When dyeing your hair could KILL you...

 Have you heard of PPD? No – it’s not a quick fix method of getting money back from the bank, or anywhere else for that matter. It stands for p-Phenylenediamine and is present in just about every hair dye sold all over the world. It should, of course,  have WARNING/DANGER written in large letters on the packaging, but it doesn’t. Why? Because the manufacturers don’t want to put you off buying their money-making  products. PPD can cause  a serious allergic reaction to the skin of the face, neck and scalp, including open sores, heavy blistering and severe swelling. In extreme cases it can lead to anacalyptic shock  and even death. And if this isn’t bad enough, it isn't just women who are  unaware of the dangers. I know of qualified  hairdressers who haven't heard of it either!

For most of my life I’ve had naturally dark hair and even had ‘lowlights’ to make in look even darker.  These also contained PPDs, though I had no idea at the time. It started with an itching scalp, sometimes after I'd had the highlights, and then one morning I woke up with my face covered in huge blisters.  I had two or three less serious reactions before I finally realised the dye was to blame.

 After one final attempt at a darker colour with a local hairdresser, ( who assured me this time it would be ok), the symptoms started all over again. I did some research and learnt about  the horrors of PPD.

In total frustration I went blonde last year (the least said about that the better) and am now gradually  getting back to my roots.  But the message, I hope, is clear.  If you do colour your own hair, please check the ingredients on the box. Or if you go to  a salon, be sure to ask the right questions - and have a patch test first.

Several people have already died for  the sake of vanity. Please make sure you don't become just another statistic.

A man walks into a car lot....

My nephew discovered  a surprising connection between the US and Guernsey when on business in New York recently.  Jon Atkin, National Accounts Manager for That Company called IF,  met an executive from Barnes and Noble, the world's largest book distributors, and got chatting after their meeting.

Jon, from Lytham St Annes in Lancashire, picks up the story.

'He told me he'd  be in Britain soon on holiday, so I asked where he was staying.'

'Guernsey in the Channel Islands,' he replied, 'Do you know it?'

'Know it?'  I said,   'half my ancestors were born there!
It turned out that his sister lives in Guernsey and he's been going there for several years.'

Oh, and while he was in the States, Jon ended up on  cult TV show Broadway Carfellas after walking into a car lot in Amityville, NY. The guys  working there, apparently,  have turned 'ad lib' into an art form by chatting with potential punters at  Broadway Motors while the cameras are rolling.

'I was with my boss and we only called in out of curiosity, to see what the place was like' says Jon. We already follow the programme at home on the Discovery Channel. The whole thing was a fantastic experience. We had no idea we'd end up on TV.'

 A successful trip all round, then, wouldn't you agree?

John Atkin with newborn son Jake

An extract from my historical novel - to celebrate Liberation Day

'We are free' proclaimed the headlines all over Guernsey this week as the island celebrated the 67th anniversary of the liberation of the Channel Islands from the horror of German rule. My own grandparents lived through the Occupation and  spoke of the appalling cruelty of the enemy ( as well as  rare, unwanted, acts of kindness) the memories of which have stayed with me always.

Here is an extract from my as yet unpublished novel, set in the Occupation of Guernsey, where we find the female protagonist,  Lydia Le Page, joining the crowds on the island's first day of freedom.

It seemed as  if every islander had come out that day to celebrate , their faces scrubbed   and boots polished  (though heaven knows what with.) Dressed in their 'Sunday Best' they hugged each other, tears flowing unashamedly down their cheeks 

    Just then Sophie Romerill stepped out of the crowd, waving a Union Jack in the air. 'My dear, dear Lydia,' she said. ' How are you? Isn't this wonderful? I wouldn't be alive today if it wasn't for you.'

    Impulsively, Lydia kissed her on the cheek. 'I'm just  so happy to see you.'  Thank goodness the doctors had kept the poor woman in the asylum away from the Jerries. Other Jews, it seemed, had suffered a far worse fate.

    'They're putting up flags all along the Esplanade.' Sophie was still talking. 'It's all over, isn't it?' 

    'Yes,'Lydia smiled, 'it really is finally over.' 

    The old woman walked away, nodding happily to everyone in sight. Lydia lifted her eyes to the sky, just  as a cloud passed over the sun. It would all be so perfect if only Martin was  here beside her. 

