NHS kicks off 2025 with vigour

The NHS is still coming under fire, except that nowadays the public are being persuaded to join in the attack.

The persuasion not only comes courtesy of the Tories and Farage’s mob, but also from the Labour government under Starmer.

Naturally the majority of the mass media have joined in the attacks and if you believed the garbage they spew out you would be looking out for endless queues of ambulances, while doctors and nurses check their bodily functions and give them blood transfusions in the back of the vehicles.

In truth the NHS, which has been trying to recover from Covid since 2020, has come on in leaps and bounds.

It doesn’t seem long since we were told we couldn’t expect an appointment with a doctor for at least two weeks.

Yet on the last Monday of December, the 29th, I rang my surgery and was given an appointment on the same day.

The doctor wanted a check made on me at the local hospital. It was a 14-day referral and if I hadn’t heard from them by 12th of January I was to call the surgery and they would chase it up.

The hospital called on 2nd January and I was offered an appointment for Friday, 9th January.

Now that is what my Cornish ancestors would call “a proper job”.

Do you see yourself through a glass darkly – or do you go through the looking glass?

Who do you see when you pass a mirror?

Do you know the visage you see?

You know it is you but the only times you see yourself are when you look in a mirror, or, when someone shows you a photograph of you.

But is the “you” that you see the same as the “you” that others see?

Sometimes I look in a mirror and see my father looking back at me. I know he is not really there but people often say that I look like him. Am I just trying to see the likeness to remind me I am a chip off the old block.

What about when I see my mother looking back at me? Do I really look like her as well?

Almost certainly.

If, instead of looking at myself now and a picture of my father at the same age, I compared a picture of myself at 18 and one of my father at the same age I would see him in me, I would also see my mother in a picture of her taken at that age.

One thing that goes against this is how you see your partner now as opposed to the person you saw when you first met them.

I see the beauty I met and married all those decades ago. Her eyes are bright and shining, her hair like silken strands, her lips soft and tasty.

Do our eyes see what is really there or do we see what we want to see?

When I was One-and-Twenty

By A E Housman

When I was one-and-twenty
I heard a wise man say,
“Give crowns and pounds and guineas
But not your heart away;
Give pearls away and rubies
But keep your fancy free.”
But I was one-and-twenty,
No use to talk to me.

When I was one-and-twenty
I heard him say again,
“The heart out of the bosom
Was never given in vain;
‘Tis paid with sighs a plenty
And sold for endless rue.”
And I am two-and-twenty,
And oh, ’tis true, ’tis true.


This poem is from Housman’s A Shropshire Lad, one of my favourite collections as my son David is a Shropshire Lad having been born in Gobowen, just over the border from my beloved Wales.

Flat pack: a right old faradiddle or is it really just as easy as pie?

We tend to think of flat pack furniture – or Ready to Assemble (RTA) – as having been invented in the middle of the last century, and probably created by Scandinavian designers.

In fact campaign furniture was very common in the 18th and 19th centuries with the British Armed Forces, officers only, which could pack down quickly into easily transportable pieces.

Campaign furniture was used by an even earlier general who travelled extensively with his army – Julius Caesar. The Roman army was renowned for its ability to create a properly defended camp after a day’s march and to pack it all up the following morning to be ready to march again.

This is even more amazing when you realise Caesar’s tent would be lined with costly hangings, furnished with chairs and tables and even a bed.

Over the millennia campaign furniture went through many changes and by the 19th century furniture makers began to use the idea for domestic furniture which could be packed flat to be sent to the customer and also stripped down to save space when moving house.

By the mid-20th century more manufacturers began to make flat packed domestic furniture but although high-end companies maintained quality there were those further down the chain who were not quite so thorough and customers often found screwholes misaligned and components not cut to exact measurements.

As you can imagine this led to frustration and despair for the poor customer who would have been told the furniture could be “assembled in minutes with just the aid of a screwdriver”.

Four hours later the piece might finally be put together – but only with the aid of a screwdriver – and a hammer, a saw and various other tools (if you happen to own such items).

Over the years – and there have been a lot of them – I have only bought flat packed furniture three times and appear to have struck lucky every time.

The first was in the late 70s when we needed a dining set suited to a somewhat compact dining area. We settled for a refectory style table, monks bench and simple backless bench.

When it arrived I managed to assemble it in about an hour and a half and we used it for our meal that night.

The whole set used a combination of wooden pegs, wooden turnlocks and a a few screws. A screwdriver and a mallet, to knock in the pegs, and that was it. It was just as easy to disassemble for moving, which was just as well because since then it has travelled around the UK and halfway around the world.

The next flat pack was bought in Australia and consisted of an armoire and two bedside set of drawers. These were a little bit more fiddly to assemble with drawers to put together, handles to attach, hinges and slide in drawer backs and sides.

