is
Growing

His hum completed, Pooh looked at his friend.
‘Has that helped at all?’ he asked.

‘About as much as when I was concerned about my hospital test results and you suggested I just let go of fear and doubt but gave me no reason for doing so’ answered Piglet rocking back and forth in an increasingly agitated fashion.

‘How about remembering a time when energy was affordable? said Pooh. ‘Memories are the proof that good times existed. We can bring them back just by thinking about them’.

‘No we can’t Pooh,’ said Piglet starting to cry, ‘No we can’t. And perhaps you’d be kind enough to go now. I’ve some bedclothes I need to hide under.’

#PoohAndPigletAndTheEconomicDownturn #Mindlessness #ItWillTakeMoreThanWishfulThinking #InNeedOfSomeGoodNews

To read of some good news click here
https://peteaird.org/2020/04/19/rest-assured/
here
https://peteaird.org/2022/07/17/cop8ng-with-disappointment/
or here
https://peteaird.org/2018/10/16/t-s-eliot-jesus-and-the-paradox-of-the-christian-life/

Other NHS and GP related tales:

To read ‘Mr McGregor’s Revenge – A Tale of Peter Rabbit’, click here

To read ‘A GP called Paddington’, click here

To read ‘Bagpuss and the NHS’, click here

To read ‘Mr Benn – the GP’, click here

To read ‘Jeepy Leepy and the NHS’, click here

To read ‘The Three Little GPs and the Big Bad Secretary of State for Health’, click here

To read ‘A Dream of an Antique Roadshow’, click here

To read ‘Dr Wordle and the Mystery Diagnosis’, click here

To read ‘The Happy Practice – A Cautionary Tale’, click here

To read ‘The Scrooge Chronicles’, click here

To read ‘Jeeves and the Hormone Deficiency’, click here

To read ‘General Practices are Go!’, click here

To read ‘A Mission Impossible’, click here

To read ‘A Grimm Tale’, click here

To read ‘The General Practitioner – Endangered’, click here

To read ‘The Repair Shop’, click here

To read ‘The State of Disrepair Shop’, click here

Other cricket, and especially Somerset cricket, related blogs:

To read ‘How Covid-19 stole the the cricket season’, click here

To read ‘A Cricket Taunt’, click here

To read ‘Eve of the RLODC limericks’ click here

To read ‘It’s coming home…’, click here

A Jack Leach Trilogy:

To read ‘For when we can’t see why’, click here

To read ‘WWJD – What would Jack Do?’, click here

To read ‘On Playing a Blinder’, click here

To read ‘Coping with Disappointment’, click here

To read ‘Somerset CCC – Good for the soul’, click here

To read ‘Longing for the pavilion whilst enjoying a good innings’, click here

COPING WITH DISAPPOINTMENT

Tom Abell, the obviously disappointed Somerset captain, speaking after the teams performance in the T20 Final’s Day at Edgbaston.

‘Some people think football is a matter of life and death. I assure you, it’s much more serious than that.’

As Bill Shankly, the former manager of Liverpool F.C. quipped about football so I might about cricket and especially about that involving Somerset CCC. Even so, the morning after Somerset lost in the semifinal of the T20 Vitality Blast, a game I was pleased to be present at to support my team, I am beginning to get over my disappointment that, once again, cricket wasn’t coming home after all. And Despite Shankly’s assertion, we will all have come to realise that, whilst an enjoyable distraction, whether Somerset won or lost, it wasn’t really all that important at all. It is perhaps only those whose lives have nothing of greater value to worry about who will still be struggling with the heartbreak of yet another ‘oh so near’ and only those who are so insecure in who they are themselves that will feel the need to vilify those they see as responsible for the disappointment that they continue to feel.

Even so, we all know what it is to feel disappointment when things that we have looked forward to don’t materialise in the way we had hoped they would. Many of us, if we haven’t holidayed already, will be anticipating times away from work. Though it will be good to have that much needed break, it won’t be just a few of us who will experience some disappointment related to our holidays this year. For some of us it will be because our week or two away won’t turn out to be as enjoyable as we had hoped, others of us won’t quite be able to avoid taking with us some of the sadness that we would have liked to have left at home, and for others of us our disappointment will come simply because, however great our vacation experiences turn out to be, they will inevitably eventually come to an end and we will be forced to return to a normality that, for some of us at least, is far from how we would like it to be.

But if we can experience disappointment because our two weeks in the south of France is ruined by the lack of a decent local boulangerie, how much more must the disappointment be for those who don’t have the luxury of being able to look forward to any time away from the difficulties that they face. For some of them it is not merely disappointing individual incidents that they struggle with but rather an overall, all encompassing, disappointment with how their lives have turned out, be that on account of the social deprivation that they have to encounter daily, the poor physical health with which they suffer or the deep personal sadnesses from which there is never any prospect of any even temporary escape. And then there are too those currently living in Ukraine and other war torn areas of the world, and those who, even today, are facing the prospect of death which, after even the most satisfying of lives, is still unwelcome and a cause for disappointment that the good times are now forever over.

So how are we to help those with whom we interact and whose lives have such a sense of disappointment that it is hard for them to carry on. And how are we to cope with our own disappointments when they inevitably materialise in our own lives. Because unlike a lost game of cricket, not all disappointments can be dismissed by a realisation that the thing that brings us sorrow never mattered at all in the first place.

Whilst it is true that we are all sometimes more disappointed about things than we need be, to sing along in nihilistic agreement to the closing lines of Bohemian Rhapsody that ‘nothing really matters, nothing really matters to me’, makes fools of us all. Because some things really do matter. Our disappointment is a measure of how far things are from how we want them to be. Though unpleasant, it is not an unhelpful feeling, given how it speaks to us, not only of the difficulties that we are currently experiencing but also the better circumstances that we all so long for, testifying perhaps that things can and indeed should be better.

Last year I holidayed in Pembrokeshire and I remember sitting on Whitesands Beach not far from St David’s watching people enjoying themselves playing in the sea. For some reason, despite wanting to, I didn’t feel able to join them irrespective of how awesome I would undoubtedly have looked with my wetsuit on and ‘Atom’ emblazoned across my chest like some modern day comic strip superhero! My feelings were similar to those I almost always experience at discos, if indeed discos are what they are still called. On such occasions you will always find me on the edge of the dance floor, too self conscious to show off my highly original and frankly alarming dance moves and resorting instead to clutching a pint and simply wishing I could enjoy myself by joining in with those who are dancing and clearly having such fun in the process. I wonder if this somewhat melancholic experience is one that others of us sometimes have, one in which we are all too aware that genuine happiness really is to be found out there somewhere but that it somehow always remains elusively just out of reach.

It was C.S. Lewis that wrote ‘Most people, if they had really learned to look into their own hearts, would know that they do want, and want acutely, something that cannot be had in this world. There are all sorts of things in this world that offer to give it to you, but they never quite keep their promise…If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.’

As I say then, our disappointment has real meaning, speaking to us of a better tomorrow that really is out there for us to enjoy. And, welcome though it would be, I am not referring here to a Somerset’s victory in next year’s T20 Final! On the contrary, regarding our desire for something better, Lewis continues that ‘Probably earthly pleasures were never meant to satisfy it, but only to arouse it, to suggest the real thing. If that is so, I must take care, on the one hand, never to despise, or be unthankful for, these earthly blessings, and on the other, never to mistake them for the something else of which they are only a kind of copy, or echo, or mirage. I must keep alive in myself the desire for my true country, which I shall not find till after death; I must never let it get snowed under or turned aside; I must make it the main object of life to press on to that other country and to help others to do the same.’

