A New Year gift

Would you like a New Year gift?      

I can think of nothing better to offer you than the heart-warming, short video I received at Christmas.
But, before sharing the link, let me explain why its message is so relevant at the present time . . . and why you should watch it.

Last November, an article entitled: 'Twenty-two animals that are in danger of disappearing forever' appeared in the 'Insider' magazine.   

Taking into account the vast number of species  that we've already lost, it made sobering reading.  In addition to providing details of the creatures on its list, the article offered convincing explanations as to why this calamity is predictable.

You won't be surprised to learn that we humans are largely to blame.  Conveniently forgetting the fact that we share ninety-nine per cent of our DNA with chimpanzees, we would appear to suffer from the delusion that we are infinitely more important than every other living species on the planet.

Over recent years, for reasons that include population explosion, climate change and sheer greed, we have invaded and destroyed countless previously untouched habitats.  In so doing, we have thoughtlessly laid waste to the homes and sustenance of the birds, mammals, fish, insects and plants that lived there.

Do you see this Malayan tiger cub?
Threatened by road development and logging operations, there are now less than three hundred of these superb creatures left in the world.
And, tell me, when did you last see a hedgehog . . . or hear a cuckoo?

What we under-estimate to our cost is not only the right to life of every species, but also the unique importance, beauty and intelligence of each of our fellow creatures . . . qualities that permeate the animal kingdom from the smallest fish to the largest mammal.

But could we be coming to our senses?
I'm delighted to say that there's some good news to start the New Year.

In 1972 the Arabian oryx was declared 'extinct in the wild'.  In 1982 a small herd was taken from a zoo and re-introduced into the Arabian desert where it has now established itself.  No longer officially 'extinct', the Arabian oryx was last year classified as 'vulnerable'.

In a similar instance, the efforts to reintroduce the Asian zebra, known as the kulan, to central Kazakhstan,  are proving equally successful.

And there's more good news . . . in a rather unlikely collaboration, nuns at a convent in Mexico are currently working on a joint conservation project with Chester Zoo.

Their mutual aim is to rescue the fabled axoloti, a Mexican salamander, from the polluted waters of the local lake and thereby save it from extinction.   Under the guidance of the zoo, the nuns have saved the remaining salamander and, as you can see in this photo, are now breeding them successfully in the convent.

Nor is that all . . .  there's good reason to celebrate in Madagascar.  The rarest bird in the world, once thought to be extinct, is a species of duck called the Madagascar pochard.

After being successfully reared at The Slimbridge Wetlands Centre in Gloucestershire, the last twenty-five of the species were taken to their home country in time for the New Year, and are now happily re-established on Lake Sofia.


All of which brings me to the New Year gift I promised you.

As I've told you before, my cat, Chloe, 'works' as a therapy cat for the Pets As Therapy charity.
Whilst visiting the nursing home, her capricious and exuberant nature is transformed.  On arrival she becomes compliant and caring . . . recognising and responding to the needs of each patient she visits.
Empathy, care, sensitivity, intuition . . .  characteristics that the animal kingdom possesses in abundance.

You'd like proof?  Then it's time to open your gift.

Click here . . . and may it be a happy, non-threatening New Year for all life on Earth.

What can we do?

A thought occurred to me recently, it's one that may well have occurred to you.

What struck me was the question of priorities .  . .   are our current priorities what they should be?
In our blinkered obsession with the ramifications of Brexit, are we ignoring factors that are far more important?

Rather like the voyagers on the 'Titanic', are we concentrating on the collapsing deckchairs and ignoring the looming iceberg?

To show you what I mean, let's reflect on what's happened to our environment over the past few weeks.

Paradise, a town in California, has been reduced to ashes by forest fires.  Unprecedented dust-storms have created chaos in China.
In Australia, equally unprecedented bush fires in Queensland have caused thousands to evacuate their homes;  whilst, after receiving its average monthly rainfall within an hour, Sydney has experienced critical flash flooding.

Nor have we escaped in Europe.  Amongst many similar incidents elsewhere, Vienna, Rome and Paris have all experienced serious flooding, whilst storms have caused havoc on Sicily.

Added to this, the UN has just announced that, after four years of steady decline, the levels of carbon dioxide and methane in the atmosphere have risen significantly.

And what is this rise ascribed to?
In large part, it seems that we are to blame.  Not just for our prolific use of fossil fuels, but also for our love of meat and dairy products
 . . . every day, so we are told, the cattle on our farms emit six hundred litres of methane into the atmosphere.


