How Time Goes Faster As You Get Older.blog

Carly has grown up with myths about fire. The dominant one was “Those who play with fire, wet their beds!” Even as a paediatrician, Carly has not been able to determine if there is any truth in this myth. Certainly, this hasn’t happened to her. She is happy to light fires when making a BBQ and particularly likes to burn incense and tea lights to ‘ground’ herself. She finds physically igniting things using lighters is tricky and she regularly burns herself inadvertently. And, moreover, feels like she might be thought of as a smoker. Carly has never even learnt to smoke. So this is an association she finds abhorrent. She has been a campaigning anti-smoker for decades. At work, in the mess, not long after she qualified as a doctor, she led a movement to make the mess smoke-free. It was seen as quite revolutionary at the time. She smirks, as now smoking really isn’t allowed anywhere inside. Not even in cars, if you have a child with you. 

Carly often cycles around with her phone at-the-ready to photograph inconsiderate parents subjecting their children to passive smoke. Colleagues warn her against this as she is unprotected when on a bike. However, she is committed to helping anyone who has made a decision to quit smoking. Her father did it. Her son did it. And she is very prepared to have that conversation around the hospital when people are brazenly smoking next to the NO SMOKING signs. 

But this story is about matches, and not an anti-smoking tirade. We have established Carly is not keen on using lighters. Mostly because she burns herself when trying to obtain a flame. But more because matches are nice and old-fashioned. She remembers fondly the match-seller in Oliver. “Who will buy…” Oh no. Carly’s memory is shot to pieces. It is actually “Who will buy my sweet, red roses?” 

Any day, she would prefer a box of matches. There is something comforting in them. Short, long, but pretty much dependable, unless the side of the box where you strike the matches has worn off. But these are only on her very favourite matchboxes. Especially as Carly has taken to refilling them with standard matches from large, utilitarian boxes. She only really keeps matchboxes she has bought in Greece. More recently she bought some signature boxes from Mexico. They have wonderful vibrant emerald-green tips. But the wooden part of the match is so thin and bendy. And yet again, Carly is prone to burning her fingers. 

Mostly, she lights the tea lights next to her bed. They sit on small velvet square samples you can get for free from various sofa bed places. When she visited her friend Melinda in Manchester, they often went there with the purpose of pretending to look for sofas, but really to collect these sumptuous squares. Carly would like to make a quilt, but that is probably a bit cheeky. Not that it has stopped her in the past… 

“Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm” thinks Carly, “An idea?” Unfortunately, Melinda has dropped Carly as a friend. She felt that Carly was not sympathetic enough when she was ill. Carly feels guilty about this but always does find it hard to be overly caring when a friend has a psychosomatic illness. Anyway, Carly has the lovely squares to remember her and has made new friends instead. Besides the tea lights, Carly often has candles she lights that she made herself. In old-fashioned teacups. She learnt this on a course and uses soya wax as it is less carcinogenic. She has a box of small bottles with different essential oils to add wonderful fragrances to the candles. Mostly she makes them lilac in colour and adds in lavender flowers with the matching scent. She often lights one tall taper as well. In a pretty bottle that once contained wine or a spirit. But you must be careful to blow them out before falling asleep. 

She vividly remembers a fire in her flat in Tel Aviv caused by dodgy candlesticks which melted. Her entire family woke up covered in smoke. The wiring in the building directed the night porter to the wrong floor. They were on the 14^th, and he thought the fire was on the 7^th. Unreliable wiring by a factor of two. Carly later found out that this wasn’t the only fire caused by these candlesticks. Unsurprisingly, the company that made them went out of business in the end. Carly would like to have said to herself “Good job” but actually she was sad as she loved how pretty they were. Just not made for candles. Her children loved fires. Planned ones, anyway!

Every summer, Carly’s children would stay with their favourite babysitters in Poland. And each time they set up a huge bonfire, coated themselves in protective water and would then jump through it. But Carly had to put a stop to this when her oldest son’s armpits caught fire. Even this was too much for Carly to condone. 

Instead, she encourages everyone to burn incense, as this is safer but still enjoyable. She once went to a market whilst on a knitting holiday in Mysore, India, and helped make some sticks. It was really just a ruse to ensure she bought lots of them from the stallholder. But it really was fun. She rarely goes anywhere without her trusty incense burner and sticks. Recently she succumbed to an advert on YouTube and bought a special incense burner called a spirulina. The cone-shaped incense had a hole in the middle and the smoke released tumbled down the device a bit like running down a steep slope with switchbacks. 

Bringing herself back to matches. Carly’s current favourite ones (as she has already mentioned) she buys in Greece. Mostly because you can collect different characters on them. They are hilarious and based on Asian shadow puppets. Carly fondly remembers seeing a number of shadow puppet plays in Java, Indonesia. She went there with her new boyfriend, Ades. He became her old boyfriend, then fiancé, then husband and now he is her newly remarried ex-husband. Hey ho!

Regarding the characters on the Greek matchboxes, Carly finds out the main protagonist is a fellow called Karagiozis, meaning ‘dark eye’. He was very popular because of his scatological language and protruding phallus. Carly had done some investigation into this Karagiozis character. She knew what the word phallus meant. Most people do. But scatological? What on earth is that? Oh, it is an obsession with excrement. Great, thought Carly. Now, not quite such a loveable rogue anymore. She delves into Karagiozis, and he is usually depicted as a poor hunchbacked Greek, his right arm is always depicted long, his clothes are ragged and patched, and his feet are always bare. Because of his poverty and laziness, Karagiozis uses mischievous ways to get money to feed his family. He lives in a cottage with his wife Aglaia (who constantly nags him from inside their cottage) and his three sons (known collectively as Kollitiria) during the time of the Ottoman Empire. 

Carly feels some sympathy for Aglaia, who has a husband who only lives to eat and sleep. “What can she do other than nag?”, questions Carly. Hadjiavatis is Karagiozis’ childhood friend and sidekick, an honest and serious figure, who often ends up unwittingly being wrapped up in Karagiozis’ schemes. Barba Yorgos (Uncle George) is a sturdily built dairy farmer who wears the traditional kilt. Despite knowing Karagiozis is a crook, he sometimes helps him out, beating opponents black and blue with his staff. Carly is a little sad as she had previously seen Barba George on matchboxes, but she hadn’t started her collection at that time. Since then it has eluded her. The minor characters include Stavrakas who has only one overly long independent arm, Sior Dionysios, an Italian gentleman who pretends to be a nobleman, Morfonios, is both vain and ugly with a huge head and bulbous nose; still, he considers himself to be handsome and keeps falling in love. He often shouts out a sound like ‘whit’ Carly loves this as she works at a hospital locally known at The Whit. She wonders what this exclamation noise sounds like. 

Finally, there is even a Jew, Solomon, from Thessaloniki. Carly is delighted that it isn’t Solomon who has the large nose following age-old antisemitic stereotypes. The Visier announces trials, deeds or tests to which Karagiozis usually decides to become involved and Fatme is his beautiful daughter playing either obedient roles or rebellious ones. 

Carly finds out there are a number of myths about how Karagiozis seems to have come to Greece. Some say it was during Ottoman rule for the entertainment of the sultan, whilst others say that Greek merchants brought him and his legends from China. Furthermore, Carly discovered that ‘The Legends’ are divided in two major categories: the ‘Heroics’ and the ‘Comedies’. A bit like Shakespeare, thinks Carly. The tales are wonderfully formulaic, have audience participation and usually have the following layout.

Karagiozis appears with his three sons dancing and singing. He welcomes the audience and holds a comical dialogue with his children. He then announces the title of the episode and enters his cottage. The Vizier meets Hadjiavatis and reports that he has a problem and needs someone to perform a deed. Karagiozis hears about it and decides it is an opportunity to gain money.  The regular characters appear one at a time in the scene, Karagiozis has a funny dialogue with them, mocks them, fools them, or becomes annoyed and ousts them violently. Finally, Karagiozis is either rewarded by the Vizier or if his mischief is revealed he is punished. 

Carly notes that Karagiozis will often take on roles inappropriately. He certainly doesn’t seem to suffer from imposter syndrome as he can be seen variously as a doctor, cook, senator, scholar, and fisherman. And then he appears with gorillas and ghosts when he surely cannot have seen either.

Carly has learnt so much from her investigations into Karagiozis inspired by her matchbox collection. Or is it an obsession? Really it is mind-blowing. 