If Lewis is right then, for me as a doctor, I need to recognise that medicine can not bring about a utopia of perfect health, still less that which not even a fortnight on the Côte d’Azur can not secure, namely a world characterised by a perfect happiness that never ends. That is something that medicine simply cannot deliver, not with a pill, not with a procedure, not even with a course of therapy. On the contrary, even the happiest of lives come to an end and when death does eventually inevitably draw near, medicine has no answer save to ease an individuals passing. This is not to say that palliative medicine isn’t hugely important, only that we make a mistake if we believe that there is ever such a thing as a truly good death. Because there isn’t, not at least for those who believe that our lives matter and that death, however less bad it can be made, is never truly good given the loss it entails and the end of what might otherwise have been.

Rather then than imagining itself to be the answer to everyone’s problems and in so doing only serving to disappoint those who do come to rely on it too heavily, medicine needs instead to play its part in helping others to press on to that other country of which Lewis speaks.

And so, whilst not being it’s main role, I believe medicine needs to make room for other philosophies and, acknowledging it’s limitations, be honest enough to at least suggest to patients that the answers to their greatest needs may be better found somewhere other than in the treatments we sometimes all too readily offer, in something bigger and better than all that even medicine has to offer. The same is true for those whose walk takes them elsewhere but who nonetheless hear similarly exaggerated claims of the happiness that is on offer. Because, however great it might be, no earthy pleasure, will fully satisfy and however long last, it will, eventually, end. As for me, I am one of those peculiar people who listen to that ancient wisdom that encourages me to consider God, in whose presence, it says, can be found both fullness of joy and pleasures for evermore. [Psalm 16:11].

Recognise this and perhaps we all will be better able to cope when the bad times inevitably come, regardless of whether the associated disappointment is caused by circumstances, others, or ourselves. Furthermore we may be better able to enjoy more fully the good times without our requiring them to be more than they actually are, without our needing them to be perfect. Instead we can enjoy them, recognising them to be the echoes of those endless yet better times which so many of us continue to look forward to.

And when that hope is finally fully realised, as I believe it one day will be, when every tear is wiped away and death is no more [Revelation 21:4], we will discover that it will more than amply compensate, not only for those missed opportunities to go wild on the dance floor, the absence of fresh croissants on our holiday breakfast tables and the consequences following a couple of unfortunate run outs, but also for all the genuinely heartbreaking disappointments in our lives, even that of death itself.

For then it will not just be cricket that’s come home – it will be we ourselves. And having arrived there and found that we are home for good, I for one can’t imagine ever being disappointed again!

Postscript:

Later in the week I spent in Pembrokeshire last year I did finally manage to overcome my former reticence and adopted my altered ego of ‘Atom Man’ to brave the waves of Newgale. It was good to forget myself and to feel, not lost or insignificant, but nonetheless wonderfully small, happily caught up and enveloped in something immensely bigger and vastly more impressive than I will ever be.

But by golly it was cold!

The above is adapted from a piece written a year ago following England losing the football World Cup a year ago. That and related posts can be read by clicking here.

Other Somerset cricket related blogs:

To read ‘How Covid-19 stole the the cricket season’, click here

To read ‘Eve of the RLIDC limericks’ click here

To read ‘It’s coming home…’, click here

A Jack Leach Trilogy:

To read ‘For when we can’t see why’, click here

To read ‘WWJD – What would Jack Do?’, click here

To read ‘On Playing a Blinder’, click here

To read ‘Somerset CCC – Good for the soul’, click here

To read ‘Longing for the pavilion whilst enjoying a good innings’, click here

IT’S COMING HOME…

After being runners up four times since they last lifted the trophy in 2005, will Somerset emerge victorious from this years T20 Final’s Day at Edgbaston. I do hope so!

It’s coming home
It’s coming home
It’s coming
Cricket’s coming home

Everyone seems to know the score
They’ve seen it all before
They just know
They’re so sure
Somerset’s gonna throw it away
Gonna blow it away
But I know they can play
Cos I remember

A [Mythical creature of disputed nomenclature]* on a shirt
Games on YouTube streaming
All those years of hurt
Never stopped me dreaming

So many jokes, so many sneers
But all those oh-so-nears
Wear you down
Through the years
But I still see:
Smeed and Banton unleashed
A Rilee Rossouw run feast
VDM on the charge
And Ben Green’s moustache

A [Mythical creature of disputed nomenclature]* on a shirt
Games on YouTube streaming
All those years of hurt
Never stopped me dreaming

I know that was then but it could be again

It’s coming home
It’s coming home
It’s coming
Cricket’s coming home

*For better scansion please insert ‘Dragon’ or ‘Wyvern’ depending on your position on this most contentious of issues!

Cricket related blogs:

To read ‘How Covid-19 stole the the cricket season’, click here

To read ‘Eve of the RLIDC limericks’ click here

A Jack Leach Trilogy:

To read ‘For when we can’t see why’, click here

To read ‘WWJD – What would Jack Do?’, click here

To read ‘On Playing a Blinder’, click here

To read ‘Somerset CCC – Good for the soul’, click here

To read ‘Longing for the pavilion whilst enjoying a good innings’, click here

Addendum :

With it being forecast to be 27C at Egbaston today, it’s just as well that Stumpy is a real wyvern/dragon and not some poor soul who’s contracted to climb inside a hot costume and then run round an obstacle course. Wishing him all the best In the Mascot race!

BAGPUSS AND THE NHS

Once upon a time, not so long ago, there was a little girl and her name was Emily. And she had a shop. It was rather an unusual shop because it didn’t sell anything. You see, everything in that shop window was a thing that somebody had once lost and Emily had found and brought home to Bagpuss. Emily’s cat Bagpuss – the most important, the most beautiful, the most magical…saggy old cloth cat in the whole wide world.

Well now, one day Emily found a thing and she brought it back to the shop and put it down in front of Bagpuss who was in the shop window, fast asleep as usual. But then Emily said some magic words:

‘Bagpuss, dear Bagpuss, old fat furry cat-puss
Wake up and look at this thing that I bring
Wake up, be bright, be golden and light
Bagpuss, oh hear what I sing’

And Bagpuss was wide awake. And when Bagpuss wakes up all his friends wake up too. The mice on the mouse-organ woke up and stretched. Madeleine, the rag doll, Gabriel, the toad, and last of all, Professor Yaffle, who was a very distinguished old woodpecker. He climbed down off his bookend and went to see what it was that Emily had brought.

He inspected the object and then made that characteristic cackle of his, the one he always made prior to passing judgement on things about which he new little about. ‘That,’ he said, ‘is nothing more than a very heavy, very old, blanket. I’m not sure why Miss Emily brought it here. Don’t you agree Bagpuss?’

Bagpuss yawned as he gazed down on the item that lay before him. ‘It looks to me like something which has been pressed down by the weight of heavy expectation. Take the blanket off and let’s see what’s under it.’

‘Ridiculous, ridiculous, fiddlesticks and flapdoodle’ said Professor Yaffle. ‘There’s nothing under there which is of any value to anyone.’

But even as he said these words the mice set to work. Slowly they dragged the blanket to one side and revealed what lay beneath. What they saw was a tired and rather worn out organisation, one that had clearly been neglected for years, misused by many and taken for granted by a great number more.

‘What is it?’ the mice squealed excitedly.

‘I rather fancy it’s the National Health Service – or a least it was once,’ replied Bagpuss. ‘It looks as though it’s been overwhelmed by excessive demand and has long since seen better days. It really does appear to be terribly broken’.

