Week 36.08

                            Tendring Topics …..on Line

 

The Secret of Happiness

 

            Did you see the report that Essex University had carried out research into the amount of happiness or lack of it, to be found among residents of various locations throughout the UK?  You may be surprised to learn that those of us who are fortunate enough (well, that's how I have always regarded it) to live within the Tendring District are among the glummest in the country while our urban neighbours in Colchester are among the happiest.

 

            Astonishing! I can only assume that it is because we in Tendring are, on the whole, a sympathetic lot and feel sad for those who are condemned to live in noisy, traffic jammed towns.

 

            Actually, of course, the whole idea of the survey is nonsense.  Nobody is blissfully happy all the time and it would surprise me if anybody manages to remain permanently miserable.  A survey taken on a wet Monday morning after a chilly and rain-swept weekend would, I have little doubt, yield very different results from one taken late on a sunny Friday afternoon!

 

            My fairly lengthy experience suggests that those who actively pursue happiness (as distinct from pleasure, joy or gladness) are doomed never to overtake it.  True happiness, I think, is always a by-product of something else; perhaps the satisfaction of a difficult job well done, perhaps in unstinting service to a religious faith, a charitable cause, a political ideal or even 'Queen and country'.  Most commonly, I think, it is a product of unselfish love between fellow human beings.  What is more, I think that we sometimes fail to appreciate how happy we have been until that time of happiness has passed.

 

            When, as an 'other rank' British prisoner of war, I was at a working camp in Zittau, a small town in eastern Germany, we had a daily tear-off calendar in our barrack room (supplied by the German Red Cross? A friendly guard?) with a quotation on each tear-off date.   What little written German I know comes from making a point of translating those quotes into English every day.

 

            This is one, by the German poet Goethe I believe, that I have remembered over the years:

 

Lieben und geliebt zu werden

Ist das höchste Glück auf Erden

 

            'To love and to be loved in return is the highest happiness that the world has to offer'.  I have found that to be abundantly true.

 

            Which proves, among other things, that wisdom and inspiration can sometimes be found in the unlikeliest of places; in this case in an outpost of a prisoner of war Stalag in Hitler's Germany.

 

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The NHS and I!

 

            I have had more involvement with the NHS in the past twelve months than in the previous twelve years!  Ah well; that, I suppose, is what one must expect in old age.

 

            My earlier experiences, duly recorded on this blog, were almost wholly positive.  My cataract operation was performed quickly and efficiently without a hitch.  The operation on my ear, after a somewhat shaky start, (which almost resulted in my not having it at all), was carried out equally satisfactorily.  On neither occasion did I have any pain and I experienced only minimal discomfort.  Surgical, medical and nursing staff were efficient, friendly and supportive.

 

             Subsequent experiences have been rather less happy though I hasten to add that most of this was in no way the fault of the NHS.

 

            The Cataract

 

            Some of it was their fault though.  After I had had my cataract operation I was given instructions about putting drops into my eyes for three weeks.  I was also told that I should see my optician after about four weeks as I would need new glasses and that I would be given an appointment to see the consultant surgeon again, at the outpatients department in Clacton, after six weeks.  I should take my new glasses prescription with me when I saw her.

 

            I did exactly as instructed.  The optician confirmed what I had already diagnosed for myself.  The removal of the cataract from my right eye had in itself,  been successful. However, it had revealed that I had wet macro-degeneration of the retina of that eye.  This distorted my central vision.  It would not render me blind but it would prevent my reading, writing, typing and using the internet; almost all the things that at eighty-seven, I can still enjoy doing.

 

            However, my left eye is all right so far said the optician.  So long as that keeps going I can carry on.  In the meantime I ought to see the ophthalmic surgeon as soon as possible.  That would be all right I assured her, any day now I would be getting an appointment to see the ophthalmic surgeon at Clacton hospital.  

 

            That was what I had thought.  The days went by with no appointment.  The six weeks was due to expire on Friday 29^th August.   On the Wednesday I phoned out-patients appointment help-line.  The voice at the other end was helpful but totally confused.  No, there was no record of my having to have an appointment.  In any case there was no longer an ophthalmic outpatients clinic at Clacton Hospital.  I would have to come to Colchester to see the Ophthalmic Surgeon.  They could fix me up with an appointment for the 16^th September at Colchester.

