Thursday, 31 March 2016

Ooooh another post!

So there was a point about two weeks ago when my mother was in one hospital in Cyprus, my step-father was in another in Nicosia....and I was in one in North London.  My poor brother, running round in ever decreasing circles trying to keep everyone happy!  Anyway, I was fortunately not in for long...I was just being patched up after being knocked off my cycle (again).  The driver of a car had suddenly felt the need for a KFC and turned left when I was in the cycle lane.  I went  straight over the handle bars....I remember seeing the pavement looming up towards me.  Fortunately I survived with cuts, bruises and aches and pains which were treated in A&E at Whipps Cross - a hospital that is in 'Special Measures'...why I don't know because my experience of them has always been very good. The driver's insurance will pay for my damaged clothing, and a new helmet as the old one has a nice dent in it (it's hard to see in the picture, but trust me it's there).  I'm still cycling, but surprisingly (to me at least) it's with significantly less confidence.  That's a worry as I have a 200 mile cycle round London coming up, and then 400 miles to Amsterdam in June....

Aside from medical things life has rolled on.  We went to dinner with friends who had managed to get to stay at Grayson Perry's House for Essex.  If you don't know about it, I quote "The whole building is in effect the story of an imaginary woman, Julie, an Essex Everywoman whose biography I have written in a long poem and provides a social history of Essex since the war. She was born in Canvey Island on the day of the great flood in 1953, moved to Basildon new town later in the 50s, then married and lived in a Thatcherite Barretty home. After she had brought up her kids she went back to uni where she met her second man and then lived in Colchester before moving to Wrabness on the north Essex coast where the house is. I call the building the Taj Mahal on the River Stour, which might be overdoing it slightly, but in the story it has been built by her second husband for his dead wife and all the imagery, inside and out, relates to her life."  Poor Julie was knocked over and killed by a motorcycle delivering curry.  The place is fabulous and fantastical.