The mice looked sad. ‘What should we do?’ they asked in unison.

‘Well, for a start, we all need to look after it better,’ Bagpuss replied.

The mice looked at each other and then one pulled out a role of music and loaded it into the marvellous mechanical mouse organ. Soon they were all singing.

‘We will mend it, we will tend it. We will treat it with care, care care.
We adore it, we’ll restore it, We it’s burdens will bear, bear, bear’

Eventually the song came to an end. ‘I know’, squeaked one of the mice. ‘Let’s train Charlie Mouse up as a GP and then make him work extra sessions over the bank holiday weekend’. The other mice cheered in excited agreement and started to haul the smallest of their number toward the door of the shop, forcing into his hand as they did so, a discarded medical bag that Emily had brought back to the shop some months previously.

‘Stop that at once!’ shouted Madeline. ‘You can’t inflict being a GP on Charlie Mouse. He’s only little and without proper training he wouldn’t last five minutes working in primary care, not with current levels of demand. And besides, it’ll take more than a few extra GPs to put things right.’

‘How about employing health care professionals from overseas?’, suggested Professor Yaffle. ‘Better still, let’s parachute in an oversized mouse like creature, one of a race of knitted individuals from a far off planet not dissimilar to the moon?’

‘That’, began Gabriel picking up his banjo, ‘would be to drop one enormous clanger! Sad to say, some people would ignorantly question the creature’s ability to do the job simply because they sometimes found it difficult to understand what it was that it was saying. Furthermore, we can’t go round depriving others of the medical care that they need. Who would remain to look after the soup dragon! I’ll tell you what though. I know a song about the NHS. Several songs in fact. Would you like me to sing one for you?’

‘No, thank you’ growled Professor Yaffle a little more harshly than was strictly necessary. ‘We’ve heard far too many of your folksy tunes that bare such little resemblance to real life. What I want to know is what the NHS was really like.’

‘Madeline, do you know?’ asked Bagpuss turning to the rag doll who was gently rocking back and forth in her rocking chair.

‘When I was young my parents used to tell me stories of the NHS’, she said. ‘Of how when you called an emergency ambulance, one would come, when waiting times for hospital appointments were a matter of weeks rather than years, and of how pharmacies could always supply the drugs that patients needed. Back then, the patients who were served by those working in hospitals and GP surgeries, were invariably appreciative of the help they had received and recognised how fortunate they were that their care was free at the point of access. Back then it was even said that people used to enjoy working in the NHS.’

‘I find all that very hard to believe’, began Gabriel. ‘Some might complain that my songs portray a somewhat romanticised view of the world’, he continued, glaring at Professor Yaffle as he did so, ‘but surely Madeline, weren’t your parents looking at the NHS through rose tinted spectacles? Weren’t their stories actually just fairy tales?’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Madeline. ‘I believe things were once as my parents described them. Or at least more so than they are now. But things have changed. The NHS isn’t like that anymore.’

Everyone fell silent, staring at the crumpled mess that lay on the floor before them. Nobody felt like singing now, not even Gabriel who laid his banjo down at his side. Some of the mice started to cry.

After a few minutes Madeline looked up. ‘Bagpuss,’ she asked, ‘Do you think the NHS could ever recover?’

‘Oh, I do hope so’, Bagpuss replied. ‘But it’ll take some careful thought’

And with that Bagpuss closed his eyes and began to think of all that would be required for the NHS to be restored. He imagined a government that funded the NHS adequately and enabled it to deliver the care that so many relied on, a government with policies that promoted both the physical and mental wellbeing of its population.

He imagined a people who were realistic about what the NHS could do for them, a people who no longer expected it to solve their every problem and instead took more responsibility for their own health, a people who treated those working in the NHS with a degree of respect, recognising that everyone was trying to do their best in what was often an impossible job.

He imagined a press which didn’t undermine staff morale with their constant criticism of what they didn’t understand. He imagined a world in which every aspect of everyone’s lives was no longer medicalised, a world no longer full of the worried well as a result of the well no longer being told to worry about their perfectly healthy medical parameters.

And he imagined those working in primary and secondary care, rather than blaming each other for the problems in the health service, coming together and appreciating the difficulties each other faced.

Eventually Bagpuss opened his eyes again and looked once more on the NHS. And he saw how the mice had been working hard, each busily trying to implement all that he had been thinking about. As a result, the NHS was looking as it had done in its prime.

‘Isn’t it beautiful’, whispered Charlie Mouse, seeing how brightly it now shone.

Their work complete, the mice pushed the NHS into the front window of Emily’s shop. And everyone hoped that those passing by would recognise it for what it was – the National Health Service, not the National Health Slave.

Bagpuss gave a big yawn, and settled down to sleep. And of course when Bagpuss goes to sleep, all his friends go to sleep too. The mice were ornaments on the mouse-organ, Gabriel and Madeleine were just dolls and Professor Yaffle was a carved wooden bookend in the shape of a woodpecker. Even Bagpuss himself, once he was asleep was just an old, saggy cloth cat – baggy, and a bit loose at the seams.

But Emily loved him.

[With apologies to Oliver Postgate, Peter Firmin and everyone at Smallfilms]

HOPING IN THE ONE WE FEAR

Not everything that’s scary has eight legs.

In my Bible notes this morning I was asked the question as to who can know God. This was in the context of my reading Psalm 33 and I was directed towards, what to me at least, is the somewhat curious verse 18. Here it is:

‘Behold, the eye of the LORD is on those who fear him,
on those who hope in his steadfast love.’

A similar verse is found in Psalm 147:11 which reads

‘but the LORD takes pleasure in those who fear him,
in those who hope in his steadfast love.’

So the eye of the LORD is on those he takes pleasure in. So far so good. But they are those who, whilst fearing him, hope in his steadfast love. And therein is what for me is curious about these verses – we are to put our hope in the one we fear.

Generally speaking we run from things that we are afraid of. Well I do! If a lion came into the room that I’m now sat, I’d be afraid – I’d run from a lion. Likewise, as a result of my dislike of all things eight legged*, if a dirty great big spider dropped from the ceiling above me, I would be mightily unsettled. I’d run from a dirty great big spider. And if the building that I’m in began to collapse I again would be terrified and I would be out of my seat like a shot and making for the door. I’d run from a collapsing building.

But if we fear God – if we fear the consequence of all the wrong things that we have done – then our only hope is to not to run away from God, but to run towards Him.

And most particularly we need to run to the cross – where a loving yet righteous God poured out his anger, not on us, but on his son Jesus who took there the punishment we deserve.

I live in Somerset, on the edge of the Blackdown Hills. If we were ever to have a long dry summer and some dreadful fire took hold and began to destroy the countryside near where I live, the safest place for me to be would be where the fire had already been, where it had already scorched the ground before moving on. That ground can’t be burnt again. So it is with God – the safest place from God’s wrath – is where it has already fallen and cannot fall again – that is – in Christ.

So I think there is no contradiction in hoping in the one we fear. At first glance it might seem crazy for sinners like me to run towards a holy, righteous God. But in truth the only sensible thing that those who have a reverent fear of God can do, rather than hiding from Him in terror, is to run to Him for mercy – putting their trust in his steadfast love, hoping in the one who is both their hope and shield, the one who will surely deliver them from death.

So may that be the response of us all. As the psalmist in the closing verses of Psalm 33 yearns, may the LORD’s unfailing love rest on us as we put our hope in him and may our hearts rejoice as we trust in his holy name.

