THE NAKED MEN

I’ve been trolled on Twitter. Where I tweet on real ale and Parkinson’s (spilling beer unites the topics). The trolling was for failing to create adequate CGI dragons.

Let me explain. I’m Peter Jackson and on Twitter I’m @peterjackson46. And I happen to share a name with the director of the Lord of the Rings trilogy and the Hobbit. As a result I received a fairly forthright critique of my filmic dragons from a bloke called Lloyd to the effect that he’d come and get me if I didn’t create more lifelike and less rubbishy effing dragons next time around. I was tempted to inform him that I’d use real live dragons next time but thought better of it as dragon fans are not on the whole much good at irony.

But enough of dragons for now and let’s hope Lloyd doesn’t find the bloodyparkinsons.blogspot or I’m a gonner. He might even confuse me with Shakin’ Stevens and blame me for This Ole House.

Which in a roundabout way takes me back to PD.

On being diagnosed I’d asked the Neurologist about tests to check the diagnosis, but they diagnose by physical observation and touch, not blood and urine or x-rays or MRI scans and treatment seemed to be based on eating sensibly, taking regular exercise and reading stuff. Only resorting to medicine to slow your decline when you really need to do so.

His patients all reacted differently, he said, so you couldn’t create or follow any strict rules; perhaps before taking medicine you might try CoEnzyme Q-10, swim, walk the dog, go to Tai Chi, and come back in 2 months time to discuss Dopamine replacement pills.

So I started swimming regularly at the local baths, first thing in the mornings and though getting up first thing is not always my cup of tea, it gave me a good feeling. Best of all though are the naked men in the gents’ communal changing room getting ready to put their trunks on and to plough up and down. They are not a homoerotic band but rather a group of like minded Roman Senators using the public baths as a forum for erudition, debate, discourse and discussion. They just relax and take their time to change, or to swim, or to sweat in the steam room, or to sing in the shower, and to dry and to dress.

A ‘typical’ topic of conversation might be the history of the Ottoman Empire and rather more topically the Anzac campaign on the Bosporus, or the films of Clint Eastwood, the activities of athe spy George Blake, or the role of women pilots in the Second World War. Which led to a discourse on the Doodlebug and the possibilities that Jerry might put a suicide pilot in each rocket. Not apparently something the average naked man would have volunteered for! Even the smallest naked man.

It was from them I learned that by the windmill on Wimbledon Common there had been at the end of the 19th century a military gun range, not far from the high street and that as weapons increased in power, so the risk to civilians doing their everyday errands increased. Then one day a bullet skittered down the main road scattering shoppers here and there and the rifle range was moved to the open spaces of Bisley. You can still see the earthen ramparts of the range by the windmill on Wimbledon Common.

In the meantime the Scottish divisions, when not terrifying the locals, spent their free time creating golf courses on the common, hence the existence of two Wimbledon golf clubs today.

Singing close harmony naked in the shower is also part of the changing room deal: particularly for some reason Goon Show songs, such as Ying Tang Tiddle I Pho (forgive my spelling or I’ll sing it for you) and I’m Walking Backwards to Christmas. With the shower doors open and / or closed.

Incidentally, some other really weiird guys shower in the public area and so keep their trunks on, squirting shampoo down the back and front of their trunks and shampooing their private bits in public so to speak. With more contortions than a champion snake charmer’s champion python.

I’ll update on the naked men on a regular basis, provided they are still talking to me.

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