Richard died today.
There could only have been one reason for a phone call at 7.10am from Anne. Well, something terrible might have happened to one the children, but apart from Rachel in London two of them were tucked up in bed below my room, and Jonnie was apparently fast asleep. No, the only reason was to tell me that Richard had died.
We have been expecting it, and indeed praying for a timely release. His massive stroke had left him densely paralysed and needing constant nursing care.
When I arrived shortly after, Anne, Barbara, Steven and Margaret were already there. Richard was lying, looking peaceful, in his bed. I lent over to close his eyes and silently blessed him with the touch.
Richard has been a great man. He presided over our wedding and had spent all his life serving his flock, his congregation. He was a Yorkshire man through and through and had ended up in Manchester to be with his daughters, after he retired. He enhanced the lives of all he touched, and even in his last illness showed strength that few could have managed with dignity and humour. Richard, despite our divorce, was my father-in-law.
Now he was dead, and everyone feels a mixture of sadness and relief. There were funny moments too, like when Steve thought he'd better let the minister know who was coming round to share communion. A certain Reverend Mutton. So at about 7.45 he made the phone call. Only he dialed the wrong number. An Asian voice replied most emphatically that he definitely was NOT the Reverend Mutton!
Then the police arrived.
The police. Why? 'It's just procedure'. It was not procedure. It was a cock up. There was no need for them to have been called, but once called they had to investigate the case. It had been 'an unexpected dead'. 'Unexpected? He's been there about a year' gasped the attending mourners. We had to make sure the death certificate was issued before midday or he would have to be taken to the hospital mortuary pending a postmortem. Utter madness. Well fortunately we got someone to do the death certificate, or I would have done it myself.
Coincidentally, I had been to another 'Apologetics' meeting last Saturday, just four days before. The subject that day was 'Did Christ rise from the dead?'. I thought I'd give them another chance. I'm glad I did. The talk started unpromisingly with a young doctor, being, as young doctors often are, a bit too medical. 'Yes we know you're a doctor' I wanted to say, but as the talk progressed he got better. Although some of the 'proof' and 'rebuttals' were a little spurious, I came to realise that even this audience were not inclined to believe in the resurrection of the physical body of Jesus. The new, heavenly body of Jesus was clearly different, since the women at the grave and the travellers to Emaeus didn't recognise him at first, but it was none the less him. It does seem difficult not to believe that something extraordinary happened to convince so many, at different times, that He had actually returned to them, albeit in a different physical form.
I don't know for sure, but I am happy to believe that Christ's Being returned to His followers in His heavenly body. The worst this can be is a benign delusion. But if it's true?
Well if it's true, well then we'll be seeing Richard again soon enough. So goodbye for now Richard, and God bless.
Wednesday, 20 April 2011
Sunday, 10 April 2011
Father of the bride
CRAZY RELIGIOUS ADVERTS NOTHING TO DO WITH ME
‘What could possibly go wrong?’ We had successfully got into the taxi on time.
It’s about one o’clock on Friday afternoon. We are all in Edinburgh and heading into town from the Marriott Hotel to the registry office. Emily and Sean of course, me, Anne, Rachel, Jonnie and Lizzie, all in the back of the taxi. Well it would have looked a bit strange on the bus.
We’d been out the night before in the city and had a lovely meal. The only hiccup had been someone on the train who thought we'd taken her reserved seats. 'Back off' growled Emily. No one was going to take these seats. Turns out she was in the wrong coach. Anyway we got here with no nerves, second thoughts, or weepiness. In fact it seemed like a normal night out and not at all weird. Others looking on might have thought it strange, but not for us. We’d stayed up a few drinks, a sensible earlyish night and up for breakfast. A bit of fussing with the makeup and hair but altogether very low key.
It is a lovely day. Jonnie, Sean and me have a drink in the garden while we wait for the bride, the bridesmaids and the mother of the bride to come down. This is the entire wedding party. It has to be done this way due to the complexities of the marriage laws to foreign nationals. When they appear, they all look gorgeous, especially the bride. Its only now that I have little wellings of tearfulness. What is that all about? I wonder.
Emily getting married is, of course, a cause for joy and celebration. The circumstance that makes it important to do it quickly, is a blessing. A new person, a grandchild. So a double joy, and it is a joy.
So nothing can go wrong now, can it? The traffic is a bit busy, but we’re in plenty of time. Rather too much time, but better too early then too late.
Then in the busy traffic a child gets knocked off his bike. Cars stop, taxi stops, people rush out of cars. Bloody hell…Phew, the child gets up and wheels his crooked bike to the curb and people gather round. But no need for us to stop, he’s fine.
Ten minutes later and we pull up. Outside William Purve, the funeral directors. ‘Here we are’ announces the taxi driver.
'Are you sure?'
