Books, Medical Education, Writing

Special Opportunity!


Clinical Press, the publishers of my book You don’t have to be a genius, have chosen a few of their favourite books (including mine!) for special promotion in the first week of May. The e-book will be available at a very reduced rate.

From May 1st, the following e-books from Clinical Press Ltd. will be available initially at just 99p (or 99cents in USA) by searching on the Amazon site:

You don’t have to be a genius by Diana Ashworth: Funny and moving and based on a true story. At the dawn of the permissive age Diana is a medical student in swinging London. A great read.

Splittage: brain hyping in the Dystopia; by M J Marazan. Dystopian science fiction in the style of the Golden Age of SF with hints of Asimov and Heinlein

The origin of the virus: Barnard, Quay and Dalgleish. The definitive account of how they produced a virus that killed millions  (Note: Amazon No. 1 Bestseller in Health Risk assessment)

The dog comes with the practice: Expanded 2nd Edition by Tom Baskett.  ‘This gentle volume reminds us that, at the core, medicine is about people.’  Medical autobiography…  ‘the medical equivalent of All creatures great and small.’ (Clinical Press book of the year 2023)

Losing Eldorado by Mark T Goddard: Two brothers searching for the soul of America (Note: Amazon No. 1 Hot new release in Music, No 1 Hot new release in US Travel)

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Birds, Cornwall

Whimbrel Hunt

Just spent several days, in Cornwall, looking for this elusive bird, amongst other things — trying to spot it en-route between Africa and its breeding grounds in the sub-arctic, where it breeds as far south as Orkney, Shetland and the north of Scotland. They are the smaller of our two curlews.

They travel in groups, along the coasts of Britain, feeding as they go. Reported one day and gone the next! We missed them at Land’s End and at Boat Cove. At Godrevy, on our last evening we were scrambling on the rocky cliff edge scanning the rocks below when we were nearly knocked off the precarious path by a low flying squadron of huge birds. They had found us!

Twenty-four whimbrels with 2 godwits, stopping for an evening feed on the clifftop

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Architecture, British history

Powis Castle

It has been very wet of late so when we have a sunny day, we drop everything and head off for a day out!

The Castle is famous since the injection of cash it received indirectly from Clive of India when his eldest son, Edward, married Henrietta Herbert, daughter of the Earl of Powys. The Herbert family were at the heart of the British aristocracy but had fallen on hard times. Edward’s father, Robert Clive was a sort of eighteenth century, colonial oligarch. He had had a brilliant career in India as an administrator of the East India Company, a soldier, politician and adventurer — accruing considerable celebrity and wealth which is just what a medieval castle needs!

Because of it’s association with Clive, I had always thought it dated from that period but I was quite wrong. It was built way back, by Gruffudd ap Gwenwynwyn, a prince of Wales, in the 13th century to defend himself against the princes of Gwynedd — it is one of the few surviving properly Welsh medieval castles. Most of the now famous ones were built by the English King Edward I to keep the Welsh princes in order.

It commands a magnificent view of the country around Welshpool from the terraced Italianate garden.

It is famous for its monumental and historic yew hedges.

The castle is packed with amazing furniture and art works which, sadly, cannot be photographed. There are paintings dating back to Tudor times — well worth the visit.

I was very impressed by the tasteful and historically sensitive lady’s lavatory.

As Bill was by the athletic lady outside the cafe who appeared to be drinking a yard of ale!

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Friendship, Hill Farming

Vengeance!

Our not so imaginary neighbor, Iolo, continues to exact vengeance for the naive notion that we might have what it takes to be hill farmers. The inspiration for this character is, in reality, a humorous and generous man, but one who cannot bear to see things, that should be done, left undone. He, like us, is now ancient but his drive and energy are legendary.

Woodpile 2015

Recently we have seen him anxiously eyeing our log pile — cut 9 years ago. Bill said, ‘I can see it is worrying him’, and well it might — all that useful timber edging over the limit of well seasoned into the realm of porous, wet and rotting, something should be done!

When I see one of the younger members of his family, I do something — I arrange for them to come with their tractor saw-bench and chop it all up so we can stack it in the dry for burning in the wood burner next winter — rates were discussed. ’Dad will want to supervise — it’s his kit but he’s not very well at the moment — we’ll arrange to come when he’s better’.

