I just want to see maddy again
my crazy little dog
half chihuahua half who knows
satan linda says
linda’s been looking after her since I went in
I hear her barking in the background
maddy not linda
but I can’t have her back yet
not with things how they are
it’s taken me six months
just to get this far
everything from scratch
writing talking walking
I wouldn’t give up, though
all those people worse than me
I thought please god
whatever happens
not that
so I did everything
they asked and more
pocket rocket
the physios said
but all I could think of
was maddy curled up
on my shoulder
licking my ear
when the phone rang
so I pressed on
fractured my pelvis
falling in the gym
that was a blow
I can tell you
a low point
but I liked the consultant
the big I Am of Hips
smile easy as an alligator
at a water hole
‘What ARE we going to do with you?’ he said
‘Patch me up
and kick me out
quick as you like’ I said
‘I need my chihuahua fix’
‘Well why didn’t you say?’ he said
And wrote me a scrip
Author: jim clayton
margaret & sarah
a woman made of thunderstorms answers the door
okay she says and what’ve you come for?
good morning I say I’m delivering a stick
i can see that she says i’m not completely thick
no i say … so … i’m guessing you’re not sarah
that’s right sherlock i’m margaret the carer
nice to meet you margaret i say is she in
no she’s out in the garden doing backflips again
of course she’s in she’s sitting in the lounge
sarah! she shouts there’s a man to see you some clown
she nods for me to come into the hall
hardly giving me space at all
before slamming the door like i’m doltish cattle
making all the paintings & portraits rattle
through to the lounge and sarahs there
sitting in the sunshine in a high-backed chair
don’t mind me she says I’m having a moment
i can see that i say look i brought you a present
just what i need she says a sword
that’s the last time i’m going to be ignored
waving it in the general direction
of margaret who stares with raw disaffection
you shouldn’t make jokes about that sarah
she says especially not to your live-in carer
then turns and walks away to the kitchen
like a jailor on some murderous mission
sarah winks at me waves the stick again and jabs it
when she comes back she says i’ll let her have it
and so to bed
Community Health encompasses so much, from the acute to the chronic, the social to the medical, from the replacement of a single worn ferrule on a walking stick to the installation of a gantry hoist and a small army of carers; from a three day course of antibiotics to months of gruelling IV therapy. Work in it long enough and you’ll see countless variations, each situation particular to the individual patient and their family.
But if I was forced to nominate the one thing that caused the most problems out in the Community, I would say it was a Resistance to Change.
It’s been said before that the only constant in the world – the one thing you can be absolutely sure of – is that things change. And ultimately it’s not the specifics that matter so much as the way you embrace them. Hanging on to things that cannot possibly last, however much you’d like them to, inevitably leads to friction and unhappiness. A hard lesson to learn, of course, and one that needs constant practice and reinforcement, but no less important for all that.
Take Janice and Henry, for example.
Henry is a hundred. A simple expression of fact – impressive enough in itself, were it not for the fact that every night he goes up three flights of stairs to bed.
Janice goes up behind him, of course. Janice is Henry’s daughter. They’ve been living together a good many years, now, and they’ve got their routines. Latterly Janice has taken over the role of principal carer, a guy coming in every morning to help with washing and dressing. Janice is doing a great job in difficult circumstances, changing Henry’s pads, keeping him fed and entertained. They have a lovely relationship.
We’d been called in by paramedics, who attended a non-injury fall here the other day. Apparently Henry slipped out of his leather armchair downstairs, and Janice couldn’t get him up.
‘The footstool slid forward and he sort of jacknifed’ says Janice. ‘It was too early in the morning to do what I normally do, so I had to call 999.’
‘What do you normally do?’
‘I go out in the street and ask someone if they’d be so good as to come in and help.’
‘Isn’t that a bit risky?’
‘Oh no! People are good, you know. And I only ever ask the burly ones.’
‘Has Henry fallen a lot, then?’
‘Half a dozen times. Not falls so much as a gentle collapse. This one was different because he was in a funny position. Generally it happens on the stairs.’
‘The stairs?’
‘About half way. Occasionally his legs just give out. So he’ll sit on a step a while. And if he can’t get back up again, I’ll nip outside and fetch someone in.’
Janice has already given me a tour of the place. One of those rickety old town houses, compressed by its neighbours into a vertiginous, three-storey affair, two rooms per floor, Henry’s bedroom at the very top, the stairs leading up and up and up so relentlessly you don’t need a handrail so much as crampons and a bottle of oxygen.
‘I’m puffed and I’m half his age’ I said to her.
‘You shouldn’t be,’ she said.
We’d skated over the possibility of changing things around a bit. Maybe moving the bed downstairs. Janice was indignant.
‘Where would I sleep?’ she said.
‘I don’t know. Upstairs?’
‘Out of the question!’
‘He’d be safer.’