* Please note that my aversion to all things eight legged does not extend to the rest of my family made up as it is by my wife and three children all of whom have their full compliment of lower limbs!

Related blogs:

To read ‘Good Friday 2022’, click here

To read “Easter Sunday – 2021”, click here

To read, ‘The Resurrection – is it Rhubarb?’, click here

To read, ‘Real Love?’, click here

To read ‘Real Power’, click here

To read, ‘But this I know’, click here

To read “Hope comes from believing the promises of God”, click here

To read “Waiting patiently for the Lord”, click here

Mr McGregor’s Revenge – A Tale of Peter Rabbit

The following is a transcript of the long lost and little known masterpiece written by Beatrix Potter, one that may prove of interest to some in the medical profession. Entitled ‘Mr McGregor’s Revenge’ it was written whilst Miss Potter was under the influence of a little too much Earl Grey tea, a brew which rendered her able to see into the future with a clarity unmatched by any other novelist of her day.

I was fortunate to come across a copy of the fabled apologue whilst holidaying this last week in the Lake District where it’s author spent much of her life. Unseen and unread since her death in 1943, I gladly share it with you now.

So, if you’re sitting comfortably, I’ll begin.

********

Peter Rabbit was in trouble – big trouble. He had ventured into Mr McGregor’s garden once too often, his predilection for root vegetables getting the better of him such that he was no longer able to heed the dire warnings issued so lovingly by his mother. It had started with a single carrot, tasted initially simply out of the perhaps understandable desire to know just how it would make him feel. But despite telling himself he could cope with, what was known to those with whom he hung out as, a little ‘Orange’, Peter soon found himself nibbling on parsnips, radishes and beetroot and lately he’d even succumbed to indulging in celeriac, that substance so loved by only the highest echelons of leporine society. But now, shivering in the damp watering can where he had hid, and listening to Mr McGregor’s footsteps as they came ever closer, the foolish rabbit knew it was far too late to follow Mrs Rabbit’s advice of just saying ‘No’.

Remembering where Peter had concealed himself before, Mr McGregor looked inside the watering can the moment he entered the greenhouse and finding the sodden rabbit he promptly shook him out on to the cold, hard, red brick floor. Whereas once he wouldn’t have hesitated to turn Peter into a rabbit pie, Mr McGregor had recently adopted a plant based diet. Even so, for a moment he tried to persuade himself that it wouldn’t be against his principles to devour the blue coated individual that cowered before him since the bedraggled creature in question was no more than the product of the bergamot influenced imagination of a young lady from a bygone age. But realising then that the same could also be said of him, he decided that, rather than spending too long wrestling with his conscience, it was probably best if, on this occasion at least, he tried to think of an alternative and less morally conflicting punishment to inflict on the one who once again threatened his chances of taking home first prize in the village turnip growing competition.

Sadly Peter Rabbit was not a particularly bright rabbit, and neither was he one known for his quick thinking. And so, when he sensed his need to plead for mercy from Mr McGregor, rather than a plan of his own, the one that he came up with was one that he recalled from a bedtime story that his mother had once told him.

‘Please Mr McGregor’, whimpered Peter, his teeth chattering as he did so on account of how cold he now was, ‘do whatever you like with me but please, please, please don’t throw me into the briar patch.’

‘Briar patch?’, growled Mr McGregor, laughing menacingly at his captive as he did so. ‘I’m not Brer Fox you know! There’ll be no briar patch for you. I’ve got a far better idea for what I can do to you than that, something so despicably horrible that after you’ve experienced it you’ll never venture back into my garden in an attempt to get your thieving paws on my artichokes!’

Peter Rabbit stood motionless, his eyes staring like the frightened rabbit he was.

‘W-what are you g-going to do with m-me?, he stammered.

Mr McGregor lowered his voice and whispered the following dreadful words into the terrified rabbits ear – ‘You, Master Peter, are going to be banished to the local medical centre where, in a forlorn attempt to deal with the ever increasing shortage of GPs you will do a day’s work as a primary care physician! And,’ Mr McGregor added, his evil face displaying the evident delight in the sheer vileness of his plan, ‘you’re going to be on call!’

********

And so, unlikely as it seems, Peter Rabbit arrived the following day at the medical centre and was duly shown to the room from which he would spend the day consulting. The following are just a few of the many, many individuals who sought his advice:.

Jemima Puddle-Duck came along with a particularly severe form of syndactyly characterised by extreme webbing of her feet.

Miss Moppet was sent from the nearby minor injury unit with a high temperature and the skin lesions that had resulted from the altercation she’d been involved in with Tabitha Twitchit. Peter Rabbit subsequently diagnosed her as having cat scratch fever.

Mrs Tiggy-Winkle consulted worried about what she’d tell her husband if she developed warts having kissed Jeremy Fisher in a moment of madness at her work’s office party. She was also suffering with prickly heat.

Pigling Bland’s father rang concerned about his son’s mental health. He reported that the young man in question wasn’t taking care of himself, that his personal hygiene now left much to be desired and that the place where he was now living was a pigsty.

Mrs Tittlemouse required dietary advice when blood test results revealed that, as a result of her propensity to eat large quantities of cheese, her serum cholesterol level had reached a level that was now the cause of some concern.

During a video consultation in which he divulged that he had recently frequented the hen house at Hilltop Farm, Peter Rabbit was able to confirm that Mr Tod’s widespread blistering rash was indeed chicken pox.

Squirrel Nutkin attended having come out in wheals following the ingestion of an undisclosed quantity of acorns. She went on to insist that she be supplied with an Epipen and that she should be referred to a dermatologist in order that she might undergo allergy testing.

Samuel Whiskers presented with depressed mood and low self esteem. He considered himself unlovable as a result of his belief that he’d been responsible for the death of thousands of people by his involvement in the transmission of bubonic plague.

And Mrs Rabbit presented questioning why she had been commenced on thyroxine tablets having misunderstood how it was myxoedema, and not myxomatosis, for which she was being treated. Not only was this awkward for Peter on account of her being his mother but she then proceeded to ask Peter to deal with a number of minor symptoms being experienced by Flopsy, Mopsy and Cotton-tail who had attended along with their mother in the belief that he’d have time to deal with their problems too.

At the end of the day, when the last patient had finally left, an exhausted Peter Rabbit hopped miserably home and, like so many others before him, vowed never to return again.

THE END

ON PLAYING A BLINDER

Jack Leach smiling as he inspects his Man of the Match Award

Back in 2019 I wrote about Jack Leach’s now legendary contribution of one not out in the last wicket partnership he shared with Ben Stokes in the Ashes test match held that year at Headingly. Together the pair put on an exhilarating 73 runs and brought about an victory for England that had seemed unlikely when Leach had first walked out to bat.

The perhaps all too obvious point of my blog was to simply highlight how seemingly small contributions are every bit as important as the more obviously headline grabbing performances of others and how, whilst general practice might not seem as glamorous or spectacular as some other aspects of medicine, the countless small interactions that take place in primary care each and every day are, nonetheless, highly significant in the provision of good healthcare in the U.K.

In short my point was that, just as without Jack Leach’s one run there would have been no win for England over Australia, so without general practice, there would be no NHS. As such, despite their seemingly more humble efforts, those working in primary care should not underestimate their value in the exceptional efforts of the NHS as a whole.

That blog entitled ‘For when we can’t see why’, can be read here.

Now, whilst I continue to stand by all that I wrote back then, three years on there is something more that has to be said. Because last weekend, in another test match at Headingly, this time against New Zealand, Jack Leach shone once again. But this time, rather than his being a small but crucial contribution to the teams collective effort, his was a match winning performance in its own right, one that, by his achieving his first ever ten wicket haul in a test match, he earned himself the Man of the Match award.

