Well that was Pain Indeed

I had a wisdom tooth out today, a procedure that I was told would be relatively straightforward as these things go, and could be done under a local anaesthetic.

They were right in that sense. The actual removal of the tooth took barely ten minutes, I didn't even notice it had gone until I was told. Unfortunately it was the 35 minutes of trying to get enough anaesthetic into me to numb the site that was the issue.

You see, the nerve within the tooth had become hypser-sensitised, which was only discovered when after the initial 3 or 4 injections they began work to spilt the tooth to facilitate its removal, and I yelled out loud in pain and nearly ripped the arms off the dental chair.

In order to directly sedate the nerve, they had to dig around to expose it, and then inject it directly with novocaine, or whatever it is they use these days. This meant, they had to keep injecting me to numb a bit more of the pulp around the nerve to enable the exposure process to proceed, each injection producing a split second of incredible, sharp pain.

Finally, there was the final series of injections into the nerve, which again were absolutely blinding.

5 minutes later they were able to begin, with my jaw aching from holding it open, and my body tenser than a springing cat.

Ye gods, that was no fun. All has settled now, although it feels like there's a tangle of fishing line in there from the stitches and I feel like I've been punched in the jaw.

For pictures, well, there was a little sensory garden in Carlton along the road, with some charming little sculptures in it. That's the only nice thing that has happened in the last 24 hours.

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 13.12.19

The Singing Detective Returns from Hospital

Well, I've had an interesting 24 hours, to say the least.

It started at cricket practice last night, where a seemingly innocuous ball from a young spin bowler hit me in the box, the abdominal protector that looks after the family jewels.

It smarted for a moment, but I carried on batting - very badly - for a few more minutes until I felt something give way in my groin area. I wandered off, collapsed, and managed to remove my kit to reveal that a certain part of my anatomy had swollen to several times its normal size.

My initial though was; "Oh shit. Strangulated hernia in the scrotum."

Which is quite a long thought, but I was worried as hell as it turned out I could barely walk, and attempting to ride my bike an exercise in barbed wire straddling agony. I walked 2km back to my flat, called my folks and got taken straight to Newark hospital, where I explained what had happened, was given a syringe of sickly sweet morphine to swallow, and after two hours was examined by a doctor who said I needed an ultrasound at City hospital.

Without any means of transport this time, I waited for four hours for an ambulance to appear at 3am to drive me ricketily but cheerfully to Nottingham where I was directed to a Urology ward full of elderly ghosts snoring and falling out of bed in a grim half light. A night nurse then made me stick swabs in my nose and groin to check for MRSA and told me my weight was 90kg, but he was a friendly chap and I began to feel a bit less stressed.

Various doctors came and examined my goodies, rather forcefully at times, and explained that I certainly had severe bruising and blood clotting down there, but if a scan revealed a torn testicle, then surgery was the only option.

The scan was nerve-wracking, and surreal. A very attractive radiologist and her make colleague smeared me with cold gel, and proceeded to move the sensor around while looking on the screen for unpleasant sounding parts of my anatomy to make sure they were still there.

I told her she deserved £200 an hour for having to do a job such as this, while it reminded me of Michael Gambon as The Singing Detective desperately trying to think of boring things while Joanne Whalley vaselined his genitals. Well, it didn't really, as we talked about cricket.

As it turned out, I was lucky. I am not torn or ruptured, just swollen and bloody sore, and in dire need of a pint while wearing very baggy jeans.

The NHS staff. needless to add, were all fantastic.

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 07.06.19

The Sweet Smell of the Grass at City Hospital

After yesterday's disappointments, it was off to the odd venue of city hospital to play Basford Mill, where their home ground is based. It is  overlooked by the cardiac unit at the hospital, and when my mum had her bypass 10 or more years ago, I used to watch the matches out of the window when we were visiting.

Today I was playing, and fearing the worst when we lost the toss and had to field - it was another chargrilling day, and the ground being in a depression got no wind and was like a furnace - when I was doing my stretches I put my hands on the pavilion and my palms were nearly burnt  off.

And then haze just took a little of the fierceness out of the day, and I took a wicket with my first ball! Their opening bat was too early on a gentle loosener, and just dollied it back to me. Even I can hold those ones, although not the one I got one hand to a bit later on.

