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… damn, I’ve been considered an adult for a while now. But ask me what I thought of being “a grown up”, I’d have probably laughed a bit and shrugged it off with a sort of “mmn but I’m not really a grown up” sort of response… 

Except I guess, it all caught up with me tonight… as I packed the last of my essential things into the car and thought about leaving the house to go… home…

You see, as much as I tried to ignore the fact, I’ve been a grown up for a while; I have a scary job, a far too big car, I somehow now love olives and I’m starting to enjoy wine… and for a couple of weeks, as much as I’ve tried to ignore it… I’ve own a flat. (Well, I and my dear friends at Nationwide building society…!) 

I say I have tried to ignore it… it’s part in turn thanks to waiting for internet to be installed so that I can work from home… which in turn was a great excuse not to move all my things in and just commute the mile home to work. 

As I was packing up my things… the bits and pieces not already moved that I probably need to move, I started to feel myself getting anxious. It was clear I was anxious because on going downstairs to load up the car, Mum asked me if I was okay way above the threshold of her usual “are you ok?” SLA. 

I don’t do anxious often… I never used to do anxious at all. But a couple of years ago, thanks to some medication, I found myself having a minor panic attack as the DLR pulled into Westferry Station on the way to work. Strangely I remember the moment so clearly… everything was a “What if”… the world was spinning a little… I wasn’t really sure what was going on. 

Thankfully, getting off the train and walking onto the Wharf was enough to calm me down (and maybe perhaps the huge pastry bought from Paul on the way into the office!) … but three days later I found myself unable to get out of bed. 

I’m pretty sure that opened up some neural pathways that weren’t there before… Thanks to stopping that medication I’m pretty much okay. The occasional flutter here and there, lots of over thinking and generally liking order and process I seem to get by… even when the world around us seems to be crumbling… but it’s always there just lurking… ready to get me. 

The last nearly 2 years have been tough on us all. I’m sure when lockdowns started and we ended up at home 24×7 lots of us picked things we wanted to achieve. I wanted to play more music, finish my AWS SA training and take the exam… and for 7 weeks when I was locked in the house thanks to my immune system via my psoriasis treatment, I wanted to go outside!

Did I do those things? For a bit. Did I finish the course… yup! Did I take the exam… nope. Did I play piano and clarinet for 10 mins alternate days? Nope! Do I think I failed in the last 2 years… not at all. 

In hindsight, and we all know hindsight is a wonderful thing, I’ve done far the opposite – It’s been incredibly stressful and full of both highs and lows, but I think it turned out okay;

I’ve changed jobs, Twice (you might even say thrice!)… Firstly, having to cancel all made plans due to the pandemic, I left my “have you tried turning it off and on again” comfort zone, and working out how on earth we could onboard new employees totally virtually, during the pandemic. I’d run some programs before, but nothing quite like that… I solidified that with an actual change of Job Title in May switching from Engineer to Technical Program Manager (TPM).

People fit is a huge thing for me – I was blessed to spend 3 years working for an amazing team and manager, and I “bought” the direction… but, sometimes things are not quite to be, and after a minor desk based breakdown and a chat with a friend, I realised perhaps, it wasn’t me that was the problem! 

To be passionate about something, I really have to believe it. I’m not good at faking it and I guess ultimately, I’d lost the belief in where I was and what I was doing. I’d always been intrigued by Cyber Security and am still in complete disbelief that I have managed to switch teams and am now TPM’ing for part of the Security Org. (AAAH). 

The pandemic also meant we didn’t get to spend so much time with Grandma. Sunday afternoons at Rosetrees were no longer a possibility and we didn’t see as much Grandma as we used to. When she passed away in December, we were incredibly lucky to be able to go and say our goodbyes and to hold her hand one last time… I really miss her stories, and toward the end, the strange snaps of lucidity which caught us by surprise – One afternoon having said very little all visit she saw Jeremy Corbyn on the TV and exclaimed “Well… he’s not a very nice man is he!” She would most certainly had an opinion on the new James Bond film, and without giving any spoilers away, I don’t think she’d have approved of that ending! 

It’s hard to be sad about someone you love passing away, when you’ve watched them deteriorate for 3 years and they’re no longer the person you knew. In some ways, I guess the pandemic saved us from more visits when grandma didn’t know who we were. She did however, maintain her famous stock answer to the question “How are you feeling?” Right up to the very end… “With my hands!”

So how am I feeling? Anxious. (And, naturally with my hands… is that Handxious?!) but, thanks to past Steven buying chocolate, milk and a fancy coffee machine with a steam wand, present Steven has  cobbled together a sort of “hot chocolate” (aka hot milk and chocolate sludge)… and I think we’ll be ok. 

I’m blagging it with hot chocolate, like most folk are actually blagging it with life… I’ve come to realise none of us really know what we’re doing. One moment we’re finishing school and before you know it, we’re signing mortgage documents and trying to work out what to do with the pile of BSP (Big, Scary, Paperwork!!! – I’m led to believe stuffing bills and things into a drawer is not a good plan on life.) 

No one makes it out alive, and no one really knows how things work… I guess we just have to try our best and hope no one notices we’re all just making it up! 

