Nobody Does It Better

The music to my ears

Against all the odds, there is a spirit that drives us to that point where we are selflessly committed to something that matters. To me, there is so much music that I am familiar with, but I have not given myself the time to listen fully to the lyrics and appreciate the quality of songwriting and expression that went into the song.

Yesterday, I was listening to the music of James Bond films with orchestral support that was performed about two months ago and being broadcast on BBC Three. This was just after I had returned home from a long day, I even took the tablet into the bathroom to listen as I took a shower, I was enthralled. [BBC: Bond… James Bond] Only available to listen to in May 2024 before it is archived.

Indeed, a James Bond song

The many performers of James Bond theme music, going back to 1962, I began wondering and thinking, I did not know this was the original sound as they played through the repertoire of amazing sounds rearranged and performed by contemporary artists.

Nobody Does It Better, the theme song to The Spy Who Loved Me, written by Marvin Hamlisch and Carole Bayer Sager, the latter who suggested this was such an incredibly vain song that it naturally fell to Carly Simon you had sung You’re So Vain to give this ballad the full rendition it deserved.

If I remember correctly, we had a film night in boarding school, probably in early 1978, and that was when I first watched, The Spy Who Loved Me, I can only remember the last scene if anything. But we were and maybe remain lifelong fans of James Bond and the James Bond spirit.

Having the joy of the best love

Yet, as I have found out, whatever the inspiration behind any creative work of expression, how it is listened to, understood, and appreciated by others cannot be accounted for. It was written about the apparent sexual prowess of James Bond, I listened to it intently yesterday as a narrative of how the unexpected blossoming of love becomes a story of deep gratitude for having met someone to whom saying, “Baby, You’re the best”, doesn’t even begin to describe the blessing you have encountered.

That is how I feel towards Brian, “I wasn't looking, but somehow you found me”, that first embrace told me peace and comfort, I knew I would never love this way again because what I have is perfect. Thank you for loving me so unconditionally and so very supportively. I never say that enough.

Thought Picnic: Know when the conversation is no longer helpful

Be careful with how you listen

I can understand how people can be wearied by situations, circumstances, or adversities affecting others, especially in situations where they are somewhat unable to help.

Then, in those settings, some try to contribute to the general narrative and outlook in the hope of better outcomes, and that is what we all wish for.

However, how that contribution and support is delivered might have other unintended consequences. Having grown up in a setting that was not as effusive with praise as it could be of criticism, rebuke, admonition, and comparison, advantageous to one side of the argument that believed in right and might, you begin to grow a thick skin to the negative.

Notice when the tone begins to change

For a while, I instituted a weekly conversation where I relayed issues affecting me in the hope that helpful and supportive counsel might ensue from the experience and knowledge of life that far exceeded mine. Indeed, it was very useful until it was not.

Laced with the encouraging words of concern, love, and affection were the inadvertent slips of candour that began to negate the purpose for which these conversations continued. The slow drip of weariness at a situation not changing began to take its toll. I endured it for a while until the cumulative effect called for a termination of this conversational construct.

Cut off the negative promptly

It was no longer helpful for me, I needed to sequester myself from the unhealthy even if it all meant well. It behoves us all to constantly review and assess the kinds of conversation we engage with, curate the people who speak into our lives and circumstances, cultivate the supportive, discern the disruptive, and close out the negative.

An emotional detachment regardless of the relationship is called for, it is something that I have found necessary to do, even from childhood. For all that we aim to cherish, never adhere to that which might perish.

Men's things - II

Scanning human innards

The hospital is an interesting meeting place of humanity, where our frailty and infirmity meet with a strong will to live, compassion, care, and the understanding used to help us return to healthy and vibrant lives.

With X-rays came an advancement in medical research and observation, then ultrasound, magnetic resonance imaging (MRI), and computed tomography (CT) scans which all provide a non-intrusive view of our innards for experts to review and decide some plan of action; if their observations are indicative of an issue.

The Trafford General Hospital is the cradle of the NHS and where it was launched just over 75 years ago, arriving early on Saturday morning, I was met with a labyrinthine range of corridors, first to the main reception and then to the Radiology department, being the collective term for all these aspects of scanning.

In preparation for it

The aftermath of my bladder emptying requirement was to prepare for an MRI scan of men’s things. The call came in on Thursday evening and the speedy arrangement was once again, a bit unsettling. After a series of questions, I was cannulated as the scan was to be with contrast. The contrast agent which could have side effects is to help tissue and blood vessels show up more clearly.

