Categories
Climate change Econonomy English Culture English History Environment HEALTH Nostalgia

Is it Possible to be Green and Clean?

People of my generation grew up in 1960s Britain. They will remember many things that were unique to their age group. I well remember the Saturday morning pictures at the local cinema, free milk at school during playtime, playing football in the street and the weekly ceremony known as “Bathnight.”

In many homes, this ritual was carried out on a Saturday evening, and lots of you will remember being ushered into the bathroom by Mothers or Fathers, where the white enamel bath would be a third full of steaming water. No bubble bath, no liquid soap.

I still remember the pungent smell of Wrights Coal Tar soap, and Vosene Anti Dandruff shampoo – with which my scalp was scrubbed, despite me not having the condition,

Sinking down into the hot water would be a relief from peeling off in the cold bathroom, and most of us would splash about, soap up, wash, dip their heads in the tub, and quickly shampoo and rinse. It was a process that would probably take less than 15 minutes.

A shivering, wet kid would then climb out of the bath, to be wrapped up in a towel that was as stiff and unyielding as a plank due to it being air-dried on the washing line.

A Typical Bathroom in the 1960s

A vigorous rub dry, followed by a dusting down with Yardley’s talcum powder and that was cleaning over and done with for a week, except of course for the normal wahing of hands after using the lavatory, or before eating.

Most of the older houses on the street where I grew up only had baths. Showers were seen by many as continental indulgences. Most of the kid’s growing up in the early 1960s experience of showers was limited to those that they used in the school changing rooms for use after sports, games and gymnastics.

School showers. Tepid water at best. Carbolic soap only. I hated these!

I seem to recall that the water from these feeble showers was only ever tepid, even in the deepest winters.

Coming back into the school after 90 minutes of playing rugby in the snow a hot shower would have been welcome.

OK for professionals – but only if there is HOT water after the game!

The world changes a lot in a few decades.

In 2014 a study conducted by the University of Manchester in the UK it was revealed that only 10% of Britons took a daily bath, 50% never used a bath, choosing only to shower, and 20% only showered or bathed every four days.

Using a bath as a means for achieving cleanliness has been replaced by using a shower.

Showers have been promoted as being far more economic and eco frindly, with claims that they use much less water and energy than that required for a bath and were quicker to use.

Many people regard bathing in a tub as a relaxing activity, enabling them to unwind, maybe read a book, maybe meditate with candles, or a peaceful respite to enjoy a glass of wine, and listen to music – all activites that can’t really be undertaken in a shower – unless you like watered down vino!

Now, lets look at the realities of this.

A recent study by Unilver which manufactures Radox and Dove personal hygeine products shows a different story.

Using dedicated high-tech shower-monitoring systems backed up by user surveys, the company analysed the bathing habits of 100 families over a ten day period. The sensors recorded when the showers were activated and for how long.

For a start, the average shower is about eight minutes long!

Eight minutes!!!!

I am in and out of the shower in about three and a half minutes. I favour the military style shower. Shower with hot water to get wet. Turn shower off and apply shampoo/body wash or soap (according to taste). Wash vigorously. Turn shower on and rinse off. Clean shower off, and dry myself with a towel. Dress, and ready to rock.

I have many fiends and family that stay with me who seem to prove the eight minute rule and in some cases double that, so this is no surprise to me.

The study reveals that an eight minute standard gravity-fed shower uses nearly as much energy and water as a bath. (62 litres or 13.64 gallons of water, compared with 80 litres – 17.6 gallons for a bath. This costs an average UK family of four about £416.00 per year (520 US $).

Ahh…. That’s more like it – with proper hot water too…

Using an electric power-shower for eight minutes uses up to 136 litres (30 gallons) of hot water almost the equivalent to TWO baths! This works out at £918.00 ($1147 US) per year for that happy UK average family of four.

So – this effectively demolishes the myth that showering is better for the environment than taking a bath.

The study also disproves the common argument that women and girls are unique in occupying the bathroom for long periods of time.

It appears that young males are the worst offenders for taking very long showers – with boys under the age of 12 taking around ten minutes on average to clean themselves up.

