Scooter-riding Wild Man

Remembering Glyn Williams

2008-11-02T06:24:00.000-08:00

Hi everyone, Julie from Jooly's Joint here.

I'm afraid I have sad news. On Friday 29 August 2008, our dear friend Glyn Williams passed away.

I was fortunate to know Glyn for seven years during which time he wrote this diary for Jooly's Joint. Glyn was a terrific and enthusiastic writer, often writing diary entries faster than I could get them onto the web!

As he recalls in his diary, Glyn lived a rich and interesting life and maintained a positive outlook even when his illnesses must have been causing him discomfort and frustration (Glyn had diabetes and prostate cancer as well as MS).

Much love to Glyn's wife Margaret and his five children.

Glyn's diary remains a fitting tribute to a man who lived his life so positively and who gave so much hope and inspiration to other people with MS.

Lots of love, Glyn. We're really going to miss you xxx

Loch Lomond

2008-06-15T08:22:00.000-07:00

We nearly drowned on Loch Lomond!

Many years ago, my wife and I and another couple - friends of ours - were on holiday in Scotland. We decided it would be nice to hire a rowing boat to go on Loch Lomand, the biggest lake in Scotland.

When we were right in the middle of the Loch we observed a large day trip boat coming up at the side of us. We waved to them and were pleased when they waved back.

Unfortunately, we soon realised to our horror that the people on the other boat were waving to warn us to keep away from them!

The first wave hit us sideways on. It shook us up. The second wave nearly capsized us!

Fortunately, my wife Margaret - who was in charge of the steering - had the presence of mind to turn our boat to face the oncoming waves. Fortunately this saved the day!

We swore never to go in a rowing boat again!

Many years later, and despite our traumatic experience on Loch Lomand, we bought a superb 14 foot skipper sailing boat and became members of Bala Sailing Club. We spent many happy years tacking the wind in our new boat. We also bought a mercury outboard motor to clip on the stern of the boat to use on the canals. We had many happy years with the family on this boat. But as our children got older, there was only one of our five kids who was interested in carrying on sailing. That was our eldest son, Lindsay, and eventually he went to Leeds University to study his PhD so he had to sell the boat.

We are left with happy memories!

Respite

2008-04-27T11:30:00.000-07:00

It's been a long time since I've written on my blog. I've been in respite care for 8 weeks while my wife Margaret had a replacement knee operation.

Poor cat

2007-11-11T14:19:00.000-08:00

I was working on my yard. The neighbour across the road was mowing grass for haymaking. He came and asked me if we had a black cat. I told him yes we did. He told me he thought he had caught one in his mowing machine.

My wife and I went looking but there was no sign of the cat. We left thinking he was mistaken.

At 2am that night, after we'd gone to bed, I heard a faint miaowing coming from the front room. I went downstairs with a torch and there was my cat. Three of its legs and its tail were badly damaged. It just sat there miaowing at me.

I didn't know what to do so I phoned the vet and described the problem. The vet said he could come but only to put it to sleep as there was nothing he could do. The vet said he would come or I could put it to sleep to sleep myself. I asked him if he meant kill it. He said yes, that is all that could be done.

So I called the neighbour who brought his 12 bore shotgun. I couldn't watch but at least it was killed immediately.

The poor cat. It had taken 12 hours to travel from the field to my bedroom window only to be put down. I felt dreadful but what else could I do?

Bicycle race

2007-11-10T14:17:00.000-08:00

When I was about nine years old I had a bicycle race with a group of friends around a large field.

For the first three rounds I was well in front of the others but at the beginning of the forth round the chain came off my bike. I had to get off to put the chain on again. But by now the other cyclist were 50 yards in front of me so there was no hope on my catching them up.

I was pedalling along to get back to the finish and I heard this little girl saying to her mother, "Oh mummy, look at him, it's a pity he's last!".

I couldn't explain to them that I had been well in front for the first three rounds. It was very embarrassing!

Singapore

2007-10-20T09:53:00.000-07:00

The armed security guard's hand dropped down to his revolver and his left hand lifted up for me to stop, which of course I did, in my wheelchair.

My wife and I were passing through customs in Singapore where everyone was very friendly and pro-British. I asked someone why the armed security guard had appeared so very aggressive. I was told that they are very aggressive against the import of any drugs - drug smuggling can even lead to execution in some cases.

I had heard a little 'ting' sound as I passed through customs, but that was caused by a tin of tobacco and a steel stemmed pipe that were in my pocket (I gave that obnoxious habit up many years ago). Nothing prohibited on me!

Memories

2007-10-13T14:03:00.000-07:00

I was reflecting the other day on the happiest and also the saddest days of my life.

The happiest was of course June 4th 1955, when I married - who I thought then, and still think of as now - the loveliest and most sensible girl in the world.

The saddest without doubt was in 1941, when I was 11.

I had a little brother called Idwal. He was 3 years old. I can see him now, sitting on the fifth stair up, reading my comic 'The Hotspur' upside down with a mischievous grin on his face! He used to say you can't have it, coz I haven't finished reading it yet! Then a few seconds later he would give it to me!

A few months later my Mother was holding Idwal on her knee when she noticed his breathing was husky. She said to my Father we'd better take him to hospital, which they did. We left him there for treatment.

The following day Mr Williams from the power station came to our house (because we didn't have a phone) to say the hospital had rung to say that they should go there as soon as possible. They went.

They came back a couple of hours later. My Father was very quiet and my Mother was crying. I asked what was wrong and she said that Idwal had died of pneumonia.

I prayed every night for weeks that there had been a silly mistake, to no avail!

Scores of years later we had five lovely children and lots of equally superb grandchildren. Not a day goes by that I fail to realise that we cannot take anything for granted.

Brucellosis

2007-09-09T06:38:00.000-07:00

I could never have achieved anything without my wife's constant support. As it said in our marriage vows in on 4 June 1955, 'In sickness and in health'. And thank GOD Margaret has always enjoyed relatively good health, albeit with rheumatic knees now.

In the past, I had a bad bout of Brucellosis (Brucella melitensis or 'Malta fever'), a dreadful condition which I contracted when I was working as a tractor driver at Saighton in Cheshire. My employer had it and I saw how he suffered. You catch it from infected cows.

When Margaret and I were establishing our Guernsey herd I took every precaution to ensure that our herd remained Brucella-free, getting rid of any cows which had aborted straight away and immunising all our calves with S19 vaccine (which protects them from getting the Brucella bug). When the anti-Brucella law came into force in the 50s ours was the first herd in North Wales to become Brucella-free.

Then, when that dreadful Foot and Mouth disease broke out in the 60s, thousands of cows, sheep and pigs (any animal with cloven feet) had to be shot and burnt. Obviously, I was worried sick. Every night, when I was milking our beautiful herd of about 65 Guernsey cows, my daughter or someone in our household would come out to our shippon to tell me how many F&M outbreaks had happened that day.

The strain on me was tremendous and the Brucella - which had been lying dormant in my body - flared up again. Margaret said that some nights the bedclothes would be very wet with my perspiration and I would shiver with cold.

My Doctor had to notify the Health Authority as to how I had got the Brucella bug, particularly as our herd had been declared Brucella-free. The Health Authority checked back in their records and confirmed that I had had the bug in my body for 20 years, but that it had lain dormant until this dreadful strain on my body caused it to flare up.

Nowadays, with all UK herds now Brucella-free, the public (and I) are quite safe. But that condition was the most dreadful of all.

Foot and mouth

2007-09-08T09:44:00.000-07:00

There is much in the news about that horrific Foot and Mouth Disease that has struck the UK again.

I remember with dread when FMD struck us in the 1960s.

I was milking our lovely pure bred Guernsey herd of 70 cows plus their followers (calf heifers, heifers and calves). All of our cows were home-reared by myself, something that I and my family loved doing very much. FMD was coming rather too close to our farm. Every night when I was milking, one of my two daughters or my wife would come to tell me after the evening news that the outbreaks were down to 40. I would breathe a sigh of relief, only to be told the following night that there were up to 70 new outbreaks. The tension was horrific. I swore that if our herd got FMD the first to be shot had to be me. And I meant it!

The stress was so dreadful. The 'brucella bug', which I had contracted whilst working on a large Cheshire farm many years earlier and which had been lying dormant, flared up again.

Thank God, our Guernsey herd did not get FMD disease. But I was very ill for quite a long time.

Helicopter

2007-08-10T11:27:00.000-07:00

When I wrote about the different aircraft which I had enjoyed flying in, I failed to mention the most 'orrible one, and that was a flight in a helicopter.

I got in it sitting next to two ladies. The door closed behind me, but didn't appear to have been closed properly. I tried to tell the attendant this, but we were already many feet in the air!

The noise was horrendous. The two ladies pressed against me. We all had earphones which were supposed to be giving us a commentary as we flew over Chester. But because the engine was so very noisy we couldn't hear any commentary at all.

The helicopter banked over so much that I was worried in case the darn door should fly open!

I was very glad when we landed and I could get out of it.

Helicopters do - of course - do excellent work, but for me this was no 'joyride'.

p.s. I am going into a respite home next Monday for two weeks, as it will give my wife Margaret a break.

Trigger

2007-08-06T11:11:00.000-07:00

One of our sons, Russ, still lives with Margaret and I here at Caerwys.

Russ always excellent and gentle with our Guernsey herd when we were farming, far better in fact than I ever was. But now, as we are no longer farming and living at a private house, Russ now has some lovely, gentle and large American Bull dogs that he looks after. He has trained his dogs expertly.

Russ, who is a retired undisputed World Champion kickboxer, has started up a security business. Four people work for Russ.

Russ has a fully-equipped gym on the ground floor at our house, while Margaret and I live on the first floor - I have a special type of electric lift which takes me in my wheelchair up to our floor. Russ lives in the fully self-contained flat on the top floor.