Carly has grown up with myths about fire. The dominant one was “Those who play with fire, wet their beds!” Even as a paediatrician, Carly has not been able to determine if there is any truth in this myth. Certainly, this hasn’t happened to her. She is happy to light fires when making a BBQ and particularly likes to burn incense and tea lights to ‘ground’ herself. She finds physically igniting things using lighters is tricky and she regularly burns herself inadvertently. And, moreover, feels like she might be thought of as a smoker. Carly has never even learnt to smoke. So this is an association she finds abhorrent. She has been a campaigning anti-smoker for decades. At work, in the mess, not long after she qualified as a doctor, she led a movement to make the mess smoke-free. It was seen as quite revolutionary at the time. She smirks, as now smoking really isn’t allowed anywhere inside. Not even in cars, if you have a child with you. 

Carly often cycles around with her phone at-the-ready to photograph inconsiderate parents subjecting their children to passive smoke. Colleagues warn her against this as she is unprotected when on a bike. However, she is committed to helping anyone who has made a decision to quit smoking. Her father did it. Her son did it. And she is very prepared to have that conversation around the hospital when people are brazenly smoking next to the NO SMOKING signs. 

But this story is about matches, and not an anti-smoking tirade. We have established Carly is not keen on using lighters. Mostly because she burns herself when trying to obtain a flame. But more because matches are nice and old-fashioned. She remembers fondly the match-seller in Oliver. “Who will buy…” Oh no. Carly’s memory is shot to pieces. It is actually “Who will buy my sweet, red roses?” 

Any day, she would prefer a box of matches. There is something comforting in them. Short, long, but pretty much dependable, unless the side of the box where you strike the matches has worn off. But these are only on her very favourite matchboxes. Especially as Carly has taken to refilling them with standard matches from large, utilitarian boxes. She only really keeps matchboxes she has bought in Greece. More recently she bought some signature boxes from Mexico. They have wonderful vibrant emerald-green tips. But the wooden part of the match is so thin and bendy. And yet again, Carly is prone to burning her fingers. 

Mostly, she lights the tea lights next to her bed. They sit on small velvet square samples you can get for free from various sofa bed places. When she visited her friend Melinda in Manchester, they often went there with the purpose of pretending to look for sofas, but really to collect these sumptuous squares. Carly would like to make a quilt, but that is probably a bit cheeky. Not that it has stopped her in the past… 

“Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm” thinks Carly, “An idea?” Unfortunately, Melinda has dropped Carly as a friend. She felt that Carly was not sympathetic enough when she was ill. Carly feels guilty about this but always does find it hard to be overly caring when a friend has a psychosomatic illness. Anyway, Carly has the lovely squares to remember her and has made new friends instead. Besides the tea lights, Carly often has candles she lights that she made herself. In old-fashioned teacups. She learnt this on a course and uses soya wax as it is less carcinogenic. She has a box of small bottles with different essential oils to add wonderful fragrances to the candles. Mostly she makes them lilac in colour and adds in lavender flowers with the matching scent. She often lights one tall taper as well. In a pretty bottle that once contained wine or a spirit. But you must be careful to blow them out before falling asleep. 

She vividly remembers a fire in her flat in Tel Aviv caused by dodgy candlesticks which melted. Her entire family woke up covered in smoke. The wiring in the building directed the night porter to the wrong floor. They were on the 14^th, and he thought the fire was on the 7^th. Unreliable wiring by a factor of two. Carly later found out that this wasn’t the only fire caused by these candlesticks. Unsurprisingly, the company that made them went out of business in the end. Carly would like to have said to herself “Good job” but actually she was sad as she loved how pretty they were. Just not made for candles. Her children loved fires. Planned ones, anyway!

Every summer, Carly’s children would stay with their favourite babysitters in Poland. And each time they set up a huge bonfire, coated themselves in protective water and would then jump through it. But Carly had to put a stop to this when her oldest son’s armpits caught fire. Even this was too much for Carly to condone. 

Instead, she encourages everyone to burn incense, as this is safer but still enjoyable. She once went to a market whilst on a knitting holiday in Mysore, India, and helped make some sticks. It was really just a ruse to ensure she bought lots of them from the stallholder. But it really was fun. She rarely goes anywhere without her trusty incense burner and sticks. Recently she succumbed to an advert on YouTube and bought a special incense burner called a spirulina. The cone-shaped incense had a hole in the middle and the smoke released tumbled down the device a bit like running down a steep slope with switchbacks. 

Bringing herself back to matches. Carly’s current favourite ones (as she has already mentioned) she buys in Greece. Mostly because you can collect different characters on them. They are hilarious and based on Asian shadow puppets. Carly fondly remembers seeing a number of shadow puppet plays in Java, Indonesia. She went there with her new boyfriend, Ades. He became her old boyfriend, then fiancé, then husband and now he is her newly remarried ex-husband. Hey ho!

Regarding the characters on the Greek matchboxes, Carly finds out the main protagonist is a fellow called Karagiozis, meaning ‘dark eye’. He was very popular because of his scatological language and protruding phallus. Carly had done some investigation into this Karagiozis character. She knew what the word phallus meant. Most people do. But scatological? What on earth is that? Oh, it is an obsession with excrement. Great, thought Carly. Now, not quite such a loveable rogue anymore. She delves into Karagiozis, and he is usually depicted as a poor hunchbacked Greek, his right arm is always depicted long, his clothes are ragged and patched, and his feet are always bare. Because of his poverty and laziness, Karagiozis uses mischievous ways to get money to feed his family. He lives in a cottage with his wife Aglaia (who constantly nags him from inside their cottage) and his three sons (known collectively as Kollitiria) during the time of the Ottoman Empire. 

Carly feels some sympathy for Aglaia, who has a husband who only lives to eat and sleep. “What can she do other than nag?”, questions Carly. Hadjiavatis is Karagiozis’ childhood friend and sidekick, an honest and serious figure, who often ends up unwittingly being wrapped up in Karagiozis’ schemes. Barba Yorgos (Uncle George) is a sturdily built dairy farmer who wears the traditional kilt. Despite knowing Karagiozis is a crook, he sometimes helps him out, beating opponents black and blue with his staff. Carly is a little sad as she had previously seen Barba George on matchboxes, but she hadn’t started her collection at that time. Since then it has eluded her. The minor characters include Stavrakas who has only one overly long independent arm, Sior Dionysios, an Italian gentleman who pretends to be a nobleman, Morfonios, is both vain and ugly with a huge head and bulbous nose; still, he considers himself to be handsome and keeps falling in love. He often shouts out a sound like ‘whit’ Carly loves this as she works at a hospital locally known at The Whit. She wonders what this exclamation noise sounds like. 

Finally, there is even a Jew, Solomon, from Thessaloniki. Carly is delighted that it isn’t Solomon who has the large nose following age-old antisemitic stereotypes. The Visier announces trials, deeds or tests to which Karagiozis usually decides to become involved and Fatme is his beautiful daughter playing either obedient roles or rebellious ones. 

Carly finds out there are a number of myths about how Karagiozis seems to have come to Greece. Some say it was during Ottoman rule for the entertainment of the sultan, whilst others say that Greek merchants brought him and his legends from China. Furthermore, Carly discovered that ‘The Legends’ are divided in two major categories: the ‘Heroics’ and the ‘Comedies’. A bit like Shakespeare, thinks Carly. The tales are wonderfully formulaic, have audience participation and usually have the following layout.

Karagiozis appears with his three sons dancing and singing. He welcomes the audience and holds a comical dialogue with his children. He then announces the title of the episode and enters his cottage. The Vizier meets Hadjiavatis and reports that he has a problem and needs someone to perform a deed. Karagiozis hears about it and decides it is an opportunity to gain money.  The regular characters appear one at a time in the scene, Karagiozis has a funny dialogue with them, mocks them, fools them, or becomes annoyed and ousts them violently. Finally, Karagiozis is either rewarded by the Vizier or if his mischief is revealed he is punished. 

Carly notes that Karagiozis will often take on roles inappropriately. He certainly doesn’t seem to suffer from imposter syndrome as he can be seen variously as a doctor, cook, senator, scholar, and fisherman. And then he appears with gorillas and ghosts when he surely cannot have seen either.

Carly has learnt so much from her investigations into Karagiozis inspired by her matchbox collection. Or is it an obsession? Really it is mind-blowing. 

Well, actually, it is mutual. Boofy is her father’s slightly older first cousin. He must have been a loveable rogue right from the outset. His real name is Norman, but he was a great, big, round ‘buffale’ of a child and always known to family and friends as Boofy. Carly suspected that when he was working, he didn’t use this nickname. The problem with nicknames is that you have to explain them to people. Carly currently works with a girl named Mouse. Her real name is Alice and she loves Carly’s puppy Talulah. Mouse has told Carly how she got her name, but Carly isn’t very good at trivia, so she remembers to call her Mouse, as that’s what she prefers. When sending her an email, though, Carly needs to remember her real name. What Carly does know is that Mouse is that she is anything but mousey. She is strong and firm and wonderful. She considers her own current nickname: Carly. Her daughter Boo isn’t into calling her Mum, Mummy or Mother. Rather she uses her given name and then by a series of jumps, changes it. At the moment, Boo calls her Carl Jung. When Carly changed her name, Boo would call her ‘Big Carl’ and at that time this was the name of the largest crane in the UK. It might then turn into ‘Nig Narl’ which rhymes.