‘Yes – but… where on earth would I put everything?’
rabbitman
In a cottage in a wood
A little old man at the window stood
Saw a rabbit running by
Knocking at the door.
‘Help me, help me, help me,’ he said
‘Before the hunter shoots me dead!’
‘Little rabbit come inside,
Happy we shall be.’
Sounds like an elevator pitch for a horror movie. Especially when you do the actions:
- In a cottage in a wood
Describe the outline of the cottage with your two index fingers. A simple design, just a square, really. But isn’t it too simple? The kind of simple you struggle to understand in retrospect, after the horror’s passed, just a scrap of blue & white POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS left round a tree. How did we miss it? For God’s sake – it was there all along, people. In plain sight. - A little old man at the window stood.
Lower your arms and hunch over a little, old man style. Isolated. In your own world. Waiting. - Saw a rabbit running by / Knocking at the door.
Raise your hands in front of you like two little paws, in a bounding motion, then segue immediately into a knocking mime. You’re a rabbit, goddamit. Running. Running in a nightmare. From some unspeakable thing. - ‘Help me, help me, help me,’ he said
Stretch your hands up into the air and then back down again three times. Is this the rabbit crying for help? Or the old man mimicking its terror? You decide. - ‘Before the hunter shoots me dead!’
Mime a shotgun, blasting away three times in a controlled spread-pattern. - ‘Little rabbit come inside’
Extend one index finger and indicate for the rabbit to approach. This is where you start to think: Keep on running, little rabbit! For God’s sake! Keep running! - ‘Happy we shall be.’
Nod & smile & slowly stroke your left hand with your right. It’s no good. The rabbit goes inside. Stands looking around the interior – the whole thing rabbit-themed. Cutlery, teapot, tablecloth. There’s an oil painting on the wall of an old woman dressed as a rabbit. The old man goes out back to ‘pop the kettle on’. Comes back wearing a rabbit head with crooked yellow teeth and maglites for eyes. Cut to the hunter. He’s actually a special forces cop. Out of breath, puffing into his shoulder mic. Sorry. I lost him. Repeat. I lost the target. He swears. It starts to rain. He takes his cap off, tips his head back. Closes his eyes to feel the cooling wetness on his face. Suddenly a bunch of crows launch themselves out of a nearby tree, making a terrifying noise. The cop wipes his face with the back of his shirt sleeve, puts his cap back on, levers a shell into the chamber. Moves on.
That’s the version I was taught, anyway.
jock & the conveyor belt of death
Life is but a day;
A fragile dew-drop on its perilous way
From a tree’s summit
says Jock, Lionel’s ancient border terrier
mournfully shaking his head
his eyes closed.
That’s beautiful, I say.
Did you write that?
Google it, he says
opening one eye &
wincing up at me
I will I say
He sighs, reaches up to tap the ash from his fag
into a chunky plastic ashtray
with Ricard on the side.
I push it a little nearer
Thanks he says
I shout out to Lionel
who’s still in the bathroom
Are you alright in there, Lionel?
‘I’m never alright!’ he shouts back
I look down at Jock
who nods ironically
We’re quiet for a while
watching the fucked & yellowing nets
ripple in front of the window.
He’s changed says Jock
Ever since all his brothers died.
All of them?
Five he says, holding up four toes
One a year
In age order.
And is he the youngest?
He is.
That’s hard.
Tell me about it.
I shout out to Lionel again
‘D’you need a hand?’
No reply
Jock takes another drag and
blows thin streams of smoke
through his incisors
It makes him look mean
but I don’t say anything about that
You wanna hear his latest thing? he says
What’s his latest thing?
His latest thing is the Conveyor Belt of Death
Yeah! I know, right?
Bloody hell. So what do you say to that?
Jock winces again
tries to shrug
(an arthritic kind of lurch)
takes another drag of the fag
then grinds the butt out
in the Ricard ashtray
with a look of disgust
I tell him there’s no conveyor belt, man he says
There’s life and there’s death and that’s it
Today you’re alive
So c’mon! Let’s go for a walk!
We can piss on some flowers
And does he?
No
kung fu jack
‘Ya would’na think to look at me now but ah used to be a kung fu master’
‘Wow! That’s amazing!’
‘I were a lot younger then, mind. Fit as a sand flea. I hitchhiked everywhere. I’d put ma thumb out an’ jes’ see where it took me. One time it was Norway, man. Norway!’
‘I’d love to go to Norway.’
‘Yeah? Well ya should. It’s still there, far as I know.’
I finish taking the blood and writing up the notes. Jack folds his arms and watches me, one thin leg hooked over the other, the foot tapping gently up and down, the laces of the boot gently trailing in the air.
