For our tommorrow they gave their today – and still are.

The United States Government today announced the lifting of HIV related entry, stay and residency restrictions. The ruling confirmed that HIV infection will be officially removed from the definition of communicable diseases of public health significance as of January 1st, 2010. The Deutsche AIDS-Hilfe (DAH), European AIDS Treatment Group (EATG) and the Global Network of People living with HIV (GNP+) congratulate the United States Government on fulfilling its promise and completing the legal procedure that was started by former President Bush on World AIDS Day 2007.

“This is a great victory for the fight against the worldwide discrimination of people living with HIV”, says Peter Wiessner from the Deutsche AIDS-Hilfe: “I remember times where we never thought that this would happen. This is an emotional moment and it feels a bit like the fall of the Berlin wall.”

DAH, EATG and GNP+ have long argued that HIV specific restrictions on entry, stay and residence are not only stigmatizing and discriminatory, but are also ineffective for public health protection and prevention purposes.

“Lifting the ban is a great step forward in the battle against stigma and discrimination against people living with HIV,” stated Kevin Moody, International Coordinator and CEO of GNP

“This groundbreaking move is the result of joint advocacy efforts by countless activists in the United States and around the globe over many years,” reported David Haerry of the EATG. “It is a strong message to other countries maintaining stigmatizing restrictions today, such as Russia, China, Australia and Canada.”

DAH, EATG and GNP+ commend the United States Government for its commitment to lead diplomatic efforts to lift HIV specific entry, stay and residency restrictions in other countries. There are multiple countries that could be spurred to deliver on their commitments: For example, China never delivered on the promises made in 2007 to the Global Fund to Fight AIDS, TB and Malaria to lift immigration restrictions[i] and both Namibia and South Korea have not yet fulfilled their promise to review their restrictive legislations[ii].

“Let’s not forget that even after the United States decision, we count more than 60 countries having stigmatizing entry or residency restrictions, including some in Western and Eastern Europe,” Peter Wiessner said: “27 countries deport people on the grounds of having an HIV infection.”

DAH, EATG and GNP+ want to recognize the enormous efforts by activists and diplomats inside the United States as well as outside to change these legislations. Precious support was provided by Congress woman Barbara Lee (California) and Senator Kerry. Special mention should be made of the Government of Norway and UNAIDS , that jointly led the International Task Team on HIV-related Travel Restrictions.

For more information contact:

Deutsche AIDS Hilfe: Peter Wiessner, +49-221-80 14 96 36 (German, English)

European AIDS Treatment Group: David Hans U. Haerry, +41-31-352 3210, david@eatg.org (French, English, German, Spanish)

Global Network of People living with HIV: Martin Stolk, Communications Officer, +31-6-1991 2406, mstolk@gnpplus.net (Dutch, English)

The Deutsche AIDS Hilfe and EATG collaborate with the International AIDS Society IAS on the Global Database of HIV-specific Travel Restrictions www.hivtravel.org 

DAH, EATG and GNP+ have been regular partners advocating against HIV related discriminatory measures such as travel restrictions.

laboda©adrienneseed

I feel very privileged to be able to share this story with you about an amazing woman who has been through the most horrendous time and come through it like a shining light – her courage and determination in the face of overwhelming odds will surely light the way for other positive women, all women in fact and give hope and inspire us all. I would like to thank her for sharing her story with us and I’m sure that like me all hiviners will wish her a continued happy future and health and happiness in the years to come.

Jennie’s Story

I was diagnosed with HIV in June 2006

I had been a single parent for six years and had recently started a serious relationship things were going great, I hadn’t been this happy for a long time. I soon found out that I was pregnant this was fantastic news for both my partner and I, we were so excited…little did we know what was about to happen.   

The day of my first appointment with the midwives arrived, we attended the appointment and everything looked really well, we came away very happy and excited, a couple of days later I started with an itchy rash on my neck which was really irritable so I decided to make an appointment with the doctor. I walked into the doctors room and he asked what was wrong, I told him about the rash and he looked at me inquisitively and said ” well im glad you came in today as some of the tests the midwives did have come back extremely odd” I asked what he meant, he replied one of the tests suggests that you might be HIV positive. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing what did he mean? Apparently the test had come back inconclusive so I would have to be tested again. I felt numb I couldn’t really take all the information in. I had another test done and was sent home. 

I really didn’t know what to do I needed to tell somebody, I decided to confide in my mum, I was truly devastated, my mum was really supportive and comforting, how do I tell my partner the father of my unborn child that I might be HIV positive I felt as though the first bit of happiness id had in years was about to be swept from under me. 

I finally got the courage to tell him, it was one of the hardest things iv ever had to do, he was so supportive and optimistic he assured me not to worry and that everything would be OK and that it would all is a big mistake, but deep down I had a terrible feeling. 