Having changed into hospital tunics, one back to front and the other front to back, I mentioned my first MRI scan and the poor choice of music, Here Comes The Hot Stepper it was. The nurse offered me choices and I went to Bach and classical calming music, good effort and it was soothing.

Closed to noise and tightness

I was given earplugs, there must be a Nobel Prize for making the MRI scanner silent, this is beyond the one already given for the discovery of MRI. The cannula was connected, I was strapped down around my midriff and the music, the scanning and the noise began. I closed my eyes trying not to think about being in a tube of claustrophobic angst, it did not bother me.

Time passed quickly and I was pulled out and asked to wait for 15 minutes; first to remove the cannula and to observe any contrast agent side effects. I was soon on my way home, with much time still left of the Saturday morning. The results will form part of the review to be had soon.

Other blogs

Blog - Hotstepping into a magnetic resonance experience

Blog - Men's things

Drought in bladderland

You’ve seen it all before

I guess when it comes to health and medical issues you must forget to be embarrassed and face things with, well, an injection of humour.

When I was in hospital in late 2009, I needed to have a shower and I was in such dreadful pain being supervised by a nurse. She pulled the curtains to shield me, but in that state of sheer vulnerability, it meant nothing to me.

I simply told her, "In your job, you have seen so much that I do not care for what you see now", as I invited her to scrub my back and hose me down. We can be precious about the common things, when in the hospital, honesty, frankness, openness, and truth matter more than anything to get the right outcomes.

A drought in the bladder

So, this morning I got a call from a nurse at the GP surgery, we know each other, and she wanted a sample that I could not produce on demand. Well, after waking up and everything with the ablutions there is nothing to give.

As the conversation progressed, I asked if this could be medically induced, like cloud seeding the bladder, that sort of thing, you should never give the medical establishment those kinds of thoughts to work on.

For want of a better word, we agreed that I could visit when I am pressed and at the surgery, I’ll be given a container for it. Then, it might just need fear or terror to unwittingly wet yourself, why that surprises me when I once had juvenile enuresis is interesting. All they want to do is take the piss.

Blog - Childhood: Atọ̀ọlé (October 2010)

I shall not be moved

Phone in a nature call

Leaving church yesterday I found the need to visit the public conveniences in the shopping centre before making a collection which had me queue up on one floor only to be told the collections department was two floors below and again, another queue.

After I collected the goods, I stepped out of the shopping centre and reached into my side holster to retrieve my mobile phone, it wasn’t there, it could not be anywhere else, it had to be in the toilet cubicle on the toilet roll holder, something I have never done before, leave my phone anywhere but in my holster or my pocket when I am away from home.

Catching myself from the irrational

A flood of panic was about to overwhelm my thinking, you do everything on a phone, is it replaceable, how do you recreate the user experience and convenience curated and cultivated on your phone and a million other thoughts.

I had to catch myself, Akin keep your head and calm down, to override the hyperactivity of my imagination, I had no intelligent words to speak but to speak in tongues which focused me towards knowing whatever the case, I would have my phone.

Moved to thankfulness and gratitude

The cubicle I used was vacant and the phone had gone and immediately I thought of going to the information desk of the shopping centre as there was no toilet attendant about. I found the information desk and told the man there; that I had just lost my phone in the gentlemen’s toilets. He asked what brand it was, and as I told him he produced my phone saying someone had just handed it in some five minutes before.

Great relief and thankfulness, angels ministering even when you have done silly things. However, as I meditated on the situation looking for a place to sit down before calling Brian, I knew for myself and the many things that I have been through then, before, and after, I shall not be moved.

The chaplaincy of Chortles-upon-Whereitsat

Cameras at the ready

On many occasions, I find myself taking funny orders, inconspicuously traipsing the streets of Manchester, and accosted by some who commend my sartorial taste to the extent of being asked to be photographed.

I was in a conversation on my phone at St Peter’s Square when a man decked out in full Rastafari garb, lots of Jamaican colours from head to toe came into my purview and as I remonstrated that I was otherwise engaged, with hand signals and gestures, I obliged a picture. Then he sat beside me while his partner snapped away, then he gave a wave and left.

Dressing up is an art

On a Sunday afternoon, I could acknowledge five variations of dapper or looking good from the hat to the whole ensemble, it is like I cannot dress down. Interestingly, if I do have to visit an office, in my life of work where I have had many suits, shirts and ties, I would rather wear them than leave them to feed moths.