I suppose this is it. There is a sign which says ‘Edinburgh Registry Office for marriages and civil partnerships’. We all get out gingerly, so as not to crease dresses and hair.Only one problem. The door is locked. ‘Locked? Locked!’ expletes Anne. Sean and Emily exchange nervous looks. There is a registry office on George street, but this isn’t George street. No this must be right.
After much rattling of doors and the discovery of another entrance, followed by huge relief, the officials lets us know that they’ll be ready soon. ‘It’s only two o three’ says Sean, rather overly precisely, ‘We’re not due until 2.30’. ‘It’s ok’ replied the lady, who would turn out to be the Assistant Registrar, ‘we can begin a little early as you’re all here.
‘No we caint start before we’re ready’ Sean affirms abruptly.
‘Okay’ everyone thinks. ‘The photographer’s not here’ he correctly points out, as Paval, the photographer, and his assistant girlfriend appear from behind him. Paval is a little Eastern European, who is informal to the point of being casual. He's got a rucksack on his back and we discover later he likes informal poses.
‘Well it’s not two thirty yet anyway’. ’Why don’t we have some photos before the ceremony?’ Ok man, it’s your day.
We have some photos and the Assistant Registrar disappears again with instructions to reappear at two thirty.
Strange, and then we understand why Sean was not keen on starting early. From a place unseeing, we hear the sound of bag pipes tuning up, and soon she comes into view. Lorraine, the bag pipe player, in full bag pipe regalia comes marching purposefully round the corner.
What a brilliant surprise. It turns out, Sean has been on the internet and phone trying to get someone at the last moment, to pipe us into the room. A touch of perfect genius. Not just the thought, but the timing and impromptuness. It’s still not clear if the pipes will be allowed into the hall, but the Assistant Registrar is OK with it and we’re ready to go.
There are some formalities to go through, like, are they who they say they are? My name today is Ivan John, having spent last week as John Ivan. Long story. Why does she want to know? Well I’m going to be one of the witnesses. Anne is the other. Another unusual aspect to this wedding of the year. I bet Kate and Will won’t have her parents as witnesses. This, we have all come to understand, is the formal and legal part of their wedding. The proper wedding celebration will happen sometime in the future, when things are a little more settled, and all the relatives and friends, that presently feel left out, can contribute to the joy of the happy couple.
So the rest gather in the room while Emily and I wait outside ready to join them. I check that this is really what she wants and that it’s not too late to change her mind. Even now. I present her with the sapphire pennant I got her to wear with her outfit and the emotions start to rise up. I give her a big hug and tell her how beautiful she looks. As I do images of my little girl percolate through my memory cells. I see the little bubbly curly hair child playing in the sand, running after the dog, crying uncontrollably, cuddling up for comfort and holding on to my leg in the playground, all at once. I can’t cry now. Not for her sake. So I don’t.
Instead we nod to the piper, who pipes up and begins the slow march up the stairs to the ceremonial room. I squeeze her arm and hold the hand that’s linked over mine. I really am giving her away. Even though she’ll always be my little girl, she will be someone else’s charge and responsibility. ‘I’ll always be there for you darling’ I say silently with an extra squeeze. Now I really am fighting off the tears, and so, it seems, is everyone else in the hall as we enter to the strains of ‘flower of Scotland’ or something like that.
The Assistant Registrar seems really chuffed to be doing this wedding. I don’t think she’s done too many before, or if she had she made it seem fresh. The vows are simple and believable, even if Sean misheard respect and promised to ‘defend’ Emily'. We'll put it down to nerves.
‘Emily Margaret Benett, do you take Sean James Meade to be your lawful wedded husband?’ ‘I do’ she said unhesitatingly. Just at that moment I looked at her eyes. They gleamed, and said it all. She is happy and that’s all that matters right now. Where they live and bring up their children is for another time. What happens to their relationship is for the future. Right now, she is happy and that’s all I want for her.
My job of bringing her to this point, imperfect and crap as it has been, is now over. She walked into the room as Emily Benett, my daughter . She is piped out as Emily Meade, wife and mother to be.
She is still my daughter who I will always love unconditionally.
‘What could possibly go wrong?’ We had successfully got into the taxi on time.
It’s about one o’clock on Friday afternoon. We are all in Edinburgh and heading into town from the Marriott Hotel to the registry office. Emily and Sean of course, me, Anne, Rachel, Jonnie and Lizzie, all in the back of the taxi. Well it would have looked a bit strange on the bus.
We’d been out the night before in the city and had a lovely meal. The only hiccup had been someone on the train who thought we'd taken her reserved seats. 'Back off' growled Emily. No one was going to take these seats. Turns out she was in the wrong coach. Anyway we got here with no nerves, second thoughts, or weepiness. In fact it seemed like a normal night out and not at all weird. Others looking on might have thought it strange, but not for us. We’d stayed up a few drinks, a sensible earlyish night and up for breakfast. A bit of fussing with the makeup and hair but altogether very low key.
