There was more than one lobster at the birth of Jesus?

Well, here we are on the last Sunday of 2022. It is, of course also Christmas Day. Christmas Day falling on a Sunday is a pretty unusual event. I wonder if any of my readers can remember the last time Christmas Day fell on a Sunday – the last time was in 2016. In fact, in the entire time I have been writing my Sunday blogs, Christmas Day has only fallen twice before on a Sunday – 2011 and 2016.

After many years of hosting Christmas and Boxing Day celebrations for my family, this year, ours will be a quiet Christmas, spent on our own. That said, we started to celebrate Christmas with our family before this weekend and will do so again after today. I like to think about it as an extended family party.

Of course, Christmas isn’t just about having a party. In our own ways, J and I have a faith that celebrates Christmas as an important Christian holiday. The nativity plays an important part in the Christian liturgical year. To us the birth of Jesus is much more than a Christmas story to be depicted in a school play, a nativity manger scene or on a Christmas card. The best description of the nativity I’ve heard in a while was last week’s Radio 4 programme, Moving Pictures, which featured Sandro Botticelli’s painting the Mystic Nativity. If you have 30 minutes to spare, have a listen here. The importance of the birth of Jesus was something reinforced by our long-awaited pilgrimage to the Holy Land this year, which included a visit to Bethlehem. It was a very special and spiritual trip.

One of the things often seen in most nativity manger scenes are the biblical Magi – more commonly known as the three wise men (or Kings). They were said to have travelled far to bring gifts to baby Jesus after his birth. And of course, the giving of gifts is an important part of Christmas whatever your beliefs. It is something I love to do, and I will buy gifts for folk all through the year ready to give out at Christmas. For some reason, last year, J and I decided not to give presents to each other.

However, last Christmas Day, J seemed rather disappointed so it’s not something we are repeating this year*. The experience reminded me of another Christmas story, The Gift of the Magi by William Porter (better known by his pen name O. Henry). It is a familiar story. A young married couple give up something that is very special to each of them in order to buy the other something they might find precious. The girl sells her long hair in order to buy a chain for her husband’s pocket watch. The husband sells his pocket watch in order to buy a set of ornamental combs for his wife’s long hair. Thus, the gifts they bought for each other cannot, at that moment in time, be used. However, they both know how far they went to show their love for each other, and just how invaluable their love truly is.

Which is a great place to leave my last blog of 2022. I shall be watching my favourite Christmas film Love Actually later. After my number 1 favourite quote from the film ‘There was more than one lobster at the birth of Jesus?’ (I’m sure those with children or grandchildren will know what this means) I do like ‘I have a sneaky feeling, that if you look for it, you’ll find that love is actually all around’. Given the troubled times of the last year, let’s hope folk everywhere can share more love and less hate in 2023. Happy Christmas everyone!

 

*There are presents under our Christmas tree, which will be opened later.

Moving through the Sliding Doors of Parallel Realities

Well last week was certainly a funny one. At times I felt completely divorced from one reality, although totally immersed in another. It reminded me of that film ‘Sliding Doors’. Last week I was pleased to be able to honour all the tireless volunteers who give their efforts freely week in week out at our Trust, by helping serve many of them with a delicious festive feast, alongside our Chief Exec Karen. Disappointingly the unstinting support of these hundreds of folk and their desire to make a difference for patients and families didn’t make any of the weekend papers.

Last Sunday the news was full of the French football team knocking us out of the World Cup. Not that I paid much attention. There are far more important things in the world to be concerned about than football. I won’t be watching the match later on today either. I don’t sit in the camp that thinks the Qatar World Cup has been a great success. I suppose it depends on how you view the event, but I don’t think it was successful from any perspective. The regime is still oppressive, uncaring, and as we saw last week, with the revelations from Brussels, still corrupt.  

