When I was 19 I had my 3 front teeth knocked out, playing rugby. Actually not totally OUT, more broken and pushed back into the roof of my mouth. It was the ONE AND ONLY TIME that I’d EVER ( as in EVER EVER ! ) forgotten my gumshield, for either playing or training, and I’d played for 10 years by then. It’s not even that common to get a blow to the mouth whilst playing ( as in it’s hardly every game ) but of course that particular day when I didn’t have a gumshield ( and I’d even considered not going on the field ) I had a clash of heads with my fellow centre and broke 3 teeth…. Rod Lewis was his name. I think he’s a solicitor now. I haven’t seen him in decades, but I suppose he’s forever left his mark on me.
It was playing against Bristol Poly, and I did obviously have to come off, and then wait for an ambulance… to take me to hospital. Whilst waiting, a girl I knew called Lisa Collins ( rugby groupie material ) came up with her friend and expressed their concern… I was obviously spewing blood from my mouth, much to their horror.. and being of a Welsh Bravado persuasion I said to Lisa’s friend ‘ Do you fancy a French kiss …?’
Rightly so, she recoiled, but evidently thought it was humour in adversity… that girl went on to become my wife.. I wonder had I not said those words would that have happened?
Life is a series of Sliding Doors isn’t it? Had I worn a gumshield, kept my teeth, not come off the field, not tried to be funny to some girl, I’d probably not have ended up in London, not married her, not had the kids I had etc etc etc.
I wouldn’t have gone on a cycle trip with a bunch of school dads because I’d never have met them. I’d not have had a catastrophic cycle crash, and I wouldn’t now be paraplegic.

But maybe I would? Maybe I’d have had a crash doing something else altogether, maybe years sooner than I did. Maybe I wouldn’t have even got to my forties, who knows? It’s all impossible to say.

The above wasn’t what I was going to write in this post, but as I don’t ‘ plan ‘ posts it doesn’t matter if I write something different to my initial intention anyway. What I was going to write about was me going to the dentist today, which IS as a consequence of me knocking my teeth out that day.
That ambulance that afternoon took me to the Bristol Infirmary, where a doctor in A and E, without any anaesthetic, told me to open wide, then shoved his fingers into my mouth, and pulled my teeth back quickly ( with them amazingly not just falling out ) had a quick look and sent me out…. Not knowing any better, and ‘ trusting the Doctor’ I assumed they’d just be ok… but accepted the ( terrible) pain that I got whilst having to drink cold beer in the bar afterwards. It wasn’t like I could just go home to bed – we were in Bristol and I lived in Cardiff. It was an away game, and there was a coach ride back to Cardiff at 10 pm. What else was I supposed to do other than drink? It numbed the pain I’m sure, at the same time as being excruciating. I recall trying to drink my beer out of the side of my mouth, so it was less painful. Mmmm it all seems pretty stupid now, but hey.

Anyway, the next day I came to my senses a bit and took myself to Cardiff University Dental Hospital. The dental surgeon there pretty much said the doctor in Bristol should be arrested for what he’d done to me… ( but obviously that didn’t happen ) He treated my mouth over 2 weeks or so, and carefully repositioned my now crooked teeth, in the broken and splintered sockets, and made a dental splint ( like a gumshield- the irony isn’t wasted on me ) that I had to wear for 3 months, until the bone mended and the teeth were solid again in the sockets. After that he took the roots out, because he said they were all dying/ dead and my teeth would go black, and fitted veneers over the teeth. I had those veneers for at least 10 years.. and was quite happy with them. Yes, they weren’t a perfect colour I suppose, but I didn’t care. The only person that they seemed to bother was that girl I’d met the day I had em knocked out, who was by now my wife.
So I succumbed to her pressure and had the veneers changed, at great expense obviously… and some whitening stuff done to make them match better…

Since then it was probably every 2 years or so that one of the veneers broke … and then having been forced to change them to crowns … it has been every 2/3 years that one of the crowns broke off… until a few months ago that my daughter Lily made me a cake … and it was so hard that when I bit it and broke off my crown good and proper ( right in the middle of the pandemic when dentists weren’t available much ) that I had to have a single tooth denture …

A front tooth denture isn’t actually that great. The thing moves about and gets in the way of eating a lot. It’s far worse than the mildly discoloured veneers that I definitely should have stuck with. I’d have saved myself a good ten thousand pounds for sure too. … but hey you can’t turn back time.

