Under the Affluence of Incohol

 

I feel now is the right time to share another precious memory of my late friend Barry, see the background link for more. No special occasion, anniversary etc; I just find myself in the mood right now. This occurrence took place in 2003 during the Rugby World Cup. I went to Barry's house to watch the quarter final match loaded down with a few bottles of "Old Git", a popular red wine we used to imbibe during TV sports. By the end of the game those bottles were gone and Wales had lost 28-17; and lost to England to add insult to injury. (England famously went on to win the Webb-Ellis Trophy that year.) We were both in a dismal mood as I left the house Barry shared with his wife and stepson to make my way home. Then I did something rather strange. To this day I can't recall exactly why I made the decision, probably from my sadness mixed with drunkenness, but I chose to travel home a rather unusual way. Barry lived in Cutteslowe, a district in the far north of Oxford. Dissecting the city from north to south is the River Cherwell, a tributary of the Thames/Isis. Instead of heading for Banbury Road to catch a bus or walk down the pavement into town, I headed for the Cherwell in the hope of walking down its bank into the city. I knew that there was a path along the river bank from where the river reached the University Parks. The problem was, I had no idea if there was any pedestrian route of any description between there and Cutteslowe. Before I had walked less than an hour I discovered that there was not; but being very stubborn and determined, I kept going. I struggled through some rather muddy pastures being eyed up by some very intimidating bulls and eventually came to a stream flowing into the Cherwell from the left, the side I was walking. It wasn't a wide stream, maybe a dozen feet; therefore I conjectured that it must be fairly shallow. I decided to wade across it; after all I had come that far and would rather get wet feet than walk all the way back. So I strode out into the water, and discovered that it was much deeper than it looked. Its bed was soft and so I sank in up to my waist. I struggled back onto the bank I'd just left gasping with cold and shock. This was November and the water was freezing. I had no choice now, but to walk back the way I had come, all the way upriver to Cutteslowe. I tried to call Barry and tell him what had happened, but my mobile phone was in my trouser pocket and therefore had been submerged and ruined. I got back to Barry's house about an hour later freezing and dripping. He lent me a spare pair of trousers and allowed me to use his landline to call home. My daughter, aged eight at the time, was a bit worried because nobody had heard from me for about two hours and she was expecting me home. Barry couldn't stop laughing! I knew he would see the funny side of it. I couldn't share his amusement at the time, but did a while later, on reflection. The thing is, Barry never let me forget it. At Christmas his present to me was a rambler's guidebook with a footpath atlas, and... a pair of water-wings! The card read: "Dear Ben. Happy Christmas and I hope this will be of use the next time you go walking while under the affluence of incohol!"
See here for background: https://hpanwo-hpwa.blogspot.com/2022/11/finding-barrys-grave.html.

Hospital Grim Reaper

 

Luckily not a real one this time, like we the example we've discussed before, see: https://hpanwo-hpwa.blogspot.com/2021/12/hospital-pm-scares.html. This time it was an ordinary human being, a man called Leon Gillespie. He decided it would be amusing to climb onto the roof of the Glan Clwyd Hospital in Bodelwyddan, Wales dressed as the Grim Reaper, wearing a black cowl, a mask and carrying a scythe. He stood above the emergency entrance glaring at patients as they were brought in. Gillespie, from the nearby coastal town on Deganwy, was arrested after four police cars and a fire engine arrived; that's more than usually attend a serious on-site crime or fire. He was arrested and pleaded guilty in Llandudno Magistrates Court to causing a nuisance or disturbance on National Health Service premises without a reasonable excuse; and also refusing to leave when directed to by the police and NHS security. He was fined £200. He declined to comment on his motive. The Betsi Cadwaladr University Health Board made a brief statement to express their outrage. They stated that they maintain a "zero-tolerance approach to abuse, aggression or nuisance on all their hospital sites." They have a "commitment to protecting patients, staff and visitors from disruptive or distressing behaviour." (I doubt that!) I can just see the school-marmish scowls on their faces. Source: https://metro.co.uk/2026/08/05/man-dressed-grim-reaper-climbed-onto-hospital-roof-stared-patients-29302265/. I don't know who exactly Leon Gillespie is, but I must say when I first heard about this story my por-dar was bleeping like a faulty alarm clock. I understand that some people might find this prank rather inappropriate, but it is unfortunately another of those moments when I have to force myself not to laugh. People who serve in our hospitals do develop a dark sense of humour as a defence mechanism, see: https://hpanwo-hpwa.blogspot.com/2026/07/they-wont-all-get-your-jokes.html and: https://hpanwo-hpwa.blogspot.com/2022/11/i-really-shouldnt-laugh.html. However that particular form of gallows humour is not shared by the administration... in fact no sense of humour at all can be found anywhere within their parochial and bumptious souls... at least among the minority who haven't sold them.

A Question...

 

Have you ever felt something that I always have: There is a secret. Everybody knows it except me. Everybody else is conspiring to keep it from me; alternatively I'm the only person in the world who cannot comprehend it. When I think about this, I picture myself asking my old telephonist friend Barry about it, see: https://hpanwo-hpwa.blogspot.com/2022/11/finding-barrys-grave.html. I'm not sure how he would reply. I don't think I'm suffering from paranoia; I think it's more having an eccentric personality in a large institution; and the NHS is the world's third biggest employer, after India Railways and the People's Liberation Army of China. Conformism and convention are an unspoken essential in such an institution. I sometimes heard a particular question asked when people's names were mentioned: "Is he normal?" The individuals who asked and answered those questions never defined exactly what was meant by the word normal and I actually wonder if they even could. It's one of those "it just is" things; and in fact that is another hospital catchphrase. Maybe it's just human nature. We are a social species and so certain codes of behaviour are essential to cooperate with others, but there are two problems with that theory. The first is that the most important code for social creatures is natural law. This refers to laws present in all human societies without which no human community could function. They include a prohibition against murder, the unlawful ending of another's life; theft of another's property and harm done to their person, unlawful assault. Natural law is not confined to humans. A wolf that broke natural law would be driven away by the rest of the pack. However, the NHS is a rare aberration. Servicepeople who do harm to others, even patients, are tolerated as much as possible. In fact the establishment accommodates them desperately for as long as they can, literally until the national statue law intervenes, see: https://hpanwo-hpwa.blogspot.com/2015/05/killer-nurses.html. That brings us on to the second problem. At the same time, servicepeople who respect natural law, and even NHS regulations, but also exhibit harmless nonconformist behaviour are swiftly eliminated; for example people who make comedy videos are mopped up within eight days, see: https://hpanwo-hpwa.blogspot.com/2025/01/thirteen-years-on.html. For this reason it is obvious that from the very start my career in HPing was doomed. If they hadn't kicked me out in 2012 they would have found a way to do it soon afterwards based on another pretext. Deep down I always sensed it. I used to say many times to my partner-at-the-time Susan, whom I called the night I was suspended; sentences that included: "... when they sack me." Not "if". "when". I think this is the secret.