Three Degrees: Hailstones, Shorts, and Slippers

A Nation's Favourite Topic

If there is anything the English can always make conversation about, it is the weather; there is always something to say about it.

I looked at my mobile phone this morning before leaving home and noticed it was just three degrees Celsius, in the middle of April. I had turned off my heating a couple of weeks ago, as we eased into British Summer Time, which is everything British, but nothing like summer, and barely feeling like spring.

One good thing: there was no forecast of rain, a reputation some people are keen to attach to Manchester more than reality suggests. It does not always rain in Manchester; it just happens to coincide with when those observers visit.

Pelted by Hailstones

Yesterday, I thought of going out for a walk. It was pleasant enough, though I had only anticipated a drizzle. When the heavens opened, I was pelted with hailstones the size of opaque tapioca pearls. Come to think of it, I have never been caught in a hailstorm before; the most I have experienced of it is watching from indoors.

Lest I forget, we also had a hailstorm a couple of weeks ago. I hope it is not becoming a regular occurrence. Then imagine my surprise, knowing how cold it was, to see someone about fifty yards ahead of me in shorts. Are you crazy? I cannot complain, though, because when I am in South Africa, my tolerance of the cold makes others think I am crazy.

Sights on the Street

Hardly had I put that out of my mind when a lady of a certain age, a sexagenarian at the very least, stepped out of her hotel for a cigarette in a white cardigan, just long enough to cover the detail. You might have to lop off three to four decades to raise any interest.

She was wearing those disposable hotel guest slippers. You want to say to her, “Oh, darling, you should never have stepped out of your hotel room like that.”

Then again, if you have a nicotine addiction, what is the cold or decency, when you need to light up and feel the warmth of your lungs filled with smoke? The sun is shining, we are in double figures, and from everything I can see on the street, there is another man in shorts whilst everyone else is behaving.

A Google NotebookLM AI Podcast on this blog

Between the Window and the World

Window Observations

Looking out of my window again this morning, the story remains the same. On the second floor by the window sits the man I wrote about over four years ago. However, for the first time, I saw him eating. It might have been some fruit, as he was using his hands, and what looked like a large potato wedge might have been cut from an apple.

Blog - Coronavirus streets in Manchester - XLII

Surely my eyesight can't be that good, yet I cannot doubt my powers of observation. Brian, on the other hand, seems to have sent another pair of reading glasses to the ocular orthopaedic hospital, one leg lost to the incident of backside indiscipline. No other excuse could be manufactured on the fly.

Blog - Thought Picnic: Sitting pretty and bringing calamity

Anyway, back to my neighbourhood. There is a new arrival who steps out of the apartment, takes a few puffs of her inhaler, then lights a cigarette. How you could clearly have a respiratory condition and then compound it with the gradual destruction of your lungs is a case of utter bafflement that escapes me.

Beyond the Window

As I stepped out to attend church, it was minus four degrees Celsius, but fresh and sunny. By the time I left church, it had snowed, the ground coated white. I was fortunate to have the right kind of shoes on, the soles with ridges that gave a sturdy grip enough to stop me from slipping.

It was already above zero. After a cup of lapsang souchong tea, I was ready to have a nap. The man at the window was back, taking another glimpse of what might be unchanging but for the traffic, yet exciting enough as a variance to routine.

Then again, as he observes his little world from that window, a flurry of snow seeks to obscure my line of sight. Life continues for all, but I'm blessed to experience a bit more by getting out and meeting people.

A Google NotebookLM AI Podcast on this blog

Photons on the Prostate - XVIV - I Just Can't Wait

Whither the weather

As we reach the end of spring with the impending arrival of summer, the little sunshine that offers a sense of warmth might lead you to do silly things.

That is how I left home yesterday evening in shorts and a shirt without a vest or singlet. It felt warm enough to be daring. And since I wanted to make up my steps for the day, the exercise would serve as protection against the elements.

On the first leg of my outing, everything felt fine until dusk crept upon us unawares. The first supermarket I visited had the lamb I sought to buy, but I was not particularly enamoured with the brands of tomato puree.

Getting across town

I knew I had to get to the other side of town to a shop that carried the brand I needed. With barely 70 minutes to spare before the shop closed, I boarded a bus back into town and then another out to the shop. The bus traversing the route directly from the supermarket to the shop was not expected for another 24 minutes.

By the time I boarded the bus from the city centre to the shop, a cooler breeze was blowing, and I could feel it on my legs and through my flimsy clothes. The added discomfort meant I had to find conveniences when I alighted at my intended bus stop.