But, take heart, there is also some good news to share.  Namely, that there are many ways in which we can offset these critical problems.
Our actions have created this crisis, it's our actions that are needed to prevent it from getting worse.

Let's consider what can we do.

According to the European Commission, if global aviation was a country, it would rank in the top ten emitters, which is a sobering thought.   However, in response to this announcement, two undaunted Swedish mothers took positive action.   They have already persuaded ten thousand people to commit to taking no flights in the coming year, and called their initiative 'No-fly 2019'.

Perhaps we could follow their example?

Then there's the question of our diet . . . what we eat is paramount to saving the environment.

Our excessive consumption of meat is the prime factor.  If this can be dramatically reduced, and we can ensure that the other components of our diet are grown locally, or have traveled a relatively short distance, this would make a substantial difference.


Out of curiosity, when preparing the vegetables for lunch today, I looked at the details on the packaging.
It came as a shock to discover that the asparagus was from Peru, the broccoli from Kenya, and the beans from Guatemala . . . only the mushrooms were British.

I'm sure I don't need to add that, in order to reduce the carbon dioxide in the atmosphere, we must seize every opportunity to plant trees, encourage the installation of solar panels, and support the vigorous campaign against fracking.

And breakthroughs are occurring all the time.  A recent encouraging discovery has shown that, by mixing powdered rock into the soil, the amount of carbon dioxide absorbed by the plants growing in that soil is markedly increased.

This coming Monday, the UN Framework Convention on Climate Change will meet in Poland.  The delegates will have much to consider before circulating their conclusions to the waiting world.


But, let's take heart.
As we've outlined, we can curb our flights . . . change our diet . . . plant trees . . . install solar panels . . . oppose fracking . . . mix powdered rock into the soil . . . and face up to the reality of the situation that confronts us.

And, yes, you're right . . . we haven't even mentioned our plastic-strewn oceans, or the planet's endangered wildlife.

It certainly puts Brexit into perspective.

Which world shall we choose?

A few days ago, in an office block not far from where I live, two people were badly injured in a knife attack.  The police were called, the surrounding roads cordoned off, and the injured rushed to a nearby hospital.

I'm thankful to say that they both fully recovered.
However, as I learned recently, violent crime in this country has risen by forty-nine per cent in the past year.  As I write, two teenagers died of stab-wounds on London's streets in the past twenty-four hours.

What's happening to our world?
Over the past week, thousands have been marching in Pakistan, baying for the blood of a Christian woman accused of blasphemy.   Whilst, in the United States, along with the horrific tragedy at the Pittsburgh synagogue, there's been the active fostering of fear and anger on the subject of immigration, all part of the build-up to the mid-term elections.

But, before we allow ourselves to get too worried and depressed, let's turn our attention to another event, one that took place last month in Australia.

Were you, I wonder, able to watch the Invictus Games on television?
It was a remarkable sporting event.   More than that, it was also a vivid demonstration of the benefits gained from sport, both by the competitors and their supportive families.

The Invictus Games, as I'm sure you know, were launched by Prince Harry in 2014.  Those taking part are ex-members of the world's armed forces, members who have been invalided out on account of serious injury, be it physical or mental.

What makes the Games so remarkable is not only the courage and determination of the competitors, but also the whole-hearted support they receive from the families who accompany them.
It's also true that, in many cases, war veterans participating in these Games find them every bit as restorative to their well-being as the extensive medical care they've received in hospital.

Yes, the war veterans are competing against each other, but, as is all too evident, they are also supporting each other in every possible way.

Let me give you a perfect example from the Sydney Games, one that I watched on television.

A wheel-chair race for women athletes was taking place.
There were four competitors, one of whom was comfortably in the lead.  The competitor in second place had already won two medals.  The competitor in third place, an Australian, had won a race the day before.

However, the competitor in fourth position, who had traveled to Sydney from the UK, was a woman who, up to that point, had won nothing.

She had been housebound for many months after receiving her crippling injury.  Only with her family's strong encouragement had she decided to travel to Sydney and take part in this, her first Invictus Games.  Her husband and children were amongst the spectators, cheering her on.

As the race neared its conclusion, the competitor in third position allowed herself to drop back a little and place herself alongside the woman lying fourth.  Leaning over, the Australian urged her fellow competitor to make an extra, final effort.

