As I start this as usual on Monday morning, I am awaiting a consultation on Wednesday to discuss my blood markers from the tests carried out last Friday. I did not mention this last week as I wanted to give you a break from my medical news. Scans and tests are normally done quickly with little delay. For example, the blood-taking unit for blood analysis has a system similar to the better-run banks or other services. After putting your process number into the ticket dispenser at the entrance, you are given a ticket with a reference number that ensures you will know exactly where you are in the queue. As the numbers are called, the last ten remain displayed on a big screen showing the number and the station (Alcove) allocated to that number where your blood will be collected. There are about twelve alcoves at the Coimbra University Hospital. Each sample drawn takes an average of five minutes, so although the list of numbers visually looks daunting, the process is very swift. You are given an hour slot, and within that hour, it is first come, first serve. I always try to get there before my allotted time, and this last time, I found myself done and dusted back in the car before my actual slot was meant to commence. This is very boring for you guys, but the slickness of the system always impresses me. Importantly, it is one of the many reminders that help destroy my perception of the Portuguese I held while living in Zimbabwe.
It will not be so on Wednesday, as meetings with specialists and surgeons can be tedious in waiting time; their time is not always their own as emergencies take precedence along with delays in completing procedures which can throw timelines asunder. Further, while in your mind you can work out the average time it should take for the consultation, the Portuguese are happy to ensure you are totally satisfied and you fully understand the implications, good or bad of the discussion and any results before you depart. They will also inform you of the following steps, treatments tests or future appointments.
It coincidentally is the same in restaurants in Portugal; you never feel compelled to leave even if others are keen to take your seat, unlike London and other parts of Europe, where the staff will ask you to hurry up or even ask you to leave to ensure their income is maximised with little thought of the negative effect it will have on you on considering a return visit.
“No matter how good the meal, it is instantly spoiled when impatient staff ask you to hurry up or even leave a restaurant if you do not finish your meal within their allotted time, unknown to you that an allotted time exists.” - Peter McSporran
We expats often discuss the time and empathy we receive from medical staff. I will finish this paragraph following my consultation and let you know the outcome.
The news on Wednesday deserves this paragraph on its own. My surgeon informed me that of the three latest tumours removed, two were benign, including one found further afield in my small bowel and the one being malignant. Although benign, the one in my small intestine would have caused problems as it grew. Further, the malignant one he feels is not an aggressive cancer, and no metastasis has taken place. My blood markers were normal, and after a further scan, if that is clear, my next appointment with him will be in June of next year. Wonderful news after having five surgeries in the past year. So, it looks like the multiple surgeries and pain may have been worth it. Rozanne and I could hardly believe our ears. We had a celebrity whisky or two that evening. Hopefully, my prostate surgeon can now see if he can fix or at least mitigate my incontinence issue. He undertakes an internal examination to that effect this coming week. I am not foolish enough to think this war is over, but hopefully, there will be a decent lull before the next battle. Who knows, I could be around for the 2027 Rugby World Cup.
Talking of rugby, I watched Ireland lose to New Zealand on Friday night, and then, with a few friends, Rozanne and I went into Coimbra on Saturday afternoon to watch Portugal lose to the ‘US of A’, sadly. Despite a small but enthusiastic crowd in a large football stadium, there was a good atmosphere, which was certainly better than that at the Ireland game. Rugby is easier to watch on TV, but it will never capture the atmosphere of a live match. What was encouraging for Portuguese rugby was that a large part of the crowd comprised of young people, including many schoolchildren. On returning home, with the score of the other internationals unknown, I watched England lose to a revitalised Australia in an exciting match. I am not particularly fond of the Aussies, but they edge out the English in my support. The final game of the day was certainly entertaining, with Italy and Argentina going hammer and tongs. Finally, due to friends coming round on Sunday, I watched Scotland versus South Africa on catchup. Because of my years of supporting South Africa while in Zimbabwe and watching many live games, my support still lies with South Africa over my birth country. My goodness, did the Scots take it to them? I think South Africa was the best team overall, but the score was flattering to them. Bring on England next week. What is terrific is; gone are the days of low-scoring slogging matches with players leaving the pitch as if they had spent the last eighty minutes in a pig wallow. When I was young, in my schoolboy days I would regularly go and watch Scotland at Murrayfield. Unfortunately, mostly to see them lose. Teams in those days rarely lost by much, many a match ending with a one-try or penalty margin, both worth three points if the try was unconverted. Further, the winning team rarely went into double figures. If my memory serves me right, there were as many handling errors as completed passes by Scotland in those days. Scrums took up much of the game.
It should be no surprise to you, my readers, to learn that I went and watched the 1995 World Cup final when South Africa beat New Zealand while I was still president of the Commercial Farmers Union. What an atmosphere, what a day. It was a last-minute decision made when South Africa surprisingly reached the final, and I suggested to Vernon Nicolle that we should attend. Vernon, at the time, was still recovering from the drought of the early nineties, having borrowed a huge amount to build Ghost Acres dam and develop the required irrigation. Unfortunately, it had taken a couple of years to fill, making it hard for even the highly motivated farmer to keep his head above water. in trying to pay off the substantial capital loans. To say that he was short of cash was an understatement.