I guess you could say that the bespectacled slow left armer played a blinder!

And it seems to me that general practice is putting in a career best performance too.

Obviously I exclude myself in that assessment and not solely because I’m contributing nothing to the cause at present, holidaying as I am in the Lake District. But whilst I’m wasting my time dodging the somewhat inclement weather and trying, unsuccessfully, to pen humorous verse, my friends and colleagues up and down the country are continuing to pull out all the stops as they endeavour to care for patients despite the toll that has been taken as a result of what has undoubtedly been an exceedingly difficult couple of years for primary care.

Like Jack Leach who was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease at the age of 14 and consequently takes immunosuppressive medication, general practice is currently clinically extremely vulnerable. Despite governmental promises of additional doctors in general practice, the number of fully qualified full time equivalent GPs currently stands at 1,662 lower than it did in 2015 and, with an increasingly demoralised workforce partly made up by doctors, 80% of whom report having suffered from anxiety, stress or depression in the last year, it isn’t surprising that a third of GPs are looking to leave the profession in the next five years. If that predicted exodus does indeed take place without the necessary recruitment of sufficient new doctors to take their place, one can not help but fear for the future of general practice and with it the future of the NHS as a whole.

And also like Leach who, whilst out on tour in New Zealand just months after his heroics with Ben Stokes, feared for his life when he was hospitalised with sepsis, General Practice too is critically unwell and faces, as has already been said, an uncertain future. With patient demand increasing and the number of both GPs and community nurses in decline, medical centres up and down the country have been forced to close since staff shortages make it impossible for them to remain open safely. 89% of GPs now believe they have inadequate time with patients to provide a thorough diagnosis, 77% of GPs feel that staff shortages are putting patients at risk and, in some parts of the country 82% of GPs say that their practices are not always safe for patients. And all of this is simply because of the immense pressure under which general practice is currently ailing.

Furthermore with the country’s population having been steadily increasing such that it now stands, as was announced this week, at a record breaking 59,597,300 in England and Wales, a 6.3% increase since the census of 2011, it’s little wonder that, like Jack Leach who recently suffered concussion after sustaining a blow to the head whilst fielding, GPs are feeling punch drunk too.

But despite all this General Practice is currently delivering care at levels never seen before with figures proving that it is GP capacity that is the problem and not GP access. According to NHS Digital workforce data, general practice is at present managing an eye watering 1 million appointments a day. This is more than a million more consultations per month than was the case in 2019 and includes an additional 980,000 same day appointments over the last three years. Furthermore, General Practice sees more people every day than the rest of the NHS put together despite the fact that it receives just 5% of total NHS funding.

So whilst they may not be part of the most glamorous aspect of modern medicine, and though they may not be integral to the most eye catching parts of the NHS, those who work in primary care are, irrespective of whether they be doctors, nurses, or HCAs, practice managers, administrative staff or one of the countless other supporting members of the general practice workforce, nonetheless, together putting in an exceptional team performance.

So it’s not only Jack Leach who can feel justly pleased with his efforts. And neither is it only he who deserves a medal!

Because, contrary to what you may have heard, general practice is playing a blinder too!

Related blogs:

To read ‘For when we can’t see why’, click here

To read ‘Jeepy Leepy and the NHS’, click here

To read ‘Bagpuss and the NHS’, click here

To read ‘On Being Overwhelmed’ click here

To read ‘On keeping what we dare not lose’, click here

To read ‘The Repair Shop’, click here

To read ‘The State Of Disrepair Shop’, click here

To read ‘The NHS – the “S’” is for “Service”, not “Slave”’, click here

To read ‘On being crazy busy – a ticklish problem’, click here

To read ‘Too busy to be happy’, click here

To read ‘The Abolition of General Practice’, click here

To read ‘WWJD – What would Jack Do?’, click here

To read ‘Longing for the pavilion whilst enjoying a good innings’, click here

To read ‘Somerset CCC – Good for the soul’, click here

And for a bit of nonsense to read ‘Eve of the RLIDC limericks’ click here!

POOR IMITATIONS

Holidaying in the Lake District we walked past the one time home of William Wordsworth. Some experiences are truly inspirational…

We wandered lonely ‘neath the clouds,
Alas they numbered plenty,
And as we strode along the path,
Those clouds, they chose to empty.
But still we ventured bravely on,
We so enjoy our rambles,
And soon we were rewarded by,
A host of thorny brambles.

With apologies to William Wordsworth

And on a separate occasion, whilst strolling on the Quantocks…

Upon smooth Quantock’s airy ridge we roved
Unchecked, or loitered ‘mid her sylvan combes
Our faces creased, their smiles, our pleasure showed
‘Till Hinckley C, the idyll fades, on landscapes fair it looms.

With further apologies to William Wordsworth

Other attempts at verse

To read ‘Spare me a doctor’, click here

To read ‘The Old Surfer’, click here

To read ‘If’, click here

To read ‘I knew a Man’, click here

To read ‘Room Enough’, click here

To read ‘Old Hands’, click here

To read ‘Beaten’, click here

To read ‘Resting in Pieces’, click here

To read ‘Crushed’, click here

To read ‘Masked’, click here

To read ‘Patient’, click here

To read ‘Yesterday and Today’, click here

To read ‘Smoke Signals’, click here

To read ‘Someone left a cake out in the rain’, click here

To read ‘At Land’s End’, click here

To read ‘She’s The Patient You Don’t Know You Have’, click here

To read ‘She’s the patient you still don’t know you have’, click here

To read ‘the wrong patient’, click here

To read ‘together in line’ click here

To read ‘Desolation Row’, click here

A Farewell to ‘Barns’

There was a dog that I once knew
A Labrador of golden hue
Who though ‘tis true he’d little brain
With him I’d do it all again

Sometimes he lay by sock-less feet
And though his breath did not smell sweet
All toes of age and toes yet young
He’d lick them clean with slimy tongue

He loved to walk he loved to eat
He loved to sleep he loved a treat
He loved the ones they make for cats
He loved those oh so smelly sprats

But now that very special boy
The one that brought us all such joy
Will no more finish off my sarnie
Farewell dear friend, farewell dear Barney.

*******

December 2023

Exciting news for fans of Barney, the internet sensation, social media influencer and much loved family pet who died last year.

Ever since his death in the Summer of 2022, rumours have circulated of a lost recording of the legendary canine superstar singing a tongue in cheek version of ‘Santa Baby’ and then wishing his millions of followers a ‘Happy New Year’.

This week those rumours were proved true when a short reel of film was recovered, hidden amongst several packets of dried sprats and a selection of chewed up tennis balls at the back of the cupboard under the kitchen sink.

Though found in a very poor condition, it has been possible to not only restore the picture quality but also, thanks to the tireless efforts of sound engineers from Abbey Road Studios, remaster the song itself thus making it suitable for a posthumous release.

As such, I am delighted to make this highly anticipated performance exclusively available for Facebook users this evening.

A Christmas No.1 perhaps?!

Related blogs:

To read ‘Dr Dog’, click here

To raw ‘A not so shaggy dog story’, click here

To read ‘On approaching one’s sell by date’ click here

To read ‘An Audience for Grief’, click here

To read ‘Professor Ian Aird – a time to die?’, click here

To read ‘Monsters’, click here

To read ‘Rest Assured’, click here

To read ‘Sleep Well’, click here

CONFESSION – GOOD FOR THE SOUL

‘Blessed is he whose transgressions are forgiven, whose sins are covered. Blessed is the man whose sin the LORD does not count against him and in whose spirit is no deceit.’ [Psalm 32:-2]

Some years ago I went on a study day. Suitably interactive, involving a variety of teaching styles and fully addressing a personally relevant learning need, it was the best educational event that I’ve ever attended. The only downside was the fact that it was a Speed Awareness Course.