Boo liked to confuse people by switching genders. She called Gus (short for Asparagus) their male cat Miss Kitty and this was very confusing. Talulah has now morphed into Sue Ellen  like a name from Dallas. At least it’s the same gender. Talulah became Lulah, then Lula, then Luellen and finally Sue Ellen. Carly isn’t thrilled about this. Talulah’s name was chosen by consensus. She worries the poor dog might have a complex, not to mention fear of becoming a character on an American soap. As always with these stories, Carly runs off on a trajectory unrelated to the title. Back to Boofy…

Boofy grew up in England and still keeps in touch with some of his school friends. Boofy is in his 90s so not all of them are alive. But Carly is always impressed that people can hold onto friends for so very long. She does have a few friends she sees from primary school when she was mostly Fert. So, she does get it. After having two daughters, Boofy moved with his family to Israel. There, he practised as an English lawyer, representing some potentially dodgy characters. He and his wife Anne went on to have one more daughter and a son. They had a large flat in Ramat Gan, near to Tel Aviv and whenever Carly went to Israel, Boofy was the person she would always stay with. Even her children have stayed with him and so have all her siblings. It was an ‘open house’ in that Ramat Gan flat. Boofy was always a live and let live person and wouldn’t mind how religious you were as long as you were respectful. There were a whole load of waifs and strays who would stay in Ramat Gan when things weren’t in a good place personally for these guests. That was Boofy’s strength. He was non-judgmental and welcoming.

One time, Boofy was in England with his 12-year-old identical twin granddaughters. Carly decided a nice English adventure would be just the ticket. So Boofy, the twins, her son Haz and his friend Edgar set off for the journey of a lifetime. No! This, as usual with Carly, is a ridiculous exaggeration. They went to Mountfitchet Castle near Audley End in Cambridgeshire. It was a very odd place, not owned by English Heritage or the National Trust, – Carly was a member of both bodies at this time. These memberships, along with lots of art galleries and other organisations that Carly loved to support such as Art Fund, were all kiboshed during the divorce. Carly really had to reign in her spend and these felt rather expensive and frivolous. Anyway, at this castle, with her motley crew of children and adults, she had to pay full whack. But it was worth it for sure. Besides a homestead with sheep and some other forgettable farm animals(goats/ducks/chickens) there was a whole castle to explore. It was set up like Norman times in the midst of the winter. All the mannequins were covered head to toe in animal fat, leathers and furs, wool and fleece undertaking the sort of work that they would have done in the Middle Ages. Spinning and weaving, milling and cooking as well as drawing water from wells and tending to fires. The number of tedious jobs was endless. And it seemed quite smelly to be alive then. Certainly, these pretend people stank. Carly thoroughly enjoyed it, as did her party of kids and adults. She wonders if they still remember it as vividly as she does. The brown, greasy facial wrinkles haunt her like a recurring nightmare when she thinks back. But, it’s still better for her to be alive nowadays than it would have been back then. 

Carly often wonders if now is the best time to be alive. She realises that people see Victorians or Georgians through rose-tinted spectacles. Of course, being rich and riding around on horses and having lots of tea parties and playing cards would be lovely. Certainly, it would get boring and on your nerves after a while. And for the vast majority of the population, you were hungry, cold, tired and tied to a repetitive job for most of your life. As a woman you could almost guarantee that most of your children would die. All that carrying around babies in your womb and still not being able to provide assurance they would be around to look after you in your later years. Carly has made it very clear to her own children. She does not want to be giving them any more money now. Their father can do that. But as she plans to live a long life, she will use her savings wisely and leave little for them in her will. Equally she does not want to be a financial burden on them. They have had all their education sorted out, bar a very small loan to pay back to the government. The rest they need to do for themselves. None of this Ma and Pa will buy you a car/house/horse etc. They must have their own drive and ambition. Spoon-feeding and helicoptering are well and truly over as they are all in their 20s. 

Yet again. Carly’s pontificating and going off track. Whenever Carly is in Israel, she always sees Boofy. He is still driving in his 90s. And it is a crap old banger. They once ate somewhere and Boofy left the keys in the ignition for a few hours. No one saw fit to steal it. Carly thinks Boofy does that quite often to be an inverted snob and proud of his car being so crap, that no one is interested in it for themselves or to sell on. Boofy is full of stories of family and also so well-read, that there is never a dull moment. He is vicariously proud of his eldest daughter who has 10 children. Yes, that is a lot. But the fun fact is that she had them in order; girl/boy/girl/boy etc all the way down to that last boy. Carly tries to do the maths and work out the chances of this happening. Something like one in two to the power 10. Never mind…

But really Carly loves to sink into that abundant love and admiration Boofy has for her. It surrounds her and envelopes her but never suffocates her. That is quite something for someone else to get it just right. Once Carly needed to go to her old flat to retrieve some of her goods. This was not long after she had painfully separated from her husband Ades. Not only did Boofy offer to drive her there but also offered to accompany her to collect the bits and bobs and smooth the way. 

When she got there Carly took a big bag. Most of this flat screamed Carly. Everything was lime green and fuchsia pink. She had either commissioned, designed or made most of the decorative items. But in the end Carly only took a few objects. A ‘clanger’ a friend had knitted, her sewing box and some wooden dolls based on her knitting friends who’d come over for a week of sun, sea and yarn a few years before. She looked sadly at an old man and woman. Carly had bought them to show Ades how they would grow old together. The woman was knitting, and the man was reading a paper with a small dog at his feet. She put them in her bag. Then she took them out. And left them there. He could look at those over the coming years. He wouldn’t throw them away. Carly knew that. He never could make decisions to do any clearing out. That was why he had an enormous ‘gimp’ cupboard in his new flat in London. To store more stuff than anyone could ever need.

Boofy also spoke uninvited at Carly and Ades’ wedding in 1991. He wasn’t the only one. Carly’s father spoke twice and her uncle once. Other people put flyers on the chairs about a left-wing Zionist organisation. Carly’s mother is still furious about that. But Boofy’s speech was rather risky. He decided to show off that he was cleverer than the rabbi. Oh dear. Embarrassing or what? Carly is much more furious that her father spoke twice and his brother once too. It is always the food and the speeches that people remember about weddings. Too many rubbish or risqué speeches. Or crap food. Carly remembers her brother’s wedding. If you ask anyone about his speech, he took the mickey out of their mother for being a snob and pretending she grew up in a posher neighbourhood than she did. Carly made a very important note to self not to do that when she spoke at her son’s wedding recently. All the speeches were great, as was the food. Phew, we all can learn.

During the pandemic Carly didn’t get to see Boofy for a few years. But he dialled in regularly to the zoom quiz her father did every Sunday. This was in lieu of the one he usually did at his synagogue with all his cronies in person. This quiz was the highlight of her father’s week. He spent most of the week preparing for it with dedication and this meant Carly’s parents managed lockdown with their own projects and not getting on each other’s nerves too much. 

Carly is delighted to be moving to Israel soon and can then catch up regularly with Boofy. She does wonder what she will do without him. But he hasn’t given up the ghost yet. Not something to think about right now, Carly reassures herself!

Carly has a whole long list of where she doesn’t feel she fits in. It is probably more with whom she doesn’t fit rather than where, when, how or why. It is always about human relationships and her eternal quest to seek out love. She realises that there are many types of love. She thinks about filial love for a moment. She likes the word ‘filial’. It sounds like you could love horses but that is her confusion with the word for a young mare (a filly).

And she likes her siblings, their partners and often their children. Is this filial love different from familial love? So off she heads to a dictionary and looks it up. Oh, rubbish. It is Google she turns to! Filial love is mostly defined as love of a child for their parents. Yup, she has lots of that. And it is both ways. But whether it is filial or familial is a semantic difference. She does feel now that she is the only divorced one of her siblings, her parents’ siblings and most (but not all) of her first cousins. She isn’t quite sure why she is still hung up on being divorced. But she is. Oh yes, she has done her therapy, mindfulness and shamanic journeys to ask these questions. But she still has to come to terms with feeling different from her family. 

Then she has an internal dialogue and supposes “What if?” No, she didn’t choose them to be her siblings or her cousins. And certainly, she didn’t have anything to do with their partners. Nor, obviously, they, her. She is probably overthinking it. Too much time in her head. Too many thoughts rushing around at breakneck speed competing with other thoughts. It doesn’t matter how forceful Carly is with keeping these irritating thoughts in abeyance. Up they pop! And boy, Carly doesn’t like this state of being. That is she is NOT in control. She will just have to submit and make the best of all this whizzing around of these thoughts. 