“There is nothing more disheartening in building a dam and installing the irrigation infrastructure at great expense to mitigate against drought and increase viability than to see the dam not capture let alone fill in the first two years.” - Peter McSporran
I offered to pay for his ticket; after all, he was my mate, and off we went. I cannot remember if I actually bought his ticket or not. We arrived just in time to see France beat England at Loftus Versfeld on the Thursday prior to the final, where, by chance, the cameras panned in on myself and Vernon in the crowd, letting it be known to the farmers in Zimbabwe that their leader was absent from his post on a jolly. Did I get stick? Luckily in good humour, especially at the Farmer Association meetings I addressed for the remainder of the year.
Then, following on the Saturday we watched Stransky ending New Zealand's hopes with a spectacular drop goal in extra time. The New Zealanders put their loss down to intentional food poisoning. Poor losers?
“In one day, I witnessed two events that I will never forget and have cherished to this day. They were Stransky’s drop goal and Nelson Mandela wearing a number 7 shirt, raising the trophy aloft with Francois Pienaar.” - Peter McSporran
The fact that we were there in the first place was a spontaneous decision. How often do the best and worst come from these? Luckily, this was one of the better outcomes, if not the best. As for celebration after the match, this was somewhat dampened. As Vernon and I left Ellis Park, Vernon’s foot went through a broken storm drain grid, slashing his leg very badly. Therefore, most of our evening was spent at the Morningside Clinic, which was very busy that night, waiting to be seen by a doctor. as he needed stitches. We made up for it much later in the night.
So Trump won. I do not particularly like the man, but then again, my impressions have their foundations based on the press, which, as we all know, is a beacon of the Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) culture. By the way, despite reading about DEI numerous times, I only looked up its full meaning this week. In doing that, I also looked up Wokism. It would appear the definition of the latter depends on where you stand in regard to your political views, gender and colour. It's much too confusing for an old man like me. One thing I am now convinced of is that logical reasoning is no longer used in political thinking to such an extent it more often than not brings about their downfall more expediently than they would have wished. Unfortunately, this only occurs after their actions have caused considerable social and economic harm.
“For too many years, the majority have been governed by people influenced by the minority at the expense of society's core traditional values.” - Peter McSporran
Well, Trump cannot be said to be inclusive or woke in any form if you consider what he has to say about illegal immigrants and gender, especially in regard to the inclusion of biologically born males in female sports. I am with him on these subjects, too, but some other of his utterances I am definitely not. The British government was aghast and shocked at his win, which gave me some pleasure. I think more so that he has won on a platform voicing support for the virtues of good old cultural and financial values, something British politicians have more apathy for than enthusiasm. How sincere he is, well, only time will tell. I am not holding my breath while waiting for him to fulfil his promises.
As I said before, I think the UK vote was brought about by frustration with the Tory government recent antics rather than their belief in Labour’s ability to rule better. A clear case now, with hindsight, it would have been better the devil, you knew. It is good for the country, if not for the politicians, to have an awake call to remind us all how lucky they were. At the next election, perhaps we will see the party offering greater recognition of what the people want rather than misguided perception-driven policies influenced by the few at the expense of the greater. With these huge increases in taxes, Labour will have to fix the health service and stem illegal immigration; otherwise, it will be a one-term government. If their actions spiral costs, not just energy, which is a given, they may not last the full term. I cannot vote in Britain, and they will not allow me to do so as I have not resided there for many years, so my thoughts are more of an interested-looking taxpayer. Why, as a citizen by birth, pay taxes in a country where you are not allowed to vote?
“It would appear the Labour government is about to enact a follow-up of the ‘Highland Clearances’ on the British family farming community ” - Peter McSporran
That now brings me back to the farmer's plight. It appears despite so-called consultation that the champagne socialists ignored the farmers' advice and, despite reassurances to the contrary, brought in a tax that could destroy the family farming sector. Was it purely out of spite, jealousy or ignorance that they decided to destroy farming? Let's hope for ignorance, but with a lack of logic in the process, despite farmer actions, it is doubtful they will rescind their actions.
There seems to be a campaign against the UK farmers, be it in the prices they receive from the supermarkets or the removal of subsidies, which, by the way, is not just for the farmers but more a cushion for the consumers’ benefit. Further, there is increased bureaucracy in doing anything in regard to your business, including idiotic laws stopping the hunting of vermin and protecting badgers over cattle welfare. Farmers have had to absorb all the expenses related to the green laws imposed by people who eat fine fare in cities and towns with little regard for where it comes from. I am sure many farmers and their families have spent sleepless nights, just as we did in Zimbabwe, awaiting the news of our designation. How do you fix the inevitable? If it were not for family farms, there would be no countryside as we know it; they have been its custodians for centuries. Why on earth would you unravel it? I can only put it down to illogical reasoning.
Disclaimer: Copyright Peter McSporran. The content in this blog represents my personal views and does not reflect corporate entities.
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