I shall instead, be celebrating Christmas at an annual Christmas get together with friends and colleagues from University and NHS times. They are mainly nurses, and folk who have been nurses for a long time, both in practice and in education. We are all feel immensely privileged to have been part of a profession that has a long tradition of compassion and kindness. Coincidently one of the other things I was proud to be part of last week was presenting long service awards to a group of my colleagues who collectively, had contributed some 2610 years of service to the NHS. Each one of my colleagues had worked at least 30 or 40 years in the NHS, absolutely amazing. And so last week I was saddened by the nurses’ day of industrial action. Although no nurses from my Trust or indeed, any NHS trust across Greater Manchester took part in the industrial action, I felt it was a sad day for the profession.

That said, I have every sympathy with those nurses who feel that they have no option but to take industrial action in order to get something more substantial than a Thursday clap to demonstrate the way society, and our government value the profession. As I have noted before, a 19% pay award is probably unachievable, but that should not be a reason not to keep talking and find a way forward.

Mind you, I don’t have, and never have had, any time for the Royal College of Nursing (RCN). I have long thought they have lost their way. Robert Carr’s recently published report into the RCN, which revealed a bullying, and misogynistic culture and a senior leadership team that was ‘riddled with division, dysfunction and distrust’ would seem to bear out my view. I think partly my issue with the RCN stems from the apparent confusion that exists between their role as a trade union and a professional body.  

I have never been a member of the RCN, so my observations are made from afar. Nonetheless, that doesn’t make them any the less worth considering. Likewise, I have never been a member of, or an employee of, the World Health Organisation (WHO), but that won’t stop me from commenting on an announcement they made last week. It concerned the appointment of two new employees, Dr Jeremy Farrar, the new Chief Scientist and Dr Amelia Tuipulotu the new Chief Nursing Officer. What I found interesting was the way the WHO described the two roles.

For example, Dr Farrar was described as bringing together the best minds in science and innovation from around the world to develop and deliver high quality health services to the people who need them most. On the other hand, Dr Tuipulotu was described as someone who will champion, nurture and support nurses and midwives to ensure their skills and experience are being well utilised to strengthen health systems and to bolster their critical role in bringing patients, communities and national health systems together.

So far so good perhaps. It was when the WHO Director-General, Dr Tedros Ghebreyesus spoke that I began to wonder. He described these appointments as: ‘As Chief Scientist, Jeremy will accelerate our efforts to ensure WHO, its Member States and our partners benefit from cutting-edge, life-saving science and innovation. As Chief Nursing Officer, Amelia will ignite the all-important need not only to fill the gap in health workers worldwide, but also ensure they receive the support they need and deserve’. Somehow these descriptions seemed somewhat unbalanced and for me, disappointing in the way the nursing profession was being described in comparison to the practice and place of science in the world.

Of course, we all saw the benefit of the work of both groups during the Covid pandemic, and the WHO as a ‘global organisation for good’ continues to make a difference to so many people worldwide. And if you fancy working for the WHO, you can apply here. The other thing we benefited from during the pandemic was the ease of online shopping. I read with amusement the news that Amazon workers in Coventry have voted to go on strike. They are doing so for the same reasons as the nurses, and it’s not just about money. Once again, I felt I was entering through the sliding doors of a parallel reality where striking Amazon workers would be viewed as more important to us all than striking nurses. For all our sakes, I hope not.

Float like a butterfly - touching connections

It was in 1963 that the meteorologist and mathematician, Edward Lorenz first started to use the analogy of the butterfly effect to explain chaos theory. Despite apparent chaos, everything is connected. So, something that happens in one part of the world could result in an impact somewhere else in the world. The example often cited is that if a butterfly flaps its wings in Africa, it results in a storm across Europe. Of course, in real life the proposition is slightly more complex than in this popular usage. For me, I have always used it in my supervisory relationships with my PhD students to help them track connections between phenomena and outcomes. Over the last 13 years of writing this blog, I have enjoyed making similar connections in the telling of my stories. This week is no exception. I am going to start these connections by mentioning my dad.

My dad is 93. He’s having a hard time right now. My mum is living with dementia and the strain on their 69 year old relationship is difficult to witness and to be part of. They live in Wales, but across the whole of the UK, the number of people living with dementia is estimated at more than 850,000. Each case is a tragedy for the individual and their family. It is said there are 540,000 carers of people living with dementia in England. The impact on the carers’ lives cannot be underestimated. Many will be family members. As the impact of dementia becomes more challenging as the disease inevitably progresses, so the demand on families to support those living with dementia grows.