Recently she learnt some very interesting facts. So much so, she even bothered to enter them into her Continuing Professional Development diary for work. She learnt your brain is 2% of the weight of your body but is an energy guzzler. Using up 20% of all your kilojoules. And we make 3,000 decisions a day. For real? Luckily, she doesn’t have that much time to record them. 

But let’s consider the steps and decisions in making a cup of herbal tea. Carly starts off with that every morning. Shall she get out of bed? Even this isn’t binary. Is it too early? Will she go and let out Talulah? Will the cats all-of-a-sudden become utterly ravenous to petition her for food because really, they are so starving, they might actually die from lack of food? This she ponders is unlikely as they are ginormous. So, when she finally makes that decision, she hops up from her bed. She takes the water in the carafe with her to fill up the kettle. Flip the switch on. Did the orange light come on signalling the kettle is in boil mode before she can actually hear the kettle? 

Then open the drawer. To get the beautiful mug she bought from a potter in the wonderful spread-out Oslo Craft Museum. She spots a few bits of limescale at the bottom. Should she wash this cup out? No, she will donate these specs and the few drops of yesterday’s tea into the cheese plant. She got that by grumbling to the estate agent who usually only gives them to new homeowners – not lower cast renters like Carly. Oh, back to the tea. Use yesterday’s tea bag? Well, is that day four or five of use? Well one more time should surely be fine. Oh, and as she removed the bag and its little special saucer, she saw her old lady lilac enormous multivitamins. Best take one of those. 

Oh, and as it is the season of spring with its tree pollen allergens flying around, so she’d best take a minuscule 10mg non-sedating antihistamine. She definitely needs to be awake and fully in control of her senses on her cycle across London at breakneck speed. 

Gosh loads of decisions and even more random thoughts before she has even poured the boiling water into her cup. So maybe 3,000 decisions might be underestimating it. As for the thoughts, that is a huge number. It is disputed. On the ‘Love Brain’ course they said 70,000 thoughts per day, and you have them when you are asleep. But others think it is 20,000. Carly is sure that whatever the number for the average human being she has more. But how on earth can you measure that anyway? Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

But back to the title of this story. So, when does Carly feel she does not fit in? Certainly, with groups of doctors who all go off after the ward round for a group coffee and the midday huddle (never to be moved or beware the matron’s wrath) for group lunch. Carly feels she gives them her all at the board round and they will have had their fill of Carly. The board round is when doctors on duty and one nurse handover before seeing patients at the start of the attending day. Carly encourages everyone to introduce themselves and say a fun fact. This has to be voluntary. Usually, people join in. During her last ever attending week in late May 2023 Carly asked for everyone’s favourite shapes on Monday, what they had had for breakfast on Wednesday, their podcast recommendations on Thursday and what they had decided to do about their own death on Friday. For the well-attended Tuesday ward round when all of her consultant colleagues came, she suggested (no, actually she mandated) that they all wear something purple without exception. Word had spread and so the room was heaving that Tuesday with standing room only. This was going to be her last ever attending week on the ward.

Carly herself had planned to wear a lilac wig. But things got in the way. On her way to Archway from Walthamstow on her new (5^th as all predecessors had been stolen – urgggghhhh) trusty e-Brompton she had another flat front tyre. Oh no. She had only had another one repaired six days previously. But never mind. She could walk through a park to South Tottenham station and get the Goblin to work. She loved that name. Her very good friend and ex-step-sister-in-law had called it that. Gospel Oak to Barking Line. So, Goblin it became, for Carly. Maybe it should be written GoBLin.

That day Carly was planning to go for a swim before work. And was all ready in her purple (obviously) costume. But she ran out of time as she had to take the train with her poorly bike. But, what the hell. She decided she was only amongst colleagues. So, she removed all her clothes for the board round apart from the swimsuit and put on her wig. Of course, it got everyone’s attention. And lots of people took photos and videos and she could still be serious and lead the goings on. When she saw the recordings later, she was a teensy bit upset that there was so much cellulite on show. Just before they left the seminar room to see the patients, one of her more sensible colleagues (probably they all were) entrusted, to three named individuals, that Carly could only see patients fully attired. Shame, shame thought Carly – no sense of adventure.

So, you can see why Carly thought that everyone in the team would have had enough of her extreme extroversion and not want her to spend time with them having mediocre NHS coffee and an expensive but middling lunch. 

There are a number of other situations where Carly doesn’t feel she really fits in. She has never been keen on pubs. Even if they are ‘no-smoking’ now. Carly often has to go with groups of work colleagues to celebrate something. Usually someone’s leaving. But Carly often gets stuck sitting next to someone she doesn’t know nor cares to get to know. She often uses the excuse of her puppy to leave. Now she knows why her parents had a dog. It was their get-out-of-jail card.

She also doesn’t really fit in with other dog owners in the park who all seem to know each other and at least their dog’s names. This is because they all go to the same park at the same time. But there is a dearth of parks near where Carly lives, so she and Talulah are park hoppers. Recently in St James’ Park (not the posh one near Buckingham Palace but a more salubrious one in Walthamstow) she met a dog called Dixie and his owner Douggie. Finally, Carly felt she could start to have a group of doggy owner friends. But she didn’t know that Dixie was an extreme digger of a dog. He was only too happy to pass on these skills to Talulah who was a quick learner. Once back home Talulah was all paws and displaying her skills to a dangerous extent in Carly’s back yard. But Carly’s ‘garden’ had minuscule amounts of mud by the two side fences. And because she had a dog flap, when home, you could never tell whether Talulah was crashing through the flap to do her business or to dig. Either way, it was some mess for poor old Carly to clear up.

She also doesn’t fit in with others who are dating because they’re doing it too little, too much, not seriously enough or too seriously. It is all relative, muses Carly. She is nervous around other divorcees in case they get partnered much faster than Carly because life is one great big competition. Anyway, does she even want a partner?

For sure she does not fit in with scientists; that was a past life and she really isn’t one now. She was pretty hopeless at doing science at the time and only filled up a quarter of a laboratory book. Thank goodness her professor never knew… And as for medical educators who all have teaching theory degrees – what a waste of time. She was fine as a teacher without one. She has even been invited onto the panel of a balloon debate to fight this corner. 

There are some instances when she may or may not fit in. This is mostly when she is with other creatives as she still sees herself as a doctor really. But not for much longer. And Carly feels uncomfortable with people who are in awe of her. But she also quite likes it. Being famous. Well not really famous but has written a book that many parents have. Oh dear. Ambivalence. Here we go again…

There are places and with people she absolutely does fit in. When she goes to Death Café meetings, when she goes on her very special yoga and writing retreats in Lemnaradis, Greece, and when she is socialising with one other person, so they give her their full attention and she them. She can be comfortable with her parents if they are going out with her to Archie’s in Archway for lunch and also with her kids. Even if her kids wittingly conspire with each other to communally take the piss out of Carly…

And of course, she is happy to spend time alone, especially if coffee from an independent café is involved. And to be honest – who wants to fit in anyway?

Carly met Sandra in a chateau between St Jean D’Angely, Saintes, and Cognac. It was on a knitting holiday in the French countryside. That was in 2008, and Carly was not even called Carly then. She was firmly Caroline. They have been firm friends ever since. Especially as they went through divorces pretty much simultaneously. They had been on many more knitting holidays since then with other friends; to France, Scotland and Israel. But their friendship really flourished during lockdown. Carly has that nifty Trainline app to book her rail travel. So, it is easy to work out how many times she has been to Long Buckby since late 2020. 19 times. Sometimes even twice a month. But usually not quite as often as that. They have their customs and rituals. More recently, Talulah, the puppy, has come to be part of that routine. Friends are often bemused that Carly has been there so many times. “Where even is Long Buckby?” they ask. But it is less about Long Buckby and more about her friendship with Sandra and supporting each other during the lonely times of lockdown. Sometimes, Carly would have to sneak into the house in the dead of night, so that no nosy neighbours would report either of them. Not everyone had such a loose and changeable definition of a ‘Covid social bubble’ as Carly. And always best to avoid Sandra’s annoying neighbour who is forever in the garden fattening up the local birds with far too much food.

The train to Long Buckby is direct from Euston. And pretty fast, but Carly never really understands why it has to stop in Northampton for 20 minutes. In the middle of the journey. It is always planned and really tedious. But there are no changes, and it is only just over an hour. So, Carly will suffer that waste-of-time bit in the middle.