I wonder if this is a result of carrying frogs, toads, insects and other unspeakable items in their pockets?

If you assumed that it was teenage girls that hogged the bathroom, then you would be right.

Before they hit their teens, girls seem to be efficient shower-users, taking around six and a half minutes to wash.

The bad news is that by the time they metamorphose into teenagers, they will be taking nine and a half minutes in the shower – costing their parents £123.00 ($153.75 US) per year.

The ladies in our lives would appear to be the most efficient all rounders in the bathroom.

Whereas your typical bloke – me included, just showers for a sole purpose – washing, our ladies excel at multi-tasking (as usual), with many of them combining washing their hair, shaving and even cleaning their teeth!

Maybe its time to start taking shorter showers if we want to save energy?

You decide!

Go Well…

Categories
English Culture HEALTH Interview Living Organ Donation Organ Donor Organ Transplant Science

Giving the Ultimate Gift – The Gift of Life

A few years ago, SWMBO’s sister and her husband came to stay with us in rural Hampshire. They were taking a break from their round the world travels in their motorhome.

They had made their momentous decision to spend the rest of their lives travelling around the world, sampling local cultures and cusisines, scuba diving and backpacking – and all whilst doing this in a responsible and sustainable manner.

Trudy – Marianne and Chris’s home for their global trekking TREAD the Globe! Resting in my front garden.

This article isn’t intended to tell the story of their travels. That may be done by visiting their website Tread The Globe or visiting their YouTube channel here. I can say that they are definitley achieving what they set out to do.

Marianne and Chris Fisher – Now Wandering the World in Trudy. This is not how they normally dress….

This article is actually all about Marianne, my Sister-in-Law. (Sorry Chris!)

The word awesome is really overused these days. it seems that a nice meal is awesome. A film is awesome. Is this overkill?

When I use the term to describe Marianne Fisher, it’s actually well-deserved.

Why do I say this?

Well, Marianne took the astonishingly brave decision to become a living organ-donor, and gift one of her kidneys to a very seriously ill friend.

As she was staying with us, she was a legitimate (and captive) target for me and I used the opportunity to ask her a few questions about what was involved in her decision and with her permission to share it in an article on my website.

Marianne and SWMBO. Overlooking the river in Bridgnorth, Shropshire, UK

Now, I’m no Michael Parkinson or Jay Leno, but I think I managed to do a reasonable job…

A shaft of gloden sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating the compact living area of Marianne Fisher’s Motorhome, bathing us both in a warm yellow glow. Looking round the small area, I was having trouble visualising Marianne and Chris giving up all of their possessions and travelling the world in such a small vehicle.

For goodness sake! – my postman drives a bigger van!

Leaning back into the small sofa, Marianne smiled impishly, and said: “You better crack on then!” so I duly obliged and ‘cracked on’.

The first thing that I really wanted to know was what led her to make the momentous decision to become a living organ donor?

A serious look flits across her face, as she don’t switch tenses explaining to me that her long-standing friend – let’s call her Jane, had suffered from serious health problems for almost all of the thirty years she had known her. 

In a quiet voice Marianne continued, telling me that Jane had been the recipient of a kidney and pancreas transplant some eighteen years previously, but two years ago, the transplant started failing.

This resulted in her becoming diabetic, needing permanent regular dialysis. She had been placed into a medically-induced coma to increase her chances of surviving a successful medical intervention should another replacement kidney be found.   

“That sounds very serious – what happened next?” I prompted.

Regarding me levelly over the rim of her mug, she continued, explaining that there was another important factor that needed to be considered.

Jane was dying.

She was in such a fragile state of health, that a deceased donor was no longer an option, and only an organ from a living individual could be used.

Whilst Jane had a sibling, he too was in a fragile state of health, and Jane’s parents, whilst willing, were considered too old for the procedure to conducted safely.

Jane also had a fifteenyearold daughter, who would be left an orphan if no-one could be found.

Marianne appeared to brace herself, and told me that her own Mother passed away when she was just six years old, and that she subsequently went through a dreadful period which evidently still affects her today.

“I couldn’t let her go through that,” she murmured. So, she asked the medical team at Guys Hospital whether she could offer one of her kidneys to Jane.

