Laughter in London

I met Chris Douce on a Travel Writing course that we both did a couple of years ago. He’s a comedian, was having a mid-life crisis and was visiting one hundred randomly chosen Meetup groups, however bizarre. He then blogged about them at www.meetup101.blogspot.com. Now, he was hosting a comedy night in a pub in Kings Cross, in which they would feature. This would be Meetup group 101.

I then discovered a Youth Hostel nearby. Great, I thought. Instead of messing about with a train to get home late at night, I’d stay there and explore London for a couple of days.

I packed a small overnight bag and attached it to the back of my mobility scooter. My first stop was the Churchill War Rooms just off Horse Guards Parade. It was somewhere I had often thought I would like to go but had never yet made it.

Fortunately my scooter is small enough to squeeze through the narrow doorways in the underground warren as I explored my way through. Displayed throughout were first-hand experiences of the people who had worked there. Many could be heard on the accompanying audio-guide that took you round. Although conditions had been cramped, there was also a light-hearted atmosphere. Close bonds existed between staff, each aware that they shared something important and secret, that couldn’t be spoken about to anyone, even for many years after the war ended. And ever present, even today, was the force that was Winston Churchill. He had inspired a confidence, trust and loyalty that could never be broken.

Leaving the Churchill War Rooms, I scootered along in the warm sunshine. Spring was here today at least. Arriving at the Youth Hostel, I sat with a cup of coffee thinking about my fascinating afternoon.

That evening I met Chris at the door of the Star of Kings pub and he introduced me to some of his friends and fellow comics. Then it was time to make our way down the steep steps to the basement. The room soon filled and a good atmosphere. He needn’t have worried no-one would turn up.

The evening started with seven very different comedians, and it wasn’t just the front row who was picked on to participate. One poor audience member was shrunk.

After the break, it was time for Chris. He spared us all one hundred groups but still managed to cover a good number. Some seemed quite normal like “London Writers’ Cafe”. Others intriguing, such as “500 Miles” and “Orgasmic Meditation” Others still, sounded painful like “Finance and Tax Surgery”. With just a few words about each he gave us a flavour of his encounters that had us both wincing and shaking with laughter.

I returned to the hostel happy. Next week – Culture in London

End of an Era

After two years, the trial is now finished. No more visits to the Clinical Research Centre. No more assessments.

In some ways I’m back to where I started, and yet I’m not. I’ve not lost anything by taking part, except for a bit of time and a bit of blood. Instead, I have gained so much. From the first suggestion of the opportunity to take part, it has been a fascinating experience.

It’s been daunting, terrifying and reassuring all at the same time. Every aspect of my health, physical and mental, has been assessed. I’ve discussed MS (Multiple Sclerosis) symptoms I’d rather ignore. Bowels and bladder, that kind of thing. I’ve had lung function tests (they’re hard work), MRI scans, eye examinations, skin examinations, EDSS assessments (Extended Disability Status Scale used to measure disability in MS), questionnaires of all kinds, ECGs, urine samples and blood tests. Lots of blood tests. I’ve parted with so much blood, that most of my veins now run for cover when they see a needle.

 

I’ve been able to monitor the fluctuations in my symptoms and watch the variations. I’m intrigued how some things improve and others get worse, and how they swap about like they’re dancing.

It all means I have known exactly where my MS sits, and so I’m more confident in my discussions with my local consultant. I’ve met some interesting people. I’ve debated the pros and cons of assessment tools with doctors and nurses, and had conversations about the trial process and progress. I’ve compared notes with fellow trial subjects and we’ve laughed about some of the assessments - The depressing tone of the recorded voice asking questions about suicidal thoughts and actions.

I’ve enjoyed going into town every few months. I’ve got to know all the station staff who organise a ramp to help my scooter and me on and off the train. And the staff who do the assessments have become friends. I’m quite sad that it’s come to an end. I shall miss them.

At the same time, this is the exciting bit. This is when two years of work, by over 1500 people in more than thirty countries across the world is collated and analysed. This is when we discover whether the drug has been as effective as hoped, and whether or not it can progress towards becoming a viable treatment. It is when I will find out whether I’ve been on the medication or the placebo.

What do I think? It’s a question I’ve been asked endlessly since I began this process. The honest answer is... I don’t know. I’m pretty sure I’ve been pushing my limits and getting away with it. But is that because I’m on a new drug? Or is that because I’m in a more positive frame of mind?

Whatever the outcome, it has been exciting and has given me hope. And hope is an important commodity. Hope is everything.