 

            I was tempted to tell them to keep it.  It was two weeks late and not at the place I had been promised.  However, in the meantime, the fact that 'a cure' was now available for at least some kinds of wet macro-degeneration of the retina had been widely publicised in the news media. It could, just possibly, help me.  So I'll be there, and I'll let you know how I get on.

 

            I do feel though that on this occasion the NHS failed me.  They should surely have honoured the promises made to existing patients before closing down the Clacton Clinic. At the very least they could have apologised to us, explained the reasons why the Clacton Clinic had been discontinued, and offered us appointments in Colchester.

 

            The Ear

 

            I had thought that, whatever might now be wrong with my eye, the operation on my ear had been a complete success.  It had been an almost 'invisible mend'.  It had healed up well and I quite expected to have the stitches out and be 'waved through' by the surgeon when I saw her.  Yes, in case you are wondering, my family doctor, the optician, the ophthalmic surgeon and the surgeon who operated on my ear are all women.  And why not?   I certainly wouldn't want it to be otherwise.

 

            It is true that I wasn't too pleased at having to go to Colchester again for the removal of the stitches, and even less pleased at having to wait a couple of hours to be seen.  However, when I was finally ushered in, the surgical and nursing staff couldn't have been more friendly and helpful.   Their message though was a lot less welcome.

 

            I was told that the biopsy on the piece of my ear that had been excised had revealed that I had a 'very aggressive', skin cancer and that they would have to cut away a bit more, on each side of the existing wound, to prevent it spreading.

 

            I told them that I had arranged to go to Germany for the last week in September (I'll explain why in my blog next week) and that as it would almost certainly be my last trip ever overseas, I didn't want to miss it.  So, they have given me an appointment at the Elmstead Day Centre in Colchester General Hospital on 8^th October. I hope to be there!

 

            I'm not looking forward to it, but I'm not dreading it either, and I am certainly not worrying about it.  One of the few compensations of extreme old age is that, provided one has no dependents, there is really need no point in worrying about the future. Whatever misfortune may befall is most unlikely to last for long!

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A Nation in Debt!

 

            A few years ago, while caring for my disabled wife, I found myself watching a great deal of day-time television.  I was quite shocked to discover that day-time commercial tv seemed to be financed largely by 'ambulance chasing' lawyers and totally irresponsible loan firms seeking customers. 

 

The former were urging anyone who had had an accident of any kind to contact them on a 'no-win no-fee' basis.  The latter were offering loans to people who, in their own interest, should never have even considered borrowing money.   'Never mind', the tv adverts said, 'that you are unemployed, living on benefit, have been dispossessed, are already up to your ears in debt or have a bad credit record, we'll be able to help you.  You'll probably find that with us your monthly repayments will be lower than they are now. You'll have money left over to spend on the really important things in life!'

 

At the same time British Building Societies and Banks, following the bad example of their counterparts in the USA, were happily giving loans of 100 percent and more for the purchase of homes whose prices (not quite the same as their value) seemed destined to go up and up and up for ever.

 

It couldn't last.  And it didn't.  Boom has been followed by bust.  House prices have been falling steadily for over eighteen months and seem set to continue.  Many homebuyers are falling into negative equity.  At the same time Britain's economy is stagnating.  Mass unemployment again rears its head.  Thousands of homebuyers are already unable to meet their mortgage commitments and are being dispossessed and rendered homeless.

 

The government is taking desperate measures to try to stave off disaster.  Tax- payers money is likely to be used to help some avoid eviction, to the disgust of many of the slightly better off. They don't see why their money should be used to help the improvident.  Their own time may come!  Local authorities may be asked (or told!) to buy up houses from which folk have been dispossessed for letting to the new homeless; a good idea, but how typical to call on the public service for aid only when private enterprise and the profit motive have failed!

 

How much better things might have been if the Thatcher Government had not introduced the universal 'right to buy' for Council tenants, or if New Labour had had the courage to repeal this legislation when it assumed office!  Rural communities would have been preserved instead of being turned into dormitories for yuppies, and a   nationwide stock of homes for letting at manageable rents would have reduced the mad rush towards the unachievable goal of 'home ownership for all', and would have prevented house price increases far above general inflation.   There would now be far fewer dispossessions.  Local authorities, through their own housing schemes, would be able to cope with any temporary increase in homelessness, as they had for a century before the 1980s

 

It is worth noting that on mainland Europe, where most people are content to rent their homes (though not primarily from local authorities) there is no comparable housing crisis.  I hope that, in the future we may pursue European reality rather than an 'American Dream' that can all too easily become a nightmare!

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