I just can’t wait

The shopping centre was closed; I walked into the nearest public establishment, a casino, and asked to use their toilets. The receptionist was about to tell me the toilets were only for customers, but I showed her my Just Can’t Wait card on my mobile phone.

The Just Can't Wait card in the Bladder & Bowel Community app.

She quickly retrieved a key from her desk drawer and directed me to the toilet. What a relief that was. As I handed back the key, I thanked her for her understanding. This is the second time I have had to brandish the card. When you are pressed, you can only press for the conveniences, to handle that pressing need.

Blog - Men's things - XXIV

Blog - Photons on the Prostate - XVIII

Springing forward and losing time

Time shifting around

I seem to be better adjusted to the concept and the reality of daylight saving, and while I cannot fully explain the benefits of it, nor do I intend to research it for this blog, the phenomenon has a way of catching up with me.

I have adopted an American aide memoire in understanding how we change our clocks in October and March, usually on the last Sunday of the month. We Spring Forward and Fall Backward. Fall is the American version of our English Autumn.

As most clocks in the home are electronic, especially on computers and watches, whether you gain or lose an hour whilst asleep at 2:00 AM can go without notice, the alarm clock will still go off at the set time.

A wind-up situation

When it comes to clocks on devices and appliances like microwaves or standard ovens, especially if you are a time obsessive, you notice you have lost an hour in the spring or gained one in the autumn.

When I used to have mechanical clocks around the home, I changed the time before I went to bed; it made the change in time more manageable.

For Brian, in the spring we enter a time of just having an hour’s difference between us, rather than two hours. It represents some closeness, but not close enough in distance.

A circadian disruption

In my case, the apparent coping mechanism for British Summer Time has not kicked in; my body clock is yearning for something that suggests an unnatural event has occurred; adjustments governed by the reading of the time are not compensated for in my biorhythms.

My circadian rhythm is out of whack, and that is not helped by my early mornings feeling like a winter that has refused to depart. The sun offers a glowing spectacle during the day, but we cannot expect more than 18° Celsius for the rest of the week.

It is a struggle to keep alert without stimulation of vigorous activity or the exhilaration of caffeine intake. I have, in times past, pinched myself or given my ankle tendon a kick, inflicting just enough pain to jolt myself back to life. Then, maybe it is still the residual side effects of radiotherapy, who really knows?

We break the codes of time for pecuniary advantage, more light in the evening for spring and summer, and the greater benefit for farmers in the autumn and winter. What you cannot fail to notice is that when the sun shines, we make the best of it, getting the warmth and a bit of a tan too, in Manchester, of all places.

Hello in There Over There

Hello in There · Bette Midler - John Prine

Looking out into the day

Life in the city presents a window of observation both literally and figuratively. If I cranked my neck looking out to the right, I would see the main road, full of traffic, the missing Venetian blinds pulled down by those who are not gentle of touch might offer a spectacle in flagrante delicto of things better kept out of view.

On occasions, where I have been asked about the weather, a predilection to Miss Havisham’s shunning of the public might suggest that one is unaware of where the sun or the clouds might have come to an agreement about what day they want to show.

Left to my own devices, I will know nothing of what happens in my city until after the event. A hermit untouched and unknown, yet conversant and connected in isolation from sensual interaction.

A part of apartment life

Then, so much information filters in like sunrays on a brilliantly sunny day. From the fourth floor of the apartment block opposite and across the street, I know they are in because they open the window that reflects a blast of light into my living room. Should I wave to them?

For the past two days, the first-floor apartment across from mine had the blinds drawn. They are on holiday one must presume for nothing in the weather of the past couple of days supports the need to shelter from enjoying the elements. They appear to be a partying lot, not that I might haphazardly identify them on the street. They are a function of the apartment in which they live, as I might have been an operatic revue of the unspeakable that excites chortles and giggles.

Old people maybe not lonesome

To the left on the second floor, at the breaking of the dawn, an old man sits at the window looking at a world that his youth once participated in with verve and vigour. The lady who sometimes sits with him might be the wife of decades of marital bliss, a companion of life and experience, with whom living out the rest of their days might stretch to a time beyond record.

The stories in those faces, the memories that fetch fresh waters from wells of existence we could not begin to fathom. They could be parents, likely grandparents, never doubt them being great grandparents, but no little girl’s face has replaced the visage that has met my gaze.

Maybe they see me when I see them, if they ever noticed; for I have watched that window from my desk for years, I could wave at them to say, “Hello! In there”.

