Post-heart attack I’ve unsurprisingly striven to avoid situations that’ll raise my blood pressure. Consequently, I’m currently staying clear of listening to/watching Leeds United games, listening to/watching Leeds Rhino rugby league matches, exposure to England Test crickets encounters and (apart from writing) numerous other avenues of pleasure.
I’m also attempting to stay clear of my wife Karen’s well-meaning but unreliable diagnosing of any occasional twinge or ailments I experience. Fleeting afflictions that so far my spouse has wrongly diagnosed as pulled muscles, leprosy, lactose intolerance and ‘Not Very Well At All Disease’.
As alluded to above, all very well-meaning advocacies from my missus. However, call me pedantic, but I’m more inclined to take health advice from people with six years medical training behind them, as opposed to the well-intended musings of individuals with none.
That being said, a rise in West Yorkshire’s temperatures over the past couple of days has manifested a fillip in my spirits. Yesterday, I actually managed to sit outside of a Leeds city centre pub when moulding the prose for the monologue Chilling in the Chill. That being said, I might be re-writing history a tad today as during that narrative I did actually comment on the unforgiving nature of the Metropolis’ prevailing chill (hence the prose’s title).
As I write this piece, the sun’s currently shining upon West Yorkshire’s righteous (and not so righteous) . Saturday morning solar rays giving a much needed reminder there’s more to enhance my current existence than writing. Providing yours truly with a timely nudge that some of the best things in life are indeed free, from both anxiety and monetary perspectives.
As things stand, it’s currently all about patience for GJ Strachan. Biding my time for energy/fitness levels to return, along with spring once again bequeathing the cathartic sight of my garden in bloom. Not to mention, waiting for a time when I can once again listen to/watch my footballing amour without raising blood pressure levels to those risking my continuation on this life odyssey.
I accept it’ll be a long time before I can dig the aforementioned garden. However, hopefully by late spring I’ll be able to undertake light horticultural maintenance; allowing the unhindered progress of my back yard’s kaleidoscopic perennial shrubs. Producing chromatic visions of serenity and calm, along with wonderment at nature’s beauty.
This light garden maintenance is dependant, though, on my avoidance of contracting ‘Not Very Well At All Disease’; or worse succumbing to the highly debilitating sporadic clack. The latter a virus of such aggressive pathology and pain inducing nature it’s reported by sufferers to “….. hurt a bit!” during the act of sneezing.
In his early 20’s my brother Ian was badly afflicted by an instance of sporadic clack. A lengthy illness that caused him much discomfort and the loss of his role as Head of Sneezing Powder Distribution at Clark’s Gag Store in Jarrow. A job our kid loved, dubbing it as a role not to be sneezed at!
Anyhow, I need to conclude this narrative as I’ve a few errands to run, including a visit to the local pharmacist returning the unrequired ‘over the counter’ leprosy meds my wife misguidedly purchased for me on Friday.