And if you’re passing through the Barnet area – let me know, pop by and I’ll make you a chocolate sludge… but you’ll know I’m blagging it. (Ask me nicely and I’ll make tea or coffee!) 

Today I’ve had a long day. It all started at half 6 this morning when the alarm went off. It’s still going as I write this now…..

At the end of today I’ll have travelled nearly 600 Miles (594 to be exact…. Calculated using road distance… so probably not 100% Accurate) Of those miles. Most of them have been by train.

The British train system while often in the media for negative reasons, Is definitely world class…. be it the London Underground, the Overground or National (“British”) Rail services. Today so far has been a dream… (and I hate to say it, it’s quicker, and less hassle than the car!)

I’ve been able to see all sorts of lovely sights out of the window as I whizz along at 125 Miles Per hour tearing up the countryside! (I’ve also finally managed to watch Frozen!)

9 Years ago, on the 7th of July was very different. I was in school. I was in the first period of the day, and all I could hear was Sirens. Those sirens were responding to the actions of a select number of people destined to ruin the lives of others.

On the 7th July 2005, Three suicide bombers took to the London Underground and one on a bus. They detonated bombs causing dramatic affects and scenes. All four of them were killed, along with 52 others, and left around 700 more injured.

I’d hazard a guess that of those 52 people killed or those 700 injured, very few of them had travelled as far as I have today by train the day or days before they were killed…. albeit a different train, but it’s still a public place whereby people should tolerate everyone and “play nice”.

I don’t seem to have seen many articles today commemorating the 7/7 atrocities… (It seems like some cyclists wearing a yellow jersey are more interesting) apart from one, detailing graffiti on the memorial – just just another example of the way humans will NEVER Learn, and people will never be happy to coexist with other people. (See Previous Blog here)

I rarely take public transport, being a huge fan of my car…. However it seems by fluke, in the last few years, every 7th of July, I take to public transport… a subconscious and coincidental memorial to those who lost their lives 9 years ago.

“EWWW is it contagious?” then ask most people at first properly noticing it…. A firm “NO” is my answer.

Psoriasis effects 2 or 3 percent of people in the UK, so roughly speaking, I’m one in 1.8 Million. (In the scheme of things, a mere few!)

Alternately people ask…. “How did you do that?” *Pointing to a patch on my Arm/Knee/Forhead* “I didn’t” I reply, “Biology did”.

Psoriasis. A word many can say but cant read, can say but don’t know what it is, what it looks like, or what it does.

To start with, and English lesson:  “Sore-aye-a-sis” Psoriasis. Sometimes the English language is stupid. A psychology teacher once told me “Psory-Aye-asys” NO.

Most people have heard of or seen Eczema…. Psoriasis is very similar….BUT different.

To quote the Psoriasis Association: “Psoriasis is an immune condition, which causes symptoms on the skin and sometimes the joints. When a person has psoriasis, their skin replacement process speeds up, taking just a few days to replace skin cells that usually take 21-28 days. This abundance of skin cells builds up to form raised ‘plaques’ on the skin, which can also be flaky, scaly, red on caucasian skin, darker patches on darker skin tones, and itchy”

I’ve suffered with psoriasis for many years now, Since I was about 15. Mum noticed some lurking in my scalp, and whatever I tried to stop it, we just couldn’t. Over the years I’ve tried many different topical ways to try and combat the patches of flakes. However I have come to understand, although hard to imagine… There is no cure. 

Luckily for me, I’ve learnt to conceal it well…. I am currently (While writing this) “active” on both legs, my left arm, and my scalp and ears, but unless I mention it, people don’t really notice it.

The summer provides me with a huge dilemma…. Do I wear shorts?

Silly as this may seem, shorts is a two way road:

1. The sun will hopefully help my Psoriasis to slow down and disappear.
2. People will see my nasty flaky, patchy legs.

Until not so long ago, I’d only wear 3/4 length shorts to avoid showing my patches… I’d wear longer t-shirts or try not to expose my arms in the summer… one year, I even put plasters over the patches… (This made it worse and was never to be repeated.

2 years ago, I decided to start a kinda “Bugger it, I am who I am” phase… and since then I haven’t looked back, with flaky patches out on show in the summer… most people assume I’ve been badly bitten (Fools).

Last year however I had a course of Phototherapy – Which is pretty close to going on a sun-bed… except you are stood up and completely starkers.

While this sounds like fun – I can assure you that being sunburnt in November when you haven’t been out the country is damn funny to explain!! The phototherapy seemed to remove all the patches that I had (Both arms, torso, back and both legs) but didn’t get the scalp stuff as the hair was in the way. Phototherapy also gave me sunburn, chafing, and made me very dehydrated. BUT, No pain, no gain, so thrice a week I was up at Barnet General, Donning a Gown, and standing starkers, surrounded in light.

The effects of the phototherapy were great, however only short-term hence the fact I am again “Active” on my body….

I’m again applying a mix of tar based and steroid ointments to help try and reduce the areas which is covered with scales. I try to steer clear when possible of the tar based products simply because they have a very strong smell. But, the shampoo I use is tar based, so if you can smell something overpowering (almost tube like) then that’s probably my shampoo and I apologise!!