It is a lovely day. Jonnie, Sean and me have a drink in the garden while we wait for the bride, the bridesmaids and the mother of the bride to come down. This is the entire wedding party. It has to be done this way due to the complexities of the marriage laws to foreign nationals. When they appear, they all look gorgeous, especially the bride. Its only now that I have little wellings of tearfulness. What is that all about? I wonder.
Emily getting married is, of course, a cause for joy and celebration. The circumstance that makes it important to do it quickly, is a blessing. A new person, a grandchild. So a double joy, and it is a joy.
So nothing can go wrong now, can it? The traffic is a bit busy, but we’re in plenty of time. Rather too much time, but better too early then too late.
Then in the busy traffic a child gets knocked off his bike. Cars stop, taxi stops, people rush out of cars. Bloody hell…Phew, the child gets up and wheels his crooked bike to the curb and people gather round. But no need for us to stop, he’s fine.
Ten minutes later and we pull up. Outside William Purve, the funeral directors. ‘Here we are’ announces the taxi driver.
'Are you sure?'
I suppose this is it. There is a sign which says ‘Edinburgh Registry Office for marriages and civil partnerships’. We all get out gingerly, so as not to crease dresses and hair.Only one problem. The door is locked. ‘Locked? Locked!’ expletes Anne. Sean and Emily exchange nervous looks. There is a registry office on George street, but this isn’t George street. No this must be right.
After much rattling of doors and the discovery of another entrance, followed by huge relief, the officials lets us know that they’ll be ready soon. ‘It’s only two o three’ says Sean, rather overly precisely, ‘We’re not due until 2.30’. ‘It’s ok’ replied the lady, who would turn out to be the Assistant Registrar, ‘we can begin a little early as you’re all here.
‘No we caint start before we’re ready’ Sean affirms abruptly.
‘Okay’ everyone thinks. ‘The photographer’s not here’ he correctly points out, as Paval, the photographer, and his assistant girlfriend appear from behind him. Paval is a little Eastern European, who is informal to the point of being casual. He's got a rucksack on his back and we discover later he likes informal poses.
‘Well it’s not two thirty yet anyway’. ’Why don’t we have some photos before the ceremony?’ Ok man, it’s your day.
We have some photos and the Assistant Registrar disappears again with instructions to reappear at two thirty.
Strange, and then we understand why Sean was not keen on starting early. From a place unseeing, we hear the sound of bag pipes tuning up, and soon she comes into view. Lorraine, the bag pipe player, in full bag pipe regalia comes marching purposefully round the corner.
What a brilliant surprise. It turns out, Sean has been on the internet and phone trying to get someone at the last moment, to pipe us into the room. A touch of perfect genius. Not just the thought, but the timing and impromptuness. It’s still not clear if the pipes will be allowed into the hall, but the Assistant Registrar is OK with it and we’re ready to go.
There are some formalities to go through, like, are they who they say they are? My name today is Ivan John, having spent last week as John Ivan. Long story. Why does she want to know? Well I’m going to be one of the witnesses. Anne is the other. Another unusual aspect to this wedding of the year. I bet Kate and Will won’t have her parents as witnesses. This, we have all come to understand, is the formal and legal part of their wedding. The proper wedding celebration will happen sometime in the future, when things are a little more settled, and all the relatives and friends, that presently feel left out, can contribute to the joy of the happy couple.
So the rest gather in the room while Emily and I wait outside ready to join them. I check that this is really what she wants and that it’s not too late to change her mind. Even now. I present her with the sapphire pennant I got her to wear with her outfit and the emotions start to rise up. I give her a big hug and tell her how beautiful she looks. As I do images of my little girl percolate through my memory cells. I see the little bubbly curly hair child playing in the sand, running after the dog, crying uncontrollably, cuddling up for comfort and holding on to my leg in the playground, all at once. I can’t cry now. Not for her sake. So I don’t.
Instead we nod to the piper, who pipes up and begins the slow march up the stairs to the ceremonial room. I squeeze her arm and hold the hand that’s linked over mine. I really am giving her away. Even though she’ll always be my little girl, she will be someone else’s charge and responsibility. ‘I’ll always be there for you darling’ I say silently with an extra squeeze. Now I really am fighting off the tears, and so, it seems, is everyone else in the hall as we enter to the strains of ‘flower of Scotland’ or something like that.
The Assistant Registrar seems really chuffed to be doing this wedding. I don’t think she’s done too many before, or if she had she made it seem fresh. The vows are simple and believable, even if Sean misheard respect and promised to ‘defend’ Emily'. We'll put it down to nerves.
‘Emily Margaret Benett, do you take Sean James Meade to be your lawful wedded husband?’ ‘I do’ she said unhesitatingly. Just at that moment I looked at her eyes. They gleamed, and said it all. She is happy and that’s all that matters right now. Where they live and bring up their children is for another time. What happens to their relationship is for the future. Right now, she is happy and that’s all I want for her.
My job of bringing her to this point, imperfect and crap as it has been, is now over. She walked into the room as Emily Benett, my daughter . She is piped out as Emily Meade, wife and mother to be.