We March

Going forward with nature

March always seems to present the month of beginnings when the signs of spring begin to show in nature and the days for the northern hemisphere begin earlier as the winter recedes into its seasonal twilight.

Then suddenly there could be a chilly blast with Siberia huffing and puffing over Europe with the vehemence of needing to tell us that she still exists. One year, I was in Berlin, and it was in the third week of April, it snowed. Gosh! It was depressing, as I got back home to Amsterdam, I booked a holiday to the Canary Islands.

Looking toward the warmth

March indeed has a spring to it, like we are about to march into something, a battle, an adventure, an experience, or all that together. We awaken from the slumber of Yuletide, and after the perceptively longest month of January, February grants a reprieve of love closely followed by the privations of Lent, a season of penitence and reflection is in full flow.

This year, everything is happening in March, Palm Sunday, Good Friday, and Easter Sunday, in two Sundays, it is Mothering Sunday that has become commercialised and confused with Mother’s Day. We are also springing forward with the clocks on the last Sunday which is the last day of the month and Easter Sunday, what a time to be alive, like everything is in alignment in a leap year. British Summer Time begins.

Marching onward in triumph

Yet, we march on, full of hope and expectation, amazed by the beauty that gets revealed, the smells that hit our olfactory organs, and the singing of the birds chirping away giving our eardrums a new sensation that lifts the spirits with warmth and appreciation.

In each of us, we find a blessing if we dare to live and thrive, the newness in every morning signalling the God of the universe has us in His embrace, our mouths filled with testimonies for which words cannot be found except by some Pentecostal utterance because we have been overwhelmed with goodness.

Knowing that God is not against us but on our side always and fighting for us means that this march is a triumphal one. Let us all the noise we can as we joyfully celebrate this gift of life, grace, and victory.

All preventative protections matter

Easy on the body

The day after I returned from Cape Town, I attended a walk-in vaccination centre for the spring booster I was invited for by my GP through a text message when I was away. I had taken the Pfizer/BioNTech Comirnaty mRNA vaccine for my first two jabs in February and May, then the first booster in November, but they only had the Moderna Spikevax mRNA vaccine, and I was fine with that.

A few days later, I was asked if I would like to queue up for the Monkeypox vaccine, but I was not up to it, I had probably overloaded my body that was first acclimatising from a southern hemisphere winter to a northern hemisphere summer along with the mild side effects of the other vaccine, it would have been quite unwise to then take on another vaccine, even if I could have coped well.

Public notices are hard

The next weekend had another queue for the Monkeypox vaccine, but the eligibility criteria on every reading failed the plain English test in my view as it seemed to exclude a critically vulnerable cohort that I belonged, and even at their third attempt after many remonstrations, it did not improve until I got a personal assurance on Twitter that our cohort was not excluded.

It would have just taken a slight modification of citing minimum eligibility that would have been inclusive rather than what seemed to be a narrowly defined set of criteria that gave more access to the less vulnerable just because they attend had attended the public health clinics in the last 12 months and they were on Pre-Exposure Prophylaxis (PreP).

Not in the weather forecast

Anyway, for a 9:00 AM opening of the doors, I took a cab to the venue arriving at 8:10 AM and the queue was already about 150 deep. I had checked the weather and it suggested a clear day, but within 20 minutes, there was a turn, and it was raining. Many of us did not have any protection against the elements, I just opened a large Aldi shopping bag over my head, as a covering.

It did not seem it would let up, so I came to an agreement with the men ahead and behind me to rush home to get umbrellas for our protection. I called a cab and by then, there was a downpour, got home, picked up 4 umbrellas, a waterproof jacket, a poncho, some bottles of water and snacks, and then returned to the queue that had moved up about 30 places.

Come up hither

Giving the men umbrellas, though they refused the drinks, I was informed that they had all been given tickets in my absence. I went up to the coordinator to get a ticket afraid that I would now be put at the end of the queue that now had about 250 people, but on seeing my walking cane, he offered that I got straight in and take a seat instead. Much as I do use a walking cane, I do not consider myself having accessibility problems, and I do need the cane most of the time as I have used one for over 19 years.

I did remonstrate, but he insisted, so I had a chat with the men I left in the queue and went into the temporary premises to take a seat. Soon, I was offered forms to fill in and I found myself meeting much more than the minimum criteria, I was ticking 3 boxes of medical establishments where I got my care amongst other things. I point I made earlier stands; the communication was poorly written.