‘Ah’m not kiddin’ ya. A kung fu master. One thing we had to do, to qualify, like. We had to run down this dark tunnel, wi’ no light at all except what was comin’ in the end. An’ you had to run like stink towards it, and the only thing stoppin’ yah was everyone inside, punching and kicking the livin’ crap out of you. Now look at me. If you laughed too loud ah’d fall over.’
‘So where are you from originally? Are you a Geordie?’
‘A Geordie? Well there’s no need for that. I tell you wha’. It’s a good job for you ah’ve lost ma kung fu skills. Ah’m from Sunderland, man! A Mackem! Geordie. Ah’m thinking you must be one o’ them things from the south.’
‘I am. And d’you know what? I have to admit – to my shame – I’ve never been further north than the Lake District.’
‘What? Ya dowun nah what yah missing, man! We’ve got everything yah could want. Beautiful beaches, and … and … pubs carved out of the rock.’
‘Sounds amazing.’
‘It is amazing. The most unbelievable place on earth. An’ ah’ll tell you what. I’d go back there in a second if ah could jes’ snap me fingers an’ fly.’
a short walk to the bypass
you used to be able
to go over the fields
not any more
they’ve fenced it all off
why, I don’t know
now you have to stick to the lane
I usually walk to the by-pass and back
but I won’t let amelie off no way
too dangerous
I keep her on the extendable
look at that
you can still just about
read what they wrote:
pick up your shit
the council said they had to
paint it over
too aggressive, they said
but it’s not nice, is it
everyone using your garden
for a toilet
a few people spoiling it
for everyone else
same old same old
see that sign?
that makes me laugh
warning! alsatians off the lead!
I saw the man who owns it the other day
I bet you don’t recognise me he said
I do I said you used to sell pet food down the market
you’ve got a good memory he said
but why would I forget?
just make sure you keep your alsatians
away from my amelie I said
you’re alright he said
but I’m not so sure
what with him driving in and out all hours
the gates aren’t always shut are they
and I don’t know what’s worse
being run over or eaten by dogs
look at that house
what’s left of it
such a shame
almost burned to the ground
some foreigners were sleeping rough
set it all on fire
lucky they didn’t go up with it
it’s been like that a while now
but they’ve got plans
apparently someone somewhere
wants to turn it into a riding school
a riding school!
I remember when it was pigs & runner beans
come on, that’s far enough
let’s turn back
it’s not like it used to be
but at least we’ve got the garden
a loss of balance
‘My psychiatrist is worried what effect all this is having on me,’ says Angela. For a moment I think she’s going to illustrate by pointing to her brain, but uses her finger to push her glasses back up her nose instead. She makes as if to fold her arms, then changes her mind at the last minute, puts them in her lap – and then changes her mind again, and folds them after all, leaning forwards with her shoulders hunched, rocking imperceptibly.
I’ve only been in the same room with Angela five minutes and I have to say, I’m as worried as the psychiatrist. Angela’s face is so intensely anxious, it’s as if someone had taken a cup, drawn round it with a crayon to get the circle, roughed in two permanently arched eyebrows, a pair of thick glasses, a flared nose, a downward pointing mouth, and then below it, as an afterthought, adding an incised groove like a second mouth, to amplify the sadness of the first.
‘You’ve got a lot on your plate,’ I say. ‘Anyone would be anxious.’
‘I am anxious,’ she says. ‘I’m very anxious.’
‘It’s understandable.’
Staring at us from the armchair opposite is the source of Angela’s anxiety: her father, William – an imposing figure, despite his extreme age. William is fastidiously dressed in a buttoned-up shirt and tie, bottle green cardigan, corduroy trousers with a sharp crease down the centre of each leg, his velcro-shoes box-fresh, correctly fastened. He’s so tall and gaunt, with so many edges and angles to him, you’d hardly think he was real at all. I imagine when he gets up at the end of the evening, he simply unfolds, flap by flap, like a complicated origami figure, cushion fold, chair fold, reverse-squash fold – and shuffles away to sleep in an envelope.
He must have some mass, though. He fell on the patio a week ago, taking his wife Rose with him, landing on her and fracturing her hip. Rose ended up in hospital, of course, with the prospect of a long convalescence. The only other sibling, Angela’s brother Tommy, works away from home a great deal and can’t spare the time. And as Angela is off on long-term sickness due to her anxiety, they decided – or at least, I would think, Tommy decided – that Angela should be the one who stays with William until Rose makes it home again.
‘I just can’t keep an eye on him every single hour of every single day,’ says Angela, hopelessly.
‘Hmm,’ I say. ‘What do you think, William?’
William slowly unlaces his fingers and then holds his hands apart in a sad, what-will-be-will-be kind of way.
‘It’s difficult,’ he says. ‘I don’t want to worry anyone. But it is unfortunately the case that – for whatever reason – I have something of an issue with balance.’
I turn to Angela again, who’s staring at me with such terror it’s like we’ve been dragged to the edge of a precipice.
