Martyn Hooper

Just a quickie to let everyone know that the society’s stall will be at the Biker Show at Margam Park, South Wales this Saturday and maybe Sunday as well – the first and second of August.

http://www.freestyleriders.co.uk/

We will be offering our ‘Could you be B12 Deficient’ Questionaire to members of the public.  If you are attending please come and see us.

The latest Management Council Meeting took place last Sunday – the 26th..  As usual it was held online using Skype.

A month had elapsed since the last meeting.  Usually the council meets every two weeks but, due to holiday commitments and the sun shining (in countries outside the U.K.) it was decided at the previous meeting that meetings would take place every four weeks for the foreseeable future.  I updated the committee on the state of research proposals, membership numbers and our financial position.

Today was Councillor Don Care’s birthday.  The pompous little man was excited because he was going to play a trick on his family. He had worked out this hoax over the past year, and what had started as a germ of an idea that would embarass his family had developed into a carefully planned plot over the previous twelve months. 

The plan was to intercept the postman who would be delivering his birthday cards.  He would stop the postman well before he entered the street where Don and his family lived and, as he was a well known member of the community, the postman would recognise him.  Don would ask if he could have his mail for the day.  He would tell the postman that he was in a rush to make a very important council meeting and that he was expecting an important document and it would be useful to have that document to take to the meeting.  Then he would take the household’s mail - including his birthday cards. 

Don planned to embarass his family.  He was going to leave the postman, take a different route home and enter the house via the back garden gate.  Then, he would make sure that his family were aware that he was eagerly watchinng the postman make his deliveries in the street.  “I wonder how many cards I’ll get this year” he would ask in a false excited manner.  And then, because he had already intercepted the mail, he would pretend to be disheartened that nobody had remembered his birthday when the postman failed to deliver any letters to the house.  And then his family would try to reassure him that there must be an explanation why he had not had any cards (apart from the ones they had given him by hand).  They would reassure him that he was still popular but that you couldn’t rely on the post these days and everything would be alright tomorrow when he would probably receive a sackload.  Only then, after all the fuss, would he produce the cards that the intercepted postman had given him.  “Tarrrrraaaaaaaaaaa”! He would say, as he flourished the cards in the air.  Then they would all have a laugh at how clever he had been. 

He had carefully noted the time that the postman delivered the post to his terraced house each morning which was between 7.10 and 7.20.  Some mornings it was earlier and some later, but 90% of deliveries were between those times.  He had observed the different postmen’s behaviour.  One postman left his bag of letters at the entrance to the cul-de-sac, taking out the letters and completing the deliveries to the street before picking the bag up and walking to the next street.  Another postman would start at the higher numbered houses and work his way to number 1.  More importantly Don had also observed the route the postmen took before entering the street.  All of them approached the cul-de-sac where the Care family lived from the west after they had delivered to the houses and shops of the High Street.  They turned right into Don’s cul-de-sac and either started delivering to the house on their immediate right or, as one postman did, crossed the road and started the round with the house with the highest number.  All of this had been carefully noted as intercepting the postman before they started delivering was a critical part of the ruse.

For the past year Don had been planning this.  He had even told a few of his fellow councillors who had told him it was a wonderful idea that would make a marvellous birthday surprise for his family.  They even joined in the fun by promising to contribute by making sure to send him a card – it would add to the fun of the idea. 

Today was Don’s birthday.  It was 7.00 am and time to put the plan into action.  Don’s wife was in the kitchen starting to prepare breakfast.  His daughter, Tammy, was in the shower.  It was raining hard.  Don told his wife he was going to the local shop to buy a newspaper.  It was Thursday, the day the local newspaper was published.  He asked her if she wanted anything.  She didn’t.  Don took his coat from the coathook in the small hallway, put it on and slipped out of the door.  He was smiling to himself as he made his way out of the cul-de-sac and turned left into the High Street.  He scanned the street for the postman.  There he was, about fifty yards away.  Don bought the local paper and went back into the High Street.  The postman was a few yards away.  Don approached him in the heavy autumn rain.

“Hello” he said, wearing one of his false ‘an election is looming’ smiles.  The postman stopped delivering letters and looked at the short balding man in front of him.  “Sorry to be a pain but I’ve got a really important meeting that I’m on my way to”.  The postman said nothing. 

“I’m a councillor” he continued.

The postman nodded.

“I’ve an important meeting that I’m on my way to” said Don.  “It would help me enormously if I could take a document along that you might well have in your bag”.  Don was breathing quickly, the butterflies in his stomach were flying, his palms were sweating.  “Is there any chance I could take my mail from you?” he asked.

The postman suddenly realised why Mr Pomp (as Don was known) had stopped him.

“No problem” said the postman.  “Number 18 right?”

