The pleasures of giving blood

Today was really rushed, with a thousand small-yet-important errands and tasks jostling my brain, and on top of everything else, I had made an appointment to give blood. 

However, once there, my hectic day slowed right down – the first task was to have a long, cool drink of squash while glancing at a list of activities to avoid in case they made you faint.  After filling in a form with a smug long list of ‘No’s (no intravenous drug use, recent tattoos, sex with intravenous drug users), I was settled into a reclining seat and a line attached to my arm, tethering me to the spot.

Whatever tasks beckoned, I could now do none of them.  Hits of the eighties played gently, and I scrolled casually through the book I am reading on my phone.  Apart from remembering to squeeze my fist, I was relieved of all duties for a number of precious minutes.  It was not unlike being at the hairdressers, although without the glossy mags.

And afterwards, I was commanded to sit still for a bit and have another lovely drink of squash and a cheering bag of crisps. 

The only thing that nearly ruined this period of me-time was when I saw that the snack selected by the woman next to me was a delicious chocolatey waggon-wheel. 

‘Nobody told me there were waggon-wheels!’ I wanted to shout. 

However, I took a deep breath and resumed my calmness.  After all, I wouldn’t want to faint, would I? 

Poppies

I wore a white poppy this year – given me by my friend Davina. At the green heart of the paper bloom, it says PEACE.

It is an anti-war, pacifist poppy.

But isn’t that disrespectful to the many thousands who gave their lives for this country in the First and Second World Wars and more recent conflicts? 

I don’t think so.  For me, remembering those who died makes it even more imperative there should be no more wars.  No more husbands, sons and brothers, no more wives, daughters and sisters should be lost. I suspect very few of the casualties, if able to have their say now, would clamour for more war.

When we walk on Coombe Hill in the Chilterns, we pass a memorial from the Boer War (pictured above), a conflict in South Africa where the British as a colonial power tried to oust the Dutch, their rivals. This is not a glorious moment in our history and is little talked of today, but even those Boer War soldiers died for their country in what they believed was a good cause and should be respected accordingly.

If the red poppy symbolises remembrance, then maybe the white poppy represents learning from our mistakes.  Maybe next year I shall wear both together.