She is still my daughter who I will always love unconditionally.
Wednesday, 6 April 2011
Home again briefly
Back home at last, after a long trip back from New Orleans. I'm going to have a rest I think then get a hair cut. Yes, its off to Edinburgh tomorrow for Emilys wedding
Monday, 4 April 2011
Having fun on the Bayou
Monday 16.22. Cock up on the room situation. They have me checking out today and wondering where I got to. The manager is now on the case and I’m slightly panicking that I won’t have anywhere to stay tonight.
Lucky I came back really. I’ve been on the Jean Lafayette Swamp tour and after that wandering around New Orleans Quatier Française.
The swamp tour was fun. We drove for about an hour on a coach and got to the wet lands. Louisiana is dead flat anyway but this bit is flat and low. There are natural waterways, the Bayou, but also man made canals. Once we got there we hopped on a flat boat and off we went. The trees and grasses overhang the waterway, and through the duck weed from time to time an alligator swims up to the boat. Our tour guide gives us an interesting and humorous narration of the history and myths of these wetlands. Where we are is fresh water, but further south, close to the Gulf of Mexico, is salt water. In between it is ‘brackish’. Here, the man says, you can catch both fresh water and salt water fish. It is his idea of heaven.
When we got back I went for a walk and had lunch on Bourbon Street, Cajun burgers and French fries. I had to leave most of it. They were not the best choice, but I did get to know the origin of the word Cajun. It is the nick name given to the Acadian people who were exile to New Orleans from Canada. They are French speakers and were persecuted by the British, hence the New Orleans French connection. While Lower Louisiana had been settled by French colonists since the late 18th century, the Cajuns trace their roots to the influx of Acadian settlers after the Great Expulsion from their homeland during the French and Indian War (1754 to 1763). The Acadia region to which modern Cajuns trace their origin consisted largely of what are now Nova Scotia and the other Maritime provinces, plus parts of eastern Quebec and northern Maine. Since their establishment in Louisiana the Cajuns have developed their own dialect, Cajun French, and developed a vibrant culture including folk ways, music, and cuisine.Cajun music, or Zydeco, has its distinctive rhythm and is now quite well known. I got a CD and a Tee short.
You'll know this one. Here are the Jambalaya lyrics to the Jambalaya song done by Hank Williams Sr. Hank Williams Sr copied the Jambalaya musical melody from an earlier tune recorded in Cajun French called "Grand Texas". Although Hank Williams used the earlier Cajun melody, the words to the song that we know as "Jambalaya" was written by Hank Williams Sr.
After Hank Williams Sr recorded his version with the new words, Cajuns re-recorded Jambalaya with Hank Williams' words translated into Cajun French. Cajuns now consider the song to be one of our own songs. (By the way, Hank Williams mispronounced the word "Bayou". Hank pronounced it as "by-oh" when the correct pronunciation is "by-you". I guess he needed something to rhyme with "me oh my oh". Hank Williams Jambalaya song lyrics:
'Good-bye Joe, me gotta go, me oh my oh
Me gotta go pole the pirogue down the bayou
My Yvonne, the sweetest one, me oh my oh
Son of a gun, we’ll have big fun on the bayou
(Chorus)
Jambalaya and a crawfish pie and file' gumbo
'Cause tonight I’m gonna see my ma cher amio
Pick guitar, fill fruit jar and be gay-o
Son of a gun, we’ll have big fun on the bayou'
16.50. All sorted, panic over. I can stay. Hurray!
Yesterday was the first full day of the conference. We went to register, conscientiously, had a coffee, then I looked around the posters before meeting up for lunch. We went to the Gumbo Shop on St Peter street. I had a triple combo which included Jambalaya, Etoufee, and Gumbo. I had to leave most of that too. Surprisingly, I was disappointed with the taste which was frankly bland. Several douses of Tabasco later and the food came to life. So did the sweating, which had to be dealt with with a couple of beers. It seemed by then a little too late to get back to the conference hall, so we passed the afternoon on the balcony of Muriel’s bar overlooking Jacksons Park and watching the world go by in the warm sunshine. Before we knew it, it was time for a nap then out again. New Orleans night life is pretty hectic even on Sundays, but I needed to be up early for my swamp trip. It’s a hard life
Lucky I came back really. I’ve been on the Jean Lafayette Swamp tour and after that wandering around New Orleans Quatier Française.
The swamp tour was fun. We drove for about an hour on a coach and got to the wet lands. Louisiana is dead flat anyway but this bit is flat and low. There are natural waterways, the Bayou, but also man made canals. Once we got there we hopped on a flat boat and off we went. The trees and grasses overhang the waterway, and through the duck weed from time to time an alligator swims up to the boat. Our tour guide gives us an interesting and humorous narration of the history and myths of these wetlands. Where we are is fresh water, but further south, close to the Gulf of Mexico, is salt water. In between it is ‘brackish’. Here, the man says, you can catch both fresh water and salt water fish. It is his idea of heaven.