So back to today then. Today I went to have a front tooth implant, or at least have the first part of the procedure. I didn’t know how complicated it was going to be. I had a molar implant about 20 years ago and I don’t recall it being a big deal … but wow, having a front one is fairly nasty I can tell you.
First the guy had to tear/ pull/ cut out a big chunk of bone from my jaw at the front ( I had about 20 …REALLY PAINFUL injections just before to numb my whole face pretty much ). He didn’t use a drill, just a sharp pliers that he forced into my jaw, applying substantial force ( I wonder how a less strong dentist, or a female dentist perhaps, would even be able to do it ? ) for a good 5 minutes non stop, kinda pushing and slightly twisting at the same time, to ‘ bore a channel ‘ into my jaw, eventually pulling out an almond ( out of its shell ) nut sized piece of jawbone, all bloody obviously, which he proudly showed me, as if to say ‘ that’s why it took so much effort’ ..

Then, between suctioning out all the blood that flowed profusely, he forced in lots of ‘ chemical bone graft material ‘, followed by the inner part of the implant. That’s the bit that’ll hold the peg in place, once that’s screwed into it in a few months time. The delay is to let the thing set, before the peg post is screwed in, before the false tooth is glued onto that. I listened carefully to that bit about having to let the bone set for 3 months before it’s deemed solid enough to be able to trust a tooth fixed to it … and then wondered how on earth I was told to move from bed to wheelchair 48 hours after having my whole spine rodded and bolted in 2016… with the disastrous consequences that entailed when the screws pulled out … somewhat predictably right ? Maybe I should have asked my dentist to do my back surgery…?

A few hours later and it’s started to hurt. The anaesthetic is evidently wearing off.. and I’ve been told to take the painkillers and the prophylactic ( infection prevention ) antibiotics for a week. Dental injections always make me feel a bit crap, they always have, so I’ll go to bed early today. I’ve not slept well for a while, which perhaps doesn’t help with the memory thing… which for sure is on my mind a lot ( when I remember..🤦‍♂️) I find myself testing myself. Can I remember this person and his her wife/ husband’s / child’s name etc etc? Half the time I can’t, but some of those times the names will them come to me and I think maybe I’m ok?
I wonder.
Writing this post has made me ponder the Sliding Doors of Life.. and made me wonder and question which doors I walked through. Post divorce it’s common to look back and wish you hadn’t ever gone there. Divorce is often bitter, and I’d be lying if I said all is calm even 3 years after, because it really really isn’t.
And the longer the acrimony continues, the more you wish you’d kicked that door shut and walked on through another.

Right. For about a month I’ve had marked, and I mean MARKED memory loss. Also I’m just not thinking straight, I can’t think of words that should just spring to mind, and my incredible( ish… ) wit just seems to have completely deserted me. I think that’s why I haven’t written much in this diary for a bit – I just am NOT thinking normally..

As I can’t get an appointment with a GP, I’ll have to find another way to get an assessment.
As I had a brain injury in my crash ( from which I did seem to recover ?) I’m thinking perhaps there’s a knock on ( no pun intended ) effect.

I can’t remember long term events, people’s names, you name it. I go through my phone contacts and lots of them I don’t remember at all.
I mean that’s just not normal.

Oh dear.. now what have I got !?
Jeez.

As I was telling Lizzy yesterday, and I realised just how funny it is… I thought I’d write it here too…

My Nana Tess ( my Dad’s mum ) died when I was in my 20’s.. but of course my memory of her is still very much alive. She was a lovely woman, always smiling and laughing. A truly terrible ( and I mean really really terrible ) cook, we always dreaded having to eat anything at hers, unless it was biscuits, which she always had loads of.

Anyway, she had very funny expressions, and she used to tell funny stories when my brothers and I were small ( and often she’d tell them over and over ).

She’d call any relative ‘ Our’ followed by the name, so I was Our Russ. If for example she’d thought I’d farted ( as if I ever did ) she’d say ‘ ooh.. I think Our Russ has dropped his pocket money..?!’

