A year ago today (17 April 2019), I had a Quadruple Heart By-pass operation.

A year later, thanks to Father God, the prayers and help of my beautuful and incredible Wife and Children and the support of amazing Friends, I am still alive and in excellent health.

So, to celebrate,  I drew myself a ‘Birthday Cake’.






My fellow blog readers, you will have noticed tat recently there has been little activity on this page.

No doubt some would say, ‘Who cares’, but for those wh DO care, there is a simple explanation: My health!

Unknowingly I have for many years been operating on onl 30% of my heart, a situation which has only recently come to light, and even then only through a series of unusal and seemingly-urelated events.

Suffice to say that as I write this Blog, I am resident in the local district hospital, recovering from a quadrupple (4) heart bypass.

Thanks to the brilliant efforts of the local hospital staff, the amazing support of my incredible wife and children, and the support of numerous marvellous friends, I am well, and recovering by the minute.


Rest assured, blog readers, I will come back; just not immediately.

Thank you.





Dear Reader

What follows is a long story with many parts, and as a result I have broken it down into smaller sections.

Due to the nature if the tale, its end may take a while to  arrive, but I trust that you will bear with me.


In February 2019, I had reason to believe that I was in the throes of a heart attack, and accordingly took myself to my local Doctor.

That worthy and his staff responded very quickly and professionally, and I was soon being given an ECG test and being asked numerous questions. They were VERY good.

Frustratingly, the symptoms faded away, leaving no residual traces for further exploration.

On the basis of that, and with no reason to think otherwise, the Doctor concluded that what I had experienced was the result if an Intercostal Muscle spasm (a phenomenon with which I was well acquainted), and, as this was not unusual, sent me on my way.

However, he also arranged for me to visit the local hospital (located some 20 km away) for some extra tests ‘Just in case’.

Fast forward a month and a letter arrives from the hosoital requesting that I present myself for a test  on 5 April 2019.

So far, so good.

In the interval, family matters involving the repatriation of my late father-in-law’s ashes, had resulted in our booking a flight to a small coral island in the middle of a very large ocean, the intention being to both return the remains to his home island and, when the necessary formalities had been completed, to gave a few days holiday.

In this we had little choice as the island only receives two flights a week. We could get on, but until the next flight, we couldn’t get off!

We were scheduled to depart for the island on the 13 April – plenty of time to pass the test and prepare to fly out to the island.


The 5 April duly arrived and I presented mysekf to the test site. I had been told to bring a change of clothes and comfortable footwear ‘for test purposes’ and had duly done so. As a result I was carrying a bag containing a clean shirt, a clean pair of jeans, a pair of socks and  a pair of sneakers. Because I had been told there could be a long wait before the test I was also carrying a second, over the shoulder-type, bag containing such diverse items as an ipad, mining-related research notes, a reference work on the same, sketchbooks and a railway magazine.

Unknowingly, all of these items were to be important in what was to follow.

We (My wife and I) duly drove into the hospital and, after parking our vehicle in the hospital car park building, presented ourselves to the Test Room.

The test started…

(Part Two to follow…)










An unusual way to pass the time…

It was an unusual way to pass the time. I had returned to my home early in the morning after a short overseas journey to see family, arriving in my front door at 0315. While away, an old injury had decided to make itself known; painfully!  For a variety of reasons I stuck it out while overseas and, at my wife’s behest was eventually able to see my local General Practioner (‘Doctor’) at 3.30pm on the same afternoon. After proddign and poking, the conversation went something like this: (Doctor) ‘You’ re going to hospital’. (Me) ‘When? (Doctor): ‘Now’!! (Me) : ‘Oh’!! (Since after all, what else can one say)? Our daughter was home, house sitting in our absence and as a result of her and my wife’s efforts, I was admitted to the local (state-run) hospital that evening. It ws not exactly the way I had expected the day to end. I hadn’t even unpacked!! The hospital staff were very very professional and kept me well informed. After the usual paperwork had been completed, I was put in a bed for the night and, the following morning, operated on. I won’t bore you with details, except to say that the surgery was successful. After the surgery, and on wakign up from the anesthetic, I was then monitored, fed and taken care of. The nurses did a marvellous job. Two days later, being deemed ‘fit to leave’, I was released back into the world. Aside from a slowly healing scar, and a minor difficulty as the materials used to repair the injury ‘settle in’,  there is now little to show that I was ever admitted.  My wife took a week off to care for me, and the result has ben good for us both; for her to recover from the stress of overseas travel and a husband beign unexpectedly hospitalised, and for me to just recover.  Our daughter, the ‘crises’ with the ‘Old man’ now over, subsequently returned to the university where she is staying adn studying.

As being operated on and being confined to barracks for three days is not what one would normally expect to do after returning home from an overseas journey; it was indeed, an unusual way to pass the time…

Thank you.

An unusual way to pass the time…