The day began with the leader asking for a show of hands from all those present who’d told friends and family that they were attending the course that day. Most hands went up, as did the corners of many people’s mouths, their smiles suggesting that few, if any, were ashamed at their having been required to be there. The leader then pointed out that breaking the speed limit was no less likely to cause a road traffic accident than driving whilst over the legal blood alcohol limit. He then asked how many people would have told friends and family they were on the course had it been run for those who had committed a drink driving offence. You’ll not be surprised to learn that no hands went up. Latter in the day, those gathered were asked to list the reasons why, on occasions, they might drive faster than the law permitted. A substantial list was generated. A short recording was then played of a man describing how his child had been killed by a speeding motorist. The leader then commented how our list, made up of what we had felt were potentially justifiable reasons for speeding, now seemed like nothing but a collection of weak excuses. It was a highly effective learning experience. And one that offered me spiritual insight too.

Because those contained within the Highway Code aren’t the the only laws I have broken. Though too often I don’t like to admit it, I have broken God’s law too. And so uncomfortable am I in accepting that I sometimes sin that, when I do err, I am, on occasions, want to try to preserve my spotless image, either by relativising my failures such that I am not really seen as a failure at all or, alternatively, justifying them by insisting they were understandable given the circumstances at the time. What the speed awareness course taught me was just how inappropriate and foolish both these approaches really are.

Furthermore to deny my sin is also ultimately burdensome.

‘When I kept silent, my bones wasted away through my groaning all day long. For day and night your hand was heavy upon me; my strength was sapped as in the heat of summer’. [Psalm 32:3-4]

Rather than carrying that burden, it’s better by far to be honest, not only with ourselves but also with God. Regardless of how uncomfortable it may make us feel, we have to take responsibility for our sin, owning our mistakes and feeling the genuine regret of our not being as good as we ought to be. This isn’t, I trust, an exercise in self pity but simply an honest acknowledgment of the reality of my sinfulness and the sadness that it causes. Though it would be kind of you to do so, please don’t try to reassure me by telling me I’m ‘good enough’. Because it simply isn’t the case – the truth is that I am a sinner, one who sins in ways for which there are no mitigating circumstances sufficient to absolve me of the responsibility for what I have done.

I don’t believe I am alone.

So then, ‘If we say we have not sinned, we make [God] a liar and his word is not in us’. But the good news, the gospel even, is that ‘if we confess our sins, [God] is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.’ [1 John 1:9]

Or as David puts it in Psalm 32,

‘Then I acknowledged my sin to you and did not cover up my iniquity. I said, “I will confess my transgressions to the LORD” – and you forgave the guilt of my sin.’ [Psalm 32:4-5]

Admitting our sin will be humbling – but God ‘gives grace to the humble’ [James 4:6]. Grieving over our unrighteousness will be painful but ‘blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted’ [Matthew 5:5]. And though having no confidence in ourselves may put us at odds with a world that likes to think that we are the masters of our fate and the captains of our souls, we will nonetheless find that ‘the LORD’s unfailing love surrounds the man who trusts in him’ [Psalm 32:10]

Then we who are counted righteous in Christ and who, in him, are upright in heart will sing. And rejoicing in the LORD we will be glad. [Psalm 32:11]

Related blogs:

To read ‘Good Friday 2022’, click here

To read “Easter Sunday – 2021”, click here

To read, ‘The Resurrection – is it Rhubarb?’, click here

To read, ‘Real Love?’, click here

To read ‘Real Power’, click here

To read, ‘But this I know’, click here

To read “Hope comes from believing the promises of God”, click here

To read “Waiting patiently for the Lord”, click here

Jeepy Leepy and the NHS

Once upon a time, not so very long ago, in a town close to where you now make your home, there lived a family doctor called Jeepy Leepy. Every day he went to the local medical centre where he worked hard, for long hours, doing his best to care for the sick who came to him for help.

Over time Jeepy Leepy’s workload steadily increased and eventually it reached the point where it was unsafe to try to do all that was being asked of him. But still his workload grew busier and busier until the day inevitably came when he had over a hundred contacts with patients, all of whom were seeking urgent medical advice or treatment. Some needed drugs that the pharmacy could not supply. Some needed a specialist opinion but were told it would be a year before an outpatient appointment could be offered. And some needed an ambulance but found that, even in an emergency, there wasn’t one that was available.

Concerned, too, that, with GP numbers in decline and patient demand outstripping GP capacity, his patients were having to face increasingly long waits before they could see him, Jeepy Leepy knew what was all too obvious to anyone who cared enough to notice – the NHS was falling down. And so, on his next day off, Jeepy Leepy decided to go and tell the Queen. He picked up his medical bag, hung his stethoscope around his neck and set off for London. Most of his patients agreed with Jeepy Leepy’s grave assessment on the state of the nations healthcare system and, sympathetic to his cause, cheered him on his way.

But Jeepy Leepy had only travelled a few hundred yards when he met Covid Lovid. ‘Where are you going?’ asked Covid Lovid. ‘Oh Covid Lovid’, said Jeepy Leepy, ‘The NHS is falling down and I’m off to tell the Queen’. But Covid Lovid laughed at Jeepy Leepy and told him that, because two of his partners had gone down with a new continuous cough, Jeepy Leepy would have to forgo his time off, return to the practice and spend the day working there instead.

Two weeks later, his colleagues having now returned to work, Jeepy Leepy set off again. But before very long he met Entitled Lentitled. ‘Where are you going?’, asked Entitled Lentitled. ‘Oh Entitled Lentitled’, said Jeepy Leepy, ‘The NHS is falling down and I’m off to tell the Queen’. But Entitled Lentitled laughed at Jeepy Leepy and, claiming he knew his rights, demanded that Jeepy Leepy see him immediately about his urgent need for a letter requesting the provision of softer cushions at his place of work.

The patient dealt with, Jeepy Leepy set off again. On the way he met Expert Lexpert coming out of an ivory tower. ‘Where are you going?’, asked Expert Lexpert. ‘Oh Expert Lexpert’, said Jeepy Leepy, ‘The NHS is falling down and I’m off to tell the Queen’. But Expert Lexpert laughed at Jeepy Leepy and insisted that Jeepy Leepy carry out an urgent review of all patients taking both flucloxacillin and paracetamol due to their increased risk of developing high anion gap metabolic acidosis.

The review undertaken, Jeepy Leepy carried on his way. Next he met Journo Lerno. ‘Where are you going?’, asked Journo Lerno. ‘Oh Journo Lerno’, said Jeepy Leepy, ‘The NHS is falling down and I’m off to tell the Queen’. But Journo Lerno laughed at Jeepy Leepy and wrote a story in his newspaper that was full of lies and which implied that Jeepy Leepy was overpaid and lazy.

Hurt though he was by the report, Jeepy Leepy carried on his way. Next he met Seekewsy Leekewsy. ‘Where are you going?’ asked Seekewsy Leekewsy. ‘Oh Seekewsy Leekewsy’, said Jeepy Leepy, ‘The NHS is falling down and I’m off to tell the Queen’. But Seekewsy Leekewsy laughed at Jeepy Leepy and told Jeepy Leepy that he was required to put in place a protocol for the safe storage of paper clips and develop an emergency plan detailing how he would respond if ever an acorn were to land on the medical centre’s roof.