Usually, but not always, Sandra drives to the station to pick Carly up. She tries to travel light, but when, aghast, Sandra did not have any feather pillows, half of her luggage was a pillow. Now Carly has bought Sandra two, so she and other guests can enjoy these superior pillows. They go for the same walk every evening via the duck pond. And in December they rate all the Christmas decorations of houses they pass into various categories of ‘naffness’. It is just incredible, not only what people will spend, but the depths of depravity totally uncool households will run to. Blow-up Santas that need generators to keep them topped up. Whole gardens representing the nativity scene with donkeys, kings, baby Jesuses and an assortment of other random and unconnected animals. It seemed every house in the village had fairy lights. Sandra only had some very tasteful decorations that Carly totally approved of. Lucky that Sandra is so stylish, or Carly might have to tell her a thing or two.

If possible, they would start the day with a lovely coffee in bespoke mugs. The shop ‘Born and Bread’ kept them just for the two of them. And sometimes, when they thought no one was watching them, they would just have to sample the creamy patisserie range. Shhhhhhhhhhhh. And they would burn off some of the calories with frantic knitting. Carly and Sandra laugh at this. No amount of speed-knitting will make any headway into these calories. They are not knitting on the run. Or skiing whilst crocheting. They are sitting down, putting the world to rights, whilst clickety clacking away. They often do this in the evenings with large goblets of sumptuous luxury gin and bespoke tonic water.

Carly would often go midweek when Sandra was working online with clients. Carly would find it difficult not to put notes under the door to distract Sandra from the serious business of running workshops, teaching her service-users (what a dreadful term muses Carly) various mindfulness techniques. Sandra mostly did the cooking, and it was fish pie if Carly was given a choice. And Carly would go to the local Co-op to fill up on Vino Blanco. As a special treat they might pop into one of the two local Indian eateries. Carly would also help by doing the washing up if she could. And annoying Sandra by putting any metal objects on the magnetic knife rack by the back door. Including keys, knives, spoons and whisks. Sandra did not use this useful gadget as she felt burglars might help themselves to sharp and dangerous implements when they broke in via the back door. Carly would roll her eyes. Long Buckby isn’t that sort of place. But Sandra was rather risk averse and turned off all the sockets (apart from the fridge) before she went to bed. Sigh, sigh, Carly thought to herself. Are there really housefires nowadays from sockets? Highly unlikely. And Carly is not at all risk averse. Shame, Sandra is a bit…

Both Sandra and Carly are avid readers. But Carly just doesn’t understand why Sandra isn’t so into the knitting fiction books she loves. They both know knitting is so good for their mental health. But only Carly reads Debbie Macomber and Rachael Herron. These are easy and light reads. Always with a happy ending. Just what Carly likes when she isn’t reading historical romantic fiction. 

And whilst Sandra and Carly have lots in common, only Sandra is obsessed with plants. Carly had a love affair with tradescantia during lockdown, but Sandra is the real ‘Plant McCoy’. She has a well-stocked garden, a small greenhouse for seedlings in her lean-to, and an allotment. Sandra brings her plants in and out, day and night. She really cares for them. But unfortunately, the baobab tree Carly brought her from Senegal isn’t doing so well. This isn’t surprising when you consider the difference in climate between West Africa and the Midlands. But it’s not dead yet. And if it’s not dead yet, maybe, just maybe, it might thrive.

Sandra likes dogs and had several for many years. And so, she was up for Talulah staying. At first, she had to get a crate, but lately Talulah slept downstairs. When she first went there was a number two in the living room. The last time Carly was quite relaxed as Talulah was thoroughly toilet trained. Or was she? When Carly went to bed her feet seemed damp, and Talulah had marked her bed (the one with the top-notch feather pillows) with a long wet wee. Carly was too embarrassed to tell Sandra and so she slept in the bed, nonetheless. She is rarely ashamed about anything, but she was in this case. Sandra was totally non-plussed and was happy to help Carly wash all the soggy and smelly bedding the next morning.

Sandra and Carly have even more in common. Their oldest sons are both maths boffins and work in finance. And both their ex-husbands are with new partners. Surprise. All the men they know seem to get into new relationships the moment the previous one is concluded. So annoying… 

Carly has some other favourite things to do in Long Buckby. One is to have a bath in Sandra’s house. Sometimes twice a day. But always once. With opulent lavender bath salts whilst burning incense and candles and listening to a podcast. And in the evening, they always watch a film. Something they both fancy on iPlayer. This is not always successful and sometimes they have had to curtail this if they are too bizarre or scary. They especially like watching Dolly Parton. She is a sort of role model. But certainly not in the physical sense. Sandra has sensible brown hair. And Carly’s hair is silver. Very grey actually. It does take dye easily. But the amount of hair Dolly has. Well, combining both of their hair and multiplying it by a factor of seven won’t get you anywhere near Dolly’s luscious blond curls.

Sandra does sometimes come down to London to see Carly. When she lived in Highbury, Sandra would come with secateurs and would get busy pruning. But now Carly has shifted to the Stow with a paved-in garden, there is little need for trimming Carly’s smattering of plants in window boxes or pots against the purple garden wall. And anyway, Carly loves coming up to see Sandra, and this works for both of them. They know their time together is somewhat limited as Carly is planning to move to Jaffa, Israel and Sandra to Berwick-upon-Tweed, just by the Scottish border. But for now. It works well. Good old destination Long Buckby.

Carly has become increasingly interested in looking after her mental wellbeing. She thinks that this is a universal need, and she is no different from everyone else. She has been seeking to become more spiritual and has investigated ‘shamanism’. There is lots to commend this practice. It has been around well before organised religion, and it can be developed in a very personal and unique manner. There are no rules, and it seems anything goes. This totally speaks to Carly, who is not interested in following the crowd. 

So, Carly goes on a course to learn all about shamanism and enjoys all the wonderful and weird thoughts and visions that come into her head. She meets lots of unusual people and explores shamanic journeys using dance and music, as an individual, within a pair and as part of the entire cohort of 47 on this course. She is keen to develop this further and finds out about a spiritual Jewish group. They have a residential weekend workshop in early December. She thinks this will marry her Judaism with her newer spiritual quest into deeper realms.

She nearly persuades her new friend Barbara to come with her. Carly pays up but in the end Barbara declines. She says that she cannot spend an entire weekend in silence. Carly is horrified. Neither can she, but of course she has failed, as so very often she does, to read the small print. The print wasn’t even that small. Carly just saw the title of the workshop and was trigger happy with her credit card. Oh dear. She will just have to try it out. She has been attending a yoga and writing retreat for several years, where you have to be silent until lunch. She has done this for a week at a time, and this has been fine. In fact, she has enjoyed this silence to be able to enjoy writing with no distractions. This can’t be that much worse, can it? Carly persuades herself that she will be fine. 

Carly sets off a bit late. The retreat starts at 4pm but she has work and must get home, pack and set off to a village just past Newbury in Berkshire. Carly muses that she went to Newbury several times in the past. She is the world expert in a very rare condition. It was called Familial Rectal Pain. But Carly led the vanguard in changing the name to something much more acceptable to patients, though not nearly as memorable, Paroxysmal Extreme Pain Disorder. One of her large families with this condition is from Newbury. 

Anyway, Carly packs up her dependable fold-up Brompton bike looking like she is off for a fortnight. The bike is completely top heavy with elastics holding everything on the front. She makes sure she sits back in the saddle to balance it all out. She is taking huge numbers of warm clothes as she is worried she will be cold, as the retreat is in a place that used to be a monastery. She also has a feather pillow which is a must for good sleep, and a selection of her mindfulness books to leaf through. She cycles down to the Elizabeth line – such a treat  – and then takes several trains out west. It is quite a cycle from the station and Carly is nearly always cycling on her electric bike so finds this regular Brompton rather hard work. Eventually she gets there. But she arrives late, unsure if the retreat has started. If she can talk at all. It has and she can’t. 

She has a nice room to herself with two single beds, designed for skinny minis. And she looks out over a garden with huge chess pieces. But then she forgot about this, woke up at night and was rather worried about the ghostly creatures outside her room. She knew this was a spiritual retreat, but was worried and kept checking.  Then she saw the checkerboard flooring and remembered. Phew. Too surreal, really.

On this retreat there were lots of rules. It sorts of fits with the building and the nature of the retreat. It is an odd mixture of traditional Judaism with its sabbath instructions as well as alternative reality and spirituality rules. Barbara was right. The whole 48 hours are silent. There will be meditation – some of it guided (“Phew”, thinks Carly), religious services (“Phew again”, thinks Carly who can therefore join in with the singing) and time for walks and alone time (“Phew”, thinks Carly who knows what she does in her own time is up to her. “Surely there aren’t Big Brother cameras in her room?”, Carly ponders). But there are some other rather odd rules. Like no one is to wear perfume as this can interfere with some people’s ability to meditate. That puts paid to lighting her incense she has brought with her. Grummpphh contemplates Carly. And during this silent retreat you need to be in your own little cocoon. So, no passing the salt, no smiling at anyone, no holding the doors for others. Carly isn’t really sure why you almost need to be nasty by keeping the salt within your own reach only, looking downcast and miserable (not everyone has a resting bitch face) or slamming doors in people’s faces. 