‘You see?’ she says.
jane & the cat
it’s changed so much round here
well – everyone’s died
I’m the last woman standing
at night the street’s parked up
I picture them all
all them people
lying in their beds, in mid-air
during the day you don’t see no-one
no cars, nothing
I talk to the gardener once a week
he’s got a little dog
the yappy kind
we had a dog once,
a jack russell
called jane
she hated fireworks
I used to put cotton wool in her ears
wrap a scarf round her head
we had a cat, too, years ago
I don’t think he had a name
we just called him The Cat
his house got bombed out
so he come into ours
he was a funny little thing
filthy, not what you might call affectionate
he loved the rain
he’d go right out in it
and stay out
then sneak back in
and jump on your lap
give you a heart attack
like someone attacking you with a mop
I miss all our pets, though
when they was gone we didn’t get no more
not when we started playing table tennis
well – it wouldn’t be fair to them, would it?
bad karma park
The motorway hasn’t been too bad, so we have plenty of time to pull into a service station for a coffee and something to eat. The car park is pretty full with an ill-tempered vibe. People are wandering uncertainly in dazed groups, like newly-hatched chicks, stumbling towards the food halls. We do the same.
There are the usual concessions set around the edges of a cavernous central eating area. We take our coffees and toasties and diligently work our way through them. On the tables around us: a woman bottle-feeding a restless, red-faced kid who looks about twelve; an elderly man in a shiny jacket and trousers, green braces at full stretch, and his wife, presumably, with ice blue hair; an Asian woman and her son, both swiping their phones, occasionally looking up, taking a sip of Coke, smiling at each other, then continuing with their phones; and across the way, a stubble headed man in a bulging white sports shirt shouting into his phone, something about twelve hundred for the job, but that’s before the twenty per cent, so you’re looking at eight-eighty, mate…..
‘Do you want this Americano?’ green braces man says to me, holding it up.
‘No thanks. I’ve already got one.’
‘Nobody wants it,’ he says. ‘I can’t give it away.’
‘Why’ve you got an extra Americano?’
‘It’s chaos up there. Absolute chaos. The girl didn’t tell me her mate had already brought the drinks over, so I ended up getting two.’
‘Can’t you get a refund?’
‘No. That’d mean queuing again. I’m not that desperate. Ah well.’
His wife doesn’t turn round.
‘Chaos’ I hear him say to her. ‘Absolute chaos.’
When we’re done the girls wander off to look at the magazines and books in Smiths; I go back to the car.
It’s half past twelve. The sun is angling straight in the window on my side, so I swing the sun visor round to block it off a little. I’m just settling down to check my Twitter feed when a man comes up to the car and taps on the visor.
‘Hello?’ he says. ‘D’you mind if I ask you something?’
‘No. Not at all,’ I say, pushing the sun visor back round again.
It’s a thin-faced, middle-aged white guy – a monk, I’d guess, by his saffron-coloured robes, a red bindi spot above round metal glasses, a beaded bag on his shoulder, a small, hard-backed book in his hands. He’s smiling, and stroking the book.
‘What d’you think about Life and Existence?’ he says.
‘Well…’
‘I’m sorry to bother you whilst you are resting, but I just wanted to bring something to your attention. Have you heard of the Bhagavad Gita?’
‘Yes,’ I say, ‘I think…’
‘It is the word of the Lord Krishna, the one true God we believe in. Allow me to show you the contents….’
He presents the book, opens it, and starts sliding his index finger slowly down the chapter headings. Most of it seems to be Indian names and so on, but words like reincarnation, yoga and vegetarianism catch my attention. I want to tell him that I’ve recently given up eating meat, but his voice has the soft and mildly sedating quality of a salesman, so I end up simply following the finger.
‘Would you like a copy?’ he says, suddenly closing the book and handing it to me through the window.
‘It’s very interesting,’ I say, turning it over a couple of times, and then handing it back to him. ‘And thank you for showing it to me. But I think – today – I won’t. If that’s okay.’
‘Or a donation?’ he says. ‘Just a few pounds. To help us in our work.’
‘I’m sorry but I don’t think I will. Thanks again for talking to me.’
He smiles as he drops the book back in his bag, puts his hands together and nods over them, straightens, says ‘Have a nice day!’ then turns his attention to an occupied car two spaces to my right.
A moment or two later, and there’s uproar and great laughter from the car.
‘Because I am a muslim!’ the driver says.
They seem to get on pretty well, though. Lots of shouting and emphatically expressed words. In fact, Hare Krishna guy is so engaged with them he almost climbs in through the window, and silly as it sounds, I can’t help feeling a little jealous. Eventually it comes to an end, though.
‘See you in paradise, my friend!’ says the driver.
Hare Krishna guy waves to him, re-shoulders his bag, and strides off across the car park, his sandals slapping on the baked tarmac.
jim clayton 