To be honest I wasn't bowling that well, bowling too full and not getting much back or shoulder into my delivery. Didn't stop me getting the other opener caught behind though. However, this just allowed their dynamic Asian bat into the game, who warmed up by smashing me for a couple of 4s before going on to belt a great century. Luckily for us the batsman at the other end weren't so hot as the weather though, and we kept chipping away even while he peppered 6s in the hospital car parks and hedges.

We had various drinks breaks, thankfully, and it emerged from out travelling fans who had been walking the boundaries, that certain of the opposition were "smoking" under the trees on the far side of the ground. Interesting. No wonder their support was rather loud. Me, I stuck to Asda Mango crush when we batted later.

Anyway, thanks to our young spinners, we did bowl them out for 212 on a ground with some very short boundaries and a fast outfield. With our strong batting side, did we have a chance?

It seemed not, as after not the greatest tea we've ever eaten, our 4 best bats were blown away by some very fast bowling on a terrible wicket to leave us 20-4.  One minute the ball was round you ears, the next torpedoing your stumps out at ankle height. We were dead. A bit later a 5th wicket went down, our Saturday vice captain, and his dad went in. Joined by our Saturday captain, batting from three feet outside leg stump against pace as usual, the two of them just blazed boundary after boundary through the sky and across the lightning outfield. Saturday skip got out, Sunday skip went on, scored another boundary before getting bowled. Now slower bowlers were on, and I went on at number 8 to score, er, 9, with a couple of 4s of my own. After recent batting horrors, it felt like a century.

Mr Dad just kept blasting away. 100 up. 125. Eventually we were 135-9, and our stump high 13 year old spinner went in. We feared for his safety as the fast men returned. He hit them for 4. Mr Dad hit them for 6, scoring 18 off 4 balls at one point. 150...160...170. Could we do it? The fielders were getting ragged, the captain getting cross. Could we score an unlikely victory?

Sadly, no. Another fast bowler appeared, and castled Mr Dad for 86, his highest ever score.

Sad. But no matter, it had been a great game of cricket against what in general was a better side than us, and our youngsters and less heralded players had brought us so close.

A thrilling day.

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 01.07.18

Wollaton Deer Park Adventure

Today was the day for my much mentioned Nottingham adventure. The day was just too nice to waste bumbling around  town, and I needed new sights to see.

The original plan was to follow "The Big Track" in Nottingham, a council designated walking and cycling route that goes out along the Nottingham and Beeston Canal, and comes back in along the Trent for a distance of ten miles.

Then this morning I bricked it a little bit, thought 1) It was a bit ugly and urban and 2) Aren't towpaths well known crime hotspots these days?

I confess 2) was more of a (non) worry. How pathetic. The cycle path here is probably more dangerous at the moment.

In the end Wollaton Park seemed a better idea, which was daft because to get there I had to walk two miles along that same canal towpath. As it happened it was a pretty nice walk, apart from an amusing interlude between a couple of  lowlifes outside the Magistrates Court. "I'll effing eff you up mate!" all that kind of stuff.

I didn't have a clue where I was going by the way, I was hoping to emerge near Nottingham University campus, which I did after two miles of barges and butterflies and geese. Years since I  had last been here, to a three day science conference when I was 17. What a growing up that weekend was.

The campus lake looked nice for boating, but not much life, and after I navigated through the campus - the smell of cut grass was a first for the year! - I crossed the road and found myself on Wollaton Park for the first time since I did a Bob Geldof SPort Aid run here when I was 16.

Next thing I saw was a woman on the golf course hitting her shot into a pond. I laughed.

I walked round the lake, and straight away my ears were assaulted by a mocking screech from the trees above. "Jay" I wondered. "Green woodpecker?"

Then I saw bird high above, with slim falcon wings but a long drooping tail, and I understood. It was my first ring necked parakeet.

Further around  the lake, more surprises awaited me. I actually shouted "WOW!" out loud as I beheld my first mandarin ducks; the male exotic and glamorous, the female subtly beautiful.