“How did Chris take that decision?” I asked.

“I didn’t tell him at that point,” she said. “I needed to have all of the information before I wanted to discuss it with him.”

She went on: “I did tell him once I had that knowledge, and could answer his questions and needless to say, he was very concerned – not only for my safety but also for our family’s welfare.”

“Were you worried as well?” I asked, taking another gulp of my coffee.

She laughed. “Not at that point, because I didn’t really think it would happen.”

“So, you weren’t frightened by the enormity of what you were offering to do?”

She absently pushed the opened packet of Rich Tea biscuits towards me, and I welcomed the brief distraction whilst she gathered her thoughts.

She carried on, explaining to me that the transplant team at Guys Hospital were, “absolutely fantastic”, and took the time to explain patiently every aspect of the surgery, and to reassure her continually that she was able to back out at any time.

Guys Hospital – Treating the sick since 1721. Not in this building though!

“What worried you most about the procedure?” I asked.

“My biggest fear was that I would end up having to wear a colostomy bag should the operation not go as planned, or that I would react unfavourably to the anaesthetic.” .

The sun had begun remorselessly advancing towards dusk, and the shadows were slowly moving across the small dining area, as I asked how she had prepared for the other issues, such as only having one kidney left to survive on.

Drawing her knees up under her chin, she told me that she had conducted a lot of personal research into organ donation, and had checked things including post-surgical survival rates, bacteriological infection rates, statistics for Guys Hospital, and probably most importantly, whether she be able to continue to enjoy her passion of Scuba diving.

She also discussed all of this with Chris, who, whilst worried, knew that he was dealing with an unstoppable force – so fully supported her decision, as did her sons.

“So,” she summarised, “My boys were off my hands, and living adult lives, my chances of living life as normal were very high, and Jane was dying. So, I was going to do it.”

That is what happened. Marianne underwent surgery in August 2017. After a short time recuperating in Hampshire, she was soon given the all-clear to Scuba dive, and flew to Borneo that autumn to swim with turtles.

And Jane? 

Well, Jane is off dialysis, and is now actively improving her health with physiotherapy, swimming and enjoying quality time with her daughter.

Marianne stood, as if to leave. “One last question?” I asked.

She raised an eyebrow, saying “Go on.”

“What would you say to anyone who is considering becoming a living organ donor?”

Laughing, she said: “That one is easy. Talk to someone who has done it, as it’s a huge decision, and they will need lots of love, guidance and support.”

I picked my notebook up, realising that I hadn’t written a thing in it, and shoved it back in my pocket as I stepped down from the camper van, and walked back into the early evening sunshine,

The word awesome is not one that I use often, but in this case, it sums this lovely lady up.

Marianne – You Rock!

Go Well…

You can follow Marianne and Chris’s travels by visiting treadtheglobe.com

Categories
Aircew Airport aviation English Culture Flight pilots Transport Travel Vehicles

A DEAD DONKEY AT 200 FEET – A MAY DAY SPECIAL

I met up with my friend Greg in the Cafe in the flying club. It was 0830 on a slightly overcast summer morning.

Sitting down with mugs of tea, and an egg and bacon sandwich each, we reviewed my proposed route. 

We would be flying from my home base of Redhill Aerodrome in Surrey (about 4.0 nautical miles NNE of London’s Gatwick Airport (EGKK), and about 20nm SE of Heathrow Airport EGLL) to Newquay Airport (EGHQ) to meet up with Neil, a fellow pilot and an Air Traffic Control Officer.

Dodging the Class A airspace between Gatwick and Heathrow

We finished our breakfast and pulled out the charts and the NOTAMs (Notices to Airmen) and a meteorological forecast. There was nothing in the NOTAMs to affect our flight, but a check of the Met showed scattered rain showers along our route, blowing in from the south west.

Knowing that Greg had far more hours than me, I asked his opinion, and he remarked that he would go, and see what it was like enroute, and if it looked to be deteriorating, then we could return – adding that as I was the aircraft commander (and the owner!) it was my decision.

I decided that we would go, making the Surrey city of Guildford my Go/No-Go waypoint. If it was poor weather by the time I got to Guildford, some twenty miles west of the field, I would make turn back.

