Walking, advocacy and kilts 5

I COULD CONQUER THE WORLD.  IF I COULD REMEMBER WHAT WAS HAPPENING TOMORROW.

Deciding to eschew buses I opted for a more circular route today.  And stuck to my plan to go out in the morning despite persistent rain.  Who knows what September will bring?  So a bit of gloom makes a change.

Yesterday I'd been out in the car and had seen a sign reminding everyone that today was Edinburgh Marathon day.  And I immediately thought I should check out the route so I kept my own comparatively pathetic perambulations well out of the way of the fit people.  I wonder where that thought went?

So, less than an hour into my journey, who do I encounter?

Other than stirring up my general feelings of inadequacy (We all have those, don't we?  Anyone...?) this shouldn't have been a problem.  And it wasn't really, although I did have to improvise my route after stewards barred my path.  Anyone unfamiliar with the city's geography will want to skip the next paragraph.

My route took me up Leith Walk from Pilrig, down Calder Road and past parliament where I found myself joining the runners.  Through Queens Park, intending to head for Jock's Lodge, but forced to double back bit and go round the back of the sadly demolished Meadowbank Stadium (sad as I have good memories of attending the event it was built for, the 1970 Commonwealth Games) to Marionville, down Restalrig Road, across Leith Links (where a fragment of blue sky put in a visitation), back along the dock road to Newhaven and back home via Victoria Park and a bit of the Water of Leith Walkway.  About 8 miles and hillier than I've been used to.  All part of the master plan.  If I had one.

Still nothing to report on the advocacy work, but I have an appointment on Wednesday.  One of the inevitable facts about the work we do is that many of the users of our services lead quite chaotic lives.  I've joked about my poor memory above, but for many people trying to make sure they keep appointments, or even remember to take their medication, is a daily struggle.  The man I'm to see this week cancelled our last appointment on the day.  With good reason, as he'd been detained in hospital for a few days and only just released.  No problem for me, as I only live a 10 minute walk from the office, but for some of my fellow volunteers, who have far longer journeys, it's more irksome.  Acceptance is the only option.

Walking, advocacy and kilts 4

THIS WEEK I HAVE BEEN MOSTLY LEARNING...

Always good to get a different view of the familiar.  In the past I have walked along short stretches of the Union Canal, but never gone very far.  A waterway that starts near the heart of the city and carves out a route through familiar territory, but seen from a very different angle.  Given that it's obviously going to be hill free as well this seemed a perfect opportunity to do one of my practice walks away from my usual beaten tracks.

A bus to Fountainbridge and the swans at Edinburgh Quay to send me off in the right direction.

Plenty to see as I head off.

Plenty to see as I walk along.

It's always interesting to get a new angle on familiar places because suddenly they become almost-but-not-quite new and strange, almost, but not quite, like a sensation of deja vu.  But eventually the route leaves the vaguely familiar, crosses over the M8, and spears on through the greenery.  the signposts had indicated that if I walked to Ratho that would be around the eight mile distance I was targeting.  And I knew exactly where Ratho was, having passed it many times on the A8 Glasgow Road.  Didn't I?

The first doubt started to form in my head when, through the trees to my right, I glimpsed the airport.  It did seem to be a bit further off than I'd have expected if I was on the way to where the map in my head told me I was.  But maybe things came together a bit further on...

So off I came at the village of Ratho, climbing up to this bridge and turning northwards. 

We all know the pathetic old joke about 'assume' used on a million mundane management training courses.  That doesn't mean we heed the advice it's meant to hammer into us.  A signpost swiftly assured me that I'd assumed a bit too far.  While the name 'Ratho' was indeed familiar to me, it should have been accompanied by the word 'Station'.  Ratho Station is the village on the A8 I had been heading towards in my mind.  Ratho is where I ended up, over a mile to the south and over the hill.  Which is how I felt as I trudged up and down and on to the busy main road.  But at least the route provided me with some entertainment.

Villagers have a bit of a reputation for not being overly communicative with outsiders.  But this sign seemed to be taking it a bit far.

And a few hundred metres later...

These country folk don't like giving much away, do they?

In the end I walked a bit over ten miles, completing my hike at Ingliston tram stop.  So this was a welcome sight.

As ever the best bit was the hot bath when I got home.  Nothing to write about regarding my Advocard work this week, but I expect to be back in 'action' soon enough.

Walking, advocacy and kilts 3

WHY DO WE HUMILIATE PEOPLE LIKE THIS?

Another walk a few days ago, when it was still hot and sunny and you could see across to Fife (unlike this morning when it had vanished into the mists like Brigadoon).  The same route as last week, and this time I felt I put in a bit more effort, gave up less time to taking pics along the way.  So it was  a bit of a downer to find I'd only knocked a minute off my previous time.  The old body has a lot of improvement to go yet....