Having filled in the form, my answers were verified in a caller-response engagement and then I was given the Monkeypox vaccine. All done and out by 9:27 AM. The weather was looking better, and the men felt they did not need the umbrellas, gave them back and I walked back home.

Just allaying our concerns

Apart from a little soreness in the arm and maybe an incidence of the runs over 2 or so days, I am fine. Indeed, Monkeypox was a bit of a concern and that coming still in the midst of the Coronavirus pandemic did not make for comfortable reading. The fact that the most affected demographic in Europe and over in the United States are gay men, exacerbated concerns. The supplies were usually exhausted before everyone in the queue was served apart from the last time.

I guess in all we were trying to avoid a situation where this advent of another communicable disease leads to labelling and stigmatisation. It just happens that the community and social constructs of the gay persona might well expose one to this situation more than in other settings.

Taking precautions and preventative measures are the options we have availed ourselves of. Then again, the other part of this narrative is how my desire to be of a little help offered the consideration by reason of my slight handicap to be seen earlier than would have been the case.

Then to the vulnerable, all preventative protections matter, be they vaccines or any other medical advice proffered that would give us a fighting chance against infection or disease. Some do suggest there is no need for another booster, I think I keep myself informed enough to know that when my doctor or consultant does suggest some precautions, that is most likely in my best interests.

Stuck on unpacked

Stood still at stop

Three weeks after returning from Cape Town, I cannot say I have settled down or acclimatised in any way. The four suitcases that I brought back from my travels remain unpacked in my living room as my mind is already contemplating the next time I can be out there again to be with my fiancé.

The weather here at home, though mild has taken a turn for the dreadfully depressing worse, as it is getting colder and taking on the characteristically disreputable signature of rainy Manchester. Good for farmers and no one else.

As I look for sorts of distraction that I have not quite found in enthusiasm at work, I have been baking bread modifying the recipes to get better outcomes, though I should extend my baking repertoire to attempting other exciting baked goods.

Urge for a surge

My truth-telling weighing scales displays numbers that has me looking for consistently sure ways of shedding the pounds and keeping that bulk off without having to radically change my diet. Beyond that trouble is the need for a kickstart of engagement, something that reignites the quest, the curiosity, and the joy of learning that I cannot seem to begin to interest myself with any aplomb. It requires discipline and consistency as much as I need to be enthused.

Brian is my constant source of encouragement and light as Kola is the most unstinting confidante, I know it would all come good. I just need to weather the storm.

Coronavirus streets in the heat - LIII

No scrubs

As I stepped out unto Main Road this afternoon, life began imitating a song by TLC; a scrub indeed, though sitting in the back seat popping his head out of the window, hollering at a lady as they drove past, a pesty attempt at a catcall as the lady somewhat delectable tried to ignore him. [YouTube: TLC - No Scrubs]

Too much of this happens, where men just think any lady that walks by is open for some sort of assault without any recourse to anything including the law apart from keeping to herself indifferent to the raucous around her with the hope she’ll be out of earshot before some animal instinct informs the man to advance into her personal space.

Skimping the heat

On the weather, a subject that you do not have to ask an Englishman to initiate conversation, I am close to melting point as I left home with temperatures close to freezing and until a couple of days ago, we were in the early twenties that some have terms unseasonably cool, now that we are breaching the thirties, anywhere to keep cool in the shade is what I seek. There is no air-conditioning here, they have a heater instead, in Cape Town.

Anyway, this seems to change the mode of dress, I am keeping in shorts, T-shirts and sandals, trousers would apply to church and evenings, the jacket has become optional and at most times unnecessary. As we left for church this morning, I could not help but notice that a lady seemed to have more material in her hairdo than on her shorts. Go figure!

Keeping sensibly safe

Again, we cannot ignore the pandemic, we are still diligently taking precautions, wearing facemasks whenever we are outdoors, social distancing, keeping away from crowds and enclosed places. Sitting outside if that is available at restaurants or as well away from people as possible.

Life however goes on, and it would seem they have a bigger problem in the UK than we have down in South Africa, we still have our temperature taken when entering certain establishments, asked to sanitise our hands at every opportunity and even have to register with names, telephone numbers and even addresses. None of that happened much in the UK, that is it any wonder that in our liberal quest for freedoms and liberties, the infection rates have been the highest in the UK for the past 3 days? [WorldMeters.info - Coronavirus]

Coronavirus streets in Cape Town - L

This city wins us

Cape Town is like our city of dreams; we have so fallen in love with this place and found that we take in life with gusto finding quiet locations in this bustling city to feel the warmth of the weather and watch the idling nature be what they naturally are.

