My back muscles gave out this week. It always surprises me how this affects everything (which shouldn’t really because obviously all other limbs hang off the back, so when your back is agony, so is lifting a fork or taking a step). If you’ve never suffered with a bad back, you probably don’t fully appreciate what I’m saying (and everyone who has had a bad back will be nodding along in sympathy!)

It’s very annoying, and very bad timing. I was planting sunflower seeds, and I didn’t feel anything aching, so I guess I wasn’t being particularly protective of my back (which is an on-going weakness). I stood up and ‘click’ something snapped. (Well, it didn’t snap, but it felt like it!) I was at the far side of the field, without a phone, and I wondered how I would get back to the house. Mad Meg was not helpful, rushing round with a log and trying to entice me to throw sticks for her. Nor were the cats, who saw me walking (hobbling) slowly and came to enquire whether I would like to stroke them, rubbing against my legs and jumping on my feet. I made it back to the house and told Husband he would have to sort the geese and cook dinner.

The timing was terrible—the day before Husband left for Egypt on a work trip. He did offer to stay at home, but his trip looked fun, and I knew I could manage, so I told him to go. I took ibuprofen (marvellous drug) and rested, hoping and praying that it would be better in the morning. It wasn’t. Which meant I had to cancel tea with my daughter-in-law, which has been a treat in the diary I have been looking forward to. Illness is rarely convenient, life is often disappointing.

I am currently managing, whilst being in pain most of the time. I know it will pass, it’s only muscles/ligaments I think, because if I rest and take Nurofen it starts to improve, and when I move (the animals and me still have to eat) then it stiffens up again. I am existing with life at a new level. If I drop something I look at it, lying unhelpfully on the floor, knowing it will stay there for a week. (It’s a little like being 9 months pregnant, when so much of life is beyond reach.) If I put on clothes inside out, they stay that way because it’s too much effort to change them. Drying after a shower takes on a whole new logistical procedure. I can manage slippers and wellies, shoes are beyond me. I found a nice fat stick in the garden, and now use it to walk to feed the animals. I hobble slowly, like an old woman. Meg bounces along next to me. I can’t take her for a walk, but she seems happy enough just following me around, and she sleeps in my room when Husband is away, so she has become my (rather smelly) shadow. Some furniture (the comfortable kind) is no longer possible—I use the upright chairs to avoid getting stuck.

The thing is, when life goes wrong (and in my experience it often does) then we have to cope with bitter disappointment, and then get on with solving the new problem. I appreciate my back in a whole new way, and I realise that in our modern world of pain killers and dishwashers (but only the top shelf—the bottom shelf is too low!) even a bad back is not so bad. I am very grateful this didn’t happen when I was in Edinburgh for my review, or when travelling. This week I can cope. One day, we will all be old, or ill, and have to adjust to a new way of doing things, perhaps wearing inside-out clothes or eating less well because it’s too difficult to cook. That is life. It has some difficult times, and we just have to get on with it. Perhaps illness is a way to practise, so that when we get to that stage in life we know to live in the moment, to focus on the good things, to not let the pain dominate.

I hope you are currently pain free. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

I loved teaching. I enjoyed being with children. Perhaps because they were mostly uncomplicated, and very honest, and you could be uncomplicated and honest in return. If they felt cross, they didn’t try to hide it. If they liked or disliked something, it was obvious, there was no pretending. I like that.

But, occasionally, there was a child who was different. A child who was very manipulative, not a team player, completely unmoved by their impact on the other children, very determined to get their own way. As a teacher, you learnt very quickly to spot these children, and to keep an eye on them. They were not to be trusted. ‘What you see is not what you got.’

These children did not believe they were part of the class, the rules did not apply to them. They were sneaky, and tried to avoid being caught misbehaving–passing the blame onto someone else if they could. They would also create distractions. Some children were unsophisticated, if they wanted to divert attention from something they didn’t want you to see (like that they hadn’t learnt the words for the spelling test and therefore had answered incorrectly) they would just yell. Or throw something. Or hurt another child. Anything to divert attention from what they hoped you wouldn’t see–because these children do not like to ‘fail’.

But some of them were more sophisticated, they would create a phantasy, perhaps get another child involved. Perhaps they would ‘fall over’ when walking to the playground–and it would be because ‘Julie pushed,’ not their fault. And then they would be very brave, very forgiving of Julie. As a teacher, you learnt to notice things. The ‘fall’ would look slightly staged. They would ‘recover’ a little too quickly. They might respond in a pre-prepared way: ‘If I hadn’t been told to walk to the playground, and you had let me play in the classroom, this would not have happened.’ There would be something a little ‘off’ about the situation and their reaction. As the teacher, you would try to be aware of what they might be trying to avoid, the reason for the theatrics. As a teacher you would try to not be fooled by the performance. You might ignore the fall (which would anger them) and instead help them with learning spellings. You would try to notice what was actually happening.