I had to wait two whole agonising weeks for the results of the test, id continued with normal everyday life for the sake of my son who was totally oblivious to everything that was going on around him, I was still going to work everyday even though I couldn’t stop worrying, I rang the doctors everyday to see if my results had come back but every time I was told no. Then one late afternoon my phone rang it was a midwife from the hospital making me an appointment for ladies like me, what do you mean ladies like me I asked and she went on to confirm the devastating news. 

Nobody from my doctors had even bothered to ring me to tell me my result had come back positive, I later spoke to my doctor who confirmed this and had made me an appointment the following day at the local GUM clinic. 

I was a wreck, my partner was really supportive and strong the whole time. We attended the appointment together and were both tested again, we left with lots of literature and a bag full of condoms. At the time I felt like I never wanted to have sex again. 

My partner’s results came back negative, but he remained supportive, we still had a baby on the way and we had been assured that with the right treatment throughout my pregnancy our baby would be well. 

In the meantime I decided that I wanted to be signed off work as it was all too much for me, work wanted to know what was wrong, I then went on to make the mistake of telling them and this was the first time I encountered discrimination, I was made to feel extremely uncomfortable at work, I was already going through enough at that time without the added stress of people treating like a leper at work so I decided to leave my job. 

My pregnancy progressed and I started treatment, it made me feel ill but I coped. On the 14th December 2006 our son was born who is negative. 

We gradually started to accept that I was HIV positive although life was very difficult for a long time; I lost all my confidence and use to find little things like leaving the house difficult, I had counseling which helped a little and with time things started to get easier. 

In 2008 more heartache was to come. Just as life was starting to get back to normal I found out that there was a problem with my heart, at one of my HIV checkups the doctor had picked up on a heart murmur and referred me to a specialist who confirmed after numerous tests that I had a large hole in my heart that was life threatening and it would have to be operated on to correct it. 

This put things into perspective for me, for so long I had been worrying about the HIV, worrying how long I would live for and when I would have to start proper treatment, I was only 26 years old I had a family I was HIV positive and now on top of that I was on a waiting list for open heart surgery. 

The months leading up to my operation were agonizing, I was terrified of dying and never seeing my children grow up, I knew people were terrified of HIV and I worried that this would affect the treatment I received in hospital. 

The day I had to go into hospital arrived, I said goodbye to my two children, a one year old and an eight year old, I was terrified.  We arrived at the hospital the night before my operation where the doctors prepared me for the op. They asked questions “do you smoke”? “When did you last eat”? Etc. Then one doctor asked me about my HIV he asked me to confirm my status and then went on to ask me if I had any other stds or syphilis, this made me feel extremely uncomfortable I told him “no” and he left and said he would see me in theatre. 

I didn’t sleep that night; I lay awake all night worrying. The day of my op arrived and they wheeled me down to theatre, I cried.  The next thing I remember is waking up in intensive care I was so relieved I’d made the operation. 

I was wheeled back up to the ward in a wheelchair I felt awful, I had chest drains in which felt really uncomfortable, a nurse came to transfer me from the wheel chair to a bed, she couldn’t manage on her own so shouted to one of her colleagues “can you help me with this lady, you will need to wear gloves she is HIV positive” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing she had just broadcast my HIV status across a whole ward. I was heartbroken, I could hear people whispering, a nurse came over and instructed the nurse putting me into bed to give me some more pain relief, she thought I was crying because of the physical pain, but I wasn’t I was crying because of what the nurse had just done. I had never felt so uncomfortable in my whole life. 

A week later I was allowed to go home, I was relieved, I was better just in time for Christmas and we had the perfect family Christmas. I soon returned to work, and now I live my life to the full and I realize that being HIV positive isn’t the end of the world, if I had never been diagnosed HIV positive I might never have found out about my heart condition and I might not have been here writing this story now. My partner and I got married two months ago and are happier than ever, I know we have a tricky future ahead but together we are strong and will continue to be.

When I was first diagnosed with HIV the general prognosis at the time as to how long I would survive was eight to ten years, but with the help of medication I was told by my specialist which was improving all the time, a healthy lifestyle and a positive attitude, anything was possible. I was so ill at that point, I didn’t think I would survive another year let alone make it to my sixtieth birthday, so I was somewhat surprised and a little confused (although I believe that is all par to the course of being a pensioner) to find myself celebrating my very special day last week surrounded by my amazing family and wondrous circle of friends, some of whom I have only had the privilege to meet because of HIV.

A matter of further confusion to me was that half my family arrived in a mini bus from Wales cunningly disguised as Mexicans complete with black mustachios (disturbingly this also included the women and children) wearing brightly striped ponchos and huge sombreros, whilst madly strumming guitars and rattling maracas. The reason for this being I’d wanted to hire a real Mexican Mariachi band to serenade us and sing happy birthday to me in Spanish but it was far too expensive – for example two measly Mexicans cost £700 so you can imagine how much a whole posse would cost. As it turned out my family made an excellent job of singing happy birthday to me and more to the point they didn’t cost anything. Added to this my motley Mexican/Welsh Mariachis (and not forgetting our Great Uncle Peter the Godfather of the family) provided me with a lasting memory which makes me smile every time I think of it and helped to make it a truly wonderful occasion and a birthday I will never forget, unless of course due to my now ripe old age Alzheimer’s suddenly kicks in.