The documents written, Jeepy Leepy carried on his way. Next he met Empee Lempee. ‘Where are you going?’, asked Empee Lempee. ‘Oh Empee Lempee’, said Jeepy Leepy, ‘The NHS is falling down and I’m off to tell the Queen’. But Empee Lempee laughed at Jeepy Leepy and by regurgitating a load of meaningless sound bites tried to convince Jeepy Leepy that the NHS really was safe in his party’s hands.

Far from reassured, Jeepy Leepy continued on his way. Next he met Healthsec Lealthsec. ‘Where are you going?’ asked Healthsec Lealthsec. ‘Oh Healthsec Lealthsec’, said Jeepy Leepy, ‘The NHS is falling down and I’m off to tell the Queen’. But Healthsec Lealthsec laughed at Jeepy Leepy and introduced a law that said that Jeepy Leepy had to work for even longer hours and for additional days in the week.

At which point Jeepy Leepy put down his medical bag, removed the stethoscope from around his neck and sat down on the side of the road. He could no longer go on.

And so the NHS fell a little further. And it kept on falling until, one day, inevitably, it collapsed completely.

And no one lived happily ever after.

THE END.

PREPARING WITH PADDINGTON

Having learnt last weekend that, like Paddington, the Queen always keeps a marmalade sandwich close at hand in case of emergencies, here’s how I’m preparing for my next on call day in General Practice.

To read ‘A GP called Paddington’, click here

THE QUEEN WHO HAS A KING

This weekend we are celebrating the Queen’s Platinum Jubilee – and it is well worth celebrating because, for the 70 years that she has been Queen she has been one who has served her people dutifully, one who has always shown integrity and one who, though of course not perfect, has been one that many have been happy to have rule over them.

But of course she won’t be Queen forever. She is getting frailer and increasingly we hear how she has not been up to attending certain functions and needing other royals to step in and take her place. And although we may not wish to think about, we know, just as all the Kings and Queens before her have, she too will sadly one day die.

A little over a week ago there was another special day that some of you you may have celebrated. Or maybe you didn’t because, perhaps as it did me, that very special day might well have passed you by. I didn’t notice anything about it in the papers, nor did I hear it mentioned on the news.

I’m referring to Ascension Day.

It’s a shame that Ascension Day doesn’t tend to garner much attention these days. It doesn’t help of course that it’s always falls on a Thursday but even so it really is a pity that we don’t make more of it than we do. Because it really is a very important day, one that we should most certainly celebrate. For it is the day that Jesus ascended, not only to heaven, but also, far more significantly, to a throne.

A throne on which he still sits.

Jesus is King – and not just any old king.
He is the perfect king, one who rules over us with ‘understanding and knowledge’ [Proverbs 28:2], one to whom we all can gladly submit confident that his perfect rule is one that is without injustice and characterised by his perfect righteousness.

Furthermore, his is a rule which will never end.

Do you remember the words of Isaiah’s prophecy that we often hear at Christmas? It’s found in Isaiah 9:6-7

‘For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.

Of the increase of his government and peace there shall be no end, upon the throne of David, and upon his kingdom, to order it, and to establish it with judgment and with justice from henceforth even for ever. The zeal of the Lord of hosts will perform this.’

At the service of thanksgiving for her 70 year reign, the Archbishop of York, Stephen Cottrell, suggested in his sermon that there would be no better way to celebrate the Queen’s Platinum Jubilee than by following her example and putting our trust in Jesus Christ.

And he wasn’t wrong!

And so, at the name of Jesus may we all joyfully bow the knee, gladly submitting to him who, as well as being God, truly is the King of kings and Lord of lords.

Not forgetting of course, as Queen Elizabeth herself recognises, that he is King of queens too!

Related blogs:

To read ‘Real Power’, click here

To read, ‘Real Love?’, click here

To read, ‘Weeping with those who weep’, click here

To read, ‘But this I know’, click here

To read, ‘But this I call to mind and therefore I have hope’, click here

To read ‘Good Friday 2022’, click here

To read “Easter Sunday – 2021”, click here

To read, ‘The Resurrection – is it Rhubarb?’, click here

To read “Hope comes from believing the promises of God”, click here

To read “Waiting patiently for the Lord”, click here

To read “Suffering- A Personal View”, click here.

To read “Why do bad things happen to good people – a tentative suggestion”, click here

To read “Luther and the global pandemic – on becoming a theologian of the cross”, click here

To read ‘Covid -19. Does it suggest we really did have the experience but miss the meaning?’, click here. This is a slightly adapted version of “T.S. Eliot, Jesus and the Paradox of the Christian Life’.

a lonely heart

She’s standing by the wayside
She sitting all alone
She’s lying in the darkness
The only place she’s known

Don’t listen to those stories
You’ve told right from the start
Don’t listen to what’s broken
Don’t listen to your heart

the old surfer

the old
man
sits alone
in the surfside café
and watches
through misted up windows

the young
together
under clear blue skies
twist and turn
as they ride
the crest of a wave

until
inevitably
and finally
they break

as he did too

now
unsteadily
he struggles
to slowly stand
his gnarled frame
shuffling towards
what his clouded vision
sees all too well

the way out

smoke signals…

he told them, though it wasn’t true
that didn’t matter, now they knew
because the thing that had been said
was firmly stuck inside their head

though not the type that they should trust
believe him still they felt they must
forgetting that with such a liar
there’s often smoke without a fire

ON KEEPING WHAT WE DARE NOT LOSE

Over the last year, General Practice workload has increased to levels which are unmanageable, unsustainable and, on occasions, undoubtedly unsafe. Why is this? The reasons are undoubtedly many and varied but they do at least include the following.

1. The effects of Covid 19. Whilst a few patients continue to attend with delayed presentations of conditions that should have been dealt with a couple of years ago, far more significant is the fact that the pandemic has left many on long hospital waiting lists and who, as a result, find it necessary to visit their General Practice for interim help for conditions for which they require specialist care.

2. The underfunding over successive governments of an NHS which is now, as a consequence, on its knees but which, nonetheless, continues to be expected by everyone to be there whenever it is needed and able to provide all the care that is asked of it.

3. Increased patient numbers per GP because, despite government promises to the contrary, there has been a reduction in the total number of GPs nationally. Furthermore, in some areas, the closure of GP practices has seen the subsequent reallocation, often at short notice, of patients to neighbouring practices without the necessary additional staff being made available.

4. A surge in the number of those struggling with mental health problems often as a result of the measures taken to combat Covid 19. Social isolation has taken its toll on many, not least children and young people, as too has the economic hardship which now seems only likely to increase over the next year or two.

5. A negative media which has encouraged some to think that GPs are not doing their job properly and led many to demand more of us mistakenly imagining that we have the capacity to do so when in truth we do not.

6. Having been sold the lie that life should be without suffering, there are many who are now intolerant of even the most minor of problems and insist on treatment for things that in the past people would, perhaps, have accepted and put up with for longer. Add to this the fact that, as a consequence of our living in an ‘Amazon Prime’ culture where all our desires are guaranteed to be delivered free tomorrow, many find themselves unable to wait and so insist that their treatment must be ‘now’.

7. An inability of many to tolerate any degree of anxiety with a good number of those who now present to GP practices falling into that group of patients sometimes known as ‘the worried well’.