Russ, at their request, visits local schools, where there he teaches self-defence (very popular with ladies and girls in particular), temper control and generally helps people to become model citizens. In fact, one headmistress has said that one her pupils was so naughty that she was on the verge of expelling him. However, since attending Russ's classes, he is now a model pupil.

Recently, Russ travelled to the Ukraine where he has set up a number of kickboxing clubs. His dogs love him very much and miss him when he goes away on these trips. On one such occasion, I was sitting on my recliner in our lounge, when Trigger - one of Russ's dogs - came to me whining. He appeared distressed and obviously wanted me to follow him.

I struggled into my electric wheelchair and obediently followed Trigger to the bottom of our stairs. It became clear that Trigger wanted me to go up the stairs to fetch Russ for him! With Russ being abroad I couldn't grant Trigger's wish, so I gave him a big hug. This seemed to pacify him.

I told Russ about this when he returned. Now when Russ goes away, he makes sure that Trigger sees him leave so that the dog understands that Russ is not hiding upstairs and knows that I cannot call him down! Russ has been away since, but Trigger has never asked for my help again.

Delightful

2007-08-03T10:53:00.000-07:00

I had a request from the chairman of a gliding club.

He'd read an article that I'd written about the fauna and flora on Halkyn mountain. I'd written it in my pre-MS days. I was a District and Community councillor back then and was disgusted at some folk who were dumping rubbish on our 2000 acre Halkyn mountain. I hope that my article would help more people appreciate some of the interesting beauty there.

Anyway, the gliding club chairman, Ken Payne, wrote to me because he wanted help getting publicity for the club. He said that I could have a free flight in one of their gliders if I would write an article about it.

I was happy to oblige.

Here's what I wrote in the article...

There is an old saying 'That if God had meant folk to fly, He would have provided us with wings'. Well, He didn't so folk get up in the sky in all types of aircraft.

The gigantic intercontinental airliners make for very boring long flights, I think. The longest that I have ever done was to Melbourne, Australia.

Then there are the monoplanes, from which I did my two sponsored charity jumps.

The double wings, Tiger Moths, on which I flew whilst on holiday in the Isle of White. We flew over The Needles.

The remote-controlled tiny unmanned aircraft for photographing fields.

But the ones I enjoy most are gliders.

The first glider I flew in was winch-controlled. This meant there was a winch about 100 yards away from the plane. A car parked near the glider would flash its lights, the signal at which the winch would begin to tow the glider along the ground. The glider moved very quickly and then bump-bump on the ground. Suddenly, we were up in the air and climbed very quickly up to 1000 feet. It made Concord's take-off seem sluggish.

The glider pilot would seek a thermal to fly on which would keep us in the air much longer. The deafening silence was truly lovely. I was so busy taking photographs that the time went by very quickly.

The next time that I went up in a glider it was towed up by another plane. The plane towed us up to 10,000 feet at which point the glider pilot released the towing cable. This would cause the glider to come to a complete stop. I thought we would plunge down to our certain deaths. But no, we would glide happily about.

Compared to my other favourite outdoor pursuits of sailing, golfing and motorcycling, gliding is without doubt also most delightful.

TT

2007-07-22T03:08:00.000-07:00

Geff Duke, the legendary motorcycle racer, was almost responsible for my young bride Margaret and I having our first row.

We were wed on Saturday 4th June 1955 at Port St Mary on the most Southernly part of the Isle of Man. We stayed on at Port St Mary for a few extra days so we could watch the TT (Tourist Trophy) motorcycle race on the Monday.

We were motorcyclists ourselves back then as we couldn't afford to buy and run a car. We very happily ran an elderly but very reliable Norton motorcycle. Margaret was an excellent pillionist and we rode many hundreds of miles on it.

(In 1950, the UK supplied 90% of the world's motorcycles, about 30 different makes from the AJS and the Ariel to the magnificent Vincents. Now, other than the Triumph, most are, sadly, gone)

So, we were on our honeymoon in the Isle of Man watching the TT races. An ice cream and soft drinks van was parked in a lay-by not far from where we were standing. As it was a very hot day Margaret asked if we could buy and some liquid refreshment. I gave Margaret a stern look and asked her if we could wait a couple of minutes as Geff Duke was due to come past.

Moments later, Geff Duke sped past. It was announced on the speakers that he had - for the first time - reached 100 miles per hour. A record.

I thought then it would be physically impossible for anyone to go faster than that!
Nowadays, Japanese and Italian motorbikes achieve over 126 mph which is over 25% faster. Truly amazing!

Years roll by

2007-07-09T08:25:00.000-07:00

That young grandson of ours sitting on that quad motorbike with me is now 18 years old. He has a lovely steady girlfriend, and a job which he enjoys as an electrician.

How the years roll by so quickly.

Our eldest son is a vet in Melbourne, Australia. He and his lovely friendly wife Jane - who is a microbiologist in Melbourne, are also here on holiday. They are in a bit of a dilemma as although they both love living in Australia, they also have a small 50 acre farm here in Wales where they keep horses mainly. They do miss their families back here in the UK.

My other son Russ, lives here with Margaret and I and his very pretty and friendly girlfriend Victoria from the Ukraine.

Black market

2007-07-08T04:29:00.000-07:00

Illegal drugs, such as cannabis, can be fairly easy to obtain from 'back street traders'. Some people believe that cannabis use can encourage youngsters - in particular - to move on to stronger drugs, such as crack cocaine or heroin, with devastating consequences.

I think that if lower classed drugs such as cannabis were legalised and available from 'approved sources' it would help to spell the demise of the black market supply chain.

In America, legalising alcohol led to the demise of the millionaire gangsters who were making fortunes selling illegal alcohol.

Three years ago, a statement was made in the House of Lords, stating 'We now have sufficient evidence to convince us that a doctor should legitimately be able to prescribe cannabis (taken orally) without fear of being prosecuted'.

I'm looking forward to seeing how our Sandie is getting on with her Cannabis trial.

It is interesting that when I was having much pain, the doctor put me on morphine. The side effects of this addictive substance were dreadful, much worse than cannabis. Yet the doctor was able to prescribe it legally!

Domin

2007-05-13T05:02:00.000-07:00

As I mentioned in an earlier diary, a very pleasant Italian prisoner of war (POW) stayed with us during the Second World War.

His name was Dominica Petrela, but we called him 'Domin'.

My father applied for an Italian POW to assist help him on our farm in 1942. My father made it clear we needed a farmer. We were told that Domin was a farmer. However, it soon because clear that he was a market gardener, and how no idea how to milk our cows or plough the fields!

In his spare time, Domin fenced off a little piece of land in which he grew many delicious vegetables. As we were on very strict rations during the the dark war-time days these were very welcome. We obtained a civilian suit for Domin which was more suitable than his khaki suit, with its big red patch on the back and two red patches on each leg.

As Domin was a POW someone had to be with him at all times and usually that person was me. I really enjoyed Domin's company so I didn't mind that at all. We cycled many miles together. Domin would cut young willow branches from which he made lovely baskets, some square and some round.

The war ended in 1945 and Domin received some very sad news from home. His father had died and this made Domin very sad. However, his girlfriend Francessa was still waiting for him at their home just north of Rome.

As he was leaving us, Domin said to me, 'Glyn, you have always been very kind to me and I will write to you after I return home'. I was very disappointed as he never did.

I taught Domin some English words and he taught me some Italian words. These came in very useful many years later when I was confined to Holywell Cottage Hospital. The nurses were begging, "Does anyone speak Italian, please?". As no-one else could help I replied that I could speak just a little Italian. (It's amazing - almost all Italian words end with a vowel.) This made me remember my friend Domin again.

I often wonder what happened to him after he returned home.

Television

2007-03-07T06:24:00.000-08:00

I'm not always sure whether it's a pleasant honour, or just a nerve racking ordeal, but I have been on the television numerous times over the past 20 years!

About 12 years ago, I was asked by the BBC if I would appear on a 'Songs of Praise' programme, which went off very well. When Cliff Mitchelmore asked me for my choice of hymn, I told him that I would like the hymn 'Count your Blessings'. Cliff asked me why I, having MS, would choose that particular hymn. I told him that as I had a wife and 5 disgustingly healthy children and the law of averages would say that one of us should fall ill, I thank God that it was myself, and not one of my excellent family who fell ill.

Since then, and for different themes, I've been on TV many more times. Not because I'm good looking or anything like that! Before this wretched MS put a stop of my being an unopposed District and Community councillor (a priviledge which I loved), and was quite happy talking in public and made several TV appearance.

After MS arrived on the scene I was asked to go on TV again, this time because in our MS Branch I was the only Welsh speaker. Back in 1980, I was one of four people with MS who kept a HBO (hyberbaric oxygen) unit at Saltney (near Chester) going. It's still going strong now, with many other therapies now available.

TV crews have been there a number of times, and yes, inevitably, with muggins has been on it!

This last month, I have been on the television twice again, both times on the S4c channel and in speaking in my native language, Welsh! I spoke of how I am coping with my MS and the fact that we are moving from our farm in the next month or so. I was also sure to mention the tremendous benefit I have experienced through taking cannabis, which I am able to acquire on receipt of a doctor's letter confirming that I genuinely have MS. The cannabis is available free, in delicious Belgium chocolate.

I have found cannabis even more effective than the morphine sulphate that I was prescribed after it was confirmed that I had a cancerous tumour, 2 years ago. So if you live in Wales keep an eye out, because you never know when I'll be making my next TV appearance!

Electric wheelchair

2007-01-08T05:06:00.000-08:00

I received my new electric wheelchair yesterday!