I can’t believe I’m sixty – it is making me feel quite disorientated, but I believe at my age that is also a common ailment. I don’t feel sixty, although I might look it thanks to the damage HIV and the meds have caused to my skin and my body shape. But what do a few wrinkles matter and I don’t really need a bottom anymore apart from to hold my jeans up and due to my advanced years I suppose I’ll have to stop wearing those soon. The fact is I’m still here, that’s the main thing and now what is termed as a long time survivor.

When I was getting ready for my party I was putting my make up on in an attempt to disguise the ravages of time and HIV as best I could, when my son popped his head round the door. “You look great mum,” he enthused, “don’t pay any attention to that stupid mirror.”

The new sixty year old me who is already suffering from an identity crisis, was alarmed to hear that I had also become the victim of identity theft. Unbeknown to me I had apparently changed my address and now resided in Manchester and was the kind of pensioner who liked to spend £700 at any one time in Asda. Does my impersonator not realise that pensioners do not tend to have that kind of money and due to financial hardship and a tightening of the purse strings I am now and have been for some time, a confirmed Aldi and Lidl shopper. Perhaps my impersonator would also like to come and write this blog for me? I’ve since changed my log in information and password of course, but if you do notice a sudden change in my writing style or my blogging character, please let me know because apparently at my age this kind of memory loss and abrupt personality change tends to happen. Perhaps my impersonator was the disgusting, beneath contempt (swearword) person who wrote a message on this blog proclaiming – AIDS is great, it kills people, which of course I instantly deleted.

Anyway, enough about that, it takes all sorts unfortunately, but luckily I am surrounded by the right sort of people and this was very apparent at my birthday party. I had a wonderful night and I know for a fact that if it hadn’t been for the support of my family and friends who travelled from far and wide and from all corners of the globe, well Holland and Ibiza, not to mention Birmingham, Wales and Lower Darwen to be with me, I would not be alive and kicking the sh** (if you’ll pardon the expression) out of HIV related stigma and discrimination. Without their total unconditional love and support I would not be here writing this blog or have been able to do all the things I’ve done. So this is thanks to them and I wish that all positive people in the world could be offered that same love and support that I’ve been blessed by, because believe me, it means so much. So here’s to them and here’s to us ‘pozzers’ and long may we reign over the small minded people who try to bring us down with their undeserved stigma and discrimination.

Losing your car keys or locking yourself out of the house can throw your whole world into total turmoil, all for the want of a tiny piece of metal – but when your glasses snap in half, which is what happened to me the other day rendering me completely useless, it reminded me of what primitive things glasses or spectacles as posh people call them actually are. Two bits of magnifying glass which sit astride the bridge of your nose, held in place by the equivalent of a bent coat hanger wrapped around your ears Harry Potter style. You’d think someone would have come up with another more aesthetically pleasing option by now, wouldn’t you? I know there are such things as contact lenses because my friends are often to be found crawling on the floor on their hands and knees looking for theirs, especially after a wild night out, and there is affordable laser surgery constantly on offer now, although apparently that is not an option if you are over fifty, which as my sixtieth birthday looms definitely rules me out. The same applies if you are a lactating woman or HIV positive. My lactating days, I’m not sorry to say, may well be over but my positive days thanks to HIV unfortunately never will be, therefore I will have to continue to wear spectacles and be known as a ’speccy four eyes’ as well as making (as is often the case) a spectacle of myself.

The day my stupid and not cheap glasses frames it has to be said snapped in two I happened to be on unknown territory in an undesirable area of Manchester and quite keen to find my way out. As I couldn’t see to read let alone understand the complicated bus timetable I got on the first bus that came along which luckily delivered me in an indirect fashion to the train station. The station was packed due to the cancellation of certain trains and everyone was peering up at the console with worried expressions on their faces, even me, although I was only pretending as it was all a blur. People kept approaching me asking about train times but I was forced to uselessly shrug my shoulders, dangling my broken glasses in each hand. When exactly did I become sort of person who looked like I knew where I was going I wondered?

The train to Bolton when it did finally arrive was packed to the hilt and we all had to stand squashed up together in the doorway peering over the mountains of overstuffed carrier bags from Primark. A huge black guy, a boxer he informed us proudly, was determined to engage the sardine like throng in unwanted conversation.  

“In America not safe to ride subways,” he squints from side to side over his broken boxer’s nose, “someone done shoot you man – an if you see some dude you know, don’t catch dere eye as dey more den like done shoot you too.”

