June 1967. I walked down our garden at dusk with my father. I was 6. Our family lived in Israel. The airport landing lights we could always count in the sky, went out that night as Dad and I watched. That was the signal, he had known, was the start of war. I proudly helped to built him a bomb shelter under my bed. Tin of beans my contribution. My siblings and I went with my parents to the last evacuation flight to London. Dad however, remained on the tarmac, to return to his bomb shelter and do whatever it was he had to do. In London we were met by a doughty Foreign Office lady. Who gave us coats to cover our t-shirts and shorts. Off we wandered to my grandparents in North London. As a child I remember little. Certainly I was not afraid . I remember the cabin crew kept us all reasonably happy with model B.O.A.C. planes and let us help them hand out peanuts, yes peanuts, to all the passengers. Allergies did not seem an issue in those days.

The Six-Day War, also known as the June War, the 1967 Arab–Israeli War or the Third Arab–Israeli War, was an armed conflict fought from 5 to 10 June 1967 between Israel and a coalition of Arab states primarily comprising Jordan, Syria and Egypt.

A few years later my parents had moved to Cairo. I was in Sussex, in school. Again war had broken out in the Middle East. Such was the lack of technology and I have to say the lack of concern for the well being of we children by the school, we were left to work out what was going on ourselves. Using transistor radios , bound in leather , a smell I recall even now, with a little ear piece, we listened to the World Service under sheets and blankets and feared the worse for our parents. They were safe in fact and some sort of peace was once more established. Technology then not so speedy as now.

These memories, come flooding back at this time of war. My parents had of course been 6 when WW2 broke out. Their memories of London air-raid sirens and shelters, of rationing and more have resurfaced in recent days. 

What on earth can we do for poor Ukraine. The instant news from twitter and BBC etc keep us informed every minute of every day. Stories of bravery of resilience of pride in their homeland . My friend’s son , is at Uni in UK. He’s been in Russia on exchange. Here’s how he got home: …Actually it all got very hairy. UK instructed me to come home. I was booked onto a flight which got cancelled (having got to gate) because incoming plane turned around midair and went back . Then I tried Air France but decided that was bad idea because Macron just announced supplies of weaponry. Ultimately I took Aeroflot to Dusseldorf. On arrival there, Germany shut their airspace so i got out in the nick of time. Credit cards/banking were getting precarious and travel options virtually non-existent. Plan B was an Uber (seriously) to Estonia. Plan C getting on a dodgy container ship in port . Absolutely terrible for all the Ukrainians and Russian (normal) people.

My medical stuff fades into insignificance. But for you amazing readers who support me here is a very brief update. Bladder infection – turned out to be resistant to most antibiotics. Jerome came up with a plan. Which worked. 

Dr Microbiology from her clinic in ‘Freedom’ kiosk ( still closed) met me for updates of her National MDT discussion about Patient Jacq. #Fame

A plan has evolved for a change of tactics in terms of antibiotics and CISC. A discussion to be continued with Dipstick. 

As for lungs yet another chest infection cough splutter and out of breath has hit. I am awaiting CT, lung function and some weird blood test to see if I am eligible for special infusions. Im trying to avoid steroids. 

I will let you know. 

But for now. Ukraine, we stand with you and are trying to work out how to make that into something powerful.