Spurred on by this encouragement, the British woman gave all she had to the final stage of the race . . .  and succeeded in achieving an unexpected third place.
Not only were her excited children hugging their mother and her Bronze Medal, they were hugging their new Australian friend with equal enthusiasm!

So, which world would we rather have?
One in which competitors disregard their own interests in favour of supporting their fellow, less-successful competitors . . .  or one in which politicians foster anger and fear?


A world like the Invictus Games, which offers support, compassion, integrity and courage . . .  or the fearful one that many of us find ourselves immersed in at the moment?

Darwin was only partially right.
Survival is not restricted to those most adaptable to change.  Survival is for those who collaborate, co-operate and support each other.

Isn't it time we got this right?

Let's join the queue!

As you may have heard, our shopping visits to Marks and Spencer's may soon be shortened.  A system is currently being tested whereby you can pay your bill through an app called 'Mobile, Pay, Go'.

The outcome?
You can then walk away with your goods without any need for going to a till.  No queuing, no waiting . . . and you'll be out of the store much more quickly.

Forgive me if I'm a little uneasy about what seems, on the face of it it, to be an excellent idea.
But, just think about it for a moment . . . is it always good to do away with human contact?

It seems a little ironic that this news was released the same week as we learned of the growing problem of loneliness.
Did you know that dance lessons for the lonely are about to be offered on the NHS?

When queuing to pay your bill in the Food Hall you're in contact, and sometimes in conversation, with others in the queue.  The person at the till is often familiar to you . . . you smile and exchange comments.
There is nothing profound in this inter-change, but it is genuine, eye-to-eye human contact . . . something that is fast going out of fashion.

Tell me, when you are waiting for a bus, do you ever fall into conversation with others at the bus stop?
I find this an increasingly rare occurrence, those waiting are either preoccupied or concentrating on their smart phones.

When you walk along the pavement, do you ever make eye contact and smile at those who pass?

Again, and for the same reasons, this happens all too infrequently. 

We make contact with those we know, with those who agree with us, with those who share our feelings.  Casual encounters are becoming increasingly rare as social media segregates and classifies.

But, as I'm sure you'd agree, the written word on its own can easily be misinterpreted, and often lacks subtlety.
What about a loving tone of voice, a kindly smile, a reassuring hug?
None of which are available on Twitter.

Nonetheless, our reliance on social media is increasing.  Did you know that many youth clubs have closed down?
Young people, it seems, feel more secure online.  They are happier communicating with those they know, than encountering strangers face to face.

The upshot of all this?  We are becoming a more and more wary and divided society.  Hate crimes are on the increase, mistrust is growing and a  a recognition of our shared humanity is being pushed to one side.

The other morning, on 'Thought For The Day'. Rabbi Sacks spoke movingly on the subject of diversity and group conflict.

"We are," he said, "enlarged by our differences.  We need a strong, inclusive, national identity.  We need to become a bigger us."

So, let's become 'a bigger us'.
 An 'us' who goes out of our way to encounter others
. . . an 'us' who is constantly on the lookout for the myriad factors we hold in common, not for what divides us.

Let's reject the new app.   As part of the queue in the Food Hall, we can then chat and discuss our wares with our fellow shoppers.

After all, what could be more unifying than a delicious lemon cake . . . something that can usually be spotted in my shopping basket!

The perfect Therapy Cat!

Hello, it's Chloe here . . . I've just come in from the garden, have you a quick moment for a chat?

My Mum's friends tell me that she's had an op, and that I must take great care of her.

Between you and me, I must admit that I've no idea what an op is, but, judging by the change in our daily activities . . . well, I, for one, am all in favour.

"We can't go to the nursing home for the time being," said my Mum, "so you'll have to be my therapy cat at home."
Now, what did she mean by that?
Does she need the sort of therapy that I'd like to have myself?  If so, that must surely mean lots and lots of time spent in the garden?

So, as therapy-cat-in-charge, this is what I'm doing.

I don't let her hang around in bed, oh no!  we're out in the garden before nine o'clock every morning.  Then, allowing her some time to put her feet up when we come in (she can look a bit exhausted), I get her out again before lunch.  Her final outing of the day takes place at around three o'clock, after which I let her relax.
And you should just see how she's thriving on this treatment . . . I'm a very good therapy cat.

She thinks that the reason she hasn't needed any pain-killers is because of the Arnica she takes.
But you and I know that it's really all thanks to me.