Then you wonder, there are troops and troupes, groups and teams, friends like gangs, families with children left to the abandon of carefree and unconcerned expression, that they could literally be out of control but for the grace of God.

There is no pandemic here, omicron is as Greek to them as their probably knowing such a letter existed only a week before. I thought I had flown into a curfew and would have to spend the night at the airport, the law was not as strict as it appeared to be, the knowledge that a flight had arrived late to the international airport made allowances for the passengers to be taken to their chosen destinations.

Omicron be on the run

Out at the Victoria & Alfred Waterfront, the crowds were milling, and most facemasks were like stirrups hanging off the chin rather than covering the mouth and the nose. For those who even attempted to cover something, their noses stuck out like protuberances much longer than when Pinocchio had told his third lie.

Then as we looked around for Zakhele Popo, he approached us, not yet in his regalia and we hugged so tightly like old friends do. Everywhere else was lively and heaving, even the dry dock had a large vessel to provide a cacophonous background sound that robbed the waterfront of any stillness.

Blog - Zakhele Popo of V&A Waterfront

We made for the Marina that was secluded as usual, sat on the benches, hugged and kissed many times as the clouds billowed and rolled over Table Mountain, the winds boisterous to the point that the main door to the V&A Waterfront Watershed had to be closed. We were recognised by some and identified by others. We felt we were back. Omicron, go and find another city to give your grief.

All Hallows Thieves

Never caught on

It is Halloween weekend this October with the last day of the month being today, a Sunday. This is one tradition I have never really adopted or related to, and it is not out of any particular interest or belief, I am just not engaged.

Pumpkins, costumes, fancy dress, and the commercial trends that greet this festival I do my best to absent myself from. Decades ago, I was invited to a toga dress party by my friend, John Coll, who passed on in December 2013. I could not be persuaded to go, my partner then did attend and regaled me to stories that left me somewhat nonplussed. Now I think about it, that was where he met the person that became the centre of our breakup just about a year after.

Blow it up

Whilst I would not predicate that situation to my disinterest in Halloween, it does not explain my engagement with Guy Fawkes Day, which is November the fifth, maybe because I liked his audacity in what he was trying to do and whilst he failed, we commemorate him with a bonfire that would have made a bonfire of the English parliament.

Halloween apparently started as a Christian holiday dedicated to remembering the dead, including saints (hallows), martyrs, and all the departed, but as it is celebrated today, there is no semblance of Christianity or dare I say Churchianity, rather, it is a time of revelling like ghouls, ghosts, the dead and anything scary, evil, or macabre.

That’s a ghost?

Watching Ghostbusters and the reboot Ghostbusters, yesterday and overnight, Western civilisations or maybe it is just the Americans have this strange idea of the supernatural, the paranormal, demonic or spiritual activity. Ghosts apparently leave an ectoplasmic residue of slimy green substance, when they enter our realm, they can be captured with nuclear-powered proton pack weapons.

In one scene as a ghost metamorphosed into a Godzilla creature of extreme mammoth proportions, a symphony played out as it wreaked destruction on the city, having a surfeit of imagination is one thing but along with the power of seriously doubtful fictional creations with a propensity for the absurd if not laughable is just beyond the paled. We might begin to believe if first, we believed in ghosts that Ghostbusters was art imitating life.

Chilling the bones

Then with painted faces and all those costumes, it is the ladies that have me a tad worried. October is not a summer month by any stretch of the imaginable, and though we are not at sub-zero, the temperature is not in double digits, yet they step out in the skimpiest of clothes braving the cold in the pursuit of fashion over function. It makes no sense to me as it does to them, especially when it was raining on Friday night.

I might be an alarmist suggesting that this is asking for a bout of pneumonia in the worst case, but they either have a rather thick blubber skin or their blood system is cryogenically predisposed to a poikilothermic adaptation that we naturally homoeothermic beings cannot endure. I find myself scratching my head and then trying not to overthink it, a little shivering and the clattering of teeth might well be the Halloween movie to watch again and again.

Then I learn there is another Ghostbusters film out, Ghostbusters: Afterlife, the original was really good, but all these rehashes leave much to be desired. Rather than give this a nod, I might just celebrate Halloween as Noddy.

