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Today, it could be any day but it happened to be today, I did too much. Our garden shed / pavilion / bar needed a bit of electrical attention. I installed some temporary electrical switches when we bought the hot tub and I thought it’s time to do the job properly . So 17 years later I ordered the following 3 items;
1 x Metalclad 3 Gang 2 Way Rocker Switch
1 x Metalclad 13A 1 Gang Double Pole Fused Spur
1 x Metalclad 45A 1 Gang Double Pole Rocker with Red Neon
Yesterday I decided to do the long awaited job and today I decided I would try to finish it. I failed.
After working away At the job for about 30 minutes I started to feel decidedly crappy but I chose to push on. After working away for about an hour I realised I’d done too much. I swiftly dropped my tools, made sure everything was safe, shut the doors and returned to the house. I know when I’ve done too much, I begin to shake, my hands tremble, only a little bit but uncontrollably tremble, I feel sick and I desperately need to sit down or fall down (whichever comes first). The job's not finished yet.
I blame my parents, it’s all their fault. They always did too much. But back in the day doing too much was a way of life for most if not all of our parents. In relative terms they were poor and we're rich. We throw away things they aspired to own. We squander time our parents never had. I know I’m painting with a broad brush here but that’s what it seems like to me.
Be under no illusions, I don't think we had a poor childhood but by today’s standards I think working class families in the 60s all lived in relative poverty. Bugle, when I was growing up, was a veritable metrolopis (careful with that spelling). Our fast food outlet was Deacon's fish and chip van. I presume this van (trailer) moved around the clay villages. It was owned and run by Mr Dow who also had a grocery shop in Bugle. The village also showed it’s cosmopolitan credentials by having a Greek Restaurant, The Athenium owned by Mr Kent. I remember having fish and chips from Mr Deacon's van. That sort of meal must have been pretty inexpensive back then because there were 7 of us. I think the choice was peas or no peas, cod or rock salmon. Today, 7 standard cod and small chips, no peas at Holmbush Fish Bar (I looked up the prices) costs more than £50! As far as the restaurant was concerned I remember going there once. I even remember what I ate. I had the mixed grill. It must have been a pretty special occasion.
Now we live in a nation of chubsters. We’re told we need to curb the amount of fast food we eat. If a sign of affluence is obesity then as a country we’ve become pretty affluent. I wouldn’t be surprised if skinny kids are teased at school rather than the porky ones.
Mind you porking up is pretty easy. Throughout the winter my exercise regime has become non-existent, my stamina has started to become an issue, my feet are mostly sore and uncomfortable, to walk is sometimes painful and I'm either looking for something to eat, to take the chemo taste away (yes it’s a thing) or I’ve got the munchies without the recreational drugs. I’ve definitely porked up a bit but I’m probably in good company.
My mobility has become a real issue. Our garden isn't big but I'm aware of how breathless I am when I walk to the top, even the stairs puff me out a bit. So, if after about 20 meters I’m becoming breathless and my feet hurt when I walk, I thought I might be eligible for a Blue Badge so I’ve applied. There ain't many cancer gains, perhaps this’ll be one. If I get one I’ll be officially recognised as decrepit. Watch this space.
If the onset of decrepitude is my future then that brings challenges of it's own. I still need to maintain my health as well as I can. So I’ll still shuffle around a bit. Maybe, if I walk a bit, perhaps I’ll be able to walk a lot. It’s far better to challenge myself rather than to capitulate to cancer.
So I suppose I'll continue to do too much because the alternative is to do too little.
And doing too little just isn't in my genes.