   Snapping out of her reverie, she made her way back down the Pollet;she had more pressing issues to worry about right now. Maggie's baby was due any day and the poor girl was terrified that Kurt would be sent away. To make matters worse, the Galliennes had still not come to terms with their daughter's  plight. 

    Maggie had tried  her best to make them understand. Other unwed mothers, she reasoned, had survived the social disgrace. She was right, of course. But then this was different. This was a German baby.

***

A best seller in three hundred words...

A legendary children's book of little more than 300 words was the legacy of children's author and illustrator Maurice Sendak who died yesterday in Connecticut aged 83. He will be particularly remembered for the award winning 'Where the Wild Thing Are,' which explores the young mind's ability to disappear into  an exciting but frightening fantasy land - and return back home in time for tea.  Unsurprisingly, this book was voted 'Most distinguished Picture Book of the Year' in 1969 and, much   later, made into feature film.

Several years ago my daughter taught a small  remedial group of young readers, all of whom were upset at being teased for their inability to read 'properly.' She and recalls having  a higher degree of success with  Where the Wild Things Are than with any other book..   As well as enjoying  the scary, but exciting  illustrations, the children were able to go home and say 'Look, Mummy, I've read a whole book today.' Self-esteem, at any age, is everything. And, after enduring an unhappy childhood, this was something Maurice Sendak knew only too well. He believed that children needed to address their anger, boredom, fear, frustration and jealousy if they were to grow into well-adjusted adults. Although initially criticised for his sometimes frightening images, Maurice Sendak  of course, was absolutely
right.

NB If you've never read any of his books - you should - adults love them too...

Stay slim - stay asleep!

Oh, for the sleep of the innocent...

My hearfelt thanks go out to Dr Nathaniel Watson who has scientifically proved that staying in bed makes you slim.  Ok - what he actually said in the journal 'Sleep' this week, apparently,  was that sleeping for more than nine hours a night can actually encourage weight loss. Since I ended up in hospital  recently due to a  troublesome spine, I seem to have had at least nine hours sleep a night, along with another ten and a half during the day. (I blame the morphine patches myself.)  And yet, when I do eventually rise, I see the same curvy (it sounds better than fat) person looking back at me in the mirror.  I mean how many more hours a night/day sleep can a girl get?

Of course I realise that getting a  good night's sleep must keep us healthier, and I'm not even a doctor. But slimmer? Now that really is a new one. I suppose you could argue all this sleep stops people eating five Weight Watchers chocolate bars at 4 o'clock in the morning. But I'm getting a bit fed up with being told by experts what to, and what not to do, when surely we are all just different people with different needs? As it happens, I haven't had a sip of red wine for several months, but instead of feeling rather superior to my friends for my resistance to temptation, I read that a glass of red every day is good for the heart.
I've never enjoyed drinking water (especially the bottled type, but for years 'experts' have been saying we should drink litres of the stuff every day  to stay healthy.  Now we're told that any liquid form will do: tea, de-caf coffee, juice, lemonade etc....all of which I can drink happily and could have done without guilt if only someone had mentioned it before.

Back to the weight problem: at least, thanks to Dr Watson, we now know it's all down to the 'obesity genes.'  Personally, I call them my 'fat jeans.'  But that's another story altogether.

Brackets just don't hack it (except with me!)

I might as well admit it. I've got an addiction to brackets. Not in my every day writing, you understand (no, that could be regarded as lazy) just in my social networking. (Don't you just hate that phrase - I wonder who invented it?)  Anyway, as I was saying, I've been told that I tell stories just like Ronnie Corbett used to do on TV, sitting in front of the camera to make his point and digressing so many times that even he forgot the story he was supposed to be telling. Now where was I? Oh yes, brackets. They can be very useful (especially when you don't want to confuse the reader) and similarly very helpful when you do.  And you'd be surpised how often you see brackets in official notices as in: 'We'll all meet at noon outside the Post Office in Grasmere (weather permitting)' or 'The pony trek will go ahead as planned (all ponies must be accompanied by their owners)'  Anyway you get the gist. And at least I don't have a problem with apostrophes. Now that really is irritating. (You know the sort of thing:  Apple's - 96 pence a pound -  Get your tomato's cheap here.)  But then apostrophes are another thing altogether. And mis-placed apostrophes are written about so often it's almost a national pastime, so they're really not worth mentioning (ok -I just have.) Now,before you ask if I'm going to do something about my addiction (to brackets, that is)   the answer (quite clearly) is No. And yes, maybe my time would have been better spent out in the sunshine than writing this post, but then it's raining. (Very hard, actually.) Anyway, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

( Ps - the Collins English Dictionary definition of brackets is as follows: a pair of characters used to enclose a section of writing.)  A right pair of characters they've turned out to be!