“Sounds a bit like Moss side,” chuckles female shopper clutching Primark carrier bag to joggling bosom.

Everyone laughs in acknowledgement of joke thereby uniting squashed throng and the shared humour forms an instant bond. Boxer now has centre stage.

 “You from round dese parts dude?” he addresses washed out looking student with thin greasy imitation Rasta locks. “Ever been to the States man?”

Student shakes pathetic locks and looks petrified. 

Didn’t really want to get off as was enjoying interchange but even without aid of spectacles managed to disembark at right station. Would you believe it, forty five minutes to wait according to passing guard. Bored out of brains; no boxers to talk to, couldn’t read rolled up newspapers had been lugging around all day under arm, so was forced to pace up and down. Maybe they sell plasters at newspaper shop I think then can tape glasses together. No plasters madam but why not try chewing gum suggests assistant. Chomped away sulkily on gum like yeah but no but am I bovvered schoolgirl for a while, but was far too sticky to hold frames together and didn’t fancy having eyebrows involuntarily plucked, have hardly got any left as it is.

Boarded train and managed to locate seat. Opened newspapers even though couldn’t see print. Tried balancing two separate halves of glasses on nose but affect of distorted varifocal lenses didn’t help the constant vertigo I suffer caused by meds. Train windows wide open for a change, normally try to suffocate us. Rickety old train whizzes through long black tunnel. Deafening noise and icy cold wind rushes through carriage. Psychiatrists say dreaming about trains and tunnels has sexual connotation. All psychiatrists kinky if you ask me – well at least the one’s I know who shall remain nameless, at least for the moment. There is something called tunnel vision ponder to self and also tunnel love – or is that radar love?

The icy breeze catches newspaper pages and whips them up into frenzy, loose pages flapping everywhere. Katie Price a.k.a Jordan now stuck to ceiling, best place for her and her ridiculous bosoms if you ask me, sick and tired of reading about her. Tunnel seems to go on forever. Motion rattles glasses off nose, broken frame dangling from either ear, looking like Harry Potter gone mad. Wonder train doesn’t come out at Hogwarts.

Off to Specsavers the next day to get glasses fixed – still under guarantee I presumed as hadn’t had them that long. Specsavers packed, does whole population of Blackburn wear spectacles or is it the fact that they are offering two pairs for the price of one. That is total con as far as I can see – which I couldn’t as it happened. All assistants wearing spectacles must be part of the job description.

Offered broken glasses up to grouchy woman assistant for inspection without saying a word, lense in each hand dangling from fingers.

“How long have you had them?” mean faced assistant enquires her ostentatious thick black framed diamante studded glasses perched on her beaky nose.

“Ooh, let me think, tis less than a year,” I tell her. I really believe this.

Looks at me suspiciously and tap tap taps on computer with her matching diamante encrusted nails – was waiting for her to look up and say computer says no. Instead announces triumphantly – hah – March 2008.

“Really?” I gasp with feigned amazement, “I don’t believe it, how time flies when you’re wearing glasses. How long will take to repair them?”

“Irreparable,” she glowers.

“Irreparable?” I repeat in semi-threatening tone with a meaningful lift of the eyebrow.

“You must have been rough with them,” she challenges me.

“By rough do you mean taking them off and putting them on?” I enquire sarcastically.

“You always have to take your glasses off with two hands,” she throws back.

Is she serious?

“Surely this is more a case of shoddy workmanship?” says I.

Pause whilst we glower at each other across table, nose to nose like predatory Eagles, sizing each other up.

“It would have cost forty pounds to repair but as these frames are now out of date cannot do.”

“Only bought them little over a year ago, how can be out of date?”

“Are,” she insists.

“Why wasn’t I informed when bought frames that would be soon out of date and thus irreparable?”

“Well, we don’t know what’s going to be in fashion in a year’s time do we?”

“Does that mean now have to buy completely new frames at great expense to self?” I demand angrily.

“Maybe can adapt lenses to similar frame but will mean will losing ex percent of reading spectrum,” speccy four eyes informs me.

“Should have gone to specsavers – should have gone somewhere else,” mutter under breath and also quote old expression, ‘Men never make passes at gals who wear glasses,’ especially I would think in ol’ beaky’s case.

Whilst waited for glasses to be adapted did some shopping then went home, but couldn’t do anything useful or even write blog. Good excuse not to do things, like at school. Sorry, cannot do homework, glasses broken. Good excuse for retail therapy though as couldn’t see prices.

Son drove me back to town later that afternoon to collect revamped glasses. At traffic lights man giving me the eye from next car.

“That bloke’s looking at you mum,” son says in surprise, “Think he fancies you.”

“Why so surprised?” I asked him. His old mum might be approaching sixty have to resort to wearing glasses occasionally and be HIV positive (although of course man in car didn’t know that) but can still turn a head every now and then.

Maybe man in next car should have gone to specsavers – or in my experience maybe not!

