Results tagged “writing” from Looking Up

To those who may have access to the UK's print media, a notification:

The Times tomorrow will contain a piece I have written about my day spent with the fantastic HEMS air ambulance team, including a reunion with the good people who scraped me off a garage roof in Muswell Hill five years ago.

To those who are outside the range of The Times in print:

Unfortunately, I will be unable to direct you to a URL of the piece unless you have opted to sign up for the paid online content that is now the only way of accessing The Times online. In case you have not, then just take my word for it...the piece is a fantastic example of really great writing. It has tremendous emotional depth, atmospheric characterisation and side splitting humorous asides. All delivered in my usual modest, self-deprecatory style.

Honest.

A day spent at R's school on the weekend, attempting to improve the very limited outdoor space they have available...

I found myself, pruning saw in hand, clearing self-seeded Ash saplings from around the perimeter. This is the first time that I've undertaken any major pruning/tree related activities since my accident, and I must admit that it felt good. Yes, I have pruned a tree since, but this was clearing undergrowth, and altogether more physical.

One could see an irony in the species of tree I was cutting, as it was an Ash tree (Fraxinus Excelsior, to be precise) that I fell from back in 2005. But I didn't feel any sense of revenge, just as my love for trees has not been diminished by the role that a tree played in my dramatic change in circumstances. I did feel a sense of relief that I am excused the job of grubbing out the roots, especially as ash can be particularly obstinate when it comes to removal.

So there we are. A week before my 5th accident anniversary, and I was back among the trees, albeit in a very modest way. But like many things that would be easier for a non-wheelchair user, I felt an enormous sense of achievement. And for once, I didn't sense a feeling of awkwardness from able-bodied people around me. People just ignored me and let me get on with it.

Tomorrow is the actual day of my accident in '05. Yes, April fool's day, of course. And what have I learned?

I've learned that, as a species, we have an astonishing capacity for adapting to change.

I've learned that it's possible to overcome almost anything with the support of a loving family and friends.

I've learned how to write. Haven't I? One door closes, another opens, etc.

I've learned that most of my favourite foodstuffs are on the top shelf in the supermarket.

I've learned that chronic pain is, well, a chronic pain.

I've learned the true value of the NHS. The foundation of which remains the pinnacle of Government achievement in the UK.

And, I've learned that play isn't about physical aptitude, it's about imagination. And there's nothing as warming or fulfilling as making your child laugh.
 

Firstly, a pointer to my Travel article from Saturday's Times.

Then on to matters of the racket. Or racquet. Or whatever. You know, the bat with strings in.

Anyways. I am doing the equivalent of mumbling on the keyboard for I am plum tuckered out, and all I have to show for my endeavors is one measly 'runners up' trophy from the doubles. I lost in the semi-final of the singles, and the final of the doubles. Both B division, a step up from last year's novice category.

I did manage a fairly spectacular cough and splutter  midway through the first set, but we (Sarah and myself, who won the novice doubles last year, but haven't seen each other since, on account of her being in Scotland and me in London) rallied spectacularly, coming from 5-1 down to lose the second set 7-6 on a tie break.

All of which goes to show, dear reader, that I am now a tennis bore. Hooked on the horror of competition. I have never enjoyed horror movies much, nor roller-coasters, but I imagine there is a similar mental process involved, as I find the time on court in competition, terrifying and generally emotionally unpleasant, but once I come off, I can't wait to get out there again.


Enough of this drivel. I'm away to my bed.

Today's Times column. And I would like to clarify something. While wheelchair trolleys don't have baby seats in them, that is not the only reason why I have never used one.

I don't like wheelchair trolleys, as they are often ill-fitting, and they make the trip through the supermarket feel a bit like driving a milk-float through a...well, a supermarket.

Other news:

I have a cold. Yep, middle of May, and I have a cold. Thanks to our beloved daughter for bringing it home to share with the family. Unfortunately, timing IS everything, and so I am trying to shake it off in time for my attendance at the National Wheelchair Tennis Championships at the weekend.

Yes, it's that time of year again. After some emotional turmoil, I have decided that I can not, in all conscience, defend my Novice Title. It would certainly be a linguistic contradiction if nothing else, and so once again, I step up to the B division, as I did when I so famously CHOKED in Cardiff.

Well not this time. I shall cough and splutter because of my cold, but that only adds to the chair adjustments and new rackets that I have gathered together to ensure that I have a basket full of excuses to draw on when the going gets tough.