Coronavirus streets in Manchester & Leeds - XLV

Many a gory Tory here

One is glad to desert Manchester for a week as a brief walk around a section of the city around the Manchester Convention Centre gave much meaning to that situation beyond other extenuating circumstances, the police and cordons laid out to insulate the ruling party from its public and the vehemence of misgovernment.

The Tories are coming to Manchester for their annual convention and what an inconvenience it would be to all but the ones in the thrall of Boris Johnson whilst celebrating the apparent successes of Brexit which are patently invisible to most except those with impaired eyesight.

Leading to Leeds

Meanwhile, on a train to Leeds, the rain simply followed relentlessly on a journey that was as uneventful as to be recorded in sleep. Of all of us on my coach, only two of us donned face masks. We are all letting our guard down and this pandemic is hardly over. The UK retained the highest number of new cases worldwide and we are still ahead of our European neighbours in the number of deaths due to COVID-19. [WorldInfoMeters: Coronavirus]

I was last in Leeds just the week before I lost my baby sister, now coming to 5 years. The same hotel, some excuses that I overlooked until I went to the bar and was left feeling quite irked by the time I got to check-in my room.

Oh yes, it’s ladies’ slight

Later, when I went shopping for a few morning goods, the ladies were all more exposed yet bedecked like for a Cinderella summer ball except if I am unaware of some invisible thermal garments to help keep them from freezing in the cold and rain. Their slipper heels as unsteady as walking a rope bridge buffeted by winds strung over a ravine infested with hungry crocodiles in a river last rowed centuries ago.

Obviously, the reference to dress, apparel and appearance is oblique, one for which commentary should be reserved apart from thinking, surely more could be done. Anyway, the pandemic is the last thing on their minds much as hen nights seem to have chosen Leeds for revelry and unspeakable acts of wanton and reckless expression. It’s in the air, maybe no one is breathing it.

Lo, I sniff the summer

The weather undecidedly moving

Going out for my walk this evening, I left home in my shorts and short-sleeve vest with the prospect of a dry evening of exercise. A few errands earlier meant I only needed 5,000 steps to meet my daily quota.

Within minutes, I had broken a sweat with a heart rate in the aerobic range when 4 kilometres in, raindrops were falling on my head, it did not become a rain shower but it felt like warning enough and having not taken a mask out with me, it was sensible to turn back towards home having already done 10,000 steps.

No sooner had I taken a different route back, the sun came out. Suffice it to say, I did miss the solar eclipse or any sign of it in the morning, not that it would have been that visible here or through the cloud-strewn skies.

Wheeze, sneeze, squeeze

I could tell my summer had begun, I was sniffling with a running nose, sneezing loudly every few steps and sometimes bent over, though thankfully not doubled down with those longish sneezes that could last from about 30 seconds to a minute, congenital, I presume down the maternal line, but rather exaggerated in my case.

By the time I got home, I had walked 9 kilometres, completed over 12,000 steps and was ready for a good blowing of the nose before having a drink. I might just get my antihistamine medication out; Beconase nasal spray is the advent of the summer season.

Like I have said before, one apparent benefit of the chemotherapy I took just over 11 years ago was it shortened my hay fever suffering from a March-September stretch to just within June to August. On the steps front, I need to get out of my funk and do a bit more walking too.

The weather defies the forecast

The route in the sun

When the English meet with strangers, the easiest conversation started is the weather on how sunny, how cold or how inclement it is. Before I stepped out for my walk this evening, I checked the weather forecast that suggested I should expect no rain for the rest of the day. That informed my just wearing a top and no need for the all-weather jacket with a hood.

Out of the door, I considered and turned back to pick up a mask before setting out on an unusual route that took me on Old Ashton Road, to Alan Turing Way, past the Etihad Campus and the Manchester City on towards Cheetham Hill, it was sunny and fresh. Veering left towards Strangeways Prison and then the towpath on River Irwell to Peel Park when I heard a thunderclap and the rumbling of thunder.

Here comes the driving rain

It would have been another 3.5 kilometres home after doing 11 kilometres, it was unlikely I would get home before the heavens opened. Crossing the path to the student accommodations of the Salford University, I hailed a Uber cab, I had hardly closed the door when I got in and the rain was literally torrential short of hailstones. Visibility through the windscreen severely reduced, you would never want to be caught out in that even if you were dressed for it.

Now looking at my weather app, there is a prospect of rain in the next two hours which was not the case some hours ago. It is unlikely the app is linked to the supercomputers at the Meteorological Office churning models and data, but one would expect to trust the app for a longer timeframe. I only got wet in the walk between the cab and my front door. However, it is Manchester, the weather is its own changing story.