It seems far better than my previous one. However, after watching me use it the two ladies that brought it here decided that I shouldn't use it until their mechanic came to make a few alterations that would make it even more suitable for me.

Now the mechanic has come and gone and my new wheelchair is ready for me to use! To get me onto the wheelchair my wife Margaret has to get me onto our hydraulic lift which lifts me from my bed into the wheelchair. Also, if I want to use it, it means my wife has to get our hydraulic lift to lift me from my bed onto the wheelchair.

I haven't had a chance to use it so far today because our youngest daughter came here with her three young children.

There have been many criticisms about our NHS (National Health Service), but I have always found it excellent. However, when something pleases or displeases me, or some news item appears that gets me thinking, I always write a 'Letter to the Editor' of the newspaper concerned. It's my way of 'letting off steam'.

Back in the day, I was an unopposed District and Community councillor. It was a vocation I loved until the devastating onset of MS put a stop to it.

In many ways, I was more sorry about being compelled to give my Council work up than my farming. But 'Thy will be done' as they say, and 'When one door closes, another one opens'.

As my colleague Sandie said recently, writing our diaries for Jooly's Joint is one of the them, so my sincere thanks for giving us that privilege.

First farm

2006-10-21T05:09:00.000-07:00

In 1955, when Margaret and I were married, there was a lot of family friction in our farm house between my father and my mother. So after we married, Margaret and I decided to move to Saighton.

I worked as a head tractor driver at Saighton Lane farm. Margaret worked part-time at Bruera egg packing station.

My weekly wage for up to 72 hours a week, and after deductions for rent, milk, eggs, tax and insurance, was just £10. Margaret's wage was £5 per week. So our combined wages came to an astronomical £15 a week!

Nevertheless, in less than two years, we managed to furnish our house with just the essential bits of furniture and saved up £120.

With an Aunt of Margaret's standing as guarantor for £500 we started a farm of our own.

Ours was a Flintshire county council 11-acre farm. We started out with just two Guernsey cows!

Then through our very hard work we progressed through a series of larger county council farms until we ended up in a 120-acre county council farm, milking 72 Guernsey cows plus their followers!

Our determination to have our own farm really stemmed from my loving pro-Welsh, anti-English father. His last words to me were 'Go and marry this English girl then! You are just an ordinary farm worker always will be!'.

Margaret and I were both determined to show him different, and we did!

Home by train

2006-08-11T05:14:00.000-07:00

A few years ago whilst I was up in an MS respite home in York I noticed a sign on the wall that said 'We will transport patients to and from York train station'.

So I asked the receptionist to find out how much it would cost for a single fare to Flint station.

She told me £18. I thought that was considerably cheaper and more convenient than for my wife to come on a 180-mile round trip to pick me up. So I didn't hesitate in booking it. I was told I would have to change at Manchester Station. No problem.

My wife Margaret asked our daughter Gill "What do you think, Gill? Your Dad is coming home by train from York". Gill replied, "That's OK, Dad knows what he's doing".

So the day arrived for me to return. The respite home arranged to take me and my equipment (a briefcase, a suitcase, two wheelchairs (one portable, and one electric on which I was sitting), a battery charger, and a radio/cassette player) to the station. We waited a few minutes for the train.

When it arrived I drove my wheelchair onto it whilst they loaded my bits and pieces into the carriage.

As we arrived at Manchester station, two ladies sitting opposite me informed me that there were two stations at Manchester. I asked them would they ask a porter to check which station I needed to get the train to Flint and not the station where the train went to Penrith.The porter returned and informed me to stay on the train and it would take me direct to Flint station.Which it did!!

All's well that ends well!!

With all the many criticisms about our railways, the service I received that day was excellent!

They do say "let the train take the strain" and in my case it certainly did.

Cyst

2006-05-07T05:20:00.000-07:00

It is very seldom that I see my family doctor as he cannot cure my MS nor halt my ageing process!

But I decided to pay him a visit after I discovered a small lump near my left eye. The lump didn't hurt at all, but it did affect my vision.

I told my doctor this, and added that I suspected it was a problem with my tear duct. However, after looking at the lump my doctor told me that it was in fact a cyst that should be removed.

As I was wondering which hospital he would send me to, I noticed he already had a tray in his hand on which there were some frightening instruments such as scalpels and swabs! Before I knew what was happening he took a scalpel in his hand and cut out the cyst!

Then, with a sadistic gleam in his eyes(?!), he said he would have to cauterise the wound. My thoughts turned to a scene from a film where the character, whom after having his hand chopped off, plunged his wrist into a fire to cauterise it! But the doctor just put some cream on it. This stung for a millisecond, then all was OK.

I was glad to have the cyst diagnosed and treated all in one visit.

Songs of Praise

2006-01-29T14:22:00.000-08:00

A few years ago I had a phonecall from a BBC researcher for Cliff Mitchelmore's 'Songs of Praise' programme (some of you older members will remember him).

We made an appointment to meet each other and a few days later she (a very pleasent and lovely young lady) came to our farm to meet me. She asked me all sorts of questions.

I asked her why the BBC had chosen me to appear on their TV programme. The researcher told me that she had spoken to local radio broadcaster John Shone for the names of local people involved in local issues. And as I was at that time the unopposed District and Community Councillor, as well as chariman of the local branch of the National Farmers' Union, and president of the local branch of the Young Farmers Club my name was put forward.

I still have a video of that programme with Cliff and myself on my wheelchair going around our farm. Cliff (a very friendly bloke) asked me which hymn I would like to be played on the programme. I asked for "Count your Blessings".

The congregation sang with gusto. Cliff asked me why had I had chosen that hymn in particular, especially in view of the fact that in addition to having MS I also had prostate cancer and diabetes. I told him that I had a wife and five disgustingly healthly children. The law of averages would say that one of us would fall ill, and whilst I was certainly no martyr, I thank God it was me who became ill and no-one else in our family.

A few weeks later, as I was constantly getting bladder infections, my family doctor made arrangements for me to meet a urologist. The urologist was a lady who is well travelled both in the UK and Africa and is a person whom one would be very foolish to cross. She read the notes my GP had written about my problem and said, "Glyn, I want you to come into hospital. We have to find out as to what is causing you to have so many infections, but unfortunately there is a three month waiting list". "But wait a minute, didn't I see you on 'Songs of Praise' a couple of weeks ago?". I meekly admitted that she did. Then she said, "Although I am agnostic, the singing was truly lovely. Can you come into the hospital next week?"

I went into the hospital where they ascertained that the infections were caused by my bladder not emptying properly. It was then that I started on ordinary catheters, and later onto my present sub-pubic catheters, which are excellent.

Skateboard

2005-12-18T14:25:00.000-08:00

As I get older I'm starting to realise that it's not sensible to emulate what youngsters do easily.

For example, I was watching my three grandsons (with I admit, a touch of envy) tearing around on their skateboards. I asked them if I could have a go. They readily and happily agreed.

I was just about able to stand at that time. I got onto the skateboard and one of my grandsons gave me a 'gentle' push. I went hurtling down the hill, thinking how great it was. Then I realised I wasn't sure how to stop the darn thing.

Fortunately, I was on a mountain road. I swerved onto the mountain and tumbled off the skateboard, with all the wind knocked out of me. I was sitting there wondering as to how many ribs I had broken when my grandsons came running down to me and said ''Wow granddad, that was really cool, will you do it again for us?!'

Fortunately for them, I still had not recovered my breath, or they would have received a suitable reply!

Learn to swim

2005-10-29T14:26:00.000-07:00

'Its all right, he can swim!'

Those were the last words that I heard my wife shout before I blacked out.

Many years ago, the 14-year-old son of a friend of mine drowned in Llangollen canal. I mantained that if his son was able to swim, even just a few strokes, he would have been able to save himself as the canal is only about 14 feet wide. I was determined that our five children must learn to swim, and they became quite good swimmers.

But I still cannot swim myself.

This is of course infuriating when our children say to me 'Look Dad, it's easy'. I can swim, and I can breathe, but am unable to do both. So I go into the shallow end, jump in, and get halfway across and then stand up like a demented whale for air, then swim to the other side.

On this particular occasion, we were all on holiday in Tunisia. Our hotel had a swimming pool, but out of habit Dad (me) has to jump into the pool first, which I did after checking the depth. A sign it read '3'. I assumed this meant '3 feet', which would be a piece of cake.

So my wheelchair was pushed to side of this pool, and I dived in, hoping of course that I would be able to stand up and breathe. But there was no bottom to stand on! The dratted sign meant '3 metres' It was as I was trying to swim nearer the edge that I heard my wife say those dreadful words 'he can swim' and I then blacked out.

But as I did so, I could feel another body next to mine, and my first instinct was to grab it. But as I went to do so, I remembered that a drowning person must never grab hold of their would-be rescurer, so I just let my body go limp, thinking my rescuer could more easily get me to the side of the pool. It was then I blacked out.

The next thing I remember, I was on my tummy and someone was giving me some sharp smacks on my back, which enabled me to spew out what seemed like a few gallons of swimming pool water.

Needless to say I am still not an enthusiastic swimmer. But in these days of more leisure time I still think it's essential for folk to learn to swim at an early age.

Chocaholic

2005-05-15T14:28:00.000-07:00

One sunny day, I went shopping with my family in Llandudno.

I was on my electric scooter.

As soon as I was able, I 'escaped' from my family and rode off to the nearest chocolate shop! I treated myself to £15 of their delicious chocolates!

Unknown to me, my loving, caring wife had asked my eldest daughter to 'keep any eye on me', knowing that I am both a chocoholic as well as a diabetic.

Later on that afternoon, I met up with my family once more. My wife asked me what I had been doing. I replied innocently, 'Not much'.

