My First Weekly Column 🤦‍♂️

Which will probably appear every few months…..maybe

My only “Substack Buddy” (as in friend who also shares her disconnected jottings on this erstwhile platform) recently asked me how many words I usually write when I’m creating these verbose thoughts. This took me a little by surprise. Was there an unspoken hidden criticism there - I’d like to think that we’re close enough for her to tell me to my face….but you never know, us artistic types can be easily wounded.

My writing style is akin to that of a tap on a sink. Decide what you want to write (fill a bucket). Sit down, write (turn tap on full) fear that you’ve bored your weary readers enough already (turn off tap as bucket full) then a little tweaking here and there (tap has got a dodgy washer and dripping rather a lot even when turned off).

Photo by Kartikay Sharma on Unsplash

My friend (blatant plug time, OK BOOMER) explained that she always strived for 1000 words with difficulty containing herself sometimes (🤦‍♂️), that got me thinking about the grown ups - the peeps that write for a living and get told by some grizzled editor to “give me 3,000 words by lunchtime..and make it snappy” Particularly important when you’re being paid by the word and writing about different species of fish…….

So many “Star Columnists” rely on an interesting retelling of what has happened to them in their mundane life in the previous few days, with possible embellishments, that I thought I’d give it a try…..(but without any embellishing- it’s early days) fasten your seatbelt …here we go.

There’s always one mirror in the house that you really don’t want to look at yourself in, especially if you’ve got your spectacles on. For me it’s the downstairs loo. I look at my reflection in the self adhesive Ikea mirror tiles (in my defence I needed something pronto when we moved in and their width two across matched the tiles width perfectly) and see this rather elderly old chap peering at me with a beard that has definitely got more salt than pepper in it nowadays. And in spite of my religiously applying L’Oreal SPF face cream daily (because I’m SO worth it) the skin on my face not covered by facial hair sometimes reminds me of the Sea of Tranquility on the moon.

Photo by Adam Kolmacka on Unsplash

My beard celebrates its 50th Birthday this August. I grew it whilst staying near Duras in SW France whilst on a family holiday with my then girlfriend, (who has since became the first Mrs Sainsbury- I like to keep her on her toes) as a callow teenager. I said that if I grew a beard I’d never shave it off and I never have. It’s got longer and shorter over the years, but my chin (probably multiple chins now) has never seen the light of day since August 1975. Incidentally, my future Father in Law also grew one at the same time. He was in his mid 50s then and I remember he was mortified that his beard grew grey…but at least it grew, I was pasting garden fertiliser on mine for many months to try and get it to fill in the gaps, but my patience was eventually rewarded.

I’m undecided as to how to celebrate this august occasion (see what I did there…august/August!) as I’ll be in SW France for August this year. Possibly a pilgrimage back to Duras, it’s quite close to our French home and the wines are toothsome, but I’m also diverting to Edinburgh for a few days to perform at the Fringe (have I told you about the time…..) so it may be that I’ll celebrate one beard birthday with my Choir gang and then again when back in France. The biggest problem is knowing what present to buy for a beard that already has everything he needs…

A few years ago I was walking round the corner to my home after visiting the hospital for a Blood test. It was raining and I had my umbrella raised. As I was walking along the pavement a chap came towards me with his umbrella raised too. I went to the road side of the pavement and tilted my umbrella away, the approaching chap went towards the inside and did the same with his umbrella - it was going to work, Then, just as he was beside me he keeled over into the bushes. It became apparent very quickly that he was not well.

I won’t dwell, but I dialled 999, stayed with the gentleman until medics arrived, then the police, then the road was closed. I gave my details to the Police and eventually walked home whilst the poor chap was still in the back of the Ambulance as the Paramedics tried to do what they could to save him. I felt hopeless and helpless as I had never had any First Aid training. The next day a neighbour who had witnessed all of this told me that the chap hadn’t made it. I went into a depression thinking that it was my fault as I was unable to help him as the first person on the scene.

Then about three weeks later there was a knock on our front door. Sue opened it and a lady and gentleman asked if I lived there. Sue called me and as I walked to the front door I knew that something special was about to happen. It was the man that I thought had died. He’d obviously pulled through made enquiries and wanted to thank me for what I’d done for him. Henceforth he has become known as Lazarus to me and it was due to him that last week, eventually, I found myself attending a First Aid Course on CPR and Defibrillator training.

I was gripped as I listened and watched all of the instructions. Very impressed to find out that every defibrillator has a pair of scissors and a razor included in the pack, one to cut away the clothing and the other to shave the skin where you attach the terminals. Any body piercings in the area where you’re going to be trying to save a life have to be removed. Note to self -maybe those Nipple Rings to celebrate my 70th in 18 months may not be such a good idea.

Photo by Alexandre Brondino on Unsplash

I now carry a card regarding my wishes about Organ donation, Resuscitation and my Wine requirements together with a special one asking any attending people to NOT use scissors on my clothes to remove them - they’re obviously too precious for that and although still fully bearded on my face I’m now considering some daily shaving topiary on my RH collarbone area and LH further down and over a bit that Sue and I are still arguing about exactly where it is, so that the terminals shall make the best possible contact in the event of…….

So there you have it. I haven’t a clue how many words that is, but I’d be very grateful If you can let me know where to send the invoice Rupert……

Next week I plan on putting the bins out and possibly doing a little light weeding and trimming…watch this space.