Our family is no different to millions of others, and I am very grateful for all that my brothers and sisters do to support my parents. Given we are spread all over the world, it is truly amazing. We are, nevertheless, reaching the point where the support needs to shift more to professional input and there are some difficult decisions that we need to help my dad work through.

I was pondering this last week when Radio Four reported the death of George ‘Jonny’ Johnson, at the age of 101. George was the last surviving member of the 617 squadron. For younger readers, this was the squadron that was formed to destroy the Mohne, Eder and Sorpe dams in the Rhur Valley which powered the German war production factories during the Second World War. Unsurprisingly, perhaps, the 617 squadron was called the Dam Buster squadron, and no, my dad was not involved. George was just 21 years old when he took part in the 1943 operation, which famously involved the Barnes Wallis’s experimental ‘bouncing’ bombs.

The attack, which was successful, was carried out on 16th May 1943. 19 planes were lost, 53 men died and three were captured. Interestingly the film, ‘The Dam Busters’ was first shown in British cinemas on 16th May 1955. I doubt my dad went to see it, as I had been born less than 24 hours previously. However, it was one of the first films I remember my dad taking me to see at the cinema. Whilst I can’t remember much about the film, the memory of my dad taking me to watch it, is very strong.

Likewise, in July 2018, I was at the live ‘The Wall’ concert, performed by Roger Waters (Pink Floyd) which was a feast of great music, wonderful lighting effects and of course the building of a vast wall in the arena. Samples from the ‘Dam Busters’ film were projected on to the wall as it was being created and eventually destroyed. The Roger Waters concert was at what was then called the MEN arena – now called AO Arena. We were due to go to this venue next week to see Rod Stewart – sadly, due to the train strikes we can’t get there and have had to sell our tickets. I have been a long-time fan of Rod and have seen him many times, the last time being at the Lytham Festival in 2019 where I was gifted VIP tickets. It is disappointing not to be able to see him one last time. Of course, the train strikes are just one of many threatened or planned strikes occurring over the next few weeks

It does seem as if we are heading for a Winter of Discontent once again. I well remember the first one in 1978/79. The winter weather that year was also severe, the coldest for many years. Many different private and public sector organisations also went or threatened to go on strike. Then as today, rail, transport, grave diggers, dustbin-men and even the ambulance service took prolonged industrial action bringing huge disruption to many people across the UK. There is another interesting connection to those times, occurring today.

The Royal College of Nursing voted at their conference in January 1979 to ask for the pay of nurses to be raised to the same level in real terms as 1974, which would have been a 25% pay rise. On the 22nd of that month, many public sector unions, including several nurses, took part in a ‘Day of Action’ – a 24 hour strike and protest march. David Ennals, the then Secretary of State for Health and Social Services reported that 1,100 of the 2,300 NHS hospitals were only treating emergencies. Patients with cancer had their essential treatment delayed and/or even stopped. It was a torrid time, and like the war in Ukraine, I never thought it might happen once again in my lifetime. Ironically, the first winter of discontent saw the Conservatives take power, and Mrs Thatcher, the first UK female Prime Minister, began her 11-year premiership. However, I predict despite the connections with history, this is an unlikely outcome for the Conservative Party following this winter of discontent. Sadly, for my mum and dad, and many others like them, it is also likely to mean that they won’t get the timely response they need from health and social care services.

Christmas is not just a story of hope; it is hope

Last Thursday, just like that, we slipped into December and Christmas loomed large on the horizon. I’m not sure where 2022 went. It feels to have been a mere blink of an eye since I was writing about my #earlyrisersclub friend Kenny Gibson getting his MBE and me enjoying walking on our beach. Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised at how fast the year has flown past. Much has happened, and continues to happen that we simply weren’t expecting. The most poignant, sad and evil event, was of course, the invasion of Ukraine. It happened just 53 days after I posted that first 2022 blog. It is a truly devastating war; a war that has now lasted 284 days and which shows no sign of ending.