To my embarrassment, my wife then produced from her pocket a very incriminating photograph!! 'Then what is THIS?!!', she asked. My daughter had photographed me 'red-handed' in the chocolate shop, just as I was paying for my chocs!

My wife took all the chocolates away from me! But she has promised to give them back to me, sparingly.

Drunk drivers

2005-03-22T14:33:00.000-08:00

In the days before I had to rely on my scooter to get around, I was staggering my way back to our Land Rover after calling at a shop at our local town.

I was sitting in the driving seat about to set off, when a policeman tapped on my window. I rolled down the window to see what he wanted. Before he said anything he leaned right over to me, just as if he was going to give me a kiss! His face was close to mine for a few seconds. Then he said to me, "I was just checking to see if you were alright sir".

It was obvious that he was checking to see if I had been drinking!

I wasn't annoyed by the policeman's mistake though, because some years ago I lost a friend through the actions of a drunk driver. My friend, a fellow motorcyclist, was quietly riding his motorbike through a village, when a car coming out of a pub drove over to the wrong side of the road. This caused my friend to swerve to avoid him, and his motorbike clipped the pavement. My friend to fell off his motorbike and was killed instantly. He was 19-years-old.

Crash helmets were not compulsory in those days. The drunken thug who killed him had 5 years prison for manslaughter, but was released after serving just 3 years.

So it's no wonder that I detest drunken drivers.

Parachute

2005-02-13T15:15:00.000-08:00

I'm always interested in news about parachute jumpers, because when I was the secretary of our local MS Branch (Delyn & District) I did a couple of jumps myself!

I would always happily organise our 'flag day' and 'house-to-house' collections, but there was no way would I just sit somewhere taking collections - I like to be active!

I was determined to do something to raise money for our MS Branch as there is always someone more ill than oneself.

One night on Channel 4 TV I heard a lady suggesting money-raising ideas. She suggested several physical activities (like swimming and running), none of which I was able to do. I felt very frustrated! But then she mentioned parachute jumps as being excellent money-raisers!

So I made some enquires... I did two sponsored parachute jumps, one near Witchurch at 10,000 feet and the second from an airfield not far from Nottingham at 16,000 feet. I didn't particularly enjoy doing them, but they were excellent for raising money!

Meeting royalty

2004-12-20T05:36:00.000-08:00

In the 80s I had the privilege of being an unopposed District & Community councillor.

It so happened that Prince Charles and Princess Di were visiting our Deeside Leisure Centre. We councillors and our wives were invited to attend.

Although my wife and I had a 'car pass' the heavy traffic and police meant we were a bit late getting there. We were unloading my wheelchair from the boot of our car. John Collins (our District Treasurer) and his wife came to assist us. I kept telling John to go or they would be locking the door before he got there as security was very heavy. But John refused to leave me, saying "I'm not going without you Glyn".

When we eventually arrived at the door it was locked, but we showed our passes to the security blokes and they allowed us to go into the foyer. The door to the main hall was also locked, so we sat on a sofa in the foyer and waited to be let in.

After sitting there chatting to each other for about 15 minutes, Charles & Di came out of the main hall. They stopped by us for a chat and Charles asked us if were councillors.

Charles appeared quite interested that I was a councillor, albeit in a wheelchair. "And what do you do in addition to being a councillor?" he asked. When I told him that I was a very busy farmer he appeared to be genuinely interested. He asked me what type of farming I did. When I told him that we had a herd of pure bred Guernsey cows he mentioned that they had a Jersey herd.

We chatted together for about 15 minutes. Di looked very demure (and also very slim) as she chatted to our wives.

Eventually, the other councillors came out of the main hall. Some of them were furious as the hall had been so crowded they had barely seen Di and Charles. "Trust Glyn, the jammy beggar, catching those two royals like that!". We tried telling them that it had not been deliberate, it just happened because we had arrived late!

Melbourne

2004-11-21T05:40:00.000-08:00

My previous Diary was about our stopover at Singapore en route to visit our son and his wife. They live near Melbourne, Australia where our son is a vet.

When we arrived at Melbourne we were looking through some farming magazines of our son's. I noticed an advert about an agricultural show 'near Melbourne'. We phoned the show secretary for more information. She told us that it wasn't far from Melbourne, just about 100 miles (such distances mean nothing to the 'Ausies' as it such a large country - in fact, we have a map of Australia, and interposed on Europe it stretches from the east coast of Ireland to the south border of Scotland, over to Moscow, then down as far south as Egypt!).

The friendly secretary insisted that we really should go as it was their centenary show, and we would be treated "like royalty". So off we all went, our son and his wife and my wife Margaret and myself. I had asked our son if he could borrow a quad motorbike for me, which he did.

We booked into a motel for the night and then had a most enjoyable day at the agricultural show. The Australians that we met were so 'laid back' and friendly. Our time at the show was most enjoyable, me hurtling about on the quad bike.

When it was time to leave the show, I passed a police sergeant sitting on his BMW motorbike. The police guy called after me "Hey! Come back, cobber!". I reversed my quad back to him, wondering if I was going to be told off for using an unlicensed quad! But all he said to me was, "I could do with one of them on my small farm!". I replied, "I'll do you a straight swap for your lovely motorbike!". He said, "I would Taffy, but it isn't mine, it belongs to the police department". I then said, "I know that the police have a way of detecting folk, but why did you call me 'Taffy', as I had only said a few words to you??". (Taffy is another word for 'a Welsh person'). He replied, "As soon as you started talking I knew that you were a Taffy because my brother is in the Police in Cardiff, Wales"!

He then kindly asked me if I wanted help loading my quad onto our trailer. I asked him as everyone is so friendly, why did he have a revolver in its holder? He told me that his gun was basically to deter drug smugglers!

Singapore

2004-10-03T05:44:00.000-07:00

My wife and I 'stopped over' at Singapore whilst we were en route to visit our eldest son and his wife in Melbourne, Australia.

We waited for our luggage, which included my wheelchair, to appear on the airport's conveyor belt. Some time passed with no sign of my wheelchair. The aircraft was prevented from taking off until the airline staff found my elusive wheelchair. After all, we could not allow another aircraft to take my precious wheelchair to some other destination! They eventually found it and we then spent a few very pleasant days in Singapore.

We stayed at the Weston Stamford Hotel, a beautiful circular building with 72 floors. It was the highest building in Asia at that time. We had arrived at 2am and were very tired after our 20 hour, 6,807 mile flight. We went straight to bed, desperately wanting a good night's sleep (I can never sleep in an aircraft).

But at 6am we were woken by a lady enquiring if we would like to go on a free bus ride to a shopping centre followed by a visit to the infamous Chang Hei prison. We decided to accept the invitation, although an extra couple of hours sleep would have been apprecaited!

Singapore is a very interesting place. At the time of our visit they had some very strict laws. For example, chewing gum was not allowed. They had corporal and capital punishment, in particular for drug smuggling.

It was a beautiful island, spotlessly clean and very pro-British. English was the dominant language, and all the road signs were in English. The people were very polite and friendly, and nothing was too much trouble for them including assisting disabled folk.

War memories

2004-09-05T05:45:00.000-07:00

Everything is relative, and although I'm unable to stand, let alone walk, I realise that there are folk much more unfortunate than myself.

Even though I've been in hospital a number of times, either with an MS relapse, or when my diabetes has gone through the roof, or when my prostate cancer has required attention, I realise that in reality I have much to thank God for.

There is a particular episode from my life that I remember most vividly. It was during the last world war of 1939-45.

The pleasant quiet summer afternoon was shattered by the rat-rat-rat of machine guns firing.

My friend Lester and I were quite used to this noise and carried on picking mushrooms in one of our bottom fields. It was in 1941, we were 11 years old, and frequently we would see Tiger Moth bi-planes towing cone shaped targets for those marvellous Spitfires to practice firing at.

The planes flew over the river Dee that flowed between Flintshire and the Wirral with Liverpool further on. On this particular afternoon however, when we eventually looked up, we saw that neither plane was towing a target. To our horror, we saw that one of the planes carried the hated German markings.

This plane and the British plane and were having a dogfight. We dropped our mushrooms and ran home. I suspect that in more Southern areas like Kent these dogfights were more prevalent, but not in our area.

Later, we were very sorry that we didn't stay to watch the dogfight, but we later heard that the British Spitfire shot the German Dornier down.

We returned to the field as soon as we were able to have a look at the crashed Dornier. We hoped to collect some 'souvenirs', but the police had arrived to keep us 'vultures' away.

Almost every night we could hear the German bombers flying over. It was very spectacular watching the searchlights frantically seeking these German planes.

I was very fortunate during the war. The only danger that I encountered happened one day as I was cycling down the hill on my way to school. I almost crashed my bike into a hole in the road made by an artillery shell that had exploded on the road.

Now that I have MS and am no longer able to work, I have something that I never had before: the time to reminisce and realise and how very fortunate I am to be 'reasonably' healthy.

Determination

2004-07-04T05:48:00.000-07:00

"You, Glyn, are the most stubborn and determined patient that I have ever had", said our District Nurse Jean.

I like to think I was at least partly responsible for her obtaining her well deserved MBE. Not because she was an excellent nurse, as they are all excellent. It was because she had in her spare time raised over £100,000 with her coffee mornings and concerts for our cottage hospital's patients.

"Oh Jean!", I replied, "but why would you say such a thing about me?". "Becuase as soon as I've left you, you will be off on your 'motorbike' (quad scooter) again, won't you?". "Err... yes, Jean", I replied, meekly. "Good for you Glyn! You just will not give in, will you?!"

So I said to her, "But is it because of or in spite of your and my wife's ministrations that, after I've had a nasty MS relapse, I keep bouncing back so well?". "I have no idea, Glyn. But will you do me a favour please?". "Of course, Jean. What is it?". "Will you go and see a local lady with MS? Ever since she was first diagnosed, being an only child, her parents over-pampered her, even stirring her tea for her. Perhaps you can try and get her to come out of her house."