When we got back I went for a walk and had lunch on Bourbon Street, Cajun burgers and French fries. I had to leave most of it. They were not the best choice, but I did get to know the origin of the word Cajun. It is the nick name given to the Acadian people who were exile to New Orleans from Canada. They are French speakers and were persecuted by the British, hence the New Orleans French connection. While Lower Louisiana had been settled by French colonists since the late 18th century, the Cajuns trace their roots to the influx of Acadian settlers after the Great Expulsion from their homeland during the French and Indian War (1754 to 1763). The Acadia region to which modern Cajuns trace their origin consisted largely of what are now Nova Scotia and the other Maritime provinces, plus parts of eastern Quebec and northern Maine. Since their establishment in Louisiana the Cajuns have developed their own dialect, Cajun French, and developed a vibrant culture including folk ways, music, and cuisine.Cajun music, or Zydeco, has its distinctive rhythm and is now quite well known. I got a CD and a Tee short.
You'll know this one. Here are the Jambalaya lyrics to the Jambalaya song done by Hank Williams Sr. Hank Williams Sr copied the Jambalaya musical melody from an earlier tune recorded in Cajun French called "Grand Texas". Although Hank Williams used the earlier Cajun melody, the words to the song that we know as "Jambalaya" was written by Hank Williams Sr.
After Hank Williams Sr recorded his version with the new words, Cajuns re-recorded Jambalaya with Hank Williams' words translated into Cajun French. Cajuns now consider the song to be one of our own songs. (By the way, Hank Williams mispronounced the word "Bayou". Hank pronounced it as "by-oh" when the correct pronunciation is "by-you". I guess he needed something to rhyme with "me oh my oh". Hank Williams Jambalaya song lyrics:
'Good-bye Joe, me gotta go, me oh my oh
Me gotta go pole the pirogue down the bayou
My Yvonne, the sweetest one, me oh my oh
Son of a gun, we’ll have big fun on the bayou
(Chorus)
Jambalaya and a crawfish pie and file' gumbo
'Cause tonight I’m gonna see my ma cher amio
Pick guitar, fill fruit jar and be gay-o
Son of a gun, we’ll have big fun on the bayou'
16.50. All sorted, panic over. I can stay. Hurray!
Yesterday was the first full day of the conference. We went to register, conscientiously, had a coffee, then I looked around the posters before meeting up for lunch. We went to the Gumbo Shop on St Peter street. I had a triple combo which included Jambalaya, Etoufee, and Gumbo. I had to leave most of that too. Surprisingly, I was disappointed with the taste which was frankly bland. Several douses of Tabasco later and the food came to life. So did the sweating, which had to be dealt with with a couple of beers. It seemed by then a little too late to get back to the conference hall, so we passed the afternoon on the balcony of Muriel’s bar overlooking Jacksons Park and watching the world go by in the warm sunshine. Before we knew it, it was time for a nap then out again. New Orleans night life is pretty hectic even on Sundays, but I needed to be up early for my swamp trip. It’s a hard life
Sunday, 3 April 2011
Old Man River
Day 2 in New Orleans. I’m sitting in bed at 6.30 am local time looking out of my Riverside Hilton third floor room onto the Mississippi. It’s misty and grey and quiet. Life hasn’t yet come to the banks of the river this morning. The river streamer, no more than thirty yards away, is moored up, its lights subdued, recovering from the night before. Here, in New Orleans, it is always the morning after the night before.
I’m here as guest of one of the pharmaceutical companies. They have a new drug and keen to influence opinion formers in the field. Yep, that’s me. We are at the annual conference of the American College of Cardiology one of the three largest cardiology conferences each year. The other two are the American Heart Association meeting and the European Society of Cardiology. The balance of influence has tipped towards the Europeans even in the short time I have been coming to these meetings.
As well as being held in exotic places, well I’ve never been to New Orleans, it is also fun. It’s a chance to hear the breaking new research, which is usually embargoed until these meetings, and then simultaneously published in the New England Journal of Medicine (my favourite journal) or the Lancet. You also meet the top guys, they usually are guys, in the field. You get to know them personally and what they are up to. Two of my favourites were due out yesterday, but their flights were cancelled, Kathryn and Terry, the present and past chairs of the PCCS. We have a laugh, as well as get a chance to talk about and push forward Primary Care Cardiology.
One of the people who is here, and was on my flight, is Leonard. Leonard works in Rotherham and does much the same as what I do in Manchester. He’s a lovely bloke of mixed Georgian and Turkish background. After getting over the work discussion we get onto what it’s like to have young adults as children and the difficulties of holding everything together.
A hooter goes off over the river somewhere, it is waking up. 6.48, it’s still hazy and I can’t yet see any movement, but I can hear it, a low chugging somewhere out there.