Tossing and turning, all night long – brain in total overdrive, hurling pillows in air and flinging on floor like plates at Big Fat Greek wedding. Mind you, had been watching Olympic hurling trials that day and talking to nice Greek man. Not fat one hasten to add – slightly plump, more like comforting pillow would imagine, not that I was?  

How many pillows you choose to sleep with (or Greek men presumably) apparently says a lot about you, as in what size, shape etc. you prefer. For example, someone who sleeps with a hard one (they should be so lucky) probably suffers from neck or lower back problems, (serves them right I say) whereas someone who sleeps with no pillows at all like Joan Collins allegedly chooses to do, is thinking about not getting anymore wrinkles as opposed to winkles.

Thanks to Changing Rooms, sixty minute makeover and the like, the current fashion a la Matalan is to overdress your bed with all kinds of throws and scatter cushions, hence the fact that I spend half the night hurling them in the air and kicking them out of bed – talking pillows here as opposed to Greek men. There is a common practice known as ‘pillow talking’, which according to wikipedia is a conversation that generally takes place at night and involves talk of romantic interest. It is speculated that sexual partners of many world leaders have had extreme influence through this type of discussion. Well, as I currently don’t have any world leaders to cuddle up to and the last time I met Jack Straw he expressed no desire to talk to me in broad daylight let alone at night, I will just have to talk to my pillow alone, which I often do as it happens. However, I am no longer content with the company of my old pillows, there have been too many tears shed and too many bad dreams, thanks to the meds. Do pillows store up memories and dreams I wonder, and if so, perhaps the time had come to buy some new ones.

Great, two for one at Asda. Push them around in my trolley, then take them home and introduce myself, as will be sleeping with them for next twenty years I hope, although that might be bit optimistic considering age and affliction. Try some pillow talk.

“What to do about credit cards and mounting debt?” ask new pillow.

“Ignore for now,” pillow advises me, “And go to sleep.”

Ask it golden counselling question. “Pillow, if you wake up tomorrow and everything is alright, how would you know?”

Pillow not answering so stick between knees to relieve aching hip

Make note – have seen specially designed knee cushion in kleeneze catalogue. Always have pen and paper directly to hand next to pillow incase wake up in night with idea for painting or new blog. Sometimes write very strange things that cannot understand in morning as am usually hallucinating from meds, for example found other day written in big scribble – how do you say Noddy in Spanish – don’t be daft Noddy doesn’t live in Barcelona he lives in Toy Town.

Now what would you make of that?

Write down on pad ask Luis what is Spanish word for pillow. New pillows useless as far as conversation is concerned.

“If you despierta manana,” ask Luis next day “And everything okay, khow you know?”

“Que?”

Luis too tired from painting wardrobe doors to play mind games.

New handles and knobs needed for said wardrobe doors so googled ‘interesting knobs’ – various websites pop up, posh knobs, knobs and knockers not to mention snobs knobs – which don’t bear thinking about really.

Off we go to B&Q on knob hunt – take old knobs in pocket. Most knobs extremely boring as anyone who cohorts with rich will know. Nothing of any distinction in B&Q and very expensive to boot, so go to small hardware shop like something out of Two Ronnie’s sketch.

“Got any Fork handles?”

“Four candles?”

 “Got any interesting knobs mate?”

Back to B&Q before hardware man calls police. Settle for least boring knobs can find, but on way to check out discover have stuffed stray knob in pocket along with old knobs. Luckily didn’t try to walk out door or would have got arrested like Richard Madeley for knob lifting.  Looking for knobs can be a perilous business it seems.

Got home to find downstairs laptop had packed up on us – domestic tragedy on a grand scale as Luis likes to read Spanish periodico of a morning. Tell him he has broken it by tapping too hard on touchpad and swearing at it in Spanish when it wouldn’t do what he wanted it to do – and we English know you have to be kind to computers; they are very sensitive and moody entities which have to be treated with the utmost respect. Downstairs lap top obviously taken offence because cursor was acting peculiar and had to tilt lap top backwards and forwards to make arrow move – t’was too frustrating by far for a fiery Spanish hombre who kept beating fists on table thus sending arrow into complete hiding.

What to do, we put defeated cabezas together and ponder – cannot afford new lap top and Luis cannot survive without reading Spanish news in morning – have to keep him khappy or won’t screw new knobs on.

“Why not use mouse?” advises sister on telephone. “Mouse much better than touchpad any day.”

Haven’t got mouse but think very good idea – sister very clever, much cleverer than moi.

Take Luis back out on exciting magical mystery trip to PC World (normally only gets to go on outings to B&Q and Asda) it’s a bit like Sea World I tell him, but no pescado, instead lots of mice for computer or ratons as they are called in Spanish.

“If mouse called raton,” I ask him, “What rat called?”

“Ratta” Luis growls rolling r’s.

“As in rattafarian,” I make joke, “with dreadlocks?”