For all the easing of formalities, having once worked in the city, the business capital of the United Kingdom, I am quite a reminder of a bygone age, with a bowler hat too for the cold and frigid winter days.

A chaplaincy I assume

This evening, I was at church for the valedictory service in honour of the outgoing Archdeacon of Rochdale, it was a well-attended event with all the trappings of Anglican traditions and all the extant clergy of the diocese and beyond. Quite a fine service before a small reception of hot beverages and cake.

As I was making my way to the table to be served, I was approached by a parson who I had met before at another event, he came with the familiarity of a bear hug, before he began to discuss clerical opportunities in the diocese, I guess I was being confused with someone else. I however could not reject such due consideration for the chaplaincy of Chortles-upon-Whereitsat.

A chortle we did have when I suggested, I could consider taking holy orders, as for where and when, I would have been expected to wear a dog collar for the event rather than a day cravat, or had I inadvertently converted one into the other? A conversation about doppelgangers ensued, they look nothing like me, and an unfortunate case of prosopagnosia becomes more humorous than to be maligned.

Dr Jerry Savelle (1946 - 2024)

A persuasion in pain

My Christian faith has led me on many journeys, in the search of purpose, knowledge, and insight on the issues of life along with looking to understand why we exist and what kind of legacy we might leave, to hope that in the annals of time, our footsteps show sure paths and our deeds are impactful in the lives of others.

In early September 2009, I was in excruciating pain and literally dying from cancer tumours that had consumed most of the area of my left sole and the underneath two of my toes. The only way I could walk on that foot was to bandage it tightly and wear a pair of monk shoes. I had not convinced myself of what remedy for this suffering might be.

Maybe a miracle today

My days and nights were preoccupied with listening to sermons on divine healing as I am also of a Pentecostal inclination; I have followed many leaders of that persuasion in the teachings and revelations they have shared for decades. Skimming through some of the websites of these preachers, I happened upon the itinerary of Jerry Savelle and instinctively, I booked a flight from Amsterdam to London with the view to attend every venue he would be appearing at.

In visiting, I informed some friends who met up for either of the two sessions that I attended, it was also a time of reckoning for me because until then, much as I would have wanted a miracle of healing to deal with this problem, a sense of irresponsibility of allowing my condition to deteriorate to the state I was in quickly dawned on me, because I then found the courage to admit to the seriousness of the disease I had until then kept mainly to myself.

An impartation of sense

Dr Jerry Savelle ministered in two different churches where the fawning of the overseers did not help the setting. The man of God then offered to lay hands on the whole congregation, but I was more like the thronging crowd than the woman with the issue of blood. If I received any virtue, it was commonsense. I did not regret my journey; it just gave me context to tackle an existential threat.

I returned home and booked an urgent appointment with my medical doctor and what followed was a referral, chemotherapy, and a survival which at prognosis if I did not tolerate the therapy left me with just 5 weeks to live.

God is good, always

Dr Jerry Savelle was a raconteur, a man who told wonderfully interesting stories about his Christian walk, he preached and taught about faith, favour, grace, the goodness of God, his motorbike and vintage car collection, his aeroplanes, and the many missions he had in Africa and all over the world. He encouraged and enthused, the titles of his sermons of which I have many just made you want to listen to what he had to say.

In Hard Times God Will Rescue You (YouTube playlist) is one set of 3 sermons he preached in 2022 that I have listened to many times in the last year to find great encouragement during my own personal hard times. Whenever I have needed the lifting up of my spirit and a reassurance of God’s love, I would seek out a message by Jerry Savelle either from my large MP3 archive of messages going back 25 years or a recent online impartation to the body of Christ on his itinerary in recent times.

An exemplary man of God

He represented a man of integrity, principle, purpose, faith, and good humour. He had been mentored by and been friends with many of the great men of faith who have either passed on or are well into their 80s. While I am saddened at his passing, he was a sure example of how to live the Christian life and be an exemplar of the eternal life that now is unto the life to come.

He always spoke fondly of Carolyn, his wife of almost 60 years, his two daughters and his grandchildren, he lived a full, exciting, and wonderful life. I think one quite important thing I learnt from his teachings was God is also interested in the things that bring us joy, be they pursuits or hobbies, as long as they do not distract you from eternal purpose.

He will be missed, but with the body of work in books, sermons, teachings, and stories he left for us, we can be thankful there was someone who showed that the person and character of God is for us to really find out, know of, and revel in the joy of living, knowing Jesus Christ and God the Father.