But I am describing a situation in the classroom. What is more worrying is when I meet or see these people as adults, perhaps as leaders. When they still don’t think the rules apply to them. When they still try to avoid the consequences of their actions by creating a diversion. One which is convincing, yet there is something a little ‘off’ about the situation. Something which makes you wonder what the truth is. I have learnt to listen to my feelings, if something feels ‘off’ it probably is.

In the classroom, these children can be helped–although I am no expert here, and some need specialist help. But they can learn to control their selfishness, they can learn that there are consequences for breaking rules, they can learn not to hurt other people. When they reach adulthood, I’m not so sure… But I’m a teacher, I can only really talk about in the classroom.

I hope your interactions this week are with people who know how to behave. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

Hello, and how is your 2026 going so far? Last year whizzed past, so I might keep the Christmas decorations under the bed this year to save me scrabbling in the back of the cupboard. But maybe that (the time-whizzing thing) is just because I am getting older—time definitely goes faster as we age.

We went to an event this week which would suit any age—the annual town Tractor Run. I’m not sure if other rural towns do this, but where I live, every year all the local farmers decorate their tractors with lights and tinsel, and parade through the villages honking their horns and flashing their lights. It’s brilliant! I dragged Husband along this year; I could tell he wasn’t keen as we stomped through the dark lanes, and risked the cars whizzing along the main road, to the nearest viewpoint. There were lots of other people—families and couples and people walking their dogs. My town is good at community events.

We stood next to the road, in the dark, waiting. After a few minutes we could hear horns, way off over the fields, and we knew they were coming. There were a few cars, and a motorbike flashing his lights (not sure if he was part of it or just entering into the general mood). Then the tractors arrived—I’m guessing about 200 of them, giant ones, ancient ones, tiny ones; some looked not much bigger than our lawn mower, others could have moved a house. It was terribly exciting—I’m not sure why. Perhaps it was the lights and noise in the dark lane, maybe it was the size of some of the machines (maybe it was all the hunky young farmers!) I thought it was brilliant. I do enjoy a good parade.

Another thing I have enjoyed this week is a book by Richard Todd. He’s no relation, although I have met him a few times because two of his brothers married two of my aunts. When I heard he’d written a book, I bought a copy (partly because I happen to know that publishing a book takes a lot of courage). He was the head gardener at Anglesey Abbey, and the book describes his career, interspersed with how he believes God has guided him. It’s not a complicated book (which is very refreshing after reading lots of theology books, which do tend to make religion seem very complicated). If you are interested in gardening, or just want something nice to read at bedtime, I recommend it.[1]

Do you have times when you read certain books? I do. At bedtime, I like something that’s easy to read, nice and relaxing. But if I wake in the night and I can’t go back to sleep, I tend to read theology books—which tend to be slightly boring, but also make me feel I’m not wasting time so it doesn’t matter if I’m sleepy the next day. This does not work for the few theologians who write well (like Moberley or Clines) because then I become engrossed in the book and the night disappears. In the afternoon, when on holiday, I like something interesting—my favourites are John le Carre or Joanna Trollope—which are very different authors but they both have a nice turn of phrase. Their books are like sipping a good red wine next to the fire.

I don’t watch much telly, although Husband and I do enjoy watching certain series (usually on Netflix or even DVD—remember those?!) Our big secret is that several years ago, Husband gave me the entire boxset of The Good Wife and we have already rewatched it THREE times! It’s disappointing how much we have forgotten each time—especially when we watched it for the third time. Whole plots are like new. Which I guess is one of the many good things about growing old—bad memory means you enjoy the same films and books more than once. I hope you enjoy something this week—whether it’s a parade or a book or a television series.

Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

PS. For those who follow my blog regularly, my last two venesections were both cancelled because my iron levels have remained normal. I am extremely thankful for this and hope it continues. I am always cautious when talking about ‘answers to prayer’ (because what about the prayers that appear to be ‘unanswered’?—how do we explain parents who have lost children, drought-ridden areas when people pray for rain, those praying for the end to war, etc?)