Luis not in mood to laugh till lap top fixed.

Don’t worry be khappy sing to him.

Choose shiny black raton to take home with us and wonder of wonders it works without cable. Tis wireless operated mouse opposed to clockwork mouse. Luis now not worried, very, very khappy, keeps stroking raton and protecting from me with hands, wonder doesn’t call it Basil like Manuel in Fawlty Towers.

Basil   Basil

Oh no, get up next day and ratton not working – Basil ees dead Mr Fawlty.

When Luis not looking, roll Basil over on back to see if balls clogged. Discover wireless controlled ratons don’t have balls – don’t know much about mice or ratons, more used to cursors, but thankfully since menopause haven’t one of those for a while

“No touch khim,” Luis jumps out of shadows

“Was only looking to see if had any cojones,” tell him sulkily.

Cojones Spanish word for balls – Spanish word for cushion cojins. Very similar sounding. Already fallen into language trap by telling Luis had been sleeping with two many cojones and was looking for some new ones.

Anyway, you will either be sorry or extremely pleased to hear that the Spanish vocabulary lessons are coming to a temporary halt as Luis going back not to Barcelona but to Ibiza. Will have to make sure he doesn’t try to smuggle Basil with him in suitcase – there is heavy duty fine and even imprisonment I believe for attempting to smuggle ratons either in or out of a country.

Whatever will I find to write about? No more knob lifters, rat smugglers or fork handles. Four candles – although hopefully not a funeral!

If you want to listen to me speaking on BBC Radio Lancashire about HIV/AIDS, medication as in HAART (Highly Active Antiretroviral Treatment) and the rising statistics in the north west according to the latest figures released today, follow the link -

www.bbc.co.uk/lancashire/

Click on the listen again feature – scroll down to Tony Livesey breakfast show Wednesday 26th August and I am on between 8am and 9am.

 

picture:dad©adrienneseed

First things first – congratulations to one of our lovely hiviners who tied the marital knot on Saturday, thus defying all the HIV odds. I’m sure that along with me you will want to wish her every happiness and a wonderful future. She has promised to write her story for hivine to give other positive women hope that they too can find love, even with a negative partner – so watch this space.

The next person in line for a medal, or a hoody, albeit in lycra if his sudden penchant for strutting around in garish colours and skin tight cycling pants is anything to go by, is the gallant Eifion, husband of my cousin Viv of ‘Viv Lives’ survivor of cancer fame, who is about to get on his bike in order to raise awareness and money for another very worthy cause, The Royal British Legion. Eifion, as you can probably guess from his name, is a rather dashing Welsh man and as far as I am aware and judging by the lycra, is the only biker in the village, apart from possibly the odd loose Welsh woman.  

Why are loose women Welsh or otherwise known as the village bike? I suppose the obvious answer is because everyone gets to have a ride on them and the Irish always describe having sex as having a ride don’t they?

When we lived in Ireland my son had a girlfriend called Gronya who we cruelly nicknamed gerronyer bike. Sadly the relationship didn’t last – I wonder why?

I obviously come from a family of bike riders (not I hasten to add loose women) as well as campaigners and survivors of terminal illnesses. That must be where my own compulsion to raise my head above the parapet (as my health advisor describes it) and speak out about HIV comes from. But Eif will be doing more than raising his head; he will be risking permanent damage to his manhood (allegedly) by raising  his bottom, mounting the saddle and riding all the way to Paris, which is notoriously full of loose women. However, he won’t be in any condition to take advantage of this once in a lifetime opportunity, not that he would of course, because by the time he gets there he will probably be suffering from extreme lycra burn, which is even worse I believe than carpet burn.

Some helpful advice for Eif gleaned from other bikers – shave legs in order to go faster, always have some bikearbonate of soda immediately to hand and refrain from wearing the obligatory string of onions round neck as sported by traditional French bikers as these will only serve to slow him down.

But, according to the fearless Eif anything, even long lasting lycra lash is worth furthering his worthy cause. And worthy cause it most certainly is, as every day we have to witness the heartbreaking news that yet another young British soldier has been wiped out in their prime. You may be opposed to our involvement in the ongoing conflict in Afghanistan, but there are times when we depend on our armed forces to fight for freedom and justice and the sake of world peace. Hardly a day goes by when I don’t think about my dad who was a navigator on the old Lancaster Bombers in the Second World War and how brave he was and tell my son that if it wasn’t for his granddad and great granddad, he wouldn’t be enjoying the freedom that he has today – not that he listens to me.