There are two beds in my room. ‘ I’m sorry you have two queen size beds in your room’, Britany the check in receptionist had said. Britany, surprisingly, is a young helpful black woman, and I can’t help thinking that her bright enthusiastic demeanour should have her doing something much more high powered. Maybe she’s a student and earning her passage through college. I hope so.
I have to say I was expecting to see more fat people than I have. You know they say there are three ways to look thin? Yes, eat less, dress in black, or move to America! I don’t know it that’s true, but here everyone looks as if they could be in Manchester. I guess I expected to see more black people as well, but not so far. Apart from the accents and the fewer Asian faces, you could easily be in Manchester (England).
I was also surprised by their relative lack of humour. Why, when I asked a young lady in the street if she would like her photograph taken with me, she looked at me as though I was weird. Unbelievable.
7.00 and the sun is beginning to break through. I’m up ‘early’ because I went to bed early, about 10.30 last night. Remember there is a six hour time gap so in England it was 4.30 the next day, and now it one o’clock in the afternoon and I’m wide awake. Leonard and I went to the conference centre to register last night but we were too late, so we’ll do that this morning. Then look at the programme and plan the next couple of days. At the same time I’m going to think about my presentation in Palma de Majorca in a few weeks’ time. I’m doing a critique of a paper on one of these new drugs and will be comparing it with the other two competitors on the market. They are the new anticoagulant drugs. To be honest they all look much the same as each other. All look as if they work. All look safe in the short term, with a still open question about long term safety. The only difference will be cost. The company I’m with are clearly aware of the issues. They also know that, all else being equal, I, like everyone else will go for the cheapest, once it’s licenced.
Now, I better get rolling, like the Old Man River himself.
I’m here as guest of one of the pharmaceutical companies. They have a new drug and keen to influence opinion formers in the field. Yep, that’s me. We are at the annual conference of the American College of Cardiology one of the three largest cardiology conferences each year. The other two are the American Heart Association meeting and the European Society of Cardiology. The balance of influence has tipped towards the Europeans even in the short time I have been coming to these meetings.
As well as being held in exotic places, well I’ve never been to New Orleans, it is also fun. It’s a chance to hear the breaking new research, which is usually embargoed until these meetings, and then simultaneously published in the New England Journal of Medicine (my favourite journal) or the Lancet. You also meet the top guys, they usually are guys, in the field. You get to know them personally and what they are up to. Two of my favourites were due out yesterday, but their flights were cancelled, Kathryn and Terry, the present and past chairs of the PCCS. We have a laugh, as well as get a chance to talk about and push forward Primary Care Cardiology.
One of the people who is here, and was on my flight, is Leonard. Leonard works in Rotherham and does much the same as what I do in Manchester. He’s a lovely bloke of mixed Georgian and Turkish background. After getting over the work discussion we get onto what it’s like to have young adults as children and the difficulties of holding everything together.
A hooter goes off over the river somewhere, it is waking up. 6.48, it’s still hazy and I can’t yet see any movement, but I can hear it, a low chugging somewhere out there.
There are two beds in my room. ‘ I’m sorry you have two queen size beds in your room’, Britany the check in receptionist had said. Britany, surprisingly, is a young helpful black woman, and I can’t help thinking that her bright enthusiastic demeanour should have her doing something much more high powered. Maybe she’s a student and earning her passage through college. I hope so.
I have to say I was expecting to see more fat people than I have. You know they say there are three ways to look thin? Yes, eat less, dress in black, or move to America! I don’t know it that’s true, but here everyone looks as if they could be in Manchester. I guess I expected to see more black people as well, but not so far. Apart from the accents and the fewer Asian faces, you could easily be in Manchester (England).
I was also surprised by their relative lack of humour. Why, when I asked a young lady in the street if she would like her photograph taken with me, she looked at me as though I was weird. Unbelievable.
7.00 and the sun is beginning to break through. I’m up ‘early’ because I went to bed early, about 10.30 last night. Remember there is a six hour time gap so in England it was 4.30 the next day, and now it one o’clock in the afternoon and I’m wide awake. Leonard and I went to the conference centre to register last night but we were too late, so we’ll do that this morning. Then look at the programme and plan the next couple of days. At the same time I’m going to think about my presentation in Palma de Majorca in a few weeks’ time. I’m doing a critique of a paper on one of these new drugs and will be comparing it with the other two competitors on the market. They are the new anticoagulant drugs. To be honest they all look much the same as each other. All look as if they work. All look safe in the short term, with a still open question about long term safety. The only difference will be cost. The company I’m with are clearly aware of the issues. They also know that, all else being equal, I, like everyone else will go for the cheapest, once it’s licenced.
Now, I better get rolling, like the Old Man River himself.
Sunday, 27 March 2011
Mumbo Gumbo
THE ADVERT FOR SCIENTOLOGY IS NOTHING TO DO WITH ME OR ANY OTHER ADVERT COME TO THAT
I'm starting my international tour next week. For some reason I have agreed to go to New Orleans, but was staying for only two days. I was going to be arriving and leaving more or less straight away. So I changed it. Remakably easily. Now staying an extra day. I'm going to the American College of Cardiology congress. Of course it's a scientific meeting but I intend to have some fun too.