May the mercury rise soon

In the chill of May

Exasperation and consternation, the tumult in my mind as I woke to see that it was just one degree above zero and this is the second of May. What really could be going on? We practically had a sunny day for all the days in April, yet, we rarely had the double digits for temperature, it could have been February.

Halfway through my walk the sun came out, radiant and bright but not moving the mercury by much. By the time I stepped out for church, it was only 4 degrees above zero, even the confines of the church building were warm enough that after walking over 18,000 steps, but the cold I had endured created a soporific effect, I was nodding off before the service began; I barely kept awake if not for the times we had to stand up.

The short time I had hoped to spend in the sun sipping my Starbucks latte after I left the church was promptly aborted by a drizzle, other plans put in abeyance, and even in the company of friends, I was soon caught away by the heaviness of my eyelids, there was no other option but to go for a nap. Things would not be warming up soon, as the Bank Holiday Monday is supposed to present more rain and hardly the comfort of warmth. It might be May, that is the only thing going on.  

Coronavirus streets in Manchester - XXIV

Out for a walk

It looked like an early spring day, the temperature not too high but comfortable enough for an outing, I dressed up and stepped out to enjoy the weather. The route I had planned on taking which would have been through St. Peter’s Square was sealed off by the police, fire engines everywhere, and a cherry picker over 5-storeys high had crew looking over the roof of a hotel.

The curious crowded around to see what was going on from all the sealed off with tape areas, I did not think it safe to wait around as I retraced my steps to my standard walking exercise route. Soon I was at Trinity Way, over the bridge towards the Meadow and then into Peel Park.

We are close to enough

For the first time in quite a while, people were out for leisurely walks on bridges, towards parks and in parks. It was unusually lively; we had been on lockdown for so long we were not going to let the good weather escape the wealth of our pleasure, come what may.

Obviously, there were too few people with masks outdoors apart from apparent foreigners and those going into supermarkets. We are finding ways to manage the lack of social interaction imposed by this pandemic and I know that eventually, we would get on with our lives despite and in spite of our government. We have tolerated so much; they risk taking us for granted with dire consequences.

Walking is not just a good pair of shoes

Equip yourself for the walk

When I stepped out for my walk this morning, I first checked the weather forecast, it was not going to rain, but it was 2⁰ Celsius, I knew by the time I got back home, the tips of my fingers would feel like I had been rearranging and poking red hot coals in a fireplace.

Then I put into consideration the range of paraphernalia that goes into the simple act of walking as a form of exercise and it reads like an interesting acquisition of trinkets and baubles, but we must not be deluded into thinking they are not both essential and necessary.

First, my trainers, a trusty pair of wonderfully cushioned running shoes for someone who cannot run, but needs the support that takes the strain off shin splints whilst making allowances for the softening effects on the feet, the ankles, the knees, the thighs and the hips. For someone who has over time suffered back pain and uses a cane, they are a miraculous workmanship in footwear – Brooks Ghost 10, now completing their 3^rd year of wear and tear.

I did get the Brooks Ghost 11, 2 years ago, they are the ones I wear out in South Africa, I ventured the possibility of the latest version a few months ago, they just did not have my colour.

In the rain and the dark

As the weather began to change with rain, I first got a waterproof poncho with high visibility bands, but after 3 uses, it was not as comfortable as it seemed that I had to shell out for a Patagonia all-weather jacket with hood and zippered side vents.

The driving rain blowing into my face and obscuring my sight through my eyeglasses meant the hood did not suffice that I donned a baseball cap to shield my glasses until the rising heat from my scalp made that uncomfortable. So, I found I could get a run visor.

The shorter days as we moved into autumn along with scheduling my walks for early mornings before dawn broke left me a vulnerable target a few times. A cyclist almost ran into me and swore he did not see 6-foot of I. I was taking no risks, so I got LED armbands, a high visibility vest with useful pockets, and high visibility clips to wear round the wrist or ankles. I might well be lit up like a Christmas tree than be run down by unaware cyclists or inconsiderate electric scooter users and they are a growing menace on our roads.

From the cold of ice

With experience comes the need for possible remediation. I do have a good pair of leather gloves, but they are no match for the biting cold that I have now ordered a pair of Yobenki thermal gloves able to handle the freezing cold, with cuffs to go under the arms of my jacket so the rain and wet does not get to my hands, with the added luxury of an index finger for the touch screen of my phone.