She strongly advised that if you needed to fart, you always should, and said that she knew a woman who always held hers in, and in the end it killed her.
Nana Tess swore blind that the woman was buried in a church ‘ up the Garn’ ( that was a place a couple of miles up the valley ) and that on her gravestone were inscribed the following words ..

LET YOUR WIND GO FREE,

WHEREVER YOU MAY BE.

COS THAT’S WHAT CAUSED THE DEATH OF ME.

So remember those words folks when you need to let rip.
Not letting it go might cost you dear…

RIP Nana Tess.

I have had a new lodger for a month.
He’s Iranian, and is a barber. He’s a lovely, soft spoken ( but ridiculously over deferential ) guy. He’s so deferential that he insists upon calling me Sir.
I mean no one til him has addressed me that way… and I’ve been around for quite a long time.
Tonight he came in in the middle of me ( trying to cook, following the Hello Fresh recipe. I don’t know, but my brain struggles with recipe type instructions. I know so little about cooking that none of it seems intuitive to me at all, or at least not yet. I have to read every line about a thousand times. The cooking malarkey is ok for the first 5 minutes but after that all of a sudden you have to do about 10 things at the same time.
Being in a chair and having to wheel about balancing things in my lap ( that I can’t feel or grip with my knees or anything.. ) well anything could fall or spill if I’m not careful, and it’s ever so easy to bump into stuff all of the time.

My music is on really loud ( as I’d just downloaded Spotify onto my clever telly and it’s suddenly playing at REALLY high volume through my amplifier via a fire stick ) and in ‘creeps’ my deferential lodger, as though he’s Gollum and I’m the Dark Lord.
Now it’s like a nightclub in there, and he’s saying something to me. I’ve got stuff on my lap and 4 pans with stuff in all cooking.. I’m not a natural at this, I can tell you. I’m saying ‘ pardon!? ‘ as loud as I can and he’s saying something very quietly ( being deferential ) and sort of waving something brown around near the freezer.
Slightly exasperated I wheel over to the amp and turn it down, with stuff in my lap, and say ‘ what is it you are saying ?’

He says, quietly.. Sir can I put this in your freezer….? ( the ‘ this ‘ being a Magnum lollipop ) I mean seriously… he’s actually asking me that… seeing I’m pretty busy and it’s not easy for me?
I tell him to please not ask me such questions.. and that of course it’s ok … good grief…

I turn the music back up and carry on.

Five minutes later he’s back … speaking so quietly I can’t possibly hear him. Again I go to the amplifier and turn it down. Yes I ask him, what is it?
He says ‘ I have a KFC and I’m asking if you’d like some ?’

I say no thank you… but I’m thinking Who the Actual Fuck do you think I’m cooking for, with all these complicated pans… and who do you think is going to have to eat it … and who would seriously, given the 2 previous, want to also have a Kentucky..?

Well he’s a bit ‘ portly ‘ so presumably him I guess…

After that he offered me one of his little individual tiramisus… that he seems to have an endless supply of .. and that I do always say no to..

Are all lodgers a bit special or is it just the ones I get?

But seriously with this cooking thing… how can a meal for one EVER be worth about 10 pans / dishes / plates, with knives and forks and a grater, and then about 15 minutes of one handed washing up ..?

Give me peanut butter on toast in 2 minutes any day of the week… surely you can’t argue with that one?

And another entertaining dinner at Lizzy’s.

Where her son says to his sister .. ‘ oh my God, you really are a 14 chromosome’r, aren’t you?! ‘

To be fair it was in response to his 13 year ops sister’s revelation that in year 8 she’d asked her teacher ‘ did the world used to be just black and white in the old days Miss ?‘ ( having seen an old movie on the telly the week before .. ).

Not really my place to laugh out loud too much just yet… ? 🤦‍♂️😳😂

Blimey what a day.