I have recently completed two new paintings of my dad, trying both to re-find myself as an artist (as opposed to an activist) and also to conjure up his spirit and braveness as I face my own daily battle with this bloody disease. When I was first diagnosed seven years ago I was told to think of my highly toxic pills as my ‘little soldiers’ who would help me wipe out the deadly HIV virus that had invaded my body, or at least keep it under control. Some days, even seven years on, I still have trouble getting them down and then they do the cowardly thing by coming straight back up.

picture:dad©adrienneseed

“Get back on the front line,” I order, “and do your stuff,” I bark at them like an army commandant, although I am the biggest coward in the world and could not face what our brave soldiers are forced to confront on a daily basis. I know that I for one could not live without my own personal battalion of soldiers and unfortunately, in these troubled times, some parts of the world can’t live without ours – so let’s look after them and their families by supporting The Royal British Legion and Lycra Lash Eif in the momentous journey he has before him.

I don’t know, Willo on her plinth, Eif on his bike – and me on the meds. Some things never change.

Suggested songs for Eif to pedal along to as he leaves the White cliffs of Dover far behind him.

“Wheel meet again.”

“Lycra Rolling Stone.”

And not forgetting an old classic song for our recently wedded hiviner –

“On a bicycle made for two.”

And if he is feeling philosophical or about to give up, he can always contemplate this ancient Zen proverb –

“Seek and ye shall find there is nothing to be found, look here is a bike and the wheels go round…….

Unless he gets a puncture of course.

You can sponsor Eif by visiting his website – here is a letter explaining all the details of his mission and how you can make a donation.

Dear Relatives, Friends and Hiviners,

I’m doing the Poppy Bike Ride!

This is Eifion here, writing to you in the hope that you will support my planned big adventure in September 2009

I have a place on The Royal British Legion’s Pedal to Paris ride in September 2009 for which I’m already training hard! 250 cyclists will be taking part and raising funds for the Royal British Legion at the same time. We will start from Greenwich, London on 3rd September and finish 440 km later at the Arc de Triomphe itself on 6th September. It’s a long way, but I’m keen to take up the challenge, especially for such a good cause. Cycling an average of over lOO km per day is just one side of the story -I know that I will be helping men and women who risked their lives in many conflicts, including Northern Ireland, the Gulf War, Bosnia and the current campaigns in Iraq and Afghanistan. The Legion works so hard supporting them, their dependants and families and, like all charities, they need every penny they can raise. This has come into sharp focus recently with the terrible heavy losses and injuries in Afghanistan.

In the months leading up to the event, each cyclist has been asked to raise a minimum of £800 in sponsorship, but I will be trying to beat that. I would greatly appreciate any contribution from you, no matter how small.  Please note that the Chancellor of the Exchequer is very generous to charities when donations are made. If a Gift Aid form is completed, the charity receives about 28% more in tax benefit.

You can donate on line by clicking onto my donations page where there is a Gift Aid facility.

https://www.bmycharity.com/V2/eifion

If you want to learn more about the Poppy  Bike Ride then check out www.poppybike.org.uk

If you want to know more about the work of the Royal British Legion www.britishlegion.org.uk

Take a look at my own website which has sparked my interest in the work of the Legion. It’s a Virtual War Memorial for Northop Parish where I live.  www.northopwm.com

Thank you very much for taking the trouble to read my letter and I hope that you feel that you are able to support this excellent cause.  Please pass on my details to anyone else you think might wish to help.

 Yours sincerely

 Eifion Williams

missc&thewindbags©willowilliams

Hear ye, Oh hear ye – the time has come for the town crier or should I say the web crier to make the grand announcement that Willo, best friend, artist, neighbour and honorary member of our local HIV support group is about to mount the plinth as part of the One and Other project, a live artwork by sculptor Antony Gormley where 2400 participants representing every region of the UK each get to spend an hour alone to do their thing on the empty plinth in Trafalgar Square.

When the project was first announced I also applied for a place, thinking it would be an excellent opportunity to raise awareness about HIV, but knowing my luck for such things and in the postcode lottery I was not selected. Never mind, brave Willo is going to do it for us and is also going to give my book, “The Spider and the Fly,” which will be out in November in time for this World AIDS day, a hefty plug.

I must say, as the time draws nigh, I don’t really envy her the terrifying task she has before her and as ever I admire her courage in facing up to life’s challenges of which she has survived many, the worst of which was losing her beloved partner Paul or Pavlito as I always called him, in what should have been the prime of their years. However, I am sure he will be with her in spirit and looking down on her with immense pride. Anyway, she is taking him up on the plinth with her in the form of the amazing plaster sculpture she made in his memory and she is also going to make another plaster live on the web cam so she is hoping it won’t rain. In the event that it does, she has purchased a magnificent striped umbrella hat, so it will be worth logging on just to see her wearing that.

so tenderly he loved me - willo williams

Willo intends to talk whilst she is busy working about the many charities she supports and about her own cancer, which, with her indomitable spirit she survived and if she has (in her words) the nerve, her colostomy bag, in order to inspire other cancer sufferers and give them hope. The header painting for this blog which is by Willo and entitled ‘Miss Colostomy and the Windbags’ is about celebrities such as Billy Conelly and Ruby Wax making jokes about colostomy bags in their repertoire.