Yes, to be honest Carly is very bemused, and although she is open to new people, ideas and experiences, this is all very bizarre and of course she cannot ask anyone. She suspects there was helpful information in the pre-joining literature but of course, if she failed to read it was a silent retreat, which was clearly written in the line under the residential workshop title, for sure she would not have read any other bumf. 

The food was very wholesome and mostly vegan and a bit of vegetarian, with an enormous list of potential allergens – really are there people allergic to celery? She had never heard of this, but maybe this only affects adults. Carly is a paediatrician and so has limited adult medical knowledge. 

There was a lot of mindfulness. Sitting, lying, walking, eating. Carly finds it almost impossible for her mind not to wander. One of the books she had brought down to this retreat was ‘Fine Cell Works‘ by Tracy Chevalier. This is one of Carly’s favourite authors. She wrote historical fiction often based around craft. This was an illustrated book about a quilt made by prisoners on the subject of their sleep. The work was beautiful and haunting. It gave Carly two ideas during her walking meditation. Firstly, she was keen to start some voluntary work, and Carly would be keen to teach prisoners to sew. 

And secondly, she would like all her friends who have enjoyed her Carly stories to each decorate a square on white linen representing one of the stories of their choosing. At the time she had written 41 stories and if she took it up to 49 that would make a nice quilt of seven strips of seven squares. They could embroider them, decoupage them, draw or paint on them. Or even use puff paint, glue gun, beads, ribbons. The possibilities were endless. Carly then caught herself. She was supposed to be draining her mind and walking mindfully. “Hey ho”, Carly deliberates, “Some you win, some you lose”. 

One of the other odd things was that the main room they sat in was freezing. This was early December, and someone had opened all the windows. Carly found out this was because someone in a position of power, which is not really the done thing in a mindful retreat, had decided air was needed in case anyone might fall asleep. Clearly this was impossible. Everyone was wearing hats and coats and covered themselves with blankets. Carly was shivering a lot, despite all her warm clothes. And, in reality, these draconian rules were being promulgated because of one Covid risk averse person who failed to understand how the virus is spread. Carly worked out who this was and when this woman opened all the windows in another room before a yoga session, Carly zipped around and quickly shut them. Grrrrrrrrrrrrr. These Covid risk averse people. Enough now. 

Early in the second evening there was an opportunity for talking. It was very much restricted to a small group and only for 35 minutes. Lots of valuable information was shared. Carly found out someone had a beyond hard, lumpy mattress and as she had two, she beckoned that woman into her room and lent her the spare one. They shut the door and dissolved into fits of giggles and talked at 19 to the dozen in a whisper. Carly smiled to herself, as this meant she could be kind, and the other woman could sleep that night. A bit later, Carly needed to plot her escape. Really, she could not manage another hour slamming doors in people’s faces and not passing the salt. So, first thing on the Sunday morning she packed up, loaded her Brompton, and cycled off to the station. She vowed to herself that, really, she must get better at reading the small print. Actually, the not-so-small print.

Carly has long been an advocate of rehoming dogs. But she has two elderly cats and even when the rehoming centres say their dog is fine with cats, Carly knows this isn’t always true. Certainly, her last rescue, Bryn, a tri-colour collie, was pretty appalling with cats. Being carried around in a large dog’s mouth is hardly good for a cat’s self-esteem. Carly kept the cats when she got divorced. Ades the dogs. But they weren’t really what he did in fact want, and so he shifted them off to his erstwhile secretary.

And Carly is lonely and feels that as she has grown up children and she isn’t in a relationship, now might be a good time to get a puppy. And it just so happens one of her oldest school friends Rebecca is going to breed her dog, the inimitable Doris. There is a close connection here. For years, Carly has been telling Rebecca and her husband Bill that, as they live out of London, then a dog is a must. And so, they followed Carly’s instructions. Always better to do that…

Firstly, they had Ruby, then Doris. And Doris is the joke name that Ades calls her. After Sid and Doris Bonkers from Neasden in Private Eye – a satirical political magazine that Ades rather favours. So now Rebecca and Bill have two dogs. And they’re going to breed Doris. Ruby belongs to Bill and is too old to have pups. Oh, and Ruby was a rescue too and so already ‘done’. For a number of years Rebecca thinks about who she will ask to mate with Doris who is a mixture of retriever, duck-toller and collie. She thinks of Milo, a rather skinny whippet so the puppies would be lurchers by definition but that doesn’t work. Milo is rather clueless about what to do when Doris is on heat.

In the end Rebecca settles for a red working cocker spaniel who has fathered other litters. He has form. Hey presto it works, and mid-June 2022 Doris has a litter of six female puppies exactly 63 days later. Rebecca and Bill take this puppy business very seriously. They have all the kit and Doris is only going to be having one litter. None of this puppy farming nonsense. Carly goes down to visit the puppies when they are four weeks old. They are now running around and being fed kibble whilst still breastfeeding. Carly doesn’t really mind which puppy she has and because of her work commitments she is allowed to take the last puppy who by default has not been chosen by the other five families. This makes it easier for Carly. What if she chose badly? Anyway, the puppy that was left was the smallest and calmest. Excellent for a puppy coming to live in deepest, darkest Walthamstow. The ‘unchosen’ puppy.

Rebecca wants to start calling Carly’s unchosen puppy by her name. Carly, Tobes and Boo spend a long time choosing. They look at Hebrew, Norwegian and German girls’ names. In the end the shortlist is Talulah, Delilah, Dizzy and Mary. They narrow it down to Talulah. Everyone seems content until Boo discovers a problem. But, by then, Rebecca is calling this small, calm unchosen puppy by that name. Boo’s problem is that Talulah is going to come to live in Israel when Carly moves there 15 months after Talulah’s birth. And in Hebrew Boo has found that Tatuleh means jerk. But this is not a similar root with that additional middle ‘t’. And instead, Carly goes around telling everyone that her puppy is called Talulah the Jerk. She thinks it will rather suit her.

When it is time for Talulah to make the journey back to London with Carly, she goes down to Dorset with Boo and Tobes to collect her. Everyone stays over and they eat venison which is a novelty and delicious. And Carly can catch up with Rebecca the morning before they leave whilst her children spend time sorting out wood with Bill. This is very novel for city kids. Talulah has a very eventful day. Before she leaves Doris and her human family, she gets a beaded collar, has a swim and journeys in a travel pen on a train and on the tube. She sleeps most of the time and isn’t the least bit bothered. Carly is keen for her to have as many experiences as possible as a puppy so she doesn’t get anxious or frightened. She meets the cats Fatne and Gus who are nonplussed. She tries very hard to engage them in play. And when they aren’t interested, she barks at them. This is actually the only time she barks. She does cry at first in her pen at night. But during the day she is mostly bouncing around or flat out asleep.

The Jewish mother in Carly is a bit perturbed as Talulah isn’t much interested in her food. But after a week this changes, and she is a full on food scavenger. Oh, and pooh eater. It seems this is normal for dogs. If rather disgusting. And Talulah is so keen on poohs she dives into the cat litter to eat waste from other species. Sometimes she doesn’t eat her own pooh. Mostly because it is multicoloured with large bits of colourful plastic she has eaten. Carly has made a mental note to self. Eating pooh is to STOP. By writing it in red shouty capitals Carly really means this…

Boo is going to spend most of the first week training her. Carly zips off to work on her bike and whilst cycling down Blythe Road she notices a buggy on the street. She quickly messages Boo who is keen to march around like a mad old woman with a dog in a buggy. Boo takes the puppy with her there to collect it and henceforth this is Talulah’s favourite way to get around. Usually in the bottom section meant for bags and shopping. It means Carly and Boo can get her to the park where she can then run around. There are very few parks near where they live. But there is a lovely cemetery about a mile away. Talulah loves running around the higgledy, piggledy graves. And no one seems to be there to tell her to put Talulah back on her lead. Phew…

Carly has taken Talulah to other parks. She loves Waterlow park near her work. Talulah is pretty good at not running off. And, as she is fairly keen on treats, it doesn’t take much to lure her back. But she does have a bit of a problem with other people’s buggies. If the lower section isn’t stuffed to the brim with shopping, Talulah hops in. Mostly the buggy owners find this funny but as Talulah gets larger and less puppy-cute she will have to desist from this behaviour. At least, it clearly signals to Carly or Boo when she is tired.