These items took longer to assemble and as well as a couple of different size scans and a rubber mallet I had to use a bit of glue to strengthen some of the joints, which meant the items could not be easily dismantled for transport.

We still have the armoire and two bedside drawer units.

The third item was a wardrobe with mirrored sliding doors.

This was in some ways easier in that it had less screws and no handles. The problem lay in the weight of the mirrored doors and trying to get them into the right tracks, top and bottom.

This is the one item that is no longer with us as when we moved it was to a property nearby and we managed a DIY removal but the wardrobe was just too big and heavy.

So there we have it. Three examples of flat pack furniture and no major problems even though so many people throw up their hands in despair and have even been the butt of comedians’ jokes. In fact sitcoms on tv frequently spend most of an episode with the stars trying to put together a simple piece of flat pack furniture.

You may be wondering why I have chosen an experience going back decades.

It is because this weekend I have been assembling another flat pack table which consisted of over 20 wooden parts plus five bolts, four nuts and four washers and almost 40 screws.

How big was it?

About four feet high and eight inches square.

Yes, it’s a bird table and it took as long to Assemble as the refractory dining set for four people.

Penblwyddd Hapus – and wishing you all a very Happy New Year

I know it’s been almost a year but 2025 has been quite a rollercoaster ride. Here’s hoping that 2026 will be smoother with more ups than downs.

I will be offering plenty more on the story of my life. I seem to remember we were in Anglesey in 1977 when things took a bit of a turn and I will pick up on that year in the next few days.

Literature, prose and poetry, will hopefully take a big upturn. The poetry will spread across the centuries and if any of you feel you have a poem, either your own or a favourite of yours,, let me know and it could be featured.

On the literature front I will be looking at some of my favourite books from many decades of reading as well as new works if they happen to tickle my fancy.

I will also be looking at television programmes, dramas or documentaries. It could be brand-new material or even something I recall from my childhood or teens – films, plays, music, really anything that draws my attention.

There will be politics, of course, but you only need to pop in to that section if you really want to. The viewpoint will be personal and comments will be welcome but I do ask that you keep your language moderate, and hate speech is definitely banned.

It looks like a busy year ahead and I hope you will all be with me this time next year, along with any more friends we make along the way.

HALFWAY DOWN

Halfway down the stairs
Is a stair
Where I sit.
There isn't any
Other stair
Quite like
It.
I'm not at the bottom,
I'm not at the top;
So this is the stair
Where
I always
Stop.

Halfway up the stairs
Isn't up
And isn't down.
It isn't in the nursery,
It isn't in the town.
And all sorts of funny thoughts
Run round my head:
"It isn't really
Anywhere!
It's somewhere else
Instead."

AA Milne





Binge on the oldies if you want to escape modern TV dross

The television these days is full of quiz shows, reality shows, entrepreneurs trying to get cash from business tycoons, and gladiatorial battles – with plenty of padding.

Dramas, of which there are precious few, have a new series each year lasting about six to eight episodes, and then it’ll be at least 12 months before you see them again.î8

Over the past few months our life has involved a lot of visits to hospitals which can be very tiring and we have been going through box sets of dramas from the 80s and 90s.

It is amazing how many people you recognise in these old shows who have since become stars in their own right. At the same time there are stars who can be seen in their swansong.

Just lately we have been watching Dalziel and Pascoe with the excellent Warren Clarke (Clockwork Orange).

The cast included Tony Booth (Alf Garnett’s scouse git of a son-in-law) who was initially a suspect in the death of his sister, but was later murdered.

Also in this episode we saw Norman Wisdom, a true king of comedy, but in this show there was no comedy but pathos aplenty.

Even when he is playing the frenetic Norman Pitkin we still love him but when his character slows down we see the pathos behind the clown’s face.

He is recognised by his peers as an actor of merit and there was a moment when Warren Clarke was talking to Norman who allowed his mask of pathos to slip and show the caring man beneath.

As they walked away Warren put his arm across Norman’s shoulders and you suddenly realise that many well-established actors still recognised the virtues of the little man behind the clown’s mask.

Regrets, I’ve had a few, but then again too few to mention

We all have regrets, some have more than others, but all in all there are not many regrets in my life.

There are times when something doesn’t go the way you hoped for, but looking back you realise it was not a problem because it put your feet on a different, better path.

Even at primary school I had been interested in the sciences and by the end of the first year I was set on becoming a pathologist and my “hero” was Sir Bernard Spilsbury.

I did not concentrate on the sciences to the preclusion of all else. English language and literature still appealed to me but more as subjects for my leisure periods between cutting up bodies.

A few years later I realised that not only was my scientific future looking remote but my future at Rhyl Grammar School appeared to be coming to an end.

This is when I should have regretted not having put more effort into my studies, but looking back I don’t think I would have fitted into the academic regime.

I was more suited to words than to scientific dissection of body parts.