“Yes” said Don excitedly.

The postman reached into his bag aware of a trickle of water just starting to run down his neck.  He hated being asked this, especially when it was raining and he just wanted to finish his round.  He fumbled around.  Don strained his neck to look into the bag.  This was all going to plan.  It was beautiful.  Don was already glowing with anticipation of the charade that would be played out back in number 18. 

The postman produced a bundle of letters that were all meant for Don’s cul-de-sac.  They were tightly bound by a thick red rubber band.  Don estimated that he would receive around ten cards, maybe more.  There were at least eight from his fellow councillors.  The postman pulled off the rubber band and started to sift through the letters.  Don could see three or four birthday card sized letters.  The postman muttered, “12, 14, 16.” There was a pause.  The postman looked at Don’s eager little face that was slightly blushing.

“Sorry sir”, he said quietly.  “There’s no mail for number 18 today”

Don’s fellow councillors had laughed at his plans and told Don that his plan to embarass his family was a wonderful idea and that they would join in the fun by assuring him that they too, would send him cards.  That’s what they told him.  What they told each other was different.  They didn’t like Don.  He was not popular with his fellow councillors because he was pompous and considered himself above his peers.  They didn’t like the way he strutted around the corridors of the council offices.  They didn’t like the way he produced vague facts about trivia that he thought made him sound intelligent but only made him look more of a buffoon.  They didn’t like the way he totally ignored his constituents other than at election time.  And they didn’t like the fact that he only bothered with them when he wanted something – like a birthday card.

Don stared at the postman.  “Are you sure” he asked.  The postman nodded.  “Nothing at all today sir” he said.  Don was confused.  This was not expected.  He said nothing but strode past the postman without a word.  The postman grinned.  Don made his way over the small patch of common land in went into the garden through the unnlocked back gate and then into the house.  His wife and daughhter were at the table eating their breakfast.  His daughter looked up at him but didn’t smile.  “Happy birthday” she said.  “Happy birthday” said his wife.  A single card was propped against the salt and pepper pots.  “We bought you a combined card this year” said the younger woman.  “We know how concerned you are for the environment and cards are made out of trees” she said. 

“Here comes the postman” said Don’s wife looking out of the window as the postman walked straight past the house.  “Oh well, nothing for us today” she continued.  “I expect you’ll get a sack load of cards tomorrow, the post is so terrible these days” she said.

Don said nothing.

Many members of the society are reporting “miraculous results” after receiving an infusion of Methylcobalamin – a purer form of B12 than either Cyanocobalamin or Hydroxocobalamin.  The infusions are given straight into the bloodstream along with other trace elements including Magnesium and Potassium.

The infusions are provided by members of the British Soceity for Ecological Medicine who are all trained doctors who recognise the importance and usefulness of ‘alternative’ treatment therapies.  We, as a society, do not recommend members receive this treatment, but rather we make members aware that some people benefit from these infusions and self-inject with Methylcobalamin (which is unlicensed in the U.K.).  We always recommend that the patient discusses this with his or her doctor before proceeding.

The Daily Mail article is still having an impact.  Yesterday, Friday, I had a telephone call from a pharmacist.  One of the pharmacist’s patients was showing all the symptoms that Andrea had described in the Mail feature. 

“She’s begging me to change her anti-acid medication but before I can do that I need to speak with her GP.  I know he will want evidence that the medication she is on is depleting her B12 levels” he told me.  “Do you have any evidence that the medication depletes B12?”

I promised to get back to him and immediately visited the forum where, to my dismay, nobody was signed in.  So I Skyped Pat who I knew would be able to help.  Within the hour I was able to email the pharmacist a list of relevant research into this topic.

Well done Pat!!

I know that different people have different views as to what makes a great hotel.  And, similarly, everybody will have different values that they would like an airline to have.   This makes this blog open to criticism but nevertheless I have to share with you the details of my most recent trip.

I had to go to North Wales to meet with Jon the Webmaster from Tastic Multimedia.  It was he who was going to make slight alterations to the website and also to set up this blog.  The quickest and cheapest way to travel from south to north wales is via Highland Airways who run a twice daily scheduled service between Cardiff and Anglesey.  The return trip is just £104 and takes between 30 minutes and an hour depending upon the route they choose to fly.  I always choose to fly to north Wales not for reasons of economy and time – two compelling reasons on their own – but because of the experience the flight offers.

It begins with a remarkably simple online booking service.  I only decided to go to visit Jon at 2 pm on Tuesday afternoon.  The flight was due to depart at 4.15.  All was booked within five minutes.  Then it was home to pick up some stuff, then a forty minute drive to Cardiff Airport.  Check in time is just 30 minutes before departure which means you don’t spend hours wandering around ‘airside’ looking at the same sad fluffy sheep that have been on sale for three years.