And whereas Boo is great with Talulah, Tobes less so. One morning Carly asked her son to mind Talulah for an hour or so. When she returned Tobes was at his wits end. Talulah had eaten his headphones, and Carly was not only annoyed but rather worried as the puppy had eaten four sewing needles too. Tobes says he had never asked for a puppy, and he much prefers cats. And so, unless he takes her for a walk, Carly won’t expect anything much from Tobes with regard to puppy sitting. The needles in the end turned up in Tobes’ bed so at least she hadn’t swallowed them. But Talulah is a bit of a devil when it comes to finding things. She has ruined a number of socks, balls of yarn and dishcloths. Recently Carly went to the local pool in her pyjamas planning on dressing for the day after her swim and shower. She dried thoroughly and put on her bra. She had previously noted that there was a tear in one of the sides. Easy enough to mend. And now she looked down. Her nipple was popping out of her bra. Oh no! Talulah had made a hole which wasn’t going to be repairable in the central section. Grrrrrrrrrrr. Bras are expensive. Because Carly likes to go away a great deal, she has persuaded Mike and Tom to have her some of the time. This gay couple have never had children and need to be empowered to be strict with her. Certainly not staying up all night soothing her because she cries so pitifully. They will never be able to cope with the ensuing fatigue. But they do have her and after a bit of time she is doing her business in the right place and they can leave her, albeit reluctantly, in her crate at night. They even give Talulah her first bath. She’s not that keen on hairdryers, they find, even though Tom was a hairdresser with Vidal Sassoon in a former life. And they try hard to teach her tricks. She is great at “Sit”. She came from Dorset already trained to do that. But she’s still rather rubbish at “Paw”. Carly is secretly rather pleased. Giving a paw to a human feels degrading as well as stupid. So, Carly and Talulah are in complete agreement about failing to learn that trick. On balance, although Carly is rather worn out by this exuberant puppy Talulah, she is very pleased to have her in her life. Even if it’s part-time.

For a while now everyone else thinks Carly is fanatical about the colour purple. She isn’t so sure. She feels maybe she has been labelled as such. She is well aware that people find it much easier to deal with others if they put them in a box. And Carly’s box has three things. Well for the moment, at least, she thinks. Purple, spiral and prime numbers (2, 3, 5, 7. 11, 13, 17, 19 etc). She made this design to express this and also put the extra ‘e’ to put herself in too as ‘me’. To remind her that she is part of these three things and that they are part of her. They help to provide boundaries for her creativity. Well at least this is the line she is touting.

Carly only really came to purple just before her sabbatical in India. She was making some presents for people she was staying with and asked what colour one of them would like. Bravely her friend said she liked purple. And this was the start. And still to date, no end point. Carly made something purple with dogs on it for her friend. But although Carly likes dogs, so much so she has just got Talulah (a puppy) and she loves cats even more, she has decided that animals won’t be particularly depicted in her obsession of purple, spirals and primes for her art and craft projects. She thinks three things to focus on really is enough of an obsession. But what Carly does like about these dogs is that they are chopped up from an old tea towel at work that had seen better days. Carly cut up all the usable dogs and very roughly machine sewed them onto a new piece of cloth that Carly had specially dyed.

Carly knows how purple is made. It is obviously blue and red. Any primary school child knows that. And now that Carly has grey hair, she can very easily dye it purple. The wash-in and wash-out variety. Carly is rather pleased that she looks stylish and swishes her hair this way and that way, a bit like Miss Piggy from the Muppets. Carly tries to speak in a less snooty voice however. However, there is something wrong with the dye. After a few washes it turns turquoise. Clearly the red part of the purple dye is less tenacious. And one thing Carly cannot abide is weakness. She wants to have purple hair. She has nothing against turquoise. But as she has already made clear. She is only obsessed about three things. Adding in turquoise would be a fourth and this isn’t a prime number and that just isn’t right. So, Carly decides, she will add her own red and pink to the purple to make it stay the right colour for longer. But then she ends up with streaks of purple, scarlet and fuchsia which still doesn’t default to purple. Oh dear. Back to the drawing board.

Carly knows that opposite colours work well together. Which is why yellow suits purple so well. They are opposites on the colour wheel. Last night Carly was involved in a sunset meditation. Everyone else was following the person running the session. Carly however found it difficult to concentrate. So, she looked at the yellow sun as it set. She is pretty sure this will kill off her rods and cones in her retinas but maybe they will regenerate? Whilst she was doing that, she noticed moveable purple blobs appearing around the sun. She would shut her eyes and they would reappear quite large, blob about (they were too blobby to float) and then disappear.

Then she thought about other things she knew about yellow. She felt yellow didn’t really suit her complexion. Although she remembers well her lovely satin egg-yolk coloured dress she had for one of her brother’s barmitzfar. That was probably the last yellow item of clothing she had. And well over three decades ago.

And talking about getting older… She knows one of the real reasons that you cannot age bruises and this is because she sees children as her work, some of whom have bruises as your ability to detect yellow deteriorates as you age. So, another very good reason to concentrate on mindfulness and stop staring at the sun. Oh yes, she said to herself. But whilst having this long dialogue within her head, the sun had set. Phew. Supper soon. But wine sooner!

Before leaving for India on her four-month sabbatical, Carly started collecting purple materials. She knew that fabric, beads and other craft items could be easily sourced in India. But she wanted to take her own things out. She went a bit mad and took out a whole suitcase including 23 rolls of fine yarn, silk scarves, knitted purple hats, a lilac stethoscope, purple ribbons, dried lavender, lilac spray paint, cyanotyping chemicals, paint and brushes, puff paint, stamp ink, a spirograph, washi tape, seeds and bulbs for purple flowers or vegetables to germinate whilst in India, sewing and knitting needles, jewellery pliers and findings, plasticine, foam, fleece, felt, temporary tattoos, fabric and paper scissors. Everything she made was to be in purple or one of the other 24 versions of purple.

These are Amethyst, Aubergine, Blackberry, Blackcurrant, Blueberry, Burgundy, Dawn, Haze, Heather, Heliotrope, Indigo, Lavender, Lilac, Loganberry, Magenta, Maroon, Mauve, Mist, Periwinkle, Plum, Pomegranate, Purple, Tayberry, Violet, Wine

Wait a minute. Carly has been keen on purple for a long time actually. When her first son, Haz was a baby she dyed all his muslin cloths purple. It meant she could easily find them. She also dyed a lot of his vests and Babygro’s purple. And those nifty cotton pads you put in your bra to stop you leaking breast milk. She did other colour dyes for Tobes and Boo. It is so easy with those dyes you pop in the washing machine. Anytime some item of clothing is looking dull or has stains then Carly will whisk it off and usually it ends up purple.

And thinking about it now. Purple is here to stay for Carly. Her good friend Penny had retired early from work to immerse herself in sewing. She makes exquisite garments. Once she came over to Carly’s house with a new prototype of a dress. It was large and quite floaty and ideally to be made in silk or possibly a fine linen. Carly really liked the dress and was delighted when Penny said she would make one for her. She felt very special. She decided she would like to be buried in this purple dress. So being Carly and hugely impatient, she rushed to the local fabric store. There was no linen or silk, so Carly bought four meters of purple cotton. And yes, it was quite a fine and lovely cotton. Penny seemed happy with the choice when she received the fabric. But Carly was healthy, so there wasn’t really any rush. Until Carly phoned Penny and asked her to make the dress. She was going to wear it for her son, Haz’ engagement party. At least no one would be wearing the very same outfit!

Penny was a bit worried that Carly had some terminal disease until Carly reassured her, she wanted to wear it before she died. Then there was the small matter of the pockets. Penny said you only needed pockets if you were wearing the dress when alive. So, she put in two pockets. However, when Carly garnered information from her friends and colleagues. Everyone said you had to have pockets to put in objects to take to the next life.

What Carly hadn’t really considered is how very differently cotton hangs compared to silk or linen. The dress was pretty enormous and yes, it is true Carly is no skinny bean, but she could possibly fit in her three children in the dress with plenty of room for herself. This means Carly has to be creative when she wears it. She wears a sleeveless black leather-look belted coat with the dress. And she knows she can eat to her heart’s content until the day she dies. Bliss. Carly really loves her food. That, luckily, can be of any colour. Subsisting on purple broccoli and beetroot halwa might result in significant and harmful vitamin and mineral deficiencies.

All this talk of death, dying and dyeing has reminded Carly of the real reason she has to stick to purple from now on.

This very inspiring poem by Jenny Joseph says it all.