I went to visit her a number of times.

I would literally beg her to come out for a run in my car. Anywhere! But she kept refusing. I saw that she had a typewriter and I wrote letters to her, but unfortunately she never replied to me or anyone else. She was just sitting there, vegetating.

After her parents died she went into a nursing home. As far as I know, she's still there. What a sad tale. If there is a moral to her story it's this: 'whilst one can, DO, with determination'. OK?

Sailing

2004-05-16T05:51:00.000-07:00

In the early 1980s, when this dratted MS was just starting to affect me, my wife Margaret and I went for a short break to York.

Whilst we were there I decided with Margaret's agreement to hire a rowing boat to go for a trip down the River Ouse. I had never rowed a boat before, and I was surprised to find how easy it was.

I assumed that Margaret would be very impressed with the professional manner of my rowing, and we went speeding down the river with ease.

After we had gone about half a mile, I thought that we had better make our way back to base before our allotted time was up. But what a difficult job that turned out to be. We were now rowing against the current. Needless to say I was well and truly knackered!

As Margaret was pregnant, she couldn't help. I was very tempted to dump the boat, but that meant losing the deposit. Through sheer perserverence I managed to get the boat back to the starting point. Never again did I want to go in a rowing boat!

But some years later, after we had three sons and two daughters, we bought a superb 14 foot Skipper sailing dinghy. We joined the Bala Sailing Club where I took a crash course in how to sail. I needed to learn how to sail against a prevailing wind. This involved 'tacking to the wind'. With some tuition I soon got the hang of things.

As BSC members we were expected to do a duty about 6 times a year. As we didn't know the finer rules of dinghy-racing we were given a 40hp rubber dinghy, which was a little easier to handle. We were required to wear wet suits because the water was so very cold. If you were to fall in without a wet suit on, you could die of exposure.

I have ridden and enjoyed motorcycling over 1000s of miles, and have done two sponsored tandem parachute jumps, the first from 10,000 ft and the second from 16,000 feet. I didn't particularly enjoy the jumps, but it felt excellent raising money for MS research.

For the sheer thrill and enjoyment I would say dinghy sailing is my favourite pursuit. Alas this is just a fond memory now.

MS diagnosis

2004-03-20T05:53:00.000-08:00

"You will have to go into hospital", said my doctor. This was in 1980.

I thought to myself, poor chap, he's obviously overworked. How could I, a very busy farmer, possibly afford the luxury of 'skiving' in a hospital?

"We have just taken over a badly run-down farm, and there is a tremendous amount of work to be done. There's no way that I'm going to any ruddy hospital", I told my doctor.

As I got up to leave his surgery, he told me bluntly "Look Glyn, please sit down. I don't usually tell my patients so bluntly, but as you are so stubborn, I'm going to be blunt. We (a consultant had also seen me) suspect that you may have a spinal tumour. This could be what's causing your falls, and why you sometimes walk about as if you're drunk. It could also be the reason for this unexplained fatigue you're having".

"That's all very well", I told him, "but there's no way you're getting me into any hospital until I've finished off our Spring work".

So, after working very hard, I managed to complete our Spring work of ploughing and seeding. I checked into our hospital the following day.

The Registrar who booked me in happened to be a neighbour. He asked me, 'What do you want first Glyn, the good news or the bad news?"

Being a coward, I asked him if I could have the good news first. He told me that I didn't have a spinal tumour. However, they would like to give me an injection in my back, and perform a lumber puncture (spinal tap), as they now suspected that I may have multiple sclerosis.

So they performed the lumbar puncture, telling me that I mustn't lean out of my bed afterwards. No problem, I thought. But later on I was reading a book, and as I have two left hands and ten thumbs, I dropped my book on the floor, and had to lean out of my bed to retrieve it. As I was leaning right out of my hospital bed, a ward Sister snapped at me, "What on earth do you think you're doing, leaning out of your bed like that?". I jerked back up quickly, too quickly, and I had a nasty headache later for my stupidity.

When the test results came back, the Registrar (my neighbour Brian) told me that it was now confirmed that I did have Multiple Sclerosis.

So that was the 'bad news'. Being quite ignorant about what having MS meant, I asked Brian for an explanation. He tried patiently to explain what MS was. "If you could imagine that over there is a generator producing electricity. Then there is an electric motor here, needing this source of electricity. But the cable carrying the power has become frayed, making it difficult for it to carry out its important function. That basically and very crudely, is MS."

And so my life with MS had begun.

Starting out

2004-02-01T05:56:00.000-08:00

It has been said that getting married and moving house are the two most stressful things one can do in a person's life time.

Margaret and I were married in 1955. Since then, we have lived in 8 different homes!

My first home was on my father's farm in Flintshire, where I worked very hard, unpaid.

My loving father compelled me to leave school (which I had loved) at the age of 13. I worked very hard for Pa until I was 25. Then, after a disgraceful family dispute, my father decided to disown me - I was going out with an English girl, a heinous crime according to Pa, and just the excuse he needed. I could see no future working for him, unpaid, any longer.

In 1955, I married Margaret and other than our clothes and my ex-army Norton motorbike, we had less than £4 to our name. But we managed.

I began work as a head tractor driver on a large farm in Cheshire. We bought just the essential bits of furniture from a Cheshire store, who gave us 6 months free credit. I was working more than 72 hours per week and took home to our cottage - after deductions for rent, milk, eggs, insurance and tax - £10. Margaret was also working part-time at an egg packing station, bringing home another £5, so our combined income was an astronomical £15 a week.

However, in less than 2 years, we had saved £120. I was desperate to have our own farm. With an aunt of Margaret's standing as a guarantor for £500, we applied for and obtained a 11-acre Flintshire County Council farm.

After much hard work, we progressed through a series of larger farms, to a 36-acre, then a 65-acre, finishing up on a 120-acre farm milking about 70 Guernsey cows, plus their followers.

Now we have retired from farming altogether, and for the first time in my life, I am living in a detached house with Margaret and our son, Russ. We are all very happy here.

Parachute jumps

2003-12-25T05:59:00.000-08:00

Although I don't care for long haul flights these days, since I was diagnosed with MS I have done 2 tandem charity parachute jumps!

One jump was at 10,000ft and the second was at 16,000ft. I didn't particularly enjoy doing them, but I was keen to do something to help raise funds for our local MS Society branch, where I was secretary.

I was always quite happy to arrange house-to-house, in-store and street collections. But no way would I stand anywhere holding a box and giving away flags - and have the public pity me? No way!

As I was determined to raise some money though, as I knew of many folk with MS far more ill than myself, and I wanted to help.

I happened to be watching a programme on the TV, that featured a lady was suggesting different ways of raising money for charity. I was getting fed up listening to her as I knew I couldn't do sponsored swimming, cycle riding, or any of the physical activities that she was suggesting. Then she mentioned that sponsored parachute jumps were very good money-raisers.

I thought that however disabled one may be, anyone could jump out of an aeroplane!

So I phoned the number that she gave, and the parachute jump idea started from there. The jumps turned out to be very good money-raisers, and seemed more dramatic than having one's head shaved.

But I was rather disappointed, as when you're over 50 they won't let you jump by yourself! Instead, 'they' prefer that you do a 'tandem' parachute jump (strapped to another person).

I did two charity tandem parachute jumps, and raised a lot of money for our local branch. Why not give it a try yourself!

Flying high

2003-11-02T06:02:00.000-08:00

Our eldest son lives in Australia. He is a vet, and his lovely wife Jane is a hospital administrator.

The last time my wife and I went out there to visit them was 12 years ago, when we had to endure a 26-hour flight, with a stopover in Singapore. Never again!

There is no more boring form of travel than flying at 38,000ft, as one can't see anything down below!

I remember we flew over Moscow to avoid the Iraqi air space, but for all we knew, we could have been flying over Birmingham!

Whilst we were flying over India, the stewardess told me that the pilot had noticed that a farmer was on board. Turns out he used to have a farm himself (in Australia) and fancied a chat with me!

The stewardess asked me if I could climb up some stairs into their cockpit. I told her that I would be delighted!

When I arrived in their cabin, the pilot and the navigator had their backs to the window. I asked them hadn't they better look where they were going in case another aircraft was coming towards us! "No problem, Cobber! If there is anything within 80 kilometres of us we will be told over the radio!"

As a computer was in charge of actually flying the aircraft, they were very bored, and grateful to compare notes of farming in the UK and Australia.

In fact, all the Australians we met on our trip were everso laid back and easy going.

I haven't been out there since, but my wife has been back a couple of times. The last time she was there the temperature was over 40c, so I was glad that I hadn't also gone with her!

BST

2003-09-28T06:05:00.000-07:00

I have now had an electric lift fitted into my new house and am living full-time in our new home.

Our son Russ, an ex-double undisputed World Champion Kickboxer, has the ground floor of the house fitted out as a gym, where he holds classes in self defence. The classes are very popular with ladies in particular. Margaret and I have the first floor of the house, and Russ has the top floor all to himself, with an ensuite bathroom.

We're moving into Autumn now in Wales. I have always preferred the Spring time rather the Autumn for a number of reasons, not least because the days get shorter and the weather gets colder come Autumn.

I have always detested our British policy of turning our clocks back an hour in the winter. Why must we do this?! It's certainly not helpful to farmers as far as I'm concerned.

Cows are creatures of habit, so when we were milking our Guernsey herd, I would turn the darn clock back half an hour, and a week later turn it back the other half hour, so not to upset the cows' routine too much!