There were a few occasions last week when I stopped and thought about the devastation, the destruction and the complete disregard for human rights that the war has brought to the lives of the Ukrainian people. For example, last Wednesday I was, for the second time, outside in the bitter cold, up a ladder, fingers and ears numb with the biting arctic wind, putting up Christmas lights. I had done it once already this year with what I thought were stunning coloured lights, lights that slowly changed colour and almost made the house glow.

I found myself up the ladder again for a second time as J had reminded me that she really only liked white lights. I grew frustrated that my cold fingers were making the task twice as long and cursed J for not telling me her preference before I put the first lot of lights up. 

But I had a sudden thought about the folk in Ukraine, where life was already becoming more miserable and unbearable because of the fast approaching winter weather. I wondered if families there were getting ready for Christmas and what Christmas would be like for them? My cold hands and grumpy thoughts paled into insignificance in just thinking about what they are going through. 

Mind you, Friday morning I woke up in what felt like to me as the coldest bedroom I had ever slept in. The previous evening I had attended the #PennineCarePeople awards celebration held in the centre of Manchester. I was pleased to have been invited by my Pennine Care NHS FT colleagues and the night was a huge success. It was a celebration of both great team working and innovation, with a sprinkling of the downright quirky too. The evening was hosted by the Paralympian Gold medallist, Aaron Phipps, a very humorous and courageous person. His story was humbling. Knowing I would probably have a glass or two of wine with my meal, I booked a room in a nearby hotel.

My choice of hotel was influenced by price. Big mistake! At one time the hotel must have been a grand place, but sadly had fallen into both disrepute, and disrepair. The queue for check-in moved at a snail’s pace, taking well over 25 minutes to get to the front desk. My room was on the 6th floor, the lift only went to the 5th floor. Not the greatest of starts. And the room was cold. There was a radiator, but no way of controlling the heat. It was off. Ever the optimist, I assumed things would get better, so I changed and made my way to the award celebrations.

On my return, I was glad I had drunk those couple of glasses of wine, as the room felt like a morgue. It was freezing cold. There was no-one on reception and no-one answered the room phone. So reluctantly I got undressed and got into bed. Despite the cold, and possibly thanks to those aforementioned glasses of wine, I did manage to fall asleep. In the morning I awoke shivering. I thought a lovely hot shower would warm me up, but alas, like the lift, the hot water didn’t quite make it up to the 6th floor.

I had been somewhere similar before. I once lived in rural Wales. I had a smallholding and we lived in a very old farm cottage. Whilst the large kitchen felt the benefit from a Rayburn cooking range, the rest of the cottage had no heating at all. In winter, the insides of the windows would freeze up and the children would sleep under mountains of quilts. It was always a relief to rush downstairs and get warm in front of the Rayburn in the morning.

As I sat nursing a hot cup of tea in that hotel room, I wondered how many children in Ukraine would be waking up to a cold house, with no electricity or hot running water. Likewise, as we experience the first real frosts of the year, I wondered how many children and families in the UK would also be waking up to a cold house each day. Of course, we are not caught up in the realities of a war, but the ‘heat or eat’ dilemma is becoming a reality for an increasing number of UK folk. In the North West it is estimated that over 500,000 households are in fuel poverty. It is a number that is bound to grow as our winter draws in.

There are no easy answers. At one level we keep all those caught up in conflicts around the world in our thoughts and prayers. More practically, we look out for our neighbours where we can. Everyone welcomes the chance to sit in a warm room, have a cup of something hot and a chat. We keep adding those charity food bags to our shopping trolley, and although it may not be much, we hope it helps. When we asked our children if there was anything they wanted for Christmas, two of them asked for logs. They have wood-burning fires, but the cost of logs, like everything else, has soared over the past few months. Accidently, but as it turns out, fortuitously, I bought two years’ worth of logs in the spring, so have plenty of logs to give as gifts. And that’s where this blog ends. For all my grumbles, moans and frustrations, I know I have much to be grateful for. And for that I thank all those who have so generously helped me in my life. Now’s the time to find ways to help others wherever we can.