Not only that, as I'm sure you'd agree, it's the perfect time of the year to be in the garden.  For some reason, chestnut trees have a habit of dropping things in the autumn.
The things they drop are green and spiky and, when they hit the ground, they break open to let out a very shiny brown nut.
My Mum says it's called a conker.

Well, I must say those conkers wouldn't appeal to me for lunch, but they certainly appeal to the squirrels!  I've never known so many squirrels scampering along the branches.

And what do the squirrels do?  They chew up the conkers and leave lots of bits of chewed-up nut all over the ground.

But this isn't the end of the story.  Who comes scurrying along in search of all these bits of chewed-up conker?  You've guessed it . . . it's the field mice!

And then do you know who comes visiting the garden in search of tasty mice and squirrels?
You've got it . . . it's the foxes!

So, although she's been hit on the head once or twice by a falling conker, I can't think of anything more therapeutic for my Mum than sitting under the trees in the garden in October.

We watch the squirrels, I leap into the ivy when I hear a mouse, and we've even come face to face with a visiting fox!

Yes, there's no doubt about it, whatever they are, ops are definitely beneficial . . . particularly when they take place in the autumn!

Now, I mustn't stay here chatting . . .  my Mum needs her next visit to the garden.

Never let it be said that I'm anything other than the perfect therapy cat!

Home again!

I thought I'd be home from the hospital by five-thirty . . . I was home by three-thirty.

I thought I'd come round from the general anaesthetic feeling nauseous . . . on the contrary, I was hungry for the delicious cheese sandwiches on offer.
I thought I'd arrive home feeling shaky and only fit for rest . . . instead I took Chloe out into the sun-drenched garden and sat under the trees exuding incredulous gratitude.


And what brought about this radical change in expectations?

Could it be all your much-appreciated cards and messages, your phone calls and offers of help, your loving and supportive care?

Could it also be what I can only call the indescribable kindness, efficiency and support of everyone I encountered at The Royal Marsden?


Apart from my wonderfully reassuring and helpful consultant, there was Michele, and Niamh,  and Beverly, and Toni and Lucy . . . to give just a few of the names I can remember.                                                          

The nurses even escorted me and my invaluable friend to the lift when the time came to leave, hugging me and wishing me well . . . my recovery was all thanks to them, I insisted.

So now my body has two weeks in which to recuperate.  Two weeks before the hospital needs to see me again.
Two weeks for the wound to heal, my right arm to regain strength, and for rest to be the order of the day.

Can any of you think of a word more powerful than 'gratitude', more heartfelt than 'thank you' . . .?
If so, that's exactly how I feel at the moment!

Thank you . . .

How can I possibly express my gratitude?


I look at the 'Get Well' cards and flowers which have arrived during the past week.
I look at the computer screen, and register the steady stream of supportive emails. 
Throughout the day I receive your concerned and caring 'phone calls.


Added to which there's the wonderfully generous and supportive friend who insists on taking me to the hospital appointments and bringing me home again.

'Thank you' is a totally inadequate response.

So, in return for your kindness, may I share some good news? 
You'll remember that I was going to The Royal Marsden this week to learn the results of last week's scans.

The results?  Apart from the lump in my breast that had already been diagnosed, they all proved negative.
Not only that, it was confirmed that I can go to The Royal Marsden next Thursday morning for the lump to be removed, and return home in the early evening into the care of my therapy cat.

So much to be grateful for.

And let me repeat my appreciation of the wonderfully helpful and efficient staff at the hospital.
Individually and collectively they once again did all they could to ensure that I was fully in the picture, to put my mind at rest, and to give me confidence in the operation and its outcome.

I've returned home with helpful literature, a personal contact who will be there to advise me, and an emergency 'phone number should it ever be needed,

Thank you, thank you . . . all of you.
It's almost worth the discovery of a cancerous lump to simultaneously discover the supportive kindness and generosity of one's friends, and the wonderful care offered by the NHS.

Think of me, please, on Thursday . . . I know you will.

Blessings and benefits

Two weeks ago, when I had the shock of the breast cancer diagnosis, I asked if you'd be good enough to share any unexpected benefits.

But what I'd like to share today is something far greater.
We won't call it a benefit . . . we'll call it a blessing.
What is it?
Quite simply . . . it's all of you.  I've been overwhelmed by your kindness, love,  support, and by the positivity of your response.