Yes, complaining about the weather is a favourite passtime for us in the UK. Though in reality we shouldn't complain, as we are very fortunate that we don't get the violent storms, hurricanes, typhoons, powerful whirlwinds and dreadfully long droughts like they have in Australia for example, where our eldest son lives.

But why can't we have BST (British Summer Time) all the year round?!

Respite home

2003-08-25T06:07:00.000-07:00

Glyn is in a respite nursing home at the moment while he waits for his stairlift to be installed in his new home. But does this stop him from writing a blog entry? No way! Glyn writes...

I turned 73 in May, but some days I feel like I'm going on 90.

As they, say one is as old as they feel, but I still maintain that although I have MS and prostate cancer, I'm one of the lucky ones. My MS is the relapsing remitting type, and at the present time, I'm in remission.

But when I do have a relapse I go just like a lump of jelly, and my wife cannot cope with me. So we have a couple of carers in every morning to shower and dress me.

Sometimes my diabetes goes berserk. Recently, instead of its normal 8, it went up over 40, and whilst I was hospitalised, they woke me every 2 hours for blood tests. I had an intravenous drip, instead of my normal 4 tablets a day which normally keeps my diabetes in check.

My diabetes always has to be sorted out, before any remedial therapy for either an MS relapse or cancer therapy can go ahead.

The prostate cancer's prognosis is very good. Instead of going onto Chemo or Radium therapy, I signed a declaration that I was willing to go onto a new therapy. I was very fortunate to be on this new therapy.

There are apparently, only 90 of us in the UK on this therapy.

In the first week, I had to visit the hospital every day. On top of providing meals for my wife and myself, I was given some injections in my tummy and my heart and some blood tests. Then in the second week we went in 3 times a week. Then only twice a week. And now, as the blood tests and heart monitor are satisfactory, I only go in once a month, so I most certainly thank God for that.

Until my electric lift is installed at hom I am at this very pleasant respite nursing home, and feel very fortunate indeed.

Selling up

2003-07-13T06:10:00.000-07:00

We recently held a sale of all our 'dead stock' tractors, farm implements. etc. Buyers came from many miles.

Included in the sale was my Susuki quad bike, which I cannot mount or dismount now, even with help.

We sold our Guernsey herd - 70 milker cows, plus their followers - a couple of years ago. The only livestock that remain to be sold are 300 sheep.

Selling the farm and its contents and animals has been very traumatic for me. Purely because of the nostalgia.

In a few weeks time myself, my wife Margaret and my son Russ will move for the first time into a private house without any adjoining land.

Even though we will no longer have a farm to look after, it will be very busy at our new house.

Russ will have the ground floor for his gym, and the first floor will belong to Margaret and I. Russ will live on the top floor.

A lift is being fitted for me to help me get up the stairs. Once work on the lift is completed, we'll be ready to go!

Keeping warm

2003-05-05T06:17:00.000-07:00

Being a farmer, spring is my favourite time of the year.

March, April and May herald the coming of summer. All growth becomes alive. Hedges and trees start to bud. And the grass in our fields that our animals need for grazing becomes lush and green.

Here in North East Wales, where we are 900 feet above sea level, our spring arrives a couple of weeks later than it does for the lowland farmers.

One of the great joys of spring is the arrival of snowdrops. But alas, this year there were no snowdrops at all. This is because we were recently forced to replace our herd of 70 Guernsey cows with around 400 sheep and lambs, and the little perishers ate everything, including my beautiful snowdrops!

You might wonder how someone with MS copes on the farm, with so much of the work being outdoors in the cold and wet. But nowadays farm work is so different from how it was in older times.

I began my farming career over 60 years ago. Back then, all physical work was done by hand. Cows were milked by hand at a rate of 16 cows per day.

These days there are machines to perform this task.

Before tractors were invented, all the land work was done (very peacefully, in fact) with horses. Someone ploughing with two horses, could plough about one acre a day. Now it's possible with the larger tractors to plough 30 acres or more per day.

As for keeping warm, I had two great coats. One was an ex-army coat and the other ex-fire brigade! I preferred the ex-fire brigade coat as it had a finer weave cloth so I could move about easily while still keeping warm.

I also wore three sacks about my person, one as a hood on my head, one as a cape over my shoulders, and the third as a skirt! Anything to keep warm!

Thankfully, farming is a lot less physically demanding these days, which means I have been able to keep working on my farm despite having MS!

Cannabis research

2003-04-05T06:21:00.000-08:00

In 1980, I found I was constantly fatigued and kept stumbling about as if I was drunk, falling over for no apparent reason. I broke my ribs twice. I continued to stumble about, refusing to give in, until my wife Margaret insisted that I went to visit our family Doctor.

After some tests he told me that he wanted me to go into hospital. I told him, angrily, that no way was I going into any ruddy hospital as I was far too busy working on my farm to indulge in the 'luxury' of spending time idle in bed.

My GP told me bluntly that he suspected that I could have a tumour on my spine, which if not seen to could develop into something serious. So I reluctantly agreed to go into hospital, but only after I had completed our spring work. Once in hospital I was told that they had some good news, and some not so good news. The good news was that I didn't have a spinal tumour, but they were 99% sure that I had Multiple Sclerosis. Further tests, such as a lumbar puncture, proved this was true.

Unfortunately my condition deteriorated. And a few years later, they also diagnosed that I had prostate cancer and diabetes.

Of course, I fought hard not to let these stupid ailments stop me working and tried all sorts of remedial treatments, including HBO (Hyberaric Oxygen).

After I was diagnosed with cancer, the neurologist prescribed morphine sulphate, which did helped more than the usual pain relievers like paracetamol. But then I read an article in the press about Jeff Ditchfield, who wanted to open an Amsterdam-type 'coffee shop' in Rhyl from where, on receipt of a Doctor's letter confirming that one does have MS, pure cannabis could be obtained, free of charge.

I have been lobbying MPs for a number of years to have cannabis legalised for people with MS who experience great pain. I used to be a local councillor, and appeared on the front page of our Daily Post with my photograph and a headline in block capitals that read 'Ex-councillor wants cannabis legalised'!

I think it's most unfair that people with MS who want to use cannabis for pain relief have to go to some backstreet drug supplier to obtain it. I have been taking cannabis four times a day for a few months now and the effects have been excellent, improving my quality of life tremendously. I have no hesitation in recommending cannabis to others with MS or cancer.

I read a statement which was issued by the House of Lords two years ago which stated: 'We now have sufficient evidence to convince us that a doctor should be able to prescribe cannabis (taken orally, not smoked) legitimately to an MS patient without fear of prosecution'. Yet still it remains unavailable to many of us who could benefit from it.

More information about the medicinal use of cannabis is available at www.helpcannabisresearch.org.

Television

2003-03-07T15:13:00.000-08:00

I'm not always sure whether it's a pleasant honour, or just a nerve racking ordeal, but I have been on the television numerous times over the past 20 years!

Since then, and for different themes, I've been on TV many more times. Not because I'm good looking or anything like that!

Before this wretched MS put a stop of my being an unopposed District and Community councillor (a priviledge which I loved), and was quite happy talking in public and made several TV appearance.

After MS arrived on the scene I was asked to go on TV again, this time because in our MS Branch I was the only Welsh speaker.

Back in 1980, I was one of four people with MS who kept a HBO (hyberbaric oxygen) unit at Saltney (near Chester) going. It's still going strong now, with many other therapies now available. TV crews have been there a number of times, and yes, inevitably, with muggins has been on it!

I was also sure to mention the tremendous benefit I have experienced through taking cannabis, which I am able to acquire on receipt of a doctor's letter confirming that I genuinely have MS. The cannabis is available free, in delicious Belgium chocolate. I have found cannabis even more effective than the morphine sulphate that I was prescribed after it was confirmed that I had a cancerous tumour, 2 years ago.

So if you live in Wales keep an eye out, because you never know when I'll be making my next TV appearance!

Pipe

2003-02-02T15:10:00.000-08:00

I've had many problems in my early life, but now I also thank God that he is keeping me relatively well. Because, in spite of the fact that I have MS, in these past 22 years I have also had to deal with brucellosis, diabetes and now also cancer.

But in spite of these thorns in my flesh I've been fortunate to receive excellent medical care, from my wife and our National Health Service.

Many times I've been admitted into hospital, and have witnessed how dreadfully ill some folk are.

The longest stay I've had at one time was 6 weeks, after a nasty MS relapse. When I have a relapse, my diabetes goes haywire. On that occasion my blood diabetes sugar tests went from 8 up to 48! But it's an ill wind that blows only bad things.

On othis occasion I'd been completely confined to bed and my excellent District Nurse had come every day to attend to me. I was stubbornly refusing to obey her order to go into hospital, telling her that it was pointless my as there was nothing that they could do there.

One morning I asked my wife Marg if she would bring my beloved pipe into my bedroom, telling her that if I should start coughing, she could have it straight back. Marg brought my pipe for me and as soon as I lit it I started coughing, so of course I could not smoke.

The following morning I was completely immobilised and only semi conscious. I couldn't do anything and an ambulance had to come and take me into hospital for this 6-week stay. When I was taken in, a nurse came every 2 hours for 3 days and nights to attend to me. I would just be falling asleep and the nurse would call me for another blood test and injection.

But they managed to stabilise the diabetes. I also had an intravenous insulin injection.

When I eventually came back home I straight away asked my wife for my pipe. She told me that one day when she went into town she had seen an old man who looked miserable, cold and poor. So she gave him my 3 pipes, my tobacco and my brand new gas electronic lighter that a friend had brought home for me! The ruddy lot! Gone!

The best thing that she has ever done for me was making me give up smoking.

Prior to this as I was such a heavy pipe smoker. Quite frankly, I would have walked through our town without my pants, but never without my pipe!