Thus I ended my desire for the academic world and the laboratory with its test tubes and litmus papers and embarked on a future of seeking out stories and telling them in a way that allowed people to grasp the truth.

Have I regretted leaving school to concentrate on journalism? NO!

What I have long regretted, however, is that I did not put more effort into one academic subject – the study of the Welsh language.

At that time “foreign” languages taught in grammar schools were basically Welsh, French, German and Latin. (note my quote marks around Welsh, which, of course, was not a foreign language in Wales even though it was treated like one by the education authorities)

I never took German but did study French, Latin and Welsh, but only to the rudimentary levels of those who did not take languages on to A-level.

This is partly understandable in that although I lived in Wales, and my father was Welsh, and my mother Liverpool Welsh, the language was not spoken in our house.

My father remembered his father, Welsh Presbyterian Rev Edward Vyrnwy Pierce, speaking the language as he was bilingual, having been raised in a Welsh family with both his parents being Welsh-born, Machynlleth to be exact.

I always enjoyed lisening to Welsh choirs and have been devoted to Welsh rugby as far back as I can remember.

I could even reel off the (in)famous Welsh place name from Anglesey as a party piece, but that, and odd words I have added to my vocabulary over the years, is the limit of my knowledge of the language of my fathers.

Compare that to another Rhyl Grammar School pupil, a year or so ahead of me, who also came from an English-speaking household and left RGS for university with a similar basic knowledge of the Welsh language.

He went to Aberystwyth University, where my grandfather Edward had also studied, and, alongside his other studies, learned to speak fluent Welsh.

At school he was Fred Francis but changed his name to Ffred Ffransis and was soon a leading light in the Welsh Language Society: Cymdeithas yr iaith Gymraeg.

As a political proponent of Cymraeg he was frequently arrested and even imprisoned for participating in non-violent protest actions.

As far as I am aware he remains a champion of the language and the rights of the people in the wonderful land we call Cymru.

Ffred Ffransis I salute you.

Nowadays I am doing my best to learn the language I neglected in my youth.

Maybe I can learn enough to read my great grandfather David’s volumes of notebooks about his family history, as well as his sermons and poetry.

Last minute hitch on house deal led to a far better home

Many of you will remember 1977 as a busy year, it was Queen Elizabeth’s silver jubilee as monarch; the Yorkshire Ripper was still on the prowl; National Front marchers clashed with anti-Nazi protesters in London.

Meanwhile Marion and I had moved our little family to North Wales, Anglesey in fact, and as I was settling in as Holyhead district reporter for the North Wales Chronicle, part of the North Wales Newspapers group based in Oswestry.

The Basildon house had been sold and we were looking for a place to buy in Holyhead, meanwhile we were renting a bungalow in Valley.

It wasn’t long before we found out about a new-build estate on the edge of Holyhead.

On viewing the plans and looking at the site we chose a plot for a nice little two-bedroom semi-detached with an open fireplace. We could just see ourselves, after the girls had gone to bed, putting our feet up in front of the fire in the autumn and winter (the houses would not be ready until the autumn).

We paid our deposit, arranged a mortgage and looked forward to living in our own home again.

Meanwhile I settled in to scouting out stories in Anglesey in general and Holyhead specifically.

At the weekends in that glorious summer we would take the girls to one of the local beaches, there were plenty to choose from, and watch them playing in the sand while we soaked up the sun.

Towards the end of the summer we went to check with the estate agents as to how the house building was going on, only to discover there was a minor hiccup, in fact a major hiccup, over our plot.

The building on the site was going well, it was the plot we had chosen but when we looked at the specifications we discovered there was no indication of a fireplace.

After a bit of a to and fro with the estate agent, who blamed the builders, we said – no fireplace, no deal.

We had our deposit returned plus ancillary costs and started to look all over again.

Then out of the blue I was talking to a member of the local council, who also happened to be an estate agent, following a meeting and after hearing about our let-down he said he had a two-bedroom cottage on Holyhead Mountain where the buyer had just pulled out.

We went to view it the next day and fell in love with it. From the garden you could look down to South Stack lighthouse.

As it happened the seller had bought the next-door cottage because it was bigger.

There was already an up-to-date survey on the property and with a purchase agreed we were able to settle within weeks and moved in at the beginning of autumn.

The place was two cottages made into one with solid stone walls and deep window embrasures.

It also had a magnificent stone fireplace.

We couldn’t have done better.

This trickle, once a torrent, will be in full spate again soon

First of all please accept my apologies that instead of the torrent of new posts for this New Year, 2025, it has slowed to a small stream, if that.

The past few months have not been as smooth as I had hoped but I am not here to wallow in my sorrow.

There have been wonderful times in these same last few months and I want to fill you in on them.

I especially want to talk about the glorious year when I not only returned to my chosen profession, journalism, but also returned to my beloved Wales, even though it was not as lengthy a time as I would have liked.

So watch out because Robin’s about.