The route takes in a lot of the cycle paths / walkways left behind by the demise of the old railway system, so I guess we have Beeching to thank for something.  It even goes past an old station that's been converted into a house, but the sun was at the wrong angle for any pictures this time.  Instead here's an old tunnel.

And a photo taken where the path rejoins the coast.  I had very little idea what I was taking due to the strong sunlight!

My only Advocard appointment this week was a trip to Argyle House to accompany one of our service users to his PIP assessment.  Not something most of us will ever be familiar with, or would ever want to be, but for some there's no alternative.  I'll refrain from having too big a rant about the UK's appalling welfare system, and just let this one example do the work for me.

PIP, in case you weren't aware, is Personal Independence Payment, a benefit for people whose physical and/or mental disabilities cause them additional expenses that most of us won't incur.  This time I was with someone who has chronic schizophrenia.  Although his medication keeps the symptoms under control most of the time, paranoia and panic and hopelessness can still intrude with serious consequences.  If the only answer to your panic attack is a taxi home where you can feel safe, or if the only way you'll eat is by ordering a takeaway delivery because you can't face the world or even heating up something, then you're going to rack up costs the rest of us don't have.  It's one thing to do those things from choice, another to have them forced upon you.

The assessments are carried out by qualified medical staff, such as a nurse of physiotherapist, and last about an hour or so.  They ask questions that take some account of the information on the person's application form, but can often feel like a box ticking exercise.  It's supposed to show how the person's disability affects their everyday living, but fails on so many levels.  Once completed the assessment is sent to the DWP for a decision on whether an award should be made, and how much.  At least that aspect of it has improved of late, with more claims going straight through to award after it was shown that 70% of subsequent appeals overturned the original decision.

I've heard people say that attending one of these assessments is no more stressful than going for a job interview.  People, quite clearly, who've never had any experience of one.  I've been out of the job market for years now, but I still doubt there are any job interviews that ask for details of your toilet habits, or how many times you've considered suicide in the last 6 months.  Believe me, this is a disturbing and demeaning experience for anyone on the receiving end, no matter how kindly in intent the assessor might be, and even if they have someone along to help them through it.

Which is one of the reasons why I'm proud that in September I'll be walking to raise funds for Advocard so we can continue to provide a (sadly) much needed service.  I'm happy with that.

See - here's a photo of me looking happy.

I'll admit it

NEEDS CHANGE

I am not a good driver.  That's not a statement I'd have been happy to make a few years ago, but times change. 

I've been driving for 45 years and have no idea how many thousands of miles I may have covered.  All kinds of vehicles, including a double decker bus.  Left hand drive, right hand drive, manual, automatic, three speed, four speed, five speed, six speed, saloons, estates, hatchbacks, sportscars, vans, off roaders, diesel, petrol, two cylinders, three cylinders, four cylinders, five cylinders, six cylinders, and a brief shot at a rotary Wankel.  An open wheel racer and towing a trailer.  Long distances - about 650 miles was the furthest in a day - different countries, different laws, very different driving standards.  I suppose I could even claim to have been a professional driver, if you'd count punting an ancient ice cream van over the coastal roads of East Lothian. 

And I always tried to take it seriously, keep learning, keep finding ways to be a bit better, a bit safer, a bit quicker if needed, able to read the conditions and the traffic, able to stay relaxed, able to minimise the fuel consumption and not punish the vehicle.  I picked up little tips.  On a long night trip clean all the glass, except the rear window - reduces glare for lights behind you.  On an unfamiliar road you can often figure out the way ahead by keeping an eye on the line of the trees (not such a useful skill in the age of satnav!).  I liked driving.

We're into May now, and I think I might have driven about three or four times since the new year began.  And that's been the pattern for the past twelve and more months.  Before that the car got a weekly outing over the winter, from September until the end of March, taking us to Murrayfield Ice Rink to watch the Caps play.  And the odd longer trip to watch away matches, and Nottingham in April.  But with that option now denied us the wheels have sat still, the brake discs dulling, moving parts unmoved.  And parts start to seize up with disuse.

As does the driver, or at least his skills.  The reactions lose an edge, the judgement is less able, the confidence siphons off.   Now I'm near to having to think about what I'm doing, the instincts built up over decades atrophying, the enjoyment gone.  It's become a chore.

And so why bother?  I live in a city with award winning public transport, I'm fit enough to walk much of the time, the bus pass can take me anywhere in the country for free, and if I book early enough the train is no more expensive than driving, plus I get to read on the way.  So it's time to contemplate the radical.  Not owning a car.  I've had one for most of those four and a half decades, had some interesting steeds along the way.  But the interest, even fascination, with the skills of driving have long since faded.  And my life, as lived now, simply doesn't need a car on tap.  There's no use case to justify the expense of road tax, insurance, MoT, servicing, repairs and depreciation, when a hire car can be obtained cheaply at quite short notice. 