I then hunted for deer, I found them in the next field - fallow deer at a distance, not an easy shot. HOwever, in front of the hall itself, used in the recent Batman movies as signs in the shop tell  you a  lot, was a herd of red deer so tame you could walk right up to them. Makes a mockery of the "Do not approach the deer within 50 yards" signs. Apparently some idiots have been trying to put their children on the stags' backs. Some other chap got gored, but this lot were knackered and panting in the heat.

I then headed back to the station  via St Martin's Pond, the dinky nature reserve near where I worked at Siemens - now empty. I've outlived my old workplace.

In the end I did 20km in the heat, and was out for about 6 hours in all. Face has caught the sun, but at least I didn't get mugged.

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 18.04.16

The Glory of Raleigh

It is quite a fad, I think, but I think it is easy to see why people get seduced by the old style beauty of steel bicycles; their simple slim uncluttered frames, and the way their paint glitters more than it ever can on an aluminium or carbon frame.

Whenever I see a Raleigh bicycle of this nature, it always makes me feel proud - probably the greatest thing Nottingham ever produced. There was a fantastic documentary on BBC4 about the history of the company and its Nottingham factory, and the skilled tradesmen who worked there. I love the heron logo. I love that these bicycles once ruled the world from this county.

So, it gives me great joy to see old Raleigh bicycles at work. Even if leaving a steel bike out in the rain is a bit of a heartbreaker.

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 13.02.18

At Sir Julian Cahn's Place

Today saw us taking on the nice chaps of West Bridgford Legion 2s at West Park, West Bridgford.

A pleasant ground on a pleasant day, I had been really struggling with 1) Lower back pain and sciatica that made it difficult for me to put my own shoes on and 2) loads of toothache despite the dentists telling me my teeth were fine a couple of weeks ago.

I arrived at the ground hobbling after a scenic car journey through the Trent-side villages of Notts - the A46 was accident stricken, as usual. For once I was really hoping we would bat first, but no, skipper won the toss and stuck them in. Trying to stretch was hilarious, I couldn't even touch my knees, let alone my toes.

So, I took two paracetamol and two ibuprofen, and headed out there thinking I was going to be utterly embarassing. Funny though, concentrating on the game always seems to make the pain go away, and apart from my stiffness causing one horrifically bad misfield, I was OK.

Luckily, our quick quick bowler, as opposed to me who can't even pretend to be quick, and a couple of our good juniors, bowled before me giving my back a chance to get warm. We went through their top order, and eventually I got into bowl after about 20 overs, and bowled about as well as I could do. No wides, no mega beamers, no no balls, and didn't go for a run until my 5th over. Wickets came too, a nice sharp catch at short cover, and one of my special inswinging yorkers claming another.

I just couldn't knock over their tail enders though. Tried all sorts, but they just kept the ball out. Bowl was sailing past the outside edge, yorkers dug out....grrrrr. Really fancied 5 wickets today. 2-14 off 10 in the end, as they struggled to 74-9 off 45.

Bowling first is always the smart tactical move as far as I'm concerned - as you know, it means stuffing myself at tea!

Yeah, we'd bowled well, but this was the sort of chase we'd buggered up in the past. I showed my concern however by immediately heading off to photograph the sights, take in the sun, and spend even more energy by doing some sketching, we started off slowly but steadily so I figured best not to worry.

Sir Julian Cahn, after whom the posh pavilion at the ground is named that we weren't allowed to use, was a mega rich businessman and cricket fanatic, who in the 20s and 30s took tours of top stars playing cricket all around the world, while hosting big matches at the ground we played at today.

The only test side not to play at West Park were Australia, but I'm sure we were an acceptable substitute.

By this time, we'd lost a couple of wickets, but hey, no panic. Our stalwart opener was doing a fantastic job on a tricky wicket, and a couple of other lads had played a few shots. However, as ever, we began to find ways to get out, and a deadly spell of umpiring from an umpire of ours perhaps overly keen on demonstrating his neutrality left us 8 down with the grisly spectacle of only having myself down at number 11 to come in.

You may remember, I've won a game like this before, but I doubt I could do it again, no matter how well I batted in nets on Thursday.

Enter our young leg spinner, who despite having no technical batting ability at all other than to play a cow corner hack, has a great eye and a great temperament. He belted a massive 4, and at the other end one of our senior players also found the fence too.

We'd squeaked home. A second much deserved victory for our very young side. And a great settler for my nerves.

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 08.07.16