Wine patch, anyone?

Today I'm going to talk about wine. Or should I say the lack of it.  For some reason I have always been able to write more effectively, vibrantly even, after a couple of glasses of red wine; my characters start to do things that are, well, out of character.  This is great because it enables me to decide whether the plot needs to go in another direction, or if the character  has a devious side that even I didn't know about. The problem is that I'm on medication  the moment, in the form strange plaster-like things that deliver a powerful drug that  finds its way to my spine without directions.  Under these circumstances, alcohol is banned, and I wouldn't dream of breaking the rules.  (Oh, well maybe I have the odd dream on the subject, but that's another story.)  I've been wondering lately whether it might be possible to have alcohol patches in the future - the kind that give you a psychological lift without the headache, so to speak, which could even lead to the offer of a three book deal...(just joking.) Some of my writer friends have admitted to getting inspiration from the odd gin and tonic, as if  their imaginations are heightened by the experience, their  writers' block a thing of the past...

When my father was in hospital many years ago, after a serious operation which left him unable to eat or speak, the nurses asked if we could think of anything that might cheer him up.
'Well,' I said, 'he obviously hates not  being able to work, and I' sure he'll be missing his regular pint.'
The following day when I arrived at visiting time, the senior nurse was beaming. 'We've given your dad half a pint of Guinness, straight through the tube in his arm, she said triumphantly. 'It certainly seems to have done the trick.' She was right, it did.
 .
Looking back, this  genuine act of kindness must have broken every rule in the hospital manual and a few more besides.  And it still makes me feel humble, even after all these years, to think of how a simple gesture caused so much pleasure. So, cheers, Dad, wherever you are.   Glass of lucozade anyone??

Why is my nickname 'Froggy...?'

Spot the frog

Yes, I'm always being asked why my nickname is Froggy. (No it's nothing to do with the bulging eyes or the fact that I' m hard to get hold of.)  I could tell you the story but then you may fall asleep and then you would never get to see the strange collection of frogs that I keep hidden (or not so hidden) round the house and garden.( Mr GG is kindly taking the photos for me at the moment, so that's a bottle of his favourite red I owe him) . Please do concentrate, fellow bloggers,  I said favourite red, not off his head, though the latter is probably more accurate after looking after  me  for what seems like months now.

Anyway, it's not as if I'm any trouble to look after.  Once up in the morning (it only takes a couple of hours) and happily settled on the sofa (sitting not permitted, on doctor's orders, this is my spine we're talking about) I then compile a list of things for my wonderful partner to do for the day. I won't enlighten you on this, either, as it's almost as long as the frog story) and then we discuss in which order I, sorry,  we, think the things should be done.

Between clearing the breakfast dishes, cleaning, ironing and collecting prescriptions, he checks that I have written the right amount of words each day and records this along with the hourly medication which I'm sure he would over-prescribe if only he had the courage. Anyway, it doesn't take him long to pick up all the things I have dropped on the floor (pens, paper, reference books, Thessoorus (never could spell that word as I thought it was a prehistoric animal till I was around 12) and then prepare my lunch.

It's annoying, isn't it, now that Spring is here that insides of the windows look smeared in the sunshine and he does so hate me looking through smeared windows. Fortunately, he's a very patient man (which reminds me - why does the recorded message at our local medical centre say "please be patient" - what else do they think we are?) so he usually gets to do his own thing round about three o'clock.

I just called out for him (I've mislaid the hand bell I used to use) and then the phone went and it was my (former) friend.  She said she'd heard he'd gone back-backing in France (in search of grenouilles probably) and had left a message that he didn't want to be disturbed... Oh well, at least I won't be lonely.... animals (unlike humans) never let you down.

And this is the one that started it all ...

N.B The above is on loan from my very special friend Lesley Davison in memory of Patricia Simister

HAPPINESS IS HEALTH SHAPED

ANDREW LANSLEY GETS IT RIGHT AT LAST

(MOTTO:WE WORK FOR YOU!)

My health worries are over - I've been allocated a new assistant on the National Health Service! The photo above shows our very  first breakfast meeting. Of course I have to train her for the next 15 years. But then isn't that's what's called taking care of the future...?????


Here's to progress, Andrew. Long may we prosper.