Reports of terminal decline of East Yorkshire

Reports that I am in terminal decline have been semi-exaggerated. They could possibly be mischievous, or simply coincidental. Whatever. What they should have said was that I am living on a definite incline. This is growing more pronounced, I cannot deny. As you may already have gathered, I inhabit a rather remote part of East Yorkshire, though my connections lie with the svelt suburbs of North Driffield in the market town of that name and my further connections with that paradise of metropolitan flatness, Kingston upon Hull. There is nothing wrong with flatness, don't misundertand me. What creates some consternation in the household is the matter of tilt. Tilt is what living in Rotcliffe, this village perched along the cliffs of boulder clay between the Holderness district of East Yorkshire and the North Sea, has given me. Tilt is the ultimate precariousness. When I say perched, I mean swaying over the cliff edge. The main street of Rotcliffe used to run between two rows of cottages and now one row has almost completely crumbled onto the beach thirty feet beneath. These fragile cliffs are being gnawed by the teeth of the odd easterly gale such that the land disappears at about six feet a year. My ancestral home of Havertrope Hall lying due south of the village centre has already lost one wing and now slopes gently seaward, such that wooden chocks are needed under the ageing chesterfield in my sitting room, to prevent me sliding towards the Netherlands. It's not a pretty sight. When one retires to bed, there is the nightly debate about which way to lie on the kingsized four poster. Sloping down, head to toe, up, or transversely. The result of living at a definite angle has been an increase in the medical complaints with which I'm already fairly riddled.
Which reminds me, I'm not asking for sympathy. However, it pains me to admit that I do have a tendency to nuzzle up against the medical tomes in the bookstore, instead of browsing maturely like the pensioners, yuppies and pickpockets among the coffee table books, the 3 for 2 bargains and the remainders offered at once in a lifetime knockdown prices. You can guess why. For some time I've had quite a thing going with the quacks. There are various external lumps, bumps and even larger clumps and dumps of dark goings on in my interior which grab my attention. I tend to ring him at odd hours and plead with the receptionist for just a few minutes between patients. I have to be honest. I think he has quite taken to me. It must be a relief for him to put away all those dreadful symptoms for a short while and attend to my little recitals. My conditions do have two great advantages. First, they're obscure. I'm drawn to those pages towards the end of each chapter of the latest editions of Signs and Symptoms. That's where the most interesting, the rarest afflictions are tucked. Often they get only the briefest mention. It's left to the discerning reader to exercise imaginative faculties and bring them to three-dimensional reality. Second, it pains me to admit, but he's safe with me. So far, none of my worst fears have been realised. Not that I'm crying 'Wolf!' you understand. But the most I have at present are a number of possibly near, incipient, imminent, even immanent conditions. I am in fact in a state of semi-wellness which means I must be as near as dammit semi-ill as well. Making the worst, and the best, of it in both worlds you might say.

Enduring marriage in Hull and Driffield

I think I may have tripped across something of great moment, though I didn't get all of the details because the bottom was torn off the page of news. It was on a piece of newspaper I picked up with what we call one of each with scraps - a fish, a portion of chips and a shovelful of those crunchy bits of batter and fat they toss out of the fryer - at our local chip shop in North Driffield. I often find the wrapping more enticing than the chips. There's a test, apparently, for finding out early in a marriage whether it will last. Before going further, think about the advantages. You could save quite a lot of expense. Take the anniversary business. What is the point of spending time in the local card store selecting one of those anniversary cards which is so huge you need two hands to hold it? As for presents, I need not labour the point. You're expecting me to give chapter and verse on who came up with the test. I have a slight problem. I can remember they're psychologists somewhere who've discovered this. The chances are they're in the USA. I'd put my money on that. Now there's a country that invests in understanding people. There's a small chance they could be in the north of Canada or the outback of Australia, but I don't think so. It's too cold for couples to split up in the winter in north Canada and in the outback of Australia the people are too spread out away from the towns to get together in the first place. The UK is out. We don't rate psychologists. Wrong of us perhaps, but reality bites.
You're asking me about what the test is. I can remember you sit down at a table and the person, you know, the tester, scores the number of times each of you tells the other a joke or disagrees over a 15 minute period. This apparently enables these experts to reach a view about the quality of your relationship as a couple. Amazing. I'm stopping there. Just thought I might order a joke book off Amazon.

Sea gulls have it in Padstow

Which reminds me.
In Padstow and Truro, Cornwall, England, the seagulls have started to dive bomb the local people, to try to secure their Cornish pasties at a swoop. They say the gulls are emmetts in disguise. That's the word they use for outsiders. It's sinister enough. I have an idea though. There is an island where the mice have become so large they eat seagulls alive. This is the value of a broad education. Come to think of it, it's also the value of being a lateral thinker. There is a fortune waiting to be made sorting out the seagull problem. I just need to remember the name of the island and put a small but dynamic deposit down on a small boat with space at one end for a large cage and some packs of cheap soap. Apparently one standard bar of soap contains enough nutrients to keep an average sized mouse alive for three months. I think they lather at the mouth though. This could have further spin-offs but I'm still working to translate them, it, us and me into commercial reality.

Memory of Alzheimer's

I must tell you this while I can remember it. Scientists have demonstrated that regular tea drinking helps to keep your memory in good order and stave off Alzheimer's disease. I'm going for the general memory improvement. I don't think I've Alzheimer's yet, though whenever I hear about a new disease I usually find I have several of the symptoms already. I savour the thought that each gulp of green or black tea blocks a few more of those nasty little brain enzymes that destroy acetylcholin, the neurotransmitter carrying messages between my brain cells. I'm not so sure I'll continue with the black tea much longer. Apparently it's fermented green tea. Nobody ever told me this. I was quite taken aback and held up the queue for a while in the teashop at North Driffield whilst I conducted a small, unrepresentative but emotional survey of the staff behind the counter. All I wanted was to raise awareness. Five to ten cups a day could preserve your acetylcholine. It was unnecessary for them to call out the constabulary. I would never create a disturbance in normal circumstances. There are some discoveries which create a Eureka moment. I admit to culpability on that score. There's life in the old cranium yet.