The Jarman Centre in Blackburn has lent Willo the huge Red Ribbon which is dragged out every year on World AIDS Day at Blackburn Cathedral and has also donated the enormous bag of multi-coloured and multi-flavoured condoms she is going to toss to the crowd. How big the crowd will be is debateable because unfortunately she has the 7am to 8am time slot, but the footage will be shown on the Sky Arts channel so her message of safe sex will hopefully get across to the nation.

So hear ye, hear ye, calling all positive people as well as people who aren’t – the brave and fearless Willo is supporting us so we must also support her by logging on to  the one and other website.

Day – Wednesday 12^th August

Time – 7am to 8am – yes, I know it’s very early in the morning, but it will be worth getting up for if only to see what Willo (who is known for her eccentric dress sense) is wearing – aside from the umbrella hat!

Please visit the One and Other website in advance where you can pledge your support and send her your messages of encouragement.

From hivine – thanks Willo – Willo the Wisp you are definitely not! Willo the Wonderful more like.

Willo – Biography for One and Other

Region: North West

• clumsy
• eccentric
• dreamer

I will be on the 4th plinth during week 6

About me

At first I thought the project would be an amazing forum to raise the profile of the groups and charities that interest me, but since being selected, my friends feel I should use it as a platform for myself. I am still undecided about this.

As a long-term survivor of various forms of cancer (including secondary bone cancer) I thought I might promote Christie Hospital, where I received most of my treatments over several years. I’m also a supporter of the Colostomy Association, Scope, YMCA, the Big Issue, NSPCC, Childline, British Heart Foundation (my partner having died suddenly of heart related illness on New Years Day 2007), Leukaemia Research (my ‘ex’-nephew died of leukaemia at the age of 14 and I have a friend currently undergoing treatment), various third world charities and a local Aids/HIV support group. Several friends are infected with the virus (one of whom has written her moving yet witty autobiography – you can read a few chapters of it in advance of publication at: www.hivine.wordpress.com or www.hivine.com) and some have died of Aids related illnesses. The general public seems to have little or no idea of how the virus is now spreading through the heterosexual community – with many of the newly diagnosed being teenagers, so along with other members of the group, I am anxious to promote awareness.

I currently have my 91 year old mother living with me who has a mixture of dementia and Alzheimer’s and my late father also suffered from dementia and prostate cancer, so they are other areas that concern me.

My first grandchild was born at 27 weeks in Queen Mary Hospital, Hong Kong. He weighed less than 800 grams and his survival was in the balance for many months. He is now 13 and I am indebted to that hospital and neonatal care. I first met him when he was 6 months old, on oxygen and still too weak to lift his head by himself. I did an oil painting of him with his mum and called it Miracle Boy.

I have a background in art and have at various times, managed to make money from it, not least when I was living in Zambia. Alas not so in recent years and currently it is nothing more than a hobby. With being a full-time carer I have little spare time (nor inclination since the loss of my partner) and that is mostly used up on DIY in my tiny old house bursting at the seams with all sorts of junk (that might just come in useful) and my mother’s furniture and effects.

I have two children, five grandchildren, various step-children and their offspring that I regard as my own. Sadly none of them live close by, so I don’t often see them.

Africa had a profound effect on me and I feel privileged to have lived there for some 17 years. Not without its ‘hairy’ moments though, like being falsely arrested twice, for being a spy (when I was just out sketching on assignments for the mining company).

I make time for a couple of activities – tai chi and salsa, both of them being my time to chill-out from the stresses of daily life and the latter being a huge amount of fun.

For many years I have been an admirer of Antony Gormley’s work and have seen it in various settings, but none so impressive as The Angel of The North which I spotted by accident on a train journey from Edinburgh. I should have been travelling via the west coast, but for some reason we were diverted. Admiring the view out to sea on the east coast I suddenly spotted it in all its magnificence. It was breathtaking and a sight I shall never forget.

Like so many of the participants I never expected to be selected by the computer for this project, so I am still rather overwhelmed – and terrified! However, I consider it an honour and I hope I can make the most of my hour and not flunk it!

7 July 09: It’s now six days since I heard I had been selected and I am beginning to formulate a plan, but much of it will be dependant on the weather. I haven’t yet timed this, but thought it might be possible to make a cast whilst up there on the plinth, though this may not be acceptable to the production team. As it is curing I could show some of my 2D work in print/repro form (I have been de-cluttering of late by donating them to the British Heart Foundation). If there are enough people passing by on their way to work I could launch the prints down to them. On the back of the prints could be a list of causes I am interested in and if the recipient was willing he/she could send a donation to one of the causes. I have just been watching the live webstream and seen several people passing by, so it may work. If there is a deluge or howling gale then this plan will fail, so I’ll just have to risk embarrassing my family by doing some dancing and maybe tai-chi. I’ve promised them I won’t sing!!!

Willo and me singing in choir