Now, nearly 4 years later, I am very much an anti-smoker, and it annoys me when I see, even on modern films, young people smoking, making it look 'cool' to smoke.

Christmas

2003-01-02T15:01:00.000-08:00

We had, as usual, a very hectic, but superbly pleasant Christmas.

I say 'hectic' because for the past 40 years or so, on the Sunday before Christmas, we've always held a large family get together.

As myself and my wife Margaret were (up until recently) responsible for milking our herd of Guernsey cows it was always difficult for us to get away at Christmas. For that reason, these reunions have always been held at our home.

And my most capable wife copes with the extra work very happily. In the beginning it was just brothers, sisters and close friends. But over the years the number of guests has grown and grown. Children and later grandchildren, and their girl/boyfriends.

And of course, Father Christmas always pops in to give us all little presents!

Last year there were 40 people here altogether including the youngsters. We never send any invitations out - they just turn up!

We'll have moved house by next Christmas, and have been informed by our guests that they'll all be coming round to the new house for the get together as per usual!

The new house is going to have one very important adaptation: a stair lift for me and my wheelchair. I'm not steady enough to have an ordinary chair lift, so we will have to install an electric lift, which I can 'drive' my electric wheelchair into. This will take me up through the ceiling, and allow me, on my wheelchair, to get up to the first floor of the 3-storey house.

We have big plans for our new home. The ground floor is for our son Russ and his martial arts gym. The first floor will be inhabited by me and my wife. The top floor will will also belong to Russ, our ex-double world undisputed kick boxing champion! Russ no longer particpates in this sport. However, he keeps very busy teaching self-defence and keep fit classes.

Our move means we will no longer have a farm or a dairy herd to look after. While we're looking forward to moving into our new house, I was very sad to see the cows go.

We hope to move into our new place by March, giving myself and Margaret lots of time to think about how we're going to organise our next big family get together at Christmas 2003!

Gliding

2002-12-08T14:57:00.001-08:00

"We could do with some publicity for our gliding club Glyn, would you write an article about it please?!"

It was Ken Payne, chairman of the Lloc Gliding Club (Lloc being a small village near our farm). Their gliders are stored in and operated from a large field owned by a friend of mine, Dick Moore.

I had frequently seen these gliders soaring overhead and had wondered what a glider flight would be like. This request was an excellent opportunity for me to have a flight in one, so I immediately said that I would be delighted to help, providing I could have a flight in one! Ken agreed, and I had a most pleasant and interesting flight.

There is an old saying: 'If God had meant for us humans to fly, he would have provided us with wings'. But just as some people go down to the sea in all sorts of crafts, then so must other folk go up in the sky in all sorts of flying contraptions, from the majestic Concorde and space rockets to what appear to be quite flimsy hang gliders.

But some of these hang gliders are fitted with 400cc engines and are successfully used for many land uses, such as surveying and crop spraying. Then there are the conventional gliders, used in the most graceful and increasingly popular sport.

The day of my flight came and I drove to the airfield. There were 2 gliders available, a single seater Grundia, and a double seater Bocian. Both crafts were made from wood and Irish linen (99% of gliders made now are glass fibre). I had previously been up in a plane for a charity tandum parachute jump, but I admit that I was rather apprehensive seeing the 2 gliders flopped down on the field like wounded seagulls.

The glider we climbed into was given a winch start. This is where a powerful, stationary engine pulls the glider very quickly. Ken called out "take up the slack!!", and a car parked nearby gave 2 slow flashes with its headlights followed by 2 quick flashes that gave the signal to the winch operator to go. And then we were climbing, almost vertically, making even a Concorde take off seem like a lame duck in comparison.

When we reached 1,000 feet the tow rope was released. We came to an abrupt stop, and I wondered if were were about to go plummeting down! But we remained horizontal. I got my breath back, and began to enjoy a very thrilling flight. The rural countryside below us looked so beautiful, coupled with the deafening silence, or just a slight wind whispering.

It got a bit cold, and Ken told me, apologetically, that as he couldn't find any more thermals, we would have to land. This meant landing away from the airfield, which was a bit annoying.

We came in to land at about 35 miles per hour. We had only been aloft for about 10 minutes, but when the weather conditions are right one can stay airborne for 20 minutes or more. I've had another glider flight since, towed up to about 10,000 feet by a single engine aeroplane.

What a thrill!

Camping

2002-10-27T14:55:00.000-08:00

Shall we go on a camping holiday?

My wife, Margaret, and I had to work extremely hard to build up our efficient and viable Guernsey milking unit. This meant that we had no holidays at all for many years.

About 35 years ago, in fairness to our young children, we decided it was time to take a break. We had 5 children but the youngest was too young to take on holiday. So Margaret stayed at home to milk the cows and babysit our youngest.

We decided that I should take the older kids (Robert, Lindsay, Russ and Gill) down to the Welsh coast (this was in the days before MS had entered my life). As we couldn't possibly afford to book into a hotel, Lindsay borrowed a ridge tent from one of his friends.

Margaret packed all our things into our old van and we drove to a camp site near Pwlleli in Caernarvonshire, which had been recommended to us by a friend. We arrived at the camp site at about 8pm. As none of us had ever been camping before we struggled for some time to erect the tent. Eventually we were able to get into our sleeping bags and fell asleep, exhausted.

At about 5am, the wind had started to blow and pulled the side pegs of our tent out of the sandy pitch. This meant I had to get up and collect some stones to keep the sides of the tent down. At 6am I thought I'd better try and cook some breakfast. I got the old Primus stove out and some meths to light it.

Unfortunately, my wife had not included a frying pan. What's the difference, I thought. I could just as easily fry some eggs in a saucepan (you can tell I was never domestically trained). I put the meths into the pan and started pumping the stove to get the paraffin lit. No success. I kept trying to light the darn Primus, striking numerous matches, when suddenly 3 foot high flames shot up into the air.

There was a lovely large frame tent pitched next to ours, which was in danger of catching light! I had to throw handfuls of sand over the flames to put the blaze out (most annoying considering the trouble I'd had getting the thing alight in the first place!).

After I had doused the fire out, I had to clean all the sand out, and try again to light it. The children were waking up now and Gill said that she was hungry.

Eventually I got the Primus going. I fried some eggs in the saucepan, and they did look a bit of a mess. Nevertheless I shared the gory mess with the kids.

After our meal they told me they were still hungry. The only quick thing to warm up was a can of Ambrosia creamed rice.

After finishing this Gill annnounced, "Dad I feel sick". This was not surprising!

After breakfast we all went down to the seaside to do some paddling.

When we got there I asked them what they wanted to do next. "We want to go home please Dad" they all said!

So that was the end of our camping expedition!

In later years we acquired a Thomson touring caravan. With my wife cooking, we enjoyed many happy holidays. But tenting again? Not likely!

Cross to bear

2002-09-25T14:52:00.000-07:00

Did you hear tale of the guy with MS who prayed to God about the cross that he has to bear?

God took him into a big room which was full of large crosses and told the guy to take his choice of all the crosses there. He wandered about looking at all these large crosses until he eventually found a little one and he told God that he would have that one. God said to him that that was the one he already had.

The moral is obvious: there is always someone else much worse off.

About 4 years ago, I was admitted into hospital with a nasty MS relapse.

After my wife had helped me into my pyjamas and dressing gown I went to chat with the guy in the next bed. He was reading, with his legs - I thought - under the blanket. I asked him if he would like to come into the lounge for a smoke with me (I gave that stupid habit up 2 years ago). But he said he couldn't as his legs (that I'd thought were under the blanket) had both been amputated because they had gone gangrenous.

This made me realise that, however dreadful I felt, in comparison I was a neurotic hypochondriac.

That guy in the bed next to mine in the hospital ward who had had both his legs amputated, was an ex-rugby player aged 47 years. That made me realise that in spite of the fact that I was paralysed by the nasty MS relapse complicated by my diabetes, in comparison to this other guy my illness was very minor.

The medication put me right, but nothing would give this guy back his legs.

Just the other morning when our telephone rang, I picked up the receiver with my right hand and put it to my right ear but all that I could hear was an indistinct murmur. So I said "Will you speak up please as I cannot hear you". Then I put the receiver to my left ear, but was forced to say "please don't shout!".

My poor hearing was just because of wax in my right ear that was later removed.

But it made me think about the millions of folk in this world who are always hard of hearing.

And recently, after an eye check, my optician kept my spectacles overnight to insert a slightly stronger lens. It was purgatory for me! I couldn't read or watch the television, peoples faces were a blur.

But it was only until the following day, again making me think about all those folk who are blind or have constantly bad eyesight.

I sincerely thank God for my many blessings.

Italian

2002-08-24T14:48:00.000-07:00

'Does anyone speak Italian?", came the urgent call from the nurses at our local cottage hospital, where I was recuperating after a 5-week stay at our larger hospital where I was detained after having a nasty MS relapse.

As there was no reply to this anxious call, I said that I could speak a little Italian (and it was a little), and that was because during the last war - in approximately 1943 - my father had an Italian prisoner of war (P.O.W) living with us, and working on our farm. I was 12 years old and the Italian P.O.W. (his name was Dominica) could speak very little English.

The fact that we spoke Welsh on our farm confused this Italian more.

My father had little time to talk to Dominica, and as someone had to be with Dominica at all times it was up to me to try and converse with him. He was a very hard working and pleasant guy who frequently used to say "Italiano not want war. Mussolini very bad man". He had been captured at Benghazi and was worried about his family and his girl friend Fransessca, as he had had no word from them in about 3 years.

As he was such a pleasant bloke we gave him civilian clothes instead of the Khaki uniform with its large, round, red (I think) patch on the back and smaller patches on the trousers.