I could not help but notice an accident this morning, a car had run into a tree, most likely because it had slipped on black ice, with the drop in temperature and no gritting of the roads, the pavements or pathways yet, I have on occasion felt that absence of grip between my shoes and the surface I am walking on. It is a scary prospect that calls for a solution, anti-slip spikes or what I found to be Yaktrax Walk, come snow, I will be all prepared and ready for any eventuality. One very important point read the instructions too.

Walking to see more results

Still driven but eased

Having met the goal of doing at least 10,000 steps a day for 100 days in a stretch, there is no major achievement in sight until I make it to 10,000,000 steps in probably over a year. However, that would require keeping at the pace I was of about 600,000 steps a month, and that really is not currently happening.

I am still getting out for my walks, usually getting in just over 10 kilometres before I start work which could vary between 13,000 steps and 15,000 steps depending on my stride, but I am not as worked up about my workouts.

One thing I have noticed though is no matter how high my heart rate gets, my breathing remains constant, I neither gasp for air nor pant, it is like I am quite used to the activity or somewhat conditioned to the level of exercise.

Still working it off

The weight is not budging as much as I would like it to, I have not had a reading below 80 kilogrammes since the 17^th of October, though it is steady around that mark.

Getting out this morning into a downpour, I varied my route from the river towpath to the pavement on the road that runs beside it. It was a better walk this time as the fallen autumnal leaves had been swept away, though I was still left with wet trainers and dampened track bottom leggings. On the home straight, the weather had improved. I will not be deterred by inclement weather, once I am out, the workout will be done.

Fat, that is always on my mind, much visceral fat I have lost, the subcutaneous fat still lingers, though I am informed, keeping at the exercise will eventually yield results. I hope so, whilst I enjoy walking and feeling fitter for doing so.

I'm not losing more

Always get decent gear

Come rain, come shine, I am up at the crack of dawn for my walks, as I found I am usually up early and what better time to get my steps in that doing it early. Today, I found that there is nothing as good as a decent raincoat with a hood. The one I have is an all-weather light coat with zippered air-vents on the sides.

By the middle of my walk, in the fifth kilometre, the rain was pouring down, you would have been soaking wet in a minute without good protection. Some had come out to run in the rain with shorts on. I simply kept my walking pace, my knees strapped with Velcro supports, to ease the discomfort that developed a couple of days ago.

Kneading my knees

I have been advised to try a hot and cold compress; I probably need a good sports massage instead. I can report that I have never felt fitter after over 2 months of walking. I am a bit concerned that I am not dropping any more weight having shed about 8 kilogrammes.

It rained the whole day on Saturday, the volume of water when observed on River Irwell was like a torrent, the embankment that people run on was completely flooded, the river had risen well over half a metre with the swell from the rain. By Monday, it had subsided, I can only wonder what I will see tomorrow.

Numbers, records, maintenance

By the time I get home, I would have done almost 12 kilometres and I will be ready to start work, the jacket, the track bottoms, my trainers and socks hopefully will dry out to consider a walk for lunch or sometime in the evening.

Not that it matters much apart from how measurement enforces competition against yourself, completing 7 kilometres under an hour, getting over 140,000 steps in a 7-day week, maybe we’ll get to 5,000,000 steps soon, considering we are at over 4,700,000 steps now. Why does it matter? Because the charts show improvement and rarely celebrate recidivism.

Pulling ponchos off the rain game

Whether the weather

Obviously, even as an Englishman avoiding the trite conversation about the weather might be the maturation of communication skills. As a Mancunian, it is literally unavoidable when it is practically obvious.

The weather forecast had already indicated it was going to rain from the mid-afternoon onwards, so come rain or shine, I still had to get out for my walk. After my dreadful experience in the rain and the dark on Tuesday, the last thing I wanted was to lament with self-flagellation and pitiable abandon.

The poncho is out

The poncho was not doing it for me, I needed good cover, warmth, pockets and protection for my face and glasses. I went out yesterday and get a decent all-weather jacket with a hood. None had breast pockets, but the side zipper that could allow in the air seemed a good trade-off because I could put my phone in one of the pockets and pass the cable through the slit traversing the inside of my jacket to my ears.

I have not convinced myself of Bluetooth headphones or ear pods. To protect my face, I wore a baseball cap under the hood and in the light of day made out to a park in the rain. It never stopped for the 12 kilometres I walked. I was tired enough at the end of it, though the pace was slow and I did sweat a bit. My conclusion, the jacket beats the poncho, hands down. I suspect the night would be quite sleepy too.