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people’s gardens
And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils

and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practise a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

Thursday January 1st 2026

Friday 2nd January. From the clock tower to Park Midron

4th Jan; Dad’s 87th birthday

Monday 5th January

Tuesday 6th January

Talulah’s turquoise leash up close

Wednesday 7th Jan

I was not actually in Park Midron this morning but on the beach in Jaffa

Again – this is on the beach by the Setai

Jaffa on Saturday 10th Jan

Sunday 11th Jan

Tuesday 13th January

Wednesday 14th January

Thursday 15th January – Luna is 6/12

The day is gone

Nita had told me about this exhibition and Simon had also heard about it. We met Deborah and Neil there. The headset was free and took the story of one day of an artist in Berlin in 1925. Here are some of the paintings.

Zero Hour

On May 8 1945, zero hour was declared with a wish to cast out everything before that moment. The TLV museum of art was very much tied up with Germany and art from there. This eventually led to the director being replaced as he was felt to be too German. These are the art pieces and commentary that spoke to me.

Carly is getting on a bit and is thinking about that next stage. She is finding the rigours and demands of coming in at the weekends and being on call overnight taking its toll. She can do it and she does keep up to date but maybe now is the time to glide down with grace and serenity to work in a different way. She wanted to retain her clinical skills and work but spend most of the year living in Israel. She realised if she could go part-time and annualise this could indeed be possible.

Since she was appointed in 2005, she never did any urgent general paediatric clinics. There wasn’t really any reason, but she just didn’t. Then Covid changed all of that and she found that actually she rather liked these clinics. She even persuaded the managers to change the name. It was previously known as the 10-12 clinic. Patients were only seen within those hours. But this is very limited and what with all the fastidious cleaning of rooms, couches and other equipment between patients during various lockdowns, meant the clinics ran for much longer if face to face. Carly isn’t much of an exponent of telephone or video clinics. There is so much nuance that goes on when meeting in the flesh and the technology often isn’t really up for it. Also, if you were the only doctor seeing these patients, as the GPs weren’t at that time, it really was important to check up on children. Most people felt, including Carly, that the children were the ones who really came out worst in all official measures to mitigate against Covid.

So, early on in the pandemic, Carly saw patients in person at various health clinics. With her trusty bike, she was happy to cycle pretty much anywhere. And parents were loath to bring their children to hospitals which were seen as hotbeds of Covid disease and other dangerous activity. Carly mused that it was a bit unfair that children and their parents had to wait outside on the pavement until their appointment time, even in the depths of winter. But she did see them in person, and it really changed her perspective on the benefits of this type of clinic.

They changed the name to PRAC (paediatric rapid access clinic) which lots of people felt didn’t sound nice. It was rather a harsh name. Not lovely, soft and cuddly. But at least it did what it said on the tin. And one way Carly could increase her hours during the pandemic was to offer to do more of these clinics. It also meant they could be organised at any time of the day. These PRACs played to her strengths as she was very adept at emailing parents during the clinic, if appropriate, and so she didn’t need to bring these children and their parents back to see them again for ‘follow-up’.

This worked really well for the most part and parents really appreciated it. Long before the pandemic she had published on this area and so felt this was an excellent way to offer follow-up. Only very rarely did parents misuse this perk. One parent once sent pictures of her daughter’s stool several times a day to Carly. This wasn’t what was agreed and Carly, not being backwards in coming forwards, and feeling rather overwhelmed by the sheer number of pooey pictures in her inbox, had to explain to the mother that this wasn’t her role. This mother then went to see another doctor and was not allowed any email access. But this was very rare, and Carly has found this way of parents having access to her was seldom abused and meant she can see more patients, as her clinics are not clogged up with follow-ups.

Now Carly is pretty competitive. And Leah, one of the administrators, was a willing participant in seeing who of the consultant body saw more patients. Carly was convinced it was her. So, Leah looked through 15 months’ worth of data. Sure enough, Carly was by far the winner. Most of her colleagues had a new to follow-up patient ratio of about 3:1. This means they see three new patients to one follow-up. Some were as low as 2:1. These were all for exactly the same clinic. Carly didn’t want to show confusing data that compared apples with pears. One colleague was rivalling her with a ratio of 5:1. But she worked out that, whilst he’d been off for many months on sick leave, Carly and her colleagues had cleared his follow-up back-log, and he was basically starting afresh. It was easy to see his ratio falling with every month passing. Carly had a new to follow-up ratio of 9.64:1. Nearly 10:1. Was she pleased? Oh yes. Carly was over the moon. This was because she had an idea, and this would help her case tremendously. And she had to sort this out before her manager, Gordon, left. It had taken a long time to gather this data and once Gordon was replaced, Carly would be back at the bottom rung of the ladder. Gordon was quite a supporter of Carly although not always. He did always laugh when she was up to no good and getting bollocked. This was quite often as Carly finds it hard to behave all the time. He found these instances hilarious, but Carly was keen that he see her serious side.

She prepared an inventory of how much money she saved the hospital by personally having very few follow-up slots. She presented detailed information about what she saved in carbon footprinting by looking at where all 39 patients she saw in five clinics in May 2022 lived. She found they lived a mean of 5.6km and a median of 5.1km. She likes those statistics programmes that easily give you the mean, median and mode. It satisfies her curiosity and aids her memory as she has to keep reminding herself which each one is. Especially as they all begin with an m. But for sure easier than terms used in academic journals such as positive predictive value and false negative. Really, she can never remember them… Surely this will help stave off dementia? She is not really sure why she needs anything other than the entire range (those who live nearby and those who don’t) and the average. Depending on how they travelled to the hospital, Carly summarised their carbon footprint as follows.

If they all came by car (174 CO₂ g/km). Total = 38,000g CO₂

If they all came by bus (21 CO₂ g/km). Total = 4,578g CO₂

If they all came by tube (44 CO₂ g/km). Total = 9,592g CO_2, but the tube station at Archway doesn’t have step free access which is a problem for young children in a buggy or a pram. Of course, if they walked, ran or cycled it would be 0.

She also prepared another paper on how much income parents lost by coming to a follow-up appointment.

Here are her calculations for these same 39 patients. She saw nine babies and she assumed that they were with only the mother who wasn’t working as she was on maternity leave. That left 30 other patients. 15 appointments had both parents attending and 15 only one parent. They lost 3.5 hours of work as parents told Carly for each appointment; they lost an average of three to four hours of work. Carly assumed the pay was £15 an hour. How Carly arrived at this figure is totally open to conjecture. But you have to start somewhere, and it was well above minimum wage (£9.50).

Therefore, the total finance loss on families coming to five clinics in May 2022 is £2,362.50. Additionally, this doesn’t account for the amount of time children are missing school which Carly calculated overall as 120 hours.

Carly had prepared all this information to submit for a national clinical excellence award. But she realised that unless she died within the next five years, then she would be much poorer. Her grandparents all died in their 90s. And both her parents were alive, well and kicking. So, dying within five years was not an option, Carly decided. She did, of course, know that you really cannot be certain about this.

So, she realigned all the data she had collected into another avenue. Giving the data to Gordon who didn’t need to know it was prepared for an entirely different reason. He wasn’t being duped. The data was correct and true. Why collect data and throw it in the bin? That was just plain silly. Carly had started lots of projects and despite being an obsessional completer/finisher, she found some projects did fail. And certainly, Carly can be unsuccessful at applying for things. She has a massive folder on her computer called ‘My Failures (MF)’. Each specific folder is nicely filed within ‘MF’. Sometimes she puts applications in there before being unsuccessful. This could be seen as rather defeatist. But it saves it from being moved there later on. And labelling it as MF, although Carly does hate abbreviations, means she doesn’t need to see the word failures on a daily basis so boldly in her folders.

And Carly also knew, if she was going to work in a novel way, she was best off filing in the forms. So, she persuaded Ben in HR to send her the change of employment forms and duly completed them. She would work flat out in London doing gazillions of clinics during the summer holidays when her colleagues wanted to be off and anyway it was far too hot in Israel where she would live the rest of the year. She filled the form in as accurately as she could. When it came to position number, she cheekily put in she was number 1. Certainly, by the time this part-time job started she would be the oldest in the department. But she did point that out to Gordon, who filled in some random much longer number.

Her clinical lead was happy to support this for up to three years with an annual review to see how things were going. And in Israel, she would have to log on regularly to do the other bits of her job. The NHS is always going on and on about there being novel ways for their staff to retire. And for Carly, and her department this plan seemed to tick the box. It definitely was original. And Carly is all for ‘novel’. That is why she started doing these PRAC clinics in Covid in the first place. To stave off the boredom. At the beginning of the first lockdown there was very little happening with inpatient paediatrics. But parents still had concerns about their children and Carly was able to respond to these in a meaningful and timely way.