Im going to meet up with Roy ( outside, in the grounds of Chiswick House ). When I am halfway there, and thankfully just after I’d turned off the crazily busy road that traverses Kew Bridge, my Triride spluttered and juddered to a halt. Occasionally it has stopped going, but never in a way like this. The Tri hasn’t felt the same since I had the tyre changed at the bike shop. Usually I try to do it myself (tho I need someone else to help me since I just can’t move my trunk enough, or bend into the necessary position ) but it’s not easy and I thought this time I’d leave it to the professionals…
Except… I have to admit that the ‘ mechanic ‘ took a bloody long time to change the tyre… far longer than it’s previously taken me plus friend.
When I wheeled back from the bike shop, and for the following few days, to be honest it didn’t feel right, or sound right. It looked like he’d twisted the cable which goes from the battery panel to the motor wheel ( the wheel is a motor all by itself when supplied by battery power – all very clever ) and having googled the error message that came up it implied a communication fault between the power and the wheel.
Anyway, at that point I’m a bit stuck. I’m on a busy road and unable to go anywhere. I called Roy to explain my absence from our meeting place, and he offered to drive over and help, even though he was working that day. Bless him ( and I’m always grateful I have such lovely mates ) for driving over, buying me a sandwich and a coffee, and then helping me get back.
I always have to think of the best way to get myself out of a pickle, and I seem to do ok at it really. I asked Roy to push me to a bus stop, hail a bus, and then push me backwards up the ramp onto the bus. I had to get on backwards so that at my destination stop I could wheel down the ramp ( with gravity assist and then be less than 600 metres from home. As the first 250 metres is slightly downhill, I figured I’d be ok for that bit. As I can’t bend to push my wheels with any useful force, I just can’t get anywhere fast or uphill using just my arms, but I was ok to get as far as the canal towpath by myself.
Then I knew I’d have to ask someone for a push, or take a long time to get back ( which I reckoned I’d manage … probably )
As it was I asked the first person I saw – an Eastern European fella it turned out ( and actually those guys are ALWAYS helpful, and he pushed me back home. Of course I’m pretty vulnerable – someone could try to rob me without too much difficulty to be honest… but he didn’t. Instead we discussed a decent place for him to launch a 22 foot boat onto the canal ( which actually isn’t easy unless you come through the lock system from the river Thames .. )
I was back at least… phew .. and then called messaged my mates Mark and Toby ( Moby for short ) in the hope that either would be available to help fix the mechanical situation. I also called Colin Flounders, the gent that supplied the Triride to me. He lives in Devon, about 300 miles away from me, but was actually in my vicinity in his van, or at least not more than 45 minutes away. As he too is in a chair, it’s not exactly straightforward, but he always finds a way.
Having got back I managed to get my Triride off, and then by tipping it over backwards and getting my recycling bin underneath the front wheel to raise it up, I undid the wheel bolts and got the wheel off. As I can’t bend or rotate my trunk I have to do everything one handed, but I manage quite a lot of stuff really despite that. The wheel is heavy, and also is attached to the battery supply, but I managed to untwist the cable and get it back onto the fork. When I switched the power on again, Lo and Behold I now had power… proving that the bike shop caused the problem ( which is sad for me, since over the years they’ve been absolutely amazing to me – but this particular guy I’d not seen before ).
Then however I realised that I couldn’t do the wheel nuts up tight. The thread had been damaged, or the axle spindle had moved, or the wheel nut was damaged, or any combination of these.. so that had I used the Triride it would have been dangerous at best.
Was that the bike mechanic too? I don’t know for sure, but it was DEFINITELY all fine when I took it to the shop 4 days earlier.
Anyway, at that point the cavalry arrived.. Colin in his chair ( with van ) and Toby on his bike. They both had a look, and figured it needed proper checking by Triride. Toby pushed it to Colin’s van, and lifted it in, and Colin then drove it to Farnborough, where a guy called Nathan is based. He’s the expert..

Somewhat stuck without electrical power assistance, I asked Toby to help me get my spare ( Chinese version – not anywhere near as good, but definitely ok ) attachment onto my chair for me, to see if it worked. I’ve had it for a year but never had to use it. A lot of buggering about with the complicated attachment system later and it was on, and working too, though I wouldn’t want to use it on a long trip to be honest – not in the winter anyway – too risky.

Having been inspected by Nathan… it’s gone back to Triride in Italy for repairs. I don’t think the bike shop fella can have caused ALL the damage, but he definitely caused some of it I believe. I’ll be without my trusty attachment for a while of course, but at least I’m assured of it being in A1 shape once I get it back. To me it’s like a car is to you… and you obviously need a car serviced regularly, or you’re asking for trouble.

But massive thanks to my mates ( male and female ) who help me out when I’m in trouble, or in need. There are quite a few of you, and you are priceless to me, boys and girls.

I loves ya.