Things to do in New Orleans:
The Cajun Bayou and Swamp Tour
Steamboat Habor Cruise
Plantation Tour
Evening Steamboat Jazz Cruise
Cemetery and Gris Gris walking tour
I'm guessing New Orleans history and culture is not very different to Mauritian culture. The language, they say, is similar and so is the food. We'll see. I can't wait. The classic dish is the Gumbo
'Gumbo is a spicy soup or stew. It derives its name from the word Kigombo, an African word which means okra. The Gumbo recipe is in fomously associated with Louisiana and New Orleans but is also popular throughout the Southern States of America. It has it's roots and origins, like the people of Louisiana, in a fusion of European, especially French and Spanish, Indian and African.Gumbo is made using a thick stock, a thickener, meat and/or shell fish and vegetables like bell pepper, celery and onions. This soup is traditionally with rice. The rice served along with gumbo is cooked separately. Just before serving, gumbo is ladled over a heap of rice kept in a serving bowl. Gumbo is very popular during winter - ideal to beat the biting cold.
The stock or broth is prepared very rich and is prepared with whatever blends well with that particular variety of gumbo (chicken stock for chicken gumbo and seafood stock for seafood gumbo). Okra or roux is used as a thickener for this soup. Roux is often used as a thickening agent. Roux is prepared by heating up oil in a pan and roasting flour to it till it turns brown.
A traditional gumbo broth is made from either one or more kind of poultry, shellfish and smoked pork. Poultry chosen for preparing gumbo is usually chicken, duck or quail. For seafood gumbo, shellfish is the popular choice though freshwater crawfish, crabs and shrimps are also used to make gumbo. A vegetarian variety of gumbo is prepared during Lent where mashed greens are used instead of meat. Gumbo Z'herbes (with herbs) was a traditional dish was served on Good Friday containing at least seven herbs. Seven was considered lucky thus seven different types of greens like spinach, mustard leaves etc were used to prepare this dish.'
Sounds a bit like buryani. Like Mauritius, the history of New Orleans is defined by Imperialism and the Slave Trade
I'm starting my international tour next week. For some reason I have agreed to go to New Orleans, but was staying for only two days. I was going to be arriving and leaving more or less straight away. So I changed it. Remakably easily. Now staying an extra day. I'm going to the American College of Cardiology congress. Of course it's a scientific meeting but I intend to have some fun too.
Things to do in New Orleans:
The Cajun Bayou and Swamp Tour
Steamboat Habor Cruise
Plantation Tour
Evening Steamboat Jazz Cruise
Cemetery and Gris Gris walking tour
I'm guessing New Orleans history and culture is not very different to Mauritian culture. The language, they say, is similar and so is the food. We'll see. I can't wait. The classic dish is the Gumbo
'Gumbo is a spicy soup or stew. It derives its name from the word Kigombo, an African word which means okra. The Gumbo recipe is in fomously associated with Louisiana and New Orleans but is also popular throughout the Southern States of America. It has it's roots and origins, like the people of Louisiana, in a fusion of European, especially French and Spanish, Indian and African.Gumbo is made using a thick stock, a thickener, meat and/or shell fish and vegetables like bell pepper, celery and onions. This soup is traditionally with rice. The rice served along with gumbo is cooked separately. Just before serving, gumbo is ladled over a heap of rice kept in a serving bowl. Gumbo is very popular during winter - ideal to beat the biting cold.
The stock or broth is prepared very rich and is prepared with whatever blends well with that particular variety of gumbo (chicken stock for chicken gumbo and seafood stock for seafood gumbo). Okra or roux is used as a thickener for this soup. Roux is often used as a thickening agent. Roux is prepared by heating up oil in a pan and roasting flour to it till it turns brown.
A traditional gumbo broth is made from either one or more kind of poultry, shellfish and smoked pork. Poultry chosen for preparing gumbo is usually chicken, duck or quail. For seafood gumbo, shellfish is the popular choice though freshwater crawfish, crabs and shrimps are also used to make gumbo. A vegetarian variety of gumbo is prepared during Lent where mashed greens are used instead of meat. Gumbo Z'herbes (with herbs) was a traditional dish was served on Good Friday containing at least seven herbs. Seven was considered lucky thus seven different types of greens like spinach, mustard leaves etc were used to prepare this dish.'
Sounds a bit like buryani. Like Mauritius, the history of New Orleans is defined by Imperialism and the Slave Trade
Saturday, 19 March 2011
Apologies for Apologetics
'What a shame, another Muslim child is to born'. He meant born into a Muslim family rather then a Christian one. Still I was shocked. In fact it's taken me a whole week to actually believe that's what he said. A colleague, an eminent local cardiologist. I've kept telling myself I must have heard it out of context or incorrectly. I really hope I did.