Twenty minutes before departure you are walking across the tarmac to the 18 seat Jetstream31.  Entering and exiting the aircraft with dignity is impossible but once inside you buckle yourself in to a leather seat with adequate if not ample legroom. 

Then comes the fun bit that diistinguishes this airline from most others.  The cabin crew (of one) clears her throat and, making eye contact with all of the passengers welcomes you on board, tells you where the life vest is, points out the emergency exits and tells you how to buckle and unbuckle your seat belt which, she advised, should be kept buckled at all times when seated.  Excellent.  Then, pulling back the curtain, she murmers something to the flight crew and the turboprops start spinning.

The noise in the cabin is more than that found on modern jetliners, but it is bearable and the magnificent spinning propellors start to sigh and groan as they cut into the air.  The taxi is comfortable and once cleared to take off the engines start singing in harmony as the plane gains speed and climbs in the air.

The lady in charge of the cabin asks if anyone would like tea or coffee and then busies herself making the beverages.  There is no video, audio or any form of entertainment except for the wonderful views of the west Wales coast with, at one point, Snowdonia 12,000 feet below. 

There is something very puzzling about the route taken by the flight.  The scheduled time from Cardiff to Anglesey is one hour and five minutes.  On Tuesday from the Departures gate one of Highland Airway’s Jetstreams could be seen with its Propellor unndergoing repairs on the airport apron.  The airline had flown in a replacement aircraft and while this was being prepared a thirty minute delay developed.  The usual route is to fly north up the Marches before turning west to follow the north Wales coastline.  On Tuesday, because of the delay, the pilot announced (by sticking his head into the cabin from the flight deck that “We’ll be there in thirty minutes – we’ll fly up the west coast”.  I don’t understand why they don’t always fly west then north, thereby saving thirty minutes of flight time (and fuel).  I’m sure there is a reasonable explanation but I cannot think of one.

Thirty five minutes later we are on final approach and the arrival at Anglesey has to be one of the unique experiences in flying because, as you taxi to the terminal you pass row upon row of RAF Hawk aircraft, all lined up in regimented rows.  You pass signs saying “WARNING – ARMED AIRCRAFT BEYOND THIS POINT”.  The airport that serves Anglesey is RAF Valley – home of three Squadrons of Fast Jet Trainers and Search and Rescue helicopters.  The noise the jets make as their engines spool up is earshatteringly beautiful and makes the walk from the aircraft to the terminal building different from any other airport I have used.  Highland Airways may be small, but running scheduled services from the Highlands to the inner and outer Hebrides must mean that their pilots fly over and to some of the most stunning scenery in the world and must be envied in the aviator world. 

I wanted to spend some time watching the antics of these trainee fighter jet pilots and so I had pre-booked a room at the fabulous Cymyran Hotel which is located about half a mile from the airfield.  Pay ten pounds more for the Superior room and you get a view right over the airfield.  Whilst the noise might not be to everyone’s liking at first, it’s amazing that after an hour you just don’t notice the scream of the jets as they take off.

The hotel owner has offered to meet my flight and I throw my rucksack into the back seat and hop into the working Land Rover.  I love this hotel, it is so wrong in so many ways and so so right in others.  There is no attempt at branding and no hint of developing a brand.  Therefore there is no uniforms, name badges, routinely asked ”is there anything else I can do for you” or “is everything ok?” and no signs telling you what to do if everything is not 100% satisfactory.  What you do get are genuine people with genuine personalities.  There’s the charming, if a little hard of hearing receptionist (I’m almost deaf and refuse to wear my hearing aids in public so you can imagine the conversation we had), the bar staff who regularly desert their post to check if everything is ok in the kitchen (well that’s what they said) and the rather clumsy waiting staff.  In short, the hotel is staffed by real people who, free of the drudgery of hiding behind a false, corporate personality, are able to befriend the customers rather than interface with clients.

Mollie

The friendliest of the staff has to be Mollie.   Although she continually looks as if she is on the very verge of bursting into tears she always has time for all visitors to the hotel.  She doesn’t say much, but is keen to establish a relationship with all visitors as soon as she greets you at the entrance to the hotel.  Mollie’s on a perpetual diet in an effort to reduce her weight, and maybe that’s why she is always so tearful.  If you visit the hotel, (and you should), please say hello to Mollie for me and tell her it won’t be long before we can have another deep meaningful chat about the meaning of life.

The food is exceptional.  I chose the Lemon Sole from the extensive Specials Board that came with divine fresh vegetables – and at £7.50 it was exceptionally good value.  Everything is home made and takes advantage of any local seasonal produce that becomes available.  As I ate I looked out of the vast windows and down upon a horse jumping arena where a girl who was no more than six years old cajoled a rather large pony over increasingly high jumps while an instructor shouted instructions and encouragement.  A unique view from a special restaurant.