It's not gone yet, and I'm not sure how emotional I'll feel when it's no longer sat there.  The sensible decision isn't always one your fragile ego is as eager to accept as you hope it will....

Walking, advocacy and kilts 2

MEMORY FAILINGS

Another day, another practice walk.  I won't be able to blame a lack of foresight and preparation for my failure on the day.  Having done a large part of the first half of last year's course last week I thought I'd have a crack at the second 'half'.  Which would mean a slightly longer distance, and the inclusion of something resembling a hill.

(One of the things that impressed me most about the route last year was the manner in which the organisers had managed to have so much of it on the level.  This in a city where visitors are advised that getting anywhere is going to be uphill and into the wind.  Even on the way back.)

So that meant taking in the one feature that stands out in my mind from last September, the steep climb of over 100m that leads into the climb to Silverknowes.  Here it is today....

Errr, maybe not.  It's quite gentle, and maybe around 70m.  But, to be fair to my memory banks, my first encounter with it was deep into the eleventh mile, which does change perspective a bit.

The other interesting feature of today's effort was provided by the weather.  It is May, isn't it?  After my legs feeling like boil in bag rice last week I dispensed with jeans and moved straight into the shorts (the kilt comes into play much later in the process).  This felt like a big, big mistake for the first cold, wet 45 minutes, and my knees were reminded of primary school days.  I had intended to take some photos along the way, but no chance when my hands were stuffed firmly into pockets to retain some sense of feeling. 

Anyway, the sun came out as I neared Gypsy Brae so here's some shots of the Firth of Forth across to Fife.  Rain free, and beautiful.

End point was a cloud covered Murrayfield Stadium and the tram stop homewards.  Nothing much to say about Advocard today as I've done nothing since my last post.  But I have a few things on this week, including attending a PIP assessment.  It's a glamourous life.

Walking, advocacy and kilts 1

ONCE MORE PASSING THE BEACH DEAR FRIENDS

Fifteenth of September.  That's the date for this year's Edinburgh Kiltwalk, and once again I'm going to be doing the intermediate distance (about 15 miles) and hoping to raise some funds for Advocard.  Last year I wrote about what Advocard does, at least from the perspective of one of their volunteers, and this time around I'll try to fill in a bit more detail of the work we do.  And yes, I will again be pestering people for donations as the date gets nearer....

Last September I completed the distance in near enough four and half hours dead.  And was still capable of walking like a reasonably normal human being at the finish line.  So this year my aim is to knock at least a quarter of an hour off that time, weather conditions permitting.  To that end I'm starting my practice walking a bit earlier than in 2018, and today was my first attempt at getting my feet and legs accustomed to the plodding step.  Anyone unfamiliar with Edinburgh's geography may want to skip the next few paras....

A bus out to darkest Musselburgh, and down to the shore to get under way.  The coast of the city curves around to the west, the threatened rain scurries off and it's going to be dry.

Past Musselburgh harbour, back over the city boundary, through Joppa and on to Porty Prom, quiet on a Thursday.

But even on a quiet day there's always something to see down there, be it dogs chasing their tails, children on trikes, joggers, walkers, strollers, amblers, people eating, people drinking, people getting sand in between their toes, and a corpulent blue bathing suit emerging from the sea topped with a bright red swimming cap.  Or just a couple of people swinging their legs off the breakwater.

Beyond the prom, at the back of the bus depot and the interminable, impetuous car dealers, I saw my favourite sight of the walk.  Sea, sky and a good book - what more could you want?

On through Seafield, complete with infamous stench, past Rabbie's statue and on to The Shore.  They're finally working on dilapidated decks of what used to be Cruz, so my walks will give plenty opportunity to keep tabs of progress in the coming months.  (It's supposed to become a luxury hotel, but time will tell....)

Then up the Water of Leith, a bit slower now, up the steps (clump, clump) to Newhaven Road, and home.  About seven miles, just over two hours.  Must try harder!  But there's no blisters, no more aches than I'd expect at my age, and I'm looking forward to the next one.  The plan is do something every week.  Maybe.

All of which is enjoyable enough, a bit of challenge, a bit of a goal (us oldies need goals).  But I'm also keeping in mind why I'm doing this.  In the post I linked to above I described some of the things I do in working with our service users.  It's about providing people with a voice.  This week I saw a woman who, for now, wanted some help sorting out her own internal voice, to better understand her own aims and options.  She had recently lost a custody battle for her daughter, largely because of her poor mental health in the past being used against her in court, despite having been given a thumbs up since by the psychiatrist.  If she left feeling a little clearer about what next steps are possible, and who she should try talking to, then I feel I've been of some help (which is far from always being the case!).

Further updates on my promenading progress (or otherwise), and experiences at Advocard, to follow across the summer.  The begging for money will follow on inexorably.