That was all Iolo needed — next day, shortly after a frosty dawn, we heard a strange noise, ‘That can’t be a night jar? It sounds like a distant chain saw?’

There he was, not a tractor in sight, but Iolo attacking our log pile like a man possessed. The worst thing about a chain saw is starting it — once roaring away only a fool would stop it — Iolo is no fool, so on he roared while, shamed, we carted the great cheeses down to the new wood pile and graded and piled them in the dry.

Great inroads — couldn’t photograph the master at work — too busy carting.

Later we re-possessed the shared log-splitter from Roger, next door, and after a refresher course and explanation of recent modifications we split the big ones — no splinters, no fingers removed! 

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Birds

A Lifetime First!

All my bird-watching days I have wanted to photograph a water rail. They are shy, busy birds that skulk in reed beds — people say ‘Oh yes, they are here.’ But they never show themselves to us. Just the occsional flash of a tail feather as they disappear into the reeds. Not even a burst of their alleged piglet-like squeal. Don’t bother to follow the call, as I did, unless you want to inspect your neighbour’s new weaners! 

Last week we went to Slimbridge looking for Bewick swans:

What did we find? A water rail! Bold as brass, trotting around the edges of a shallow pond.

What a beautiful bird and not at all reticent, just very focused on the hunt.

Oh, and what of the Bewicks?

Bewick swans at Slimbridge.

Not many, most were out and about grazing on the surrounding fields. But, what a bonus–

Two of the six wild common or Eurasian cranes we saw, grazing on the marsh.

They were wiped out in the UK in the 1600s and have only been seen again since 1979 — there has been lots of work re-introducing these iconic birds from captive breeding programs. In 2022 there were over 70 pairs breeding in the wild in the UK — mainly in the Eastern counties and the Somerset levels. We’ve seen them in the Nene Washes.

Common crane at Eldernell on the Nene
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Birds

Wait for it…

This is not the Christmas Blog.

But it’s been an amazing year for holly — I’ve never seen so many berries. Nor such huge haws.

And the Mistletoe is marvelous.

It all bodes well for a good Christmas but we are waiting for the long predicted Waxwings to appear.

These beautiful birds live in Scandinavia but head south in winter in search of food. This is one of those exceptional years when food is thin in the trees at home and the winds have been northerly. There have been lots of sightings as they following the berries, coming further south and west as they denude the trees. We got up before dawn to sneak into Newtown College car park where there are still rowan berries, their favorite… To no avail. Maybe there is so much to eat in the North of England that they will never get to Northamptonshire where Bill photographed this one in 2013 — the last exceptional year

Waxwing in Barton Seagrave 2013.

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Climate, Welsh culture

101 ways to overwhelm the NHS!

Yesterday was grey — the thick, wet cloud lay on the wet ground blanketing the melting snow, making the road run, frappé with ice – you remember Slush Puppies.

As we walked down hill to our village through the rain, we dug our sticks into the bank to avoid slip-sliding or aquaplaning.  We remembered the conversation of the night before when the News reported ‘NHS about to be overwhelmed’ in this latest cold snap.

I’d recalled when I was a casualty officer tending the droves of the foolish elderly with their fractured ankles, wrists and hips, who’d ventured out on the first frosty morning after the ‘thaw’.  Just another example of role-reversal, ‘Bill!’ I say, ‘Think how much you will enjoy the helicopter ride!’

But we make it to Llawr-y-glyn without falling and we aren’t the only ones – 30 odd villagers who should all know better, are there to drink mulled wine in the gloaming, dodging the drips and the gushes from the puddle on the canopy, as a public spirited citizen pokes it from beneath with his brolly wetting all the mince pies.

The Christmas Tree had appeared, as always, by magic – we used to decorate it with bows and baubles — but it took so long to collect them each year after the inevitable gale that now it is simply decked with lights and switched on by the youngest resident – she didn’t make a speech. 

Now we trudge home, up hill. Did I mention we both had Covid recently and still puff a bit. In the dark I remember not to forget the day glow jackets,(too late!) I switch on my torch. There is no traffic so no one knocks us into the hedge leaving us for dead so we count tawny owls.

In 2018 the weather was better. The faces change but life goes on.

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