Currently my favourite (I probably mean most effective) treatment is called “Dovobet” or Generically “Calcipotriol/betamethasone”. This is steroid and comes in a lovely bright red box, in a white bottle with bright red label and lid. (Although this spells danger, it’s not as bad as it sounds!) This is nearly scentless (YAAAY)and seems to do the job… although I’m using this (with doctor’s permission) more than is “recommended” on the bottle but it seems to be doing the trick. (just paused writing to apply this and am now modeling the “Greased” look!)

I realise at this point that I am yet to mention what causes psoriasis… that’s because in short – NO ONE KNOWS. However we do know: “Psoriasis occurs when the immune system mistakes a normal skin cell for a pathogen, and sends out faulty signals that cause overproduction of new skin cells” Thank you Wikipedia! But we don’t know how the skin decides to mistake a normal cell for a pathogen.

It is known that stress can cause trigger Psoriasis or make existing psoriasis worse. For me, this is not the case – during GCSEs and A Levels, my condition maintained at the same severity.

I am, however subject to another known “cause”. The wonder that is genetics. (THANKS DAD.) On the positive side, I know that I am near enough “Pedigree” Phillips, not just the looks, but the hereditary skin condition too! However Psoriasis isn’t much fun, and I don’t think I’d suit a human style Crufts competition.

So there you go –  a short roundup of my weird medical condition… I purposely haven’t included pictures, because some people find it a bit gross… but if you click the two links (especially the WIkipedia one) you will see for yourself! If you are a bit intrigued and would like to see what it’s like – ask me and I’ll point it out to you – although you can hardly really miss it!

 

I realise that if I keep this up, I run the risk of turning my blog into a “God-Blog” but hey ho… after all it is supposed to be the many ramblings of my inner mind…

Anyway, on Friday something very odd happened;

On Friday I was flying from London Luton to Glasgow for the weekend. We were delayed 45 minutes and I was restless. I was crammed into my seat, on that Bright Orange airline… I’d listened to the Safety briefing… and as the plane taxied the final few meters onto the runway, something strange happened… something that never happened to me when flying before…. I started to say the Shema. (for those that don’t know It’s the centrepiece of the Jewish Morning and evening prayer service, and is said as your last words or in times when you think you might die)…

I got as far as the third word “Shema… Yisroel……. Adoni…….” or in English… “Hear O’Israel… The Lord”. I stopped. I stumbled. I thought. A few weeks ago, I decided that I didn’t believe in god, but now I’m sat amongst a sea of people, onboard a chunk of orange metal, travelling on the Sabbath muttering to myself about god. I’d gone meshuggeh (Crazy in Yiddish).

I stopped, reminded myself what I thought sat back, watched out the window and off we took….

I’d never felt the need to say a prayer before flying before… not even to Israel, why now?!

I spent the first 10 minutes, of my hour and 10 minute flight, fluttering. Trying to avoid what had just happened; I tried listening to Miranda’s Book, but I couldn’t concentrate… I tried playing candy crush but got bored within seconds. Eventually I stood up, marched to the front of the plane, and joined the toilet queue.

Having finished my business I lingered for a moment, inside the small cell that is the plane toilet. My mind began to wander…I was high in the air… and I’d just had a God issue. I was not prepared for this.

I caught a glimpse of myself in mirror realised the tap had stopped running and there was soap still on my hand… I washed off the soap, dried off and opened the toilet door to a rather unhappy looking queue of 6 people.

I strolled down the plane back to my seat, and sat staring out the window, trying to make sense of what had just happened. The short answer, and in fact the only answer was… I couldn’t.

For the remaining hour or so my mind dillydallied through the clouds I was watching out the window. I was considering everything… I was oblivious to the dire selection of sandwiches, and blind to the hideous watches on offer on the duty free trolley.

I realised a number of things:

I realised that I might not believe in God but I still feel a very strong connection to my people the Jewish People. The traditions, the music, the jokes, culture etc.

I realised that I might not believe in God, but perhaps the Mystical “God” played a vital part in shaping the traditions, culture etc. that I know and love.

I realised that the Mystical “God” was probably a way of keeping things in order in years gone by… a Fear…. people believed that if they did something out of line… this mystical thing would come and “get them”

Most weird and most importantly to me: The Prayers/Psalms/Songs/Chants/words/texts; although I don’t believe in God they are strangely comforting and I do find my self singing bits and bobs now and then!

Bemused, confused and amused, I sat staring out the window, at the flimsy looking piece of metal, keeping me afloat, stopping me from falling to my orange draped death….

Shortly, we made our decent… the Air Hostess pressing the wrong button a number of times causing the cabin lights, to flash on and off like a disco. (Thankfully we had no Epileptics on board!) The wheels came down, and we slowly fell out the sky onto the Tarmac of Glasgow airport.

I had a lovely weekend, and oddly, I didn’t have a repeat on the return flight… I suppose there is more in this journey of religious identity to come… I might not believe in God… but I feel my identity as a Jew shining stronger than ever.