Putting the clock back
It's not long now; British Summer Time comes to an end, again. "Spring forwards, Fall back", goes the old saying which is supposed to help you remember which way the clock hands are going to go. Not that there are too many clocks with hands any more, just digits, and none of that metronomic ticking from the mantlepiece at Granny's house to remind you just how much longer it was going to be until you could leave and get back home to your toys and secret places in the garden. Time creeps at different paces in different places.
If I could turn back time...
If I could have anything, any scientific advancement, or any super power, I would want the ability to move through time, to visit the future, to explore the past. Sadly, it doesn't look as thought H G Wells managed to get all of his predictions right; we still are stuck in the present, the here-and-now where Johnson's foot keeps kicking the stone and eternally refuting Berkeley. "The second law of thermodynamics!" screams another school of thought, "says that all order must decay into chaos. We are condemned to death by entropy."
Is it true? Does the past flit silently off into a whirling mass of released energy which slowly and inexorably seeps away until the whole universe is just a level playing field with no more clusters of matter? Is life a desperate but ultimately futile gesture of defiance?
I can accept that time-travel as we popularly understand it has too many flaws and fallacies to be discoverable, even leaving aside the fallacy of killing one's grandfather, there is still the nightmare vision of the past being as uncertain as the future when too many interested parties are monkeying around with it for their own nefarious purposes. I'm not saying that all genius is evil,or that all of world history is controlled by conspiracies, but most of our great inventions have been driven forward by groups of men eager to make a profit, and if someone should manage to find a way of seeing forwards even a few hours into the future, the lottery is going to be their main target.
I would be happy if I could simply look backwards, and see what really happened in the Sunderland flying boat when the Duke of Kent died, or what happened to Irvine on the slopes of Everest. I accept that I would not be able to stand on the grassy knoll and shout "Duck!", just as I could not whisper into Scott's ear "Five men are too many." The past has happened, I would just like to see exactly what it was that happened.
When I started living away from home in Lincolnshire last year, I had the TV on in the hotel room for company, and noticed there was a spate of programs about undoing the ravages of time. Most of these programs involved plastic surgery to remove the fat and smooth out the wrinkles, causing me to writhe and cringe and change the channel. One of them, featuring the rather scary Doctor Una, focussed on turning back the body clock by slightly more natural means. Although I didn't watch more than a couple of her programs, it set me thinking: could I turn back time for myself?
Those of you who've followed my blog for these past eighteen months, or been interested enough to read back far enough, will know that I have fought a long struggle against my own greedy nature, and managed to shed a few pounds and lose a few inches. But has it really done me any good? Have I managed to turn back my body clock? How could I find out, without having to go through all the humilation that Doctor Una and Gillian McKeith put their subjects through?
I had to go and see the doctor a couple of days ago. I had trodden on a nail whilst clearing a corner of a garden, and couldn't remember when I had my last tetanus booster. I had been meaning to go and see the doctor anyway, because I had been developing strange pains in the little finger of my right hand, which I had assumed was caused by the stress of gripping and pulling brambles and nettles, but it was one of those things I accepted wasn't really serious enough to warrant a visit all on its own, although it has put me off doing too much typing lately. The nail through the sole of my shoe was another matter entirely.
The pains in the little finger he could say nothing about, other than if they got worse he ought to see me again. I had collected enough tetanus jabs in the past to not really need another booster. Was this his way of saying he didn't want to witness one of my vagus nerve attacks? I thanked him, and stood up to go, when he said "I'd just like to check your blood pressure while you're here, you were borderline when I last saw you a year ago."
I waited while he pumped up the cuff on my arm and listened with the stethoscope, before saying, and looking suitably impressed as he did so, "125 over 70. You won't get any better than that."
Yes, yes, yes, a result. I have, in some small way, managed to turn my clock back a little. It's official, I've got a doctor's note to prove it.
If I could turn back time...
If I could have anything, any scientific advancement, or any super power, I would want the ability to move through time, to visit the future, to explore the past. Sadly, it doesn't look as thought H G Wells managed to get all of his predictions right; we still are stuck in the present, the here-and-now where Johnson's foot keeps kicking the stone and eternally refuting Berkeley. "The second law of thermodynamics!" screams another school of thought, "says that all order must decay into chaos. We are condemned to death by entropy."
Is it true? Does the past flit silently off into a whirling mass of released energy which slowly and inexorably seeps away until the whole universe is just a level playing field with no more clusters of matter? Is life a desperate but ultimately futile gesture of defiance?
I can accept that time-travel as we popularly understand it has too many flaws and fallacies to be discoverable, even leaving aside the fallacy of killing one's grandfather, there is still the nightmare vision of the past being as uncertain as the future when too many interested parties are monkeying around with it for their own nefarious purposes. I'm not saying that all genius is evil,or that all of world history is controlled by conspiracies, but most of our great inventions have been driven forward by groups of men eager to make a profit, and if someone should manage to find a way of seeing forwards even a few hours into the future, the lottery is going to be their main target.
I would be happy if I could simply look backwards, and see what really happened in the Sunderland flying boat when the Duke of Kent died, or what happened to Irvine on the slopes of Everest. I accept that I would not be able to stand on the grassy knoll and shout "Duck!", just as I could not whisper into Scott's ear "Five men are too many." The past has happened, I would just like to see exactly what it was that happened.
When I started living away from home in Lincolnshire last year, I had the TV on in the hotel room for company, and noticed there was a spate of programs about undoing the ravages of time. Most of these programs involved plastic surgery to remove the fat and smooth out the wrinkles, causing me to writhe and cringe and change the channel. One of them, featuring the rather scary Doctor Una, focussed on turning back the body clock by slightly more natural means. Although I didn't watch more than a couple of her programs, it set me thinking: could I turn back time for myself?
Those of you who've followed my blog for these past eighteen months, or been interested enough to read back far enough, will know that I have fought a long struggle against my own greedy nature, and managed to shed a few pounds and lose a few inches. But has it really done me any good? Have I managed to turn back my body clock? How could I find out, without having to go through all the humilation that Doctor Una and Gillian McKeith put their subjects through?
I had to go and see the doctor a couple of days ago. I had trodden on a nail whilst clearing a corner of a garden, and couldn't remember when I had my last tetanus booster. I had been meaning to go and see the doctor anyway, because I had been developing strange pains in the little finger of my right hand, which I had assumed was caused by the stress of gripping and pulling brambles and nettles, but it was one of those things I accepted wasn't really serious enough to warrant a visit all on its own, although it has put me off doing too much typing lately. The nail through the sole of my shoe was another matter entirely.
The pains in the little finger he could say nothing about, other than if they got worse he ought to see me again. I had collected enough tetanus jabs in the past to not really need another booster. Was this his way of saying he didn't want to witness one of my vagus nerve attacks? I thanked him, and stood up to go, when he said "I'd just like to check your blood pressure while you're here, you were borderline when I last saw you a year ago."
I waited while he pumped up the cuff on my arm and listened with the stethoscope, before saying, and looking suitably impressed as he did so, "125 over 70. You won't get any better than that."
Yes, yes, yes, a result. I have, in some small way, managed to turn my clock back a little. It's official, I've got a doctor's note to prove it.
posted by Sopwith-Camel | 5:33 pm
2 Comments:
congrats!
now don't go celebrating by firing aerosol cheese topping directly into your mouth or anything. acheiving is fine, its MAINTAINING THE GAIN thats the hard part. sigh.
FN: it's more than just the hard part, it's a lifetime change. I've had to give up bread just to stay at this weight, and cheese is the next thing I'll be cutting out.
But it's worth it.
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