[See my blog for further clarification: https://anneethompson.com/2015/11/19/prayer-doesnt-work/]

All I can say is that I did pray for the impossible and ask to not need more venesections, and the last two have been cancelled. Make of that what you will. I’m due for another one this week, so waiting to see what the blood test says…

[1] https://www.amazon.co.uk/Walking-God-Garden-God-Given-Purpose/dp/B0G7F14GWP/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2LLRXGRB55S7X&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.xV9dKDMs3Ak8Aw9-hPn1O3ZOldwCyiAMOfOmU42n7VRpLO8Vl8b8d1ItvpXIVoN6GTZq_44b_royZ4Pt0XXgmWFkceKC7PKH9YefUErtSq43Z9voA9rckbNJgTJMmCZjqzzXvcESRlTYOOAVIlbZTEPJ5ON3BCUdyetrjRCQw3yisQyAQCv6hSGDM6wJiEaLPeHbRL-AumyZgHKeCVlcgY-UdTMh29fJBkElK9toySc.0FZzvnVk7k73ODroPM1a-vkoSicpZJyQPxcFaQVvKc8&dib_tag=se&keywords=richard+todd&qid=1767200622&sprefix=richard+todd%2Caps%2C135&sr=8-1

Thanks for reading.
anneethompson.com
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Feeling Pointless

Hello, and how are you? Here is a blog I wrote a few years ago, but never posted (perhaps because it was too ‘raw’ at the time). Hoping it helps someone.

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I have been struggling this week with the feeling that I am, to be frank, fairly pointless. This is something that has dogged me throughout my life, as I have never managed to motivate myself when things seem pointless. ‘Where is the point,’ said my 16-year-old self, ‘of learning French, when I cannot afford to ever leave the country?’ If I couldn’t see the worth—the  point—of something, then I didn’t do it. To feel that one’s self is pointless is therefore bit of a problem, and not one that is easily solved.
My children have all grown up, they have independent lives and have studied things I don’t understand and all work in offices (whereas I only know classrooms) so their conversation is smattered with words like sprints and neds and nids, and difs and dofs (okay, I made up the last ones, but you get the idea?) I feel left behind, a little bit stupid, and really rather pointless.

There have been times in my life when I felt like I mattered too much. A working mother, with a husband who was always in the city and three young children and a house to cope with, life was so busy I didn’t have time to wonder whether I was pointless, I just had to make it through the day. Perhaps therefore this introspective issue is one reserved for people with too much undirected time. Perhaps busy people don’t stop to wonder. (Perhaps they should.)

I am at a ‘funny age for a woman’ so some of my feelings might be due to hormones rather than actual fact, but I see it in other people too. I look at what I have achieved in my life, and feel that it is all finishing, and I am left with nothing to do that’s worth doing, and I don’t want to be that frivolous person who has hobbies. I want to be up there, with the nurses in casualty, with the politicians making decisions, with the artist who produces something that affects people. I want to matter.

I suspect that lots of people felt pointless during the time of lockdown. Many people were stuck in their homes, possibly furloughed from work, not able to use their skills and talents. We feel pointless, we need to feel that what we do, our lives, has some worth. And sometimes, frankly, they don’t.

This is a problem that I also see with older people. As people approach the end of their life, when their body doesn’t quite manage to do all the things it used to do, when they can no longer be the person who goes up the ladder to fix the light, or carries the shopping, or caters for the crowd, then they start to feel a bit pointless. When the time comes to stop driving, it hits even harder. If you can’t do things, then what is the point of living? I hear this voiced (in different words) by people suffering a major illness. If you’re in so much pain that you can’t function, then what is the point? Why not end it now?

Even busy people actually, are fairly pointless. They work hard, they strive for wealth—but they never have time to enjoy it; or they want to be promoted to positions of power—but after a while someone else takes over and they retire and it was all for nothing. It is like chasing the wind. There is no point, not really. You work hard, you earn security, and then you die and someone who hasn’t worked, who doesn’t deserve it, enjoys everything you have achieved. So, why bother?

Before you all go and throw yourselves under a bus, I have a few thoughts.

I think that actually, on our own, we are all pointless. Time passes very quickly, and you will grow old, and lose your abilities, and die, and in a few decades you will probably be forgotten. So, as the writer of Ecclesiastes wrote, you should find work that you enjoy, and make the most of the life that you have.

We were all created for a purpose, and I believe that even more strongly than my feelings of despondency. Therefore there is a plan for my life, and if I manage to follow that plan, then my life will not be pointless, it will be part of a whole wonderful eternal plan. Which is what I want, need, long for. And this, in case you were wondering, is why I am a Christian. I want to be on God’s side, because he is eternal; following him is not like chasing the wind, and he gives my life meaning now, and will give my life meaning when I’m older. I might not see the whole plan now, some things will only be clear with hindsight, when I look back; sometimes I might lose sight of the plan altogether and wander off a bit. But if I keep trying to follow God, to every day ask him to guide me along the right path, then what I am will be worthwhile. My life is a tiny, but useful, essential, part of the whole. And that is worth living for.

Thank you for reading. Take care.
Love, Anne x

PS. When I initially wrote this, after a few days of absolutely everything going wrong, plus it being my dad’s birthday and I always miss him on his birthday, I had a mini explosion and told my family how I was feeling. They were all super-supportive, and I received flowers and loving messages and felt thoroughly loved (and a little guilty for having exploded). If you are feeling pointless, perhaps you should be brave enough to tell someone close to you. It might help.

Thanks for reading.
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