Last Saturday morning was the second meeting of the 'Apologetics' group. According to Wikipedia 'Apologetics (from Greek απολογία, "speaking in defense") is the discipline of defending a position (usually religious) through the systematic use of reason. Early Christian writers (c. 120-220) who defended their faith against critics and recommended their faith to outsiders were called apologists...Christian apologetics is a field of Christian theology that aims to present a rational basis for the Christian faith, defend the faith against objections, and expose the perceived flaws of other world views. Christian apologetics have taken many forms over the centuries, starting with Paul of Tarsus, including writers such as such as Origen and Augustine of Hippo, and continuing currently with the modern Christian community, through the efforts of many authors in various Christian traditions such as C.S. Lewis. Apologists have based their defense of Christianity on historical evidence, philosophical arguments, scientific investigation, and other disciplines.'
So that's where I was last Saturday, intrigued by the title. I have always wanted to find out more about Islam. It has seemed to me to be so close to Christianity and Judeism, that I have wanted to understand the differences. I can't claim a full understanding but I have become convinced that we all worship exactly the same God. We believe the final revelation was delivered by different people, for sure, but they pray to God and so do we. Same God.
The problem with this meeting, and again it started OK, the problem is, the premise was that we need to convert Muslims to Christianity. Starting from that position it is difficult to get very far, since they believe just as passionately that theirs is the true and final revelation.
What I did learn was the the Qur'an, the word of God revealed through his servant Muhammad (died 632AD age 62yrs), recognises the books of Moses and the Gospels as Holy texts. It refers to Mary, the most revered woman in the Koran, and to Jesus as a mighty prophet, but not God incarnate. They believe Jesus foretold the coming of Muhammad, incorrectly as our speaker demonstrated triumphantly. They also claim that the Bible has been altered at Nicaea (325 AD), which it was of course.
So there's plenty actually to argue about. Disappointingly again I didn't feel I could join in the arguments, as I had thought was the point of Apologetics. So I kept quiet. I didn't want another 'serpent' incident, but I really wanted to ask a question.
I really wanted to ask these Christian bigots 'Which God do they think Muslims are praying to, and do they believe He answers their prayers too?' So why do they need to believe in Jesus? CS Lewis, the greatest of modern Christian Apologists said that we are all sons and daughters of Adam, even those white middle class brats of the Narnia stories.
Why, JC himself said 'Love the Lord your God, and your neighbour as yourself' He also said we are all children of God, including, presumably, Muslim children.
Last Saturday morning was the second meeting of the 'Apologetics' group. According to Wikipedia 'Apologetics (from Greek απολογία, "speaking in defense") is the discipline of defending a position (usually religious) through the systematic use of reason. Early Christian writers (c. 120-220) who defended their faith against critics and recommended their faith to outsiders were called apologists...Christian apologetics is a field of Christian theology that aims to present a rational basis for the Christian faith, defend the faith against objections, and expose the perceived flaws of other world views. Christian apologetics have taken many forms over the centuries, starting with Paul of Tarsus, including writers such as such as Origen and Augustine of Hippo, and continuing currently with the modern Christian community, through the efforts of many authors in various Christian traditions such as C.S. Lewis. Apologists have based their defense of Christianity on historical evidence, philosophical arguments, scientific investigation, and other disciplines.'
So that's where I was last Saturday, intrigued by the title. I have always wanted to find out more about Islam. It has seemed to me to be so close to Christianity and Judeism, that I have wanted to understand the differences. I can't claim a full understanding but I have become convinced that we all worship exactly the same God. We believe the final revelation was delivered by different people, for sure, but they pray to God and so do we. Same God.
The problem with this meeting, and again it started OK, the problem is, the premise was that we need to convert Muslims to Christianity. Starting from that position it is difficult to get very far, since they believe just as passionately that theirs is the true and final revelation.
What I did learn was the the Qur'an, the word of God revealed through his servant Muhammad (died 632AD age 62yrs), recognises the books of Moses and the Gospels as Holy texts. It refers to Mary, the most revered woman in the Koran, and to Jesus as a mighty prophet, but not God incarnate. They believe Jesus foretold the coming of Muhammad, incorrectly as our speaker demonstrated triumphantly. They also claim that the Bible has been altered at Nicaea (325 AD), which it was of course.
So there's plenty actually to argue about. Disappointingly again I didn't feel I could join in the arguments, as I had thought was the point of Apologetics. So I kept quiet. I didn't want another 'serpent' incident, but I really wanted to ask a question.
I really wanted to ask these Christian bigots 'Which God do they think Muslims are praying to, and do they believe He answers their prayers too?' So why do they need to believe in Jesus? CS Lewis, the greatest of modern Christian Apologists said that we are all sons and daughters of Adam, even those white middle class brats of the Narnia stories.
Why, JC himself said 'Love the Lord your God, and your neighbour as yourself' He also said we are all children of God, including, presumably, Muslim children.
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