Celebrity blogger

As mentioned in my last post, I have become the official chorus blogger for Glyndebourne. You can view this new incursion into cyberspace here.

Yet again, this throws this blog into a strange limbo of purpose. I have been specifically encouraged not to write about work in any setting where editorial control cannot be exercised - which is fair enough - and even William has let me down in my last attempt to write a post that remained even vaguely relevant to my blog title. He is not, it now transpires, going to have his Botox injections. His consultant has decided that nothing should be done that might in any way deflect Birmingham Children's hospital from putting him on the transplant list for his bowel. Everybody is now getting very serious about this possibility. In matters of life and death, walking can, apparently, wait. Rather throws my woes of the last couple of years into relief. William remains on top form, however. Given the attempts of the last few years to find a 'best-fit' diagnosis based on his various eccentricities, the medics must surely include his inability to ever stop talking as a key symptom.

Just as when I couldn't walk, I dreamed of strolling through the countryside, William is now obsessing about food. His favourite book is currently a cookbook, and he is rarely seen without a biscuit shoved to his nostrils. He is such a connoisseur of things olfactory that he can now tell what biscuit you may have eaten just before you bent down to talk to him. Perhaps a career as a master of wine beckons: 'Chateau Cheval Blanc 2005. A complex vintage, where a background of brambly fruits is complimented by overtones of Garibaldi. A soft first mouthful is followed by a lingering taste of custard cream with slight overtones of rich tea. A huge jammy dodger of a wine.' Robert Parker needs to look to his laurels.



William is not only developing his palate, but he is getting quite literate. The attached video shows him in a bookshop. (He 'wants to look at one more Mr Man' - thirty minutes later he was still using the 'just one more' line) He is already cracking through the 'Oxford Reading Tree'. An early title that Sarah kindly chose has a picture of 'Dad' on the front cover with his leg in a huge bandage. Not only can I provide assistance in his intellectual development through my past as an English teacher, it seems I can educate through illustration too. Ever the consummate professional. Unfortunately, I have managed to educate him in less impressive ways too. As his nurse approached him tonight with yet another device to take his vital signs, William responded with the obvious borrowing - 'Bugger that!". I'm not sure that the widespread hilarity that followed did anything to persuade him that he was in the wrong. Fortunately, work is about to get very busy indeed. Maybe William needs some time off from Daddy's contributions to his intellectual 'hothousing'.

William's legs

How oddly things turn out. Just as I was wondering how I could continue to blog when it would doubtless mean either ignoring my work, or risking appalling indiscretions, Glyndebourne have asked me to be the 'chorus blogger' on their official website. This could be a disaster. Either they have given me a long enough rope with which to hang myself, or the blog will have to be so anodyne as to be entirely uninteresting. At least walking the tightrope will prove interesting in itself. Especially after those late shows when we've had a couple on the train. If and when they decide to publish, I will provide a link.



Meanwhile, it is now William who justifies a blog on the subject of his legs. As if the poor little blighter hasn't enough to worry about, the 'orthopods' have decided to correct his increasingly eccentric gait by injecting Botox into his calves, and putting him into plaster casts for a month. I can see this going down like a cardboard submarine. It's especially galling as we've been asking for their input for months to no avail, and now they've turned up, everything seems so urgent that they are going to do the procedure tomorrow. As the attached video shows, Wills likes to get around the hospital quickly, and will not be impressed with the prospect of a month without being allowed to walk. Things are getting rather urgent on other fronts too. He is running out of adequate sites to attach his IV feed, and so the prospect of an assessment for a small bowel transplant looms ever closer. It's likely that he will be considered for the 'list' within the next couple of months. It's great to think of one's son as being at the cutting edge, but not necessarily when it comes to his participation in surgery. Anyway, William has given up calling me his father. Instead, as soon as I appear, I have to play the role of which ever engine is involved in his latest game. So I am Mavis. Or Donald. Or Gordon. etc. etc. If I didn't already have an equity card, I'd certainly be due one by now. Perhaps it will mean I can still qualify if Glyndebourne fire me when they find out what really goes on.