I’ve just been told I have an auto-immune disorder, which is a bit of a bummer. It’s the sort that attacks the melanin in your skin, stripping it of colour in random patches so that you end up looking like a Dalmatian. It started back in June and is spreading like, well, like a rash. To say that I find this rather undermining is an understatement. I no longer want to show my body in public unless it’s covered from neck to toes.
Of course, it could be worse – it could be life threatening – and to say that it threatens the sort of life I like to live makes me sound extremely shallow, but there it is. Being fit and healthy and looking healthy is an important part of who I am and this thing called vitiligo simply makes me look diseased. I can imagine people moving away from me in case they catch it (which incidentally they can’t and probably don’t).
My son recommends a book by Gabor Maté called “When the Body Says No”. The thesis of this book is that auto-immune disorders are the body’s way of saying that your strategies for dealing with life, probably learnt in childhood, are doing you no good. The doctor who diagnosed me agrees that it was probably stress that triggered the disorder. On the other hand, there is also evidence that the Covid pandemic has messed with the immune systems of many people. Whatever the trigger, Maté’s book, which both Adrian and I have now read, has provoked long discussions about how to live for the better in the future, so it can’t be bad.
We’ve recently renewed our interest in long distance walking. There’s something affirming about putting one foot in front of the other, about arriving at the other end feeling tired but satisfied. It’s reassuring. It’s also a great tonic to simply be out in the wonderfully open landscapes of the South Downs. We set about walking the S.D. Way from Eastbourne to Amberley in perfect autumn weather, feeling pretty fit until we encounter the runners in an ultra-marathon. We’ll take about a week to complete the 100 miles to Winchester. These runners are covering the same distance in a day (and probably night). Admirable or mad? I’m not sure.
On the train home, we fall into conversation with two young men. They’ve been taking a break from London and, like us, walking the South Downs. It pans out that they were both at school together in Wellington, New Zealand, a place we know well. They are charming people and by the time we leave the train, we know a great deal about their lives. Who said the British don’t talk to each other on public transport? Wasn’t it Bill Bryson? As we change trains for Eastbourne, I’m silently gloating about how wrong he is. And then I remember that the two men are Kiwis, I’m Australian and Adrian was born in Malaysia.
We’ve now put walking the Coast to Coast on the agenda for next spring and this has given me the perfect excuse to buy a load of new walking gear. For this, I take a train to Brighton and am delighted to find a young musician on the station, playing Chopin on a piano.
Early in the month, I meet my oldest British friend, Jillie, at the National Portrait Gallery in London. Mostly we talk, have lunch and talk some more, but we also take in the entries for the Kramer Portrait Award. I’m full of admiration. My biggest surprise is the realism, the sheer technical skill. I really didn’t think young artists painted like this any more. We also do the rounds of the Tudors. Jillie is an historian and this is her particular area of interest. As we stand in front of iconic characters, she entertains me with the stories of their lives and I enjoy it immensely. We’ve had a great day and we vow to make it a regular habit.
Autumn brings colder and wetter weather but also a surge of music and stand up comedy. The inaugural weekend of the Eastbourne Literary Festival brings Henry Normal and a friend of mine, Tim Barlow, to perform poetry and keep us laughing. We also return to The Lamb for Jo Neary’s wonderful comedy night.
She’s joined by Robin Ince and Hugh the hedgehog man. I’m not a huge fan of stand-up generally and don’t often laugh out loud, but Jo and these two press all the buttons. My sides are aching. We also learn a great deal about hedgehogs and I now want our whole street to put holes in their garden walls so that our local hedgehogs can roam at night. The slight problem is that we don’t seem to have any.
Beginning this month, the London Philharmonic are back for a new season, but my biggest surprise is a recital of the Seaford Music Society. Seaford is not much more than a village but the music is brilliant and has me hooked. The Chair has the sort of contacts that bring the London Mozart Players to the seaside. This society also showcases young musicians, one of whom – a fifteen year old virtuosic recorder player – is in the BBC Young Musicians quarter finals. Watch this space.