The next day, after an unhurried breakfast I made my way down into the bay a few hundred yards from the hotel.  After a few minutes it appeared, from the South West, screaming and with landing lights blazing.  Just maybe one hundred feet directly over my head the Hawk jet landed just a few yards from me just over a sand dune.  They continued all morning;  some landing, others flying low over the runway, while others were practicing touch and go.  Occasionally you get to see American F15s from Lakenheath, Tornados from Lossiemouth and Eurofighter Typhoons, but today it was just wave after wave of Hawks practicing and honing their pilots’ skills.  Oh, and a great big yellow SeaKing helicopter hovered above the waves fifty yards away. 

The winchman waved.

I waved back.

http://www.hotel-anglesey.co.uk/

http://www.raf.mod.uk/rafvalley/

http://www.highlandairways.co.uk

I’m in Conwy, north Wales for a meeting with Jon our webmaster – Tasticmedia.

We have spent the morning upgrading the website and adding this blog as I am a complete incompetent when trying to edit the website as an administrator.  We started four hours ago and now (if this post works) we have finished.

On Friday Fiona and I took along our small Gazebo to set up our stand at the Bridgend County Show.  When we eventually set up the gazebo it became apparent that we needed a much more robust model.  And so off we went to Argos and purchased a new Gazebo for £50 – it was supposed to have been £70.

The new model had three walls which offered some protection against the wind and rain and we were aware that heavy rain and gales were forecast for the week-end.  We arrived at the showground in heavy rain at 8 am on the Saturday and it was evident that the weather was keeping people away.  But by 1 pm the sun was shining and the crowds appeared.  We handed out our B12 Deficiency Check-List to around fifty people – some of whom scored highly and these were advised to tell their doctor about the symptoms.

We also had around thirty people present themselves to us telling us that their three-monthly injection was not sufficient and a great many of these patients were either been prescribed anti-depressants or had been prescribed them before.  All in all it was a succesfull day.

However, when Fiona, Sue and I turned up to the field the following morning we discovered that the Gazebo had been wrecked by vandals.  Three of the most important poles were broken and the tent had just collapsed.  Two other stands had also been wrecked by a group of boys.  The Security Guards had caught them, but had simply escorted them off the premises.  It was not possible to salvage anything and so we loaded up the car and, after breakfast at McDonalds, made our way home.

We have commitments to three other festivals during the summer and so we will need to buy another Gazebo before then.  Today there are three volunteers in the office.  Sue, Abigail and Fiona.  We have begun to plan for the Awareness Week and Awareness Day.

Yesterday afternoon I joined former colleagues from the college where I taught for an end of term get together – or more accurately an end of term drinking session!

I hadn’t seen any of them since I had my first infusion in April.  Every one of them commented on how well I looked and how much brighter I seemed.  One ex colleague couldn’t get over how my skin had improved.

This morning we had our first telephone call from a member seeking advice before 8.30.  It was the usual tale of Doctors refusing treatment.  In this case after having three monthly injections of Hydroxocobalamin for many years, the doctor has suddenly told her that because her Serum B12 was very high he was not going to let her have any more injections in case she overdosed…..

What made matters worse is that the lady shows all the symptoms of having Sub-Acute Combined Degeneration of the Cord Secondary to Pernicious Anaemia.  She has peripheral neuropathy, cannot walk in the dark, is constantly falling over and bumping into things and has problems thinking clearly and has a rapidly failing memory.

Her doctor has suggested that, because she lives alone, she is dwelling on her B12 deficiency because she has seen a neuro physiotherapist who has reported no neurological damage.

It is so difficult to advise her what to do next.  She is in danger of losing her job, well, she is about to lose her job and without a diagnosis of Sub-Acute Combined Degeneration she will not receive any benefits.  This is as clear cut case of medical negligence as I have seen and yet the options for the patient are very limited.

I anticipate another two or three calls in a similar vein by the end of the day…

The society has developed a useful diagnostic tool that helps identify B12 deficiency.  Following on from a test run during the Bridgend Volunteer Week we are going to be manning a stand at the Bridgend County Show on Saturday and Sunday.

Yes – we’ve seen the weather forecast but Bethan, Fiona, Sue and me will be braving the elements to hand out copies of the test to members of the public to help them identify whether they might be deficient in B12.  If they score a high number of points they are encouraged to visit a doctor to tell him or her that they have all or many of the symptoms of B12 Deficiency.

Tomorrow will involve setting up our stand while today sees us printing off copies of the test and other literature.

If you would like copies of the test please contact us so that we can let you have one.