This, ladies and gentlemen, is Fort Orange. It was constructed by a group of us industrious cousins back in the mid-70s (I am guessing 1976-77) from a stonking great pile of wooden crates used, if I remember rightly, to transport glass bottles. You know, the kind you used to be able to return for a few pennies so they could be reused. Oh yes, we recycled back in the day. It’s not a new thing. We called it ‘waste not, want not.’
Anyway, we had access to several hundred of these crates and we built a massive, well, fort from them. And it was named Fort Orange because it was orange. Inside it had rooms, staircases and corridors and, thinking back, it was probably a bit of a death trap. But Health and Safety hadn’t been invented back then and children were encouraged to have outdoor fun and be creative which generally involved a frisson of danger. I am pleased to report no-one was injured in either the making or the subsequent fun and games of Fort Orange. Happy days!
From left to right in the photo: cousin Richard, cousin Hazel, cousin Peter, my brother Philip, my sister Jackie and cousin Simon. I suspect I was avoiding being photographed.
The last week or so, however, has been fraught with frissons of the perils of life. Well, maybe not fraught, but the kind of medical issues that remind you of the importance of good health and looking after yourself. Firstly, my brother went into hospital for an operation. He sent me a text from the ward in the middle of the afternoon which read, ‘All done, didn’t die.’ So that was good.
Then my Mum (who will be 85 next week) was sent with urgency to hospital by her GP practice because she presented with some dodgy symptoms and they weren’t happy. Of course, she considered it all a great fuss and bother but she didn’t argue.
And yesterday, Andy was bitten by a dog who objected to him attempting to vaccinate it. It first bit its owner and as Andy was reaching for a muzzle, it bit him as well. Two puncture wounds and quite a bit of blood. The vet nurses flushed out the wound and dressed it, but given the Great Cat Bite Adventure of 2016 when Andy ended up in hospital for a week nursing a massive infection and abscess, he was then shunted off to A & E for a closer inspection and antibiotics.
Except he didn’t go straight to A & E. No, he came home first for his fish pie dinner, and then he spent time making his way through the maze that is the NHS 111 service, which (eventually) directed him to a medical walk-in centre about 10 miles or so away. He returned just before 10 p.m, with a fresh dressing and a course of antibiotics, and this morning he is posting pictures of the wound on social media.
Take care out there, folks. But not too much.
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