Matthew Revell

A while back, Patrick Finch tagged me on a “five things you don’t know about me” post. It’s been a while coming but here’s my response.

I ran a Fidonet BBS: From 1993 until 1996, I ran the Socrates BBS, on our family PC. From 9pm to 9am people dialed into the BBS to swap files, get mail and play games. Just about every UK Fidonet-style network was available on Socrates, along with internet email, both of which were pretty rare. I also helped setup an Amiga-realted Fidonet-style network and created then ran the terribly named Ciibernet. I learnt a lot about creating social bonds through ASCII and ANSI text displays, made some good friends and got an excellent grounding that gave me a head start when I got my first dial-up internet account.

I have mild Raynaud’s disease: I’m wearing thermal socks as I type this. Raynaud’s disease leads to a constriction of blood vessels to the hands and feet. Even in warm environs, I usually have very cold hands and feet. When I lived in the (much colder) north east of England, my feet regularly turned entirely white and, sometimes, blue. The cure involved slapping them and bowls of hot water, both of which hurt like hell. I no longer take medication for it and, in my case, it’s no more than an annoyance.

I had a hospital radio show: Again from 1993 until 1996, I had a three hour weekly show on Radio Derwentside, the hospital radio station for Shotley Bridge Hospital, near Consett. Each show was assigned a particular ward from which to collect requests; mine was female geriatric. I ended up playing a lot of Harry Secombe, with a bit of the fabulously named Klaus Wunderlich. It was a great way to learn about radio and to write and perform sketches with my mates. We ended up at Radio Leeds, recording some of our sketches for the same show that Mrs Merton started on. Don’t think our stuff was broadcast, though
I ran a small press publisher: I was a busy teenager. From 1994 until 1998 I ran Poetribe, which published the rather pretentiously named Po?techniciens magazine, put on the Derwentside Poetry Festival, produced a tape of north-eastern English poets and had a few bits on the web. I was frustrated by the establishment arts crowd in the north east of England, who seemed (to the 16 year old me) more interested in fund raising dinner parties than discovering hidden talents. Using my BBS contacts, I found some great writers and think I reached enough people to have made a small difference.

I have strangely jointed wrists: If I place my hands on a table, arms straight, I can rotate my arms independently of my hands. It doesn’t sound much but people often recoil in disgust on the very rare occasions that I demonstrate it
I tag: Rob Annable, Felix Grant, Stuart Langridge, Andi Gladwin and Austen Macrow.

I’ve been told, for a long time now, that I’m an old man in a younger man’s body. I have come to accept that my love of slippers, a tamed tendency towards pomposity and general curmudgeonliness, do give that impression at times.

Today is my 29th birthday. I tell you this not to seek your well wishes but because this morning I unwrapped a hip-flask. This does not confirm my odd old-man-before-my-time nature. No, that comes from the fact that I actually wanted a hip-flask for my birthday.

Now, where do you use them without being labelled an alcoholic?

Alfred George Revell was born at 10.30 am today. We’ll call him Alfie.

In a couple of weeks, it will have been ten years since my mum and dad dropped me off at Leeds University. Looking back, I’m quite surprised by how naieve I was.

I prefer to avoid personal posts but I’d love to see what other people feel they’ve learnt in the past ten years. So, here are my ten, in no particular order and, hopefully, not the sum of my progress over that decade

1. People who claim to have no regrets must either lack conscience or have a selective memory.
2. Progressive rock, in general, is a bit naff. Yes, Marillion, Pink Floyd, early Genesis and a handful of others are exceptions.
3. Wolverhampton is not a suburb of Birmingham.
4. The realisation that “sometimes it does happen to you” is quite shocking.
5. Depressingly, sounding clever is often enough.
6. Saving is better than borrowing.
7. It is possible to meet your soulmate, almost at random, in a pub.
8. Religion may once have been a good attempt at understanding the world but now it’s used as an alternative to thought.
9. Single Malt whiskies are a world of subtle complexity, not just a drink that makes you pull a face.
10. Being truly in love is worth everything else in the world.

With a baby on the way, I imagine that my list will be very different in one year from now, let alone ten.

Today, we went to the hospital for a 20 week scan.

In November, I’ll be a dad and, according to the sonographer, we’ll have a son.

Now’s the time to find a name that is distinctive but not freakish.

Had a very scary day, yesterday. After two days of slight chest pains and shortness of breath, I nearly passed out whilst driving home from work.

This wasn’t giddiness: I felt as though I were being wrenched from the Earth, with my vision draining away into black. Not pleasant at 60 miles per hour. The pain in my chest stabbed, my left arm felt as though it wasn’t mine, my fingers tingled. Perhaps worst of all, I felt a pressure inside my chest, as though a huge rock had somehow been slipped between my breast bone and lungs/heart.

Arg.

I pulled over into a filling station, called Lyne. Voicemail.

After some deep breathing, I felt my brain was my own again. The pain subsided, the pressure lifted and I drove on.

Arriving home, I called NHS Direct (Labour-fuelled ruinours that the Tories plan to scrap it are, apparently, not true.)

Did I have pain in my chest? Yes, a sharp but constant pain. Where? Just under my breast bone and to the left a bit. Did I find it difficult to breathe? Yes. Did I have, at that moment, a crushing in my chest? No. Did I have tightness in my chest? Yes. Was I cold and clammy? Yes. Did I have pain in my jaw? No. Did I have pain in my arm? No. Did I have any strange sensations in my left arm? Yes, definitely.

“Matthew, I want you to go to hospital immediately. If anything gets worse, ask your wife to pull over and call an ambulance straight away.”

I cried. I was being sent to hospital with a suspected heart attack.

Thankfully, though, there’s not much on telly early Friday evenings, and Eastenders is repeated on BBC3 at 10pm.

As Lyne parked the car, I waited in a line of people badgering the receptionist with questions about when their child would have their slightly sprained finger seen to. I didn’t want to make a fuss, though, and waited my turn.

The receptionist - possibly bitter from years of people badgering her about their child’s slightly sprained finger - herded me along to another window, where she handed me a nice pink card - “Priority patient” - and spoke into an intercom, to have a nurse come see me straight away. Good ruse, this heart attack lark; must remember it for future reference.

“Yes, yes, the chest pains, I know, I know, but I was wondering if you could see to this broken arm first?”

I was hooked up to an ECG machine almost immediately. “Everything looks fine, but I’ll just ask the doctor to take a look”. Nurse left. Nurse returned. “Yes, you’re fine but if you could just wait in reception, I’ll get the doctor to speak to you.”

Relief. My heart was fine. No one of a medical flavour was panicking. Of course, something else was wrong but at least I wasn’t having a Rick Wakeman-style late 20s heart attack.

Turns out it was asthma, brought on by hay fever, or some other allergic reaction. I have to go my GP and get an inhaler, or two.

A very odd experience. After all the panic, everything’s normal again now.