This last group I think is huge but it is the medical profession who must take much of the responsibility for their growing number. For it is not surprising that we have the worried well when, for years, we have told the well that they should worry. Neither is it surprising, then, that we find ourselves spending inordinate amounts of time dealing with those who are not ill at all.

So what we can do about it? Many of the problems mentioned are beyond our control and though we should still petition for a better NHS, continue to hold the government to account and endeavour to engage with the media to accurately describe the current crisis that we all now find ourselves facing, we need also to a accept that we can’t single handedly change the society in which we live.

What we can do though is rediscover what it is to be good doctors. So what is it that good doctors do?

Well, for a start, they care for patients. And irrespective of how strong the temptation may sometimes be to think otherwise, they remember that the patients are NOT the enemy!

We need to take up our posts once more and act as the gatekeepers of the NHS protecting hospitals from patients but, far more importantly, protecting our patients from hospitals. We need to stop being people pleasers, something I will find particularly hard, and seek to do what is right by our patients rather than that which is popular, telling them the truth rather than what they want to hear. We need to apply a little wisdom in our consultations and avoid falling into the trap of mindlessly following protocols and merely acting according to algorithms. And, instead of adding to the anxiety of our patients, we need to be prepared to carry some of their anxiety ourselves. Because taking on that responsibility is what being professional is all about.

And finally we need to remember what good doctors DON’T do. Good doctors don’t turn away those who are sick and no doctor should feel compelled to do so. To take such an action would be to play into the media’s narrative that we are reneging on our responsibilities as GPs, it would turn our patients against us and so lose their support which is so vital to us if we are to come out of this in one piece, and it would make the already difficult working lives of our receptionist even harder. And of course, rather than being gatekeepers to the hospital, it would make us those who had abandoned our post and left the gate wide open. To do so would be to dump on our friends and colleagues in secondary care who are themselves struggling every bit as much as we are.

So in short it would sadden me hugely if we were to ever cap the number of patients who could see us on any individual day, if we were ever to become a profession which refused to see those who came to us in genuine need and thus deny them the help which was most appropriately provided for them in primary care.

And whilst appreciating the reasons for taking such drastic measures, I hope that I’m not the only one who would be at least a little embarrassed to be associated with such a move if, as some are advocating, it were to be deemed necessary. I fully understand how difficult things are at present, but alternative solutions must be found. Because to be a part of such a profession would, for me at least, only worsen the situation by making my working life even less satisfying. For there is still a joy to be had in helping others in need, a pleasure that comes, not merely from miserably doing our duty and soullessly performing what is required of us, but that comes as a consequence of our being in the privileged position of being able to make a positive difference in the lives of so many.

And that is something we dare not lose.

To read ‘On Being Overwhelmed’ click here

To read ‘Bagpuss and the NHS’, click here

To read ‘Health – it’ll be the death of us. Is there institutional arrogance in the NHS?’, click here

To read ‘The NHS – the “S’” is for “Service”, not “Slave”’, click here

To click ‘Something to reflect on’, click here

To read ‘The Repair Shop’, click here

To read ‘The Medical Condition or Hannah Arendt is completely fine’, click here

To read ‘The Abolition of General Practice’, click here

To read ‘Blaming it on the Boogie’, click here

To read ‘On being crazy busy – a ticklish problem’, click here

To read ‘Too busy to be happy’, click here

To read ‘Contactless’, click here

To read ‘From A Distance’, click here

To read ‘General Practice – a sweet sorrow’, click here

To read ‘I’ll miss this when we’re gone’, click here

To read ‘The Reintroduction of GPs Anonymous’, click here

To read ‘Mr Benn – the GP’, click here

To read ‘A Bear called Paddington’, click here

To read ‘The Three Little GPs and the Big Bad Secretary of State for Health’, click here

To read ‘A Mission Impossible’, click here

To read ‘A Hard Year For Us All’, click here

LIFE AFTER LIFE

“What if we had a chance to do it again and again, until we finally did get it right? Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

Kate Atkinson, ‘Life After Life’

‘Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden’

From T.S. Eliot’s ‘Burnt Norton’

This week I have been watching ‘Life after Life’. Though, for me, it is was a flawed drama with a less than entirely satisfactory ending, the BBC series based on Kate Atkinson’s original novel does, nonetheless, present an interesting idea, one perhaps we have all at some time or another wished was true. What if, when we die, we had the chance to live our lives all over again, what if we were able to behave differently at key moments of our existence such that, as a result of acting better, the days that followed would run more smoothly for us and enable us to therefore avoid the pitfalls that in previous lifetimes we were made to endure?

Would we, I wonder, fare any better? Second time round, would we live a happier, more fulfilled, life? Or would we just find yet another of the infinite number of ways that are available to us to mess things up and so be forced to live an alternative but equally flawed existence complete with another, equally unsatisfactory, ending? And would we then be compelled to spend all eternity constantly working out our lives in an endlessly futile cycle, one in which we were always striving to do better, always hoping to somehow make everything all right?

Also this week I listened to the distress of a young woman. Not having benefited from the best efforts of those who have sought to help her with treatments of both the talking and pharmaceutical kind, she told me of her loneliness, her anxiety and her despair. She told me how she was tired and how she wanted it all to stop. And, without any sense of the melodramatic, she told me how she longed to die – more than that she told me how she needed to die if things were ever to get better. Because, for her, without any hope for the future, death seemed the only way to end the pain, the anguish that was hers as a result of existing in a world in which she felt she did not fit.

But, of course, were she to die, there would be no second chance for her. As for countless others before her, there would be no opportunity to live life differently. And though perhaps her distress would be over, that of those left behind, that of those who love her and already know what it is to sorrow over her sadness, would surely only increase.

So what is the answer? Is there an answer at all? Is my young woman right when she says it’s all just pointless?

I for one am not that nihilistic. And whilst I don’t have all the answers that I would like to have for those who struggle as this young woman does, I nonetheless refuse to believe that her struggle is without meaning, I refuse to believe that it has no purpose. And so, believing that suffering can be redemptive, believing it can even be the means by which suffering itself is ultimately brought to an end, I will, at least, continue to care and, in so doing, endeavour, as best I can, to know something of her distress, share a little of her sadness and bear with her the burden of her sorrow.

And though she may have given up hope, I will not. I will hope for her, continuing to believe what she cannot – that a better tomorrow is on its way. And this, not merely in some imagined parallel universe conjured up by the imaginations of those who cannot face the genuine awfulness that is all too often apparent in the one we already know. On the contrary, I will continue to hope for a better tomorrow for this beautiful yet broken world, a better tomorrow when, not only hers but all our tears will have been wiped away, suffering will be no more and each and every one of us will have found a place that we can call our home.

Because when that ‘life after life’ finally comes, all this ‘death before death’ can be forgotten.

And won’t that be wonderful?

Related blogs:

To read ‘General Practice – A Sweet Sorrow’, click here

To read ‘Eleanor Rigby is not at all fine’, click here

To read ‘Do you hear the people sing?’, click here

To read ‘An Audience with Grief’, click here

The following are explicitly Christian blogs:

To read ‘T.S. Eliot, Jesus and the Paradox of the Christian Life’, click here

To read “Suffering- A Personal View”, click here.

To read “Why do bad things happen to good people – a tentative suggestion”, click here

To read “Luther and the global pandemic – on becoming a theologian of the cross”, click here

To read ‘Real Power’, click here

To read, ‘But this I know’, click here

To read ‘Good Friday 2022’, click here

To read “Easter Sunday – 2021”, click here

To read ‘The World is not Enough’, click here

To read “Hope comes from believing the promises of God”, click here

To read “Waiting patiently for the Lord”, click here