Russ

I got a ( naughty) political advent calendar.

It’s like a normal advent calendar, but there’s a dick in number 10.

I had a Swedish girlfriend once, she wasn’t pretty, she had a face like a Norse.

I read that the Welsh invented the condom in the Middle Ages by using a piece of sheep’s intestine.
The English later improved the design by taking it out of the sheep first.

This virus situation….. we seem in this country to only just have a loose grip on it, wouldn’t you say?

I’ve spent the weekend in Sevenoaks. It’s the same there as it is everywhere else ( including in my own situation ) in that we all bend the rules to suit ourselves, and that ensures that the virus keeps on spreading. That was brought home to me by chatting to a friend of Lizzy’s who lives in Singapore. He was here because he had been given special dispensation to leave the country to visit a sick elderly relative. On his return to Singapore he’ll be sent immediately ( without passing Go ) to a quarantine hotel where he’ll spend a compulsory 2 weeks. After that he’ll be allowed back into society there… except in Singapore they have a complete handle on virus suppression. No one is allowed to visit another household, and you MUST wear a mask ALL OF THE TIME once you leave home. You keep it on even at work if you work by yourself in your own personal office, and NO ONE has an exemption. In Singapore there have been NO NEW CASES for a month, and there in ONE PERSON IN HOSPITAL with COVID 19. One.. in the whole country!

If you break the rules at all, you are immediately arrested and fined ( I think he said it was a thousand pounds ). If you break the rules and happen to be foreign, you are IMMEDIATELY DEPORTED.

Guess what? Mmmmm, everyone obeys the rules, and short of socialising the country has carried on running pretty normally. They’ll do this until everyone has been vaccinated. The population are behind the measures and there’s no dissent. Everyone can see the endgame, and the logic of the measures.

I compare that to here. I’m currently on a train, and was just talking to the Guard. He spoke about the large numbers of passengers who don’t wear masks, even though it’s the law. The Guard has no absolute authority. All he can do is ASK people to obey the law. He can’t enforce it…. unless there happens to be a member of the Transport Police on board, then EVERYONE breaking the law just gets away with it. To make matters worse there are constant announcements over the tannoy that say that many people are exempt from wearing masks. Why? Why is anyone exempt? It’s a flimsy piece of cloth over you mouth and nose. Why on earth can ANYONE here be exempt from that ? In Singapore there are no exemptions.. so are the humans different in the UK? And what, loads of them are different here? People have some kind of aversion to wearing a bit of cloth? C’mon, seriously? Do those same people refuse to wear scarves around their necks and faces when it’s snowing for example? I very much doubt it. Why do we here just pander so much to the whinging minority… I don’t get it.
In the Welsh borough of Torfaen where I come from, and where most of my family live, 480 people have died of COVID. It’s not even a county, it’s a small area. 480 people… twenty fives times the number that have died in the whole country of Singapore ( 29 to date ).

You couldn’t make it up.

As we live in this increasingly vocabulary sterilised world, where the list of banned ‘non PC ‘ words lengthens each day, so that by the time I’m 60 I shan’t be able to say anything at all without being offensive to someone ( and thinking ‘Lordy the poor youth of today growing up to only say the right thing ‘ .. it was with great delight that I heard one of my girlfriend’s ( educationally privileged ) children say to the other one … ( wait for it ..)

‘God I knew you were dumb… but I didn’t realise you were a FULLY CERTIFIED SPACKER !’

It seems that there IS hope for non PC exchanges after all !
The Resistance may yet win the day… who knows!?

And now ( obviously ) I keep saying it! 😂🤦‍♂️

https://www.walesonline.co.uk/sport/rugby/rugby-news/ray-prosser-pontypool-wales-dies-19326700

And if Pontypool had a cathedral then this man’s funeral would be held in it. The pews would be full, the aisles would be full, the roads leading to it would be lined with mourners, and the tears shed would swell the Afon Lwyd ( the river that runs through Pontypool).

The hymns sung would not raise the rafters, they’d blow the roof right off and send it into orbit.

And I don’t exaggerate, not in the slightest.
That mass funerals aren’t currently allowed hasn’t affected anyone’s funeral in Britain as much as it will affect Pross’s.

I had the honour of playing for the team under him, and can remember his voice and his smile like it was yesterday.