Whilst I tried to talk in English to Domin (That's what we called him) he in turn tried to teach me Italian. I learnt for example that every Italian word ends with a vowel. Domin's hobby was making lovely willow baskets of all shapes and sizes, and I used to cycle miles with him collecting willow saplings.

Although he was a P.O.W, he had a tremendous sense of humour and I felt sorry for him. He was able to converse a little in English with me. He told me how terrifying it was when our Spitfires were machine gunning the Italian troops. "I used to hold a large slab of stone over my head for protection from these bullets as our steel helmets were quite useless against a Spitfire's machine guns and there was no other form of protection for us".

Anyway, back to the hospital. As soon as I mentioned that I could speak a little Italian, the nurses pushed me in my wheelchair to the bedside of an elderly Italian lady who was very ill. She appeared to have lost all hope and was sinking fast and the nurses were panicking.

They asked me to say something, anything, in Italian to try and cheer the old lady up as she couldn't speak any English. Her daughter, who was half Italian, worked as a nurse at this hospital but she was off duty and could not be reached.

So I leaned down towards her and said (anyone who knows the Italian language, please ignore my spelling) "Coma stata Senora", a kind of "Hello" or "how are you?"

She jerked up, and waffled back to me many Italian words. Of course I didn't have a clue as to what she was saying and Italians talk so quickly. "Lo spero voi felige mia bella Senora" (Hope that you are feeling happy/better my lovely lady), I said to her.

"What is she saying please Glyn", pleaded the nurses, calling to the other nurses "Glyn has got her talking, but the he won't tell us, what she is saying!"

How could I as I didn't have a clue as to what the old lady was saying!

But I was the 'hero' of the day having cheered the old lady up a bit.

When the war was over, and Domin was going back home, he said to me "You Glyn have always been very kind to me, and I will write to you after I get back home". But he never did.

Were his years of captivity just a dreadful nightmare best forgotten?

Ex-British P.O.W.s may be able to answer that question for me! Dominica's address in Italy was: Dominica Petrella. Via Gariboldi, Avetazzano, Roma. Avetazzano is 30 miles from Rome. Does anyone know that address please, as I would truly love to make contact with Domin again, assuming that he is still alive now of course.

He would probably be nearing 80 years old by now.

Quad bike

2002-07-07T14:46:00.000-07:00

Very many years ago, I couldn't afford to buy and run a car. So, at the age of 17, I bought my first motorbike (years 55 years ago). It was an ancient 1937 BSA 250cc hand change.

I then graduated to 2 Nortons, all completely reliable.

The love of motorcycling was well ingrained in me!

After we started a family, my wife and I had to have cars and I thought that my motorcycling days were over.

I was diagnosed with MS in 1980, and the time soon came when I could no longer walk.

I didn't want to be stuck in a wheelchair all the time. And anyway, as a farmer I loved the open air. So I bought a Susuki quad. Superb!

I've ridden very many miles on the bike since then, although these days I can only do so by placing my 'good foot' on the footrest and getting my wife or son to lift me on and off the bike. Then I'm away, as the bike is operated via hand controls.

It's just sheer determination that I will not give in to MS.

Last week I had the bike serviced and it was running great. But when I was about 4 miles from home in a narrow country lane, it stopped running. I tried to start it a number of times but it wouldn't move forward at all. Fortunately, I had my mobile phone with me and phoned home for someone to come and collect me and the quad (in a trailer).

When we arrived back home I asked my son if he could see what was wrong with the bike. After a quick glance he told that there was no oil in it. This was strange as we had checked the oil before starting off. So my son went to put more oil in it.

That's when we found that the oil was going straight through the engine and out of the sump, as the sump plug had fallen out!

I phoned the motorbike dealer, explaining what had happened, and he came straight out to our farm to check it. I was worried in case the engine had been damaged. He took the quad back to his garage, and brought it back a few hours later, assuring me that the engine had not been damaged and the reason that the sump plug had fallen out was because they usually have an apprentice to do simple jobs like oil changing, and this particular apprentice hadn't put the locking washer back on the sump plug!

But all's well, that ends well!

'Big City'

2002-04-28T14:43:00.000-07:00

Many years ago a friend, John, and myself were nominated to go to the annual general meeting of our local MS Branch in London.

I was just starting with the symptoms of MS and was still able to walk a bit. John doesn't have MS, he was just one of our MS Branch helpers. As neither of us had ever been further than Chester before we were both delighted to be going to the 'Big City'.

When we arrived at Euston station our guy in charge hailed a taxi to take us to our hotel. But when we we arrived and tried to check-in, we were told that the hotel was full! The helpful receptionist phoned around and found us another hotel.

Both John and myself could barely wait to explore London, so we just dumped our bags at the hotel and off we went to explore. First of all we wanted to see the Houses of Parliament. Then we travelled what felt like 100 miles on buses and taxis to visit the 'Bloody Tower'. We kept dashing around seeing all these exciting places.

At 11pm I said that we had better go back to our hotel as we (me obviously in particular) were exhausted. I asked John the name of this other hotel that we had been booked into, but John said that he had no idea and hoped that I may have remembered. But I couldn't remember either! I thought that there was another hotel close to it which was all lit up with the name 'Endslea' or something like that.

We asked people walking about if any of them knew where this hotel was, but none of them had ever heard of any hotel by that name. Then we asked some policemen. None of them could help either and one suggested that we ask a taxi driver. So we stopped the first taxi we found and asked the driver if he knew where 'The Endslea' or something like that was. He was ever so helpful and fortunately found it for us.

It was now 12.30am and we were both completely exhausted. We flopped down on our beds and fell asleep.

We were woken by a knock on our door the following morning. It was two maids who wanted to tidy our room. As we were still in our clothes we pretended that we had got up and got dressed!

As the maids were busily tidying our room, John said 'and you will come and tuck us in tonight won't you?'. 'Yes sir, of course sir', they said laughing.

We thought no more about it and left for the AGM. That afternoon a guy from another branch, George, asked us if we would mind if he stayed in our room as the hotel that he was staying at was not very nice. Of course we didn't mind as there were 3 beds and although George was a bit older than us, we did know him quite well.

After the AGM both John and myself were determined that we were going to have an early night and we went to bed about 10pm.

A little bit later there was a knock on our door and I, thinking it was George, got up to let him in as he didn't have a key himself.

Imagine my surprise when I opened the door and those two maids walked in! After getting over the shock of seeing them I asked them what they wanted.

'You asked us to come, so here we are!', they said, giggling. We tried explaining to them that we were only joking, but no way would they go and they were obviously getting a bit fed up with our lack of enthusiasm!

Then there was another knock on our bedroom door. Splendid, we thought, it was George who would help us get the girls out. But when George walked in and saw the girls, he just said 'Oh! Sorry lads', and went back out again!

It took us quite some time to persuade the girls to leave.

And if George should be reading this, nothing happened!!

Good samaritans

2002-02-11T14:40:00.000-08:00

About 5 months ago my wife and I were going to a social gathering in Anglesey which was starting at 11.30am, so we set off from our home in Flintshire, North Wales at 9am giving us one and a half hours to travel the 70 miles to get there.

We were travelling along the A55 past Abergele. My wife was driving up a slight incline. She was accelerating to go faster, and although the engine was accelerating, the car was not moving any faster. It was obvious that the clutch must be slipping.

I've driven all sorts of vehicles for over 50 years, cars, vans, motorbikes, small lorries and tractors and have never had a clutch slip on me before.

My wife kept on driving as we were most eager to get to the meeting. However, about 12 miles after driving over the Menai Bridge to Anglesey the clutch went altogether and the car came to a stop. After the car stopped moving my wife trod on the brake pedal, but it rolled back a yard or so. The trailer with my electric scooter on it went slightly across the roadway.

Many cars passed us tooting their horns at us in annoyance, but there was absolutely nothing we could do.

Fortunately, we had our mobile phone with us, and we phoned for help. We were stuck there for nearly three quarters of an hour, hearing irate drivers tooting their horns angrily at us.

Another car went past us. His brake lights came on, and I said to my wife "That car looks as if he is stopping". His reversing lights came on as he reversed back down to us, and the young driver came to our car, asking if we were in trouble. We told him that we sure were!

The young man went to unhook the trailer from our car and as he was unhooking it another driver also stopped. Between them they pushed our trailer into a lay-by.

We thanked both men profusely, real 'good samaritans'!

Road rage

2002-01-03T14:35:00.000-08:00

There is quite rightly much publicity given to the disgraceful evidence of 'road rage'.

But what about the opposite of road rage?

The good humoured drivers. As a person with MS I went recently to a respite care home at Dyserth near Prestayn, Wales for a break.

One nice sunny day I had seen a sign saying 'Prestatyn 4 miles', so I thought that I would go on my Bec electric scooter to Prestatyn. I had 2 new batteries at £100 each, which it stated were capable of a 20 mile run.

However on my way back it was obvious that the batteries were running down. I wanted to go up a slight slope to get onto the kerb. I was unable to get up the slope.

So I called to a young boy aged about 10 years old who was cycling around to give me a push. This he willingly did, and I carried on along this kerb until the kerb came to an end. This meant that I would have to cross the road to get to the kerb on the other side.

As there was no traffic about I started across the road at about half a mile an hour. When I was half way across a car came from my left, so I stopped. So did the car. Then another car came from my right and he also stopped.

In just a few seconds there were a number of cars, and a large juggernaut, all stopped. But they all had pleasant smiles (and not smirking smiles). When they were passing, yes still smiles, and the juggernaut driver called out to me. He sounded like an Irish Scouser (having been married to a Liverpool Lass (a 'Scouser') for 46 years I quickly recognised the accent). He called over to me "And are yu shore dat yur alreet maite?". I just smiled and nodded back to him.

But what lovely, friendly people. The exact opposite of road rage!