We wandered out to Betty Boo, and did a quick yet thorough pre-flight inspection. 

Betty Boo in her home environment

I swiftly started the engine, called the tower for a radio check and traffic information, and was given permission to taxi for runway 26 Right. the shorter of the two grass runways. 

Copyright AFE Flight Equipment – Not to be used for Flight Planning or Navigation.

It was a quick taxy. There was nothing to hold us up – a midweek morning, and all the school aircraft were already either thrashing round the circuit, or had disappeared into the local area. I weaved my way across the grass, and joined Taxiway A to hold short at A2. 

Swinging the Super Cub into the wind, I conducted the vital actions checks, and completed a run up. Waggling the flight controls reassured me that everything was correctly attached, and after conducting a pre-departure briefing, I called the tower “Betty Boo ready for departure” Very unofficial RT procedures, but, hey, it was very quiet and the controller said it first!

“Betty Boo, cleared for take off Runway 26 Right, surface wind 250 at 5 kts”

I made the acknowledgment, and said to Greg “Ready to go mate?”

“Go for it” came back through my headset.

I eased the throttle open, and gently taxied onto the threshold, marked out on the grass with white paint.

“Betty Boo Rolling” I called, and received a terse “Roger” from the tower.

I held the stick forward, applied the power smoothly, correcting the swing with rudder. The tail came up quickly, and within a few seconds we were making the magical transition from ugly duckling to elegant swan, the engine purring smoothly as we climbed away.

Clearing the Aerodrome, I was directed to depart via west Reigate, and the Buckland Visual Reporting Point.

As we climbed to 1500 feet, and looked west, I must admit, that it didn’t look too promising; hazy with a light grey gauze draped across my intended route.

I had a plan, and I was going to stick to it, so we continued westwards, to pass to the south of Guildford. 

The weather goblins had other ideas. 

East of Guildford, I got the first lashings of rain, the water droplets hitting the windscreen, and then being bullied by the slipstream to rush in rivulets round the sides of the canopy. 

The Surrey City of Guildford – on a better weather day

I applied carburettor heat, and immediately made a 180 degree turn, saying to Greg “This is a fabric winged aircraft, I am recovering back to Redhill”

“Sound decision” came his nonchalant response.

I called Redhill, and explained that we were returning, to be told that a heavy shower was passing through, overhead the field, and that I should aim to re-join for runway 26 Left via the motorway junction.

Junction 7, The M25/M23 Interchange – VRP for the rejoin to Redhill Aerodrome.

Winding the airfield pressure into the altimeter, I ran through the descent checks, and suggested to Greg that we do a few circuits as it would be good practice.

He thought that was a good idea as well, so I called the tower and requested that we do a missed approach, followed by a touch and go, and then maybe some non-standard landings.

The tower quickly approved this, saying that there were no other aircraft currently in the circuit, and to call on final approach.

I brought the power back, and trimmed us for a nice steady 60 mph, planning to reduce to 50 mph on short final. I pegged the altimeter on 1300 feet as I didn’t want to run the risk of infringing class A airspace as I was flying in.

It all seemed to be working out. I was flying through clear air, but although the rain had stopped, looking west, it was still coming in. I calculated that I had about half an hour in the circuit – maybe three turns round the field.

The motorway junction was on the nose, and as I crossed it, I rolled South, roughly paralleling the M23 London to Brighton motorway.

A few minutes later, I banked right, bringing Betty Boo into line with the runway, calling on the radio that I was on final approach for a missed approach. 

Redhill Aerodrome, with the M23 in the foreground

Having received my clearance, I continued to descend, and at 200 feet, turned off the carburettor heat, and applied full power, climbing away back into the circuit. I progressively cleaned the airframe up, moving the flap lever in easy stages, and retrimming for straight and level. 

The downwind leg was uneventful, and I called the tower, requesting a touch and go.

“Call Finals” was the response from ATC, and so I started descending, putting on carburettor heat, and taking the flaps as before. At 200 feet, carburettor heat cold, ready for the go around.

I had nailed the airspeed at 55 mph, and came across the threshold at the correct height. 