How could I fail to be uplifted by the thoughts, the emails, the letters, the flowers and the cards.  You've made unexpected visits . . . you've helped me to laugh.

What with a highly-motivated therapy cat, one who keeps me active and entertained, and such wonderful friends to support me through the treatment ahead . . . I'm lost in gratitude.
And, as gratitude is healing, then you've already set me firmly on the road to recovery . . . thank you, thank you more than I can say.

I also need to express gratitude for all those who are caring for me at The Royal Marsden.  How could I feel other than positive after encountering such support, efficiency and kindness?

And if, as yet, there are no unexpected benefits, there was certainly an unexpected pleasure.
Whilst flat on my back, with the lump undergoing a thorough examination, what did the nurse and I discuss?  Something far more interesting than unwanted lumps, it was the fascinating topic of her pet tortoise and hedgehog!

But let's pause at that juncture.  I'll return after my visit to the hospital tomorrow.  This time they'll be giving me the results of all the tests they took, and offering suggestions for treatment.

Please . . . be with me in spirit.

                     *                  *                  *                  *                  *                  *

Let me bring you up-to-date.

All being well, if I pass the CT scans planned for next week, my unwanted lump is scheduled to be removed on September 27th.  What's more, I'll be going into hospital in the morning and back home before the evening . . . an unexpected benefit meaning that Chloe won't have to spend a night on her own.

So,  I've the blessing of you. . . . the blessing of Chloe
. . .  the benefit of coming home within the day . . . gratitude for your loving support . . . and yet more gratitude for The Royal Marsden's Hospital's wonderful efficiency.

Surely that's enough by way of blessings, benefits and gratitude to ensure a complete recovery.

A therapist in action!

I must admit that this development was something I didn't anticipate . . . . yes, I know, Chloe has been a therapy cat for six years, but to turn her considerable therapeutic skills on me?

Ever since finding the lump in my breast, and receiving my appointment for the hospital tomorrow, Chloe has made sure that she's  the dominant member of our household.

At her insistence, there's no hanging around.  We're up early and out in the garden by eight-thirty every morning, where we spend at least an hour-long sojourn.

Our second visit, which was previously after lunch, has been brought forward to around eleven-thirty.
To satisfy her enthusiastic demands, a third one is squeezed in at around mid-afternoon.
And, something quite new, we make a final tour, coupled with a keen search for field-mice in the ivy, at around half-past five.

Am I being afforded peace between these walks?  Not on your life!

No time to feel anxious for tomorrow when a small cat is winsomely demanding a game, a meal, or a good brush.
Little room for anxiety when a toy mouse arrives at your feet for attention, chicken needs chopping, or a litter-tray is in need of being cleaned.

Even the act of writing this 'letter' is being squeezed into a brief lull in Chloe's demands . . . I may well have to drop everything in order to satisfy the next instruction!

A therapy cat in action . . . ?
Aren't I fortunate!

An unexpected benefit

I had a shock last week, may I share it with you?

Totally out of the blue, I discovered a lump in my breast . . .  quite a large lump.  
Two days later the doctor told me to be prepared for the fact that it was probably breast cancer.  She's arranged an appointment for me next Tuesday at The Royal Marsden Hospital.

So . . . where do we go from here?

Since making this discovery I've learned several things.  The foremost is the need to remain positive and, as a wise friend told me, to see the situation as a challenge, not a threat.

Then there's a need to look out for any unexpected benefits, together with the need for laughter . . . laughter, as we all know, being 'the divine disinfectant'.

Will you help me with this?

May I share any unexpected benefits of my situation . . . and, hopefully, the ones that make me laugh?

Take today, for example.  If I have need of surgery, and if this means that I have to stay in the hospital overnight, a kind friend has offered to come round and feed Chloe.

With this thought in mind, I found myself looking at my much-loved but rather scruffy home through the eyes of an observant visitor.
She would, I realised, need to go into the bathroom . . . with which thought, I gave a cautious glance at the bath.

Yes, there was no denying it.  Around the middle of the bath was an unmistakable dark ring.  Despite always giving the bath a casual clean after use, this ring had built up over the months    . . . and it wasn't pretty.
It wasn't something I'd like my kind friend to notice.

In consequence, today has seen me down on my hands and knees in the bathroom, cleaning the bath with a scouring pad     . . . and how virtuous I feel at the outcome!

So, what's the first benefit of the unexpected lump in my breast?
You've guessed it . . . a beautifully clean bath!