Here's a link to the Wheelchair tennis yearbook from Take Two Magazine. There's a piece from me on page ten, all about my experience of taking up tennis as a wheelchair sport...

The latest installment of my column for The Times came out today.

Writing about parenting is an interesting process, as it makes me think about everyday things from a different perspective (can you think from a different perspective?). Writing for a broad audience who might not have any direct experience of disability means no longer assuming a level of familiarity with much of the day to day stuff.

That said, even the most seasoned disability veteran will be ecstatic when they see what I have found. I know we've all done it. All those times when we struggle to get pasta into the socks of a loved one. Those moments when you think, "There must be an easier way to do this."

Well now there is. Courtesy of a 'daily living aids' website in Australia. I present the Pasta-Stocking-Stuffer.

My article on parenting is in today's Times, and also on their website, if you want to read it online.

A really nice pic, too.

So, a new year begins, with war, financial meltdown, an hilarious bus advertising campaign and of course, the departure of the demented chimpanzee who has been 'in charge of the free world' for a very long time... No? Here's another clue. A quote:
"Free societies are hopeful societies. And free societies will be allies against these hateful few who have no conscience, who kill at the whim of a hat."

You've got to watch those hats. There are many, many more. Worth a look.

As for our start, well, I have managed to shift most of my persisting ills by making an appointment to see my g.p. Is that a placebo of sorts? I'm not sure, but it's certainly effective.  All I have to do now is get over the eating disorder I have developed over the festive period. It's called gluttony, I believe. Time to get out on the tennis courts, methinks. Meanwhile P still has sore ribs from coughing, not helped by R's enthusiastic climbing on her poor mum whenever any opportunity arrises. Sometimes I'd swear she lies in wait, ninja-style, ready to leap outand connect with whatever body part of either of us happens to be injured in some way.

Meanwhile, I have been busy writing various bits and pieces for various publications, some of which are now in print. I seem to have been mostly writing about tennis, but I have also been working on a more parenting based piece for one of the national dailies, of which more nearer the time. Call it superstition if you will, but I'm keeping shtum until I know it's running.

I have also been gradually drawing back the veil of three years on Amitryptyline after my magical sleigh ride kind of put me off in a big way. I'm now down to a lower dose than I have been on for the last three years, and so far without any negative effects. No doubt I'll be wheeling up and down the street with a lampshade on my head, singing 'bring me sunshine' while trying to eat my shoes by the end of the week. But that'll probably be down to the cold weather.

It is intriguing the way that medicine is prescribed sometimes. "Try X. No good? Try more X. Still no good? Try Y. No, keep taking X and Y. If all else fails, we'll throw in a few Zs." And before you know it, you're taking the entire contents of the scrabble set, and you can't remember what you're taking for which, and you have to take one because you're taking another, and your pharmacist starts going on ever more exotic holidays, and you can't remember what your name is anyymore...

What was I talking about? Where's my lampshade? 2...3...BRING ME SUNSHINE, THROUGH THE YEARS...you know the words, missus..etc.

Well, folks. It's up. My first contribution as a columnist on Ouch! the BBC disability website. I hope that I'm not attacked by a gang of irate medal contenders who feel that my attitude is, well, that of someone who knows that they are destined to always be mediocre in any sport undertaken. With this in mind, I feel obliged to offer a clarification, especially as I will no doubt fall under a hail of disabled rock climbers abseiling down on my ass.

Not only do I have no problem with people who achieve such a high level of expertise in their chosen field, but I too find them inspiring. My point is merely, some might say trivially, that we can't all be the best. It's just not possible. A pyramid, by definition has a pointy top, and that's where the best Paralympic athletes reside. They have to be the best, as anyone who's attempted to push a wheelchair up a pyramid will tell you.

Just as you don't have a 100 meters for people who are a bit crap at running, there has to be canon fodder in every sport.  But there are occasions where, unbeknown to the elite, the canon fodder get together and enjoy pretending that they're actually pretty good. And if they hadn't had that knee injury or tennis elbow or gone to college or work or prison, they could have made it into serious competition.

It is this level of sporting competition that I miss. But hopefully tennis will provide me with that thrill. The local park, way too much kit and the complete deterioration in the standard of play as soon as anyone's watching. Ah, you should have seen my last shot...