Bleeding off the power, I gently pitched back into a three-point attitude, and she sank onto the grass. 

A couple of rumbles and some gentle bumping, holding her straight with rudder, I smoothly applied full power, and pitched back up into a best rate of climb attitude as required by the airfield regulations.

I had reached about 150 feet when the engine stuttered, popping and juddering, and the RPM was dropping rapidly backwards round the gauge!

I instantly shoved the nose forwards, my hands making the checks unbidden – Magnetos, Mixture, Fuel, Primer, Carb Heat.  Everything was correctly configured and where it should be.

The engine was now winding back, giving virtually no power, but I managed to ease another 100 feet out of her. 

“Mayday Mayday Mayday!” I yelled, “Betty Boo, Engine failure, Immediate landing required”

I slammed away the landing flap, and gently rolled right, hearing the controllers calm voice saying:

“Betty Boo, the field is yours, land wherever, Cessna Golf Charlie Whiskey hold in your current position, I’ll call you back”

My throat was dry, and I concentrated on not stalling, descending in a gentle right-hand turn. Airspeed…. must keep airspeed…  I couldn’t risk looking at the Air Speed Indicator – I was doing this by feel and sound.  Thank god for all the sailplane experience.

The runway was under the nose, so I rolled wings level, and deadsticked about halfway down the grass, leaving me another 400 metres if I had needed it.

I allowed the speed to wash off, not touching the brakes, and vacated off the runway so that it could still be used.

“Good landing mate”

I jumped. I had almost forgotten that Greg was sitting there in the back cockpit.

“Thanks” I responded. “Not quite how I saw today playing out, but I’m glad we are in one piece.”

We exited the cockpit, and waited for the Ops car to arrive.

The airfield manager duly arrived, and having reassured himself that we were safe, and that the aeroplane and airfield were undamaged, he asked us to push the aircraft further from the runway and secure it and park it and he would arrange for it to be towed to the hangar when the airfield closed.

He kindly gave us both a lift to the hangar.

The aftermath of this, is that I submitted a full report, with my conclusion – that I had been the victim of carburettor icing.

I subsequently discussed this with a very experienced Cub instructor pilot, and he suggested that the Continental engines fitted to this type were highly susceptible to icing. When he heard that a rain shower had passed through about half an hour prior to my touch and go, he was convinced that the short ground roll had ingested enough water to cause icing in the carburettor leading to loss of power and subsequent engine failure.

Now, I learned a BIG lesson from this.

When I was taught to fly, all of my instructors emphasised that carburettor heat should be selected during the approach to land, and should be switched to cold as part of the after landing checks. 

They also said that if a landing was baulked – a touch and go, the carburettor heat should be selected COLD, so as to ensure full power availability for the climb out.

Betty Boo’s sidewall. Note the Carb Heat, Cabin Heat and Magnetos all in a single panel…. What could possibly go wrong!

This is what I had done in the Super Cub. As soon as I had touched down, I selected COLD, and as a result, there was no warm air running through they system to protect me from the ice caused by the water ingestion.

As this happened a while ago, I decided to review my various checklists. They all state that the Carburettor Heat is selected HOT for the approach, and moved to cold for a baulked landing.

So – my first ever MAYDAY. A sphincter-clenching moment, but one that made me do a lot of introspection. Did I do the right thing?  

Looking back, maybe I made the wrong decision to risk a long-distance flight in a fabric-covered aircraft when rain and maybe marginal VFR was forecast?  Had I decided not to fly, then I would have never placed myself and my aeroplane into a risk situation – albeit a risk that I had not foreseen or even fully understood.

My aircraft handling skills were not wanting, and the drills that I had practiced so many times were virtually automatic. 

The aeroplane was undamaged. The crew were safe and uninjured. A successful outcome.

The following day I discovered that the engineers wanted to be absolutely sure there were no technical issues that could have caused the engine failure. They therefore stripped down the entire fuel system. They only found some minor contamination, so the verdict was that I had encountered engine icing.

What did I learn?

I learnt that an engine can ingest sufficient water from wet grass in a landing roll of 180 metres to fail the engine less than a minute later.

It’s a funny old world, this flying lark.

Go Well…