For Whom the
Bell Tolls
By Dominic
Horton
My second appearance at the gong bath on Friday was an unmitigated
disaster. (For the uninitiated and for those of you who didn't read
edition 66 of this column a gong bath involves people lying still on the floor
of a hall, eyes shut, while the gongmaster makes relaxing noises with his
Oriental gongs.) I kept feeling myself
nodding off which wasn't ideal; given that I suffer from nightmares I was
fearful of having one and causing a disturbance. I was up at 0500 hours
on Friday morning and when I am very tired there is every chance I will have a
nightmare and they usually occur within seconds of me falling asleep. If
I had screamed in terror at the top of my voice it would have shattered the
prevailing tranquil Eastern atmosphere and it would have given everyone the
woollies.
As I had to fight to stay awake it turned out to be a torturous
hour. To make matters worse I had the fidgets in my legs, which I often
get when I am very tired. Only I could transform what is supposed to be a
deeply relaxing experience into a highly stressful one. So I am unsure after this harrowing episode
whether I will attend another gong bath but if I do not the two that I have
been to will stay long in my memory, for different reasons. All of the other attendees seemed to be
suitably serene at the end of the session so Phil the G had worked his magic
and the responsibility for me being in such an agitated state rested entirely
with me.
 |
| Kenteke in the Tower at St John the Baptist Church, Halesowen |
I explained in Lowlife No 66
that the last first time I attended the gong bath the gongmaster, Phil the
Gong, shaped up to hug me and I warded off his over familiar and un-British
attempted bodily contact by hastily thrusting out my hand for a handshake. This time I knew that the attempted hug from
Phil the G was in the post so I shaped up to hug him but simultaneously he
comically thrust out his hand. Phil
explained that he knew that I preferred the handshake last time so he assumed
that would be the case again. It is like
a long drawn out game of paper-scissors-stone.
I have no issues with man to man hugs as I have had to get used to them,
like it or not, as my crony the Pirate, the inimitable landlord of the Flagon
& Gorses, usually hugs me in full view of the other inmates in the public
bar. Being a reserved Englishman I used
to be mildly embarrassed by the Pirate’s hugs but I have grown to love and
cherish them as they are laden with genuine warmth (emotional warmth that is
not physical, though the Pirate’s body temperate can rise once he’s had a few
Nottingham Don’s Pale Ales.)
Anyway, Phil the G and I eventually had a hug but it was a bit
restrained and forced and not like an unbridled bear hug from the Pirate. But I realise that I barely know Phil so it
is to be expected and it was our only début hug. And I would much rather Phil hug me than
punch me in the face or smack me over the head with one of his gongs.
Luckily my activities on the following day were a little more uplifting
and both my mood and physical person reached greater heights, as my dear son
Kenteke and I went on a short tour of the bell tower of St John the Baptist
Church, Halesowen, which had long been an ambition of mine. I naively thought that the bell ringers
would stand on the ground floor with the bells hanging above their heads and
there would be an uninterrupted spiral staircase up to the battlements, but not
a bit of it. There were three
fascinating rooms at various stages up the extremely narrow and steep spiral staircase:
the bell ringing room, the clock room and the bell room.
 |
| St John the Baptist Church, Halesowen, by request of Toby In-Tents |
Illuminating talks were given by the bell ringers in each of the three
rooms and after the talk in the bell ringing room the campanologist in question
handed me a leaflet (Bell Ringing: The
Ultimate Team Activity) but I noticed that he didn’t hand leaflets to the
other two adults in the party, being a punk rocker with a platinum blonde
Mohican and jovial, talkative pensioner.
This struck me as a bit discriminatory especially as I myself had a
platinum blonde Mohican haircut only a few years ago. As for the coffin dodger the bell ringers
obviously didn’t want to run the risk of having a fatality on their hands in
the bell room as getting a body down that spiral staircase must be a logistical
nightmare. The ringer must have thought
that I was suitable material, in my sports jacket and collar, to be
indoctrinated into his cult but little did he know that I am an unshakable
atheist, I have no musical ability whatsoever and on their practice night I am
busy dealing with bell ends of a different variety in the Flagon & Gorses,
as I pitch up on a Tuesday to muse on life with the Pirate and Harry Stottle.
Anyway, the bells would not be a good idea at the moment anyway as I am
suffering from constant tinnitus as part of my on-going mild-graines
condition. My quest to seek a
diagnosis for the condition entered a new chapter this week when I had an
appointment with a specialist, a rheumatologist, named Mr G. As rheumatologists deal with arthritis and other rheumatic diseases, given my
symptoms (dizziness, tinnitus, fatigue, flashing lights in my eyes,
dehydration) I queried with my GP whether Mr G was the right man for the job
but he was adamant that he was.
 |
| A Bell Ringing Funny |
After asking me a series of questions about the sorry saga of the
illness Mr G quickly ruled out a number of possible conditions such as lupus,
fibromyalgia and chronic fatigue syndrome and he stated that it would have been
more suitable if I had been referred to an ear, nose and throat
specialist. As by this point only ten
minutes or so of the appointment had elapsed Mr G realised that he would have
to fill a bit more time in order to justify his fee so he embarked on a series
of seemingly pointless tests, using a box of various medical gadgetry as
props. After a few ear and eye routines
and the obligatory blood pressure test Mr G rummaged through the box and found
one of those surgical hammer things and he comically he hit my knee to test my
reflexes, which he declared perfectly normal.
It is a shame that my GP was not standing in front of me as it would
have been a good excuse to kick him. So
it is back to the waiting game to see an ENT specialist but knowing my GP he
will probably refer me to a gynaecologist.
And the week’s fun didn’t end there.
On Monday, I attended a group called Cradley Heath Creative after
learning about their existence in the Halesowen
News. As the name suggests the
group is a collective of creative persons in the locale and it transpired that
they seemed to be mostly visual artists.
The meeting started at 1700 hours but as I didn't leave work until that
time when I turned up proceedings were well under way so all hands around the
table looked at me with curiosity when I entered the room. The Chair of the meeting invited me to
introduce myself so I explained that I am a local writer but as it is Mental
Health Awareness Week (http://www.mentalhealth.org.uk/our-work/mentalhealthawarenessweek/) I also
stated that I suffer from anxiety disorder.
Most of the attendees were probably thinking (but were too polite to
say), “this is not an anxiety self-help group mate, you are in the wrong place
so kindly p*ss off.”
The group were actually very welcoming towards me and after the meeting
Chris Self showed me around the building, in which he runs The Oaks Project (http://www.theoaksproject.com/), which is a
community based design studio for small groups of adults with disabilities, who
produce multi-media artworks. I was so
impressed with the Project that I thought I might offer my services there as a
volunteer. The only problem would be
that I am so bad at art that if I created something it would look so sorry and
shameful alongside the wonderful and professional artworks of the talented
students that they would most likely say, “Can we get rid of this bloke please
as he is lowering the tone of the place.”
Well, it wouldn't be the first time and it almost certainly won’t be the
last.
Film &
Boat Launch Events this Weekend – Transition Stourbridge:-
© Dominic Horton, May
2014.
* EMAIL:
lordhofr@gmail.com.
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