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(Photo courtesy of FT)

How much of the world’s fossil fuel reserves will eventually be burnt? That is the critical question that Martin Wolf asks in his insightful article in today’s Financial Times. His view is that, on current assumptions, ExxonMobil probably has it right in arguing that the oil industry won’t suffer from stranded assets, because the world won’t act on climate change in time. But one of the most interesting voices in this space is the Carbon Tracker Initiative.

My own bet in the climate casino is that Carbon Tracker are right to argue that investors will be hit – and that means our pensions will be hit – in a shorter timescale than many imagine. As for ExxonMobil, they may be perfectly within their rights to argue as they do. But it is very likely that future generations will treat companies that did the heavy duty anti-climate-change lobbying in recent years in the same way that they have treated the tobacco industry. Anyone investing for the long term should therefore be wary of backing those who produce coal, oil and tracked gas.

A decade or so ago, I had a very energetic exchange on this subject with ExxonMobil CEO Rex Tillerson, over the heads of 300 or so oil industry executives gathered in Stavanger, Norway. He denied his company was lobbying to stall climate change initiatives. I think the record shows different – and the picture will look grimmer still when the deep historical analysis is done.

If you have found me difficult to track down in the past couple of weeks, here’s why.

The fact is that I have always had an allergy to hospitals, but the past couple of weeks took that from bad to worse. Some time back, I had a catscan at Roehampton Hospital, and ran a massive allergic reaction to the iodine in the imaging dye they injected into me. But that proved to be the least of my worries.

When I was referred to Kingston Hospital, the idea was that I would have an exploratory procedure to see what was wrong with my kidneys and the like. I was warned that there was an outside chance of an infection, but hadn’t expected to feel quite so bad immediately after the procedure. Allowed to go home, I felt somewhat better on the following day, Tuesday, so I went in to a dinner with Zouk Capital at Hyde Park Corner. Leaving later in the evening, having had no alcohol, I found my legs giving way beneath me, and could hardly climb into a taxi home. My teeth chattered all the way back to Barnes.

A doctor came out in the middle of the night and I was told in no uncertain terms I needed to be in hospital and on an intravenous drip of antibiotics. Both Elaine and the ambulance team found that I was running a high temperature. But after 5-6 hours at the hospital, during which time a paediatric nurse (“I don’t normally take blood from adults”) managed to sluice my blood over the floor, I was released in the early hours of the morning with a box of laxatives.

Elaine was horrified and rang the GP, where I presently headed for an emergency check-up. I virtually collapsed with pain in her office, at which point she also insisted that I needed to be on an intravenous drip. So back to Kingston Hospital. It took ages to be checked in, then they seemed to forget to insert the drip. The entire  experience left me loving the NHS more in theory than in practice. A small example of the problem: a doctor told me on the second day that I would be going home later in the day, once they had got me the right drugs. After 3-4 hours, I got dressed and went out of the ward to ask how things were going, to find that they had no record that I was being discharged.

Since then I have been at home, on antibiotics. But the cherry on the icing on the cake was that the day after I got home I woke up to find I had labyrinthitis. I don’t recommend it. It was like having 27 energetically malevolent monkeys all pulling away at me from different directions at the end of elastic tethers. I would turn over on the bed and the room would continue revolving around me for quite a while. A different GP came and a different set of drugs were prescribed. After several days, that problem began to recede, thanks heavens.

Yesterday, finally, I was able to go into the office for the first time, which was wonderful. But I still find that my energy levels really aren’t what they should be. It’s as if someone has poked a stick into the dynamo that keeps me rattling along in normal times. And there is still an operation to have. But I won’t be having it at Kingston, having refused to go back there. On Friday I will be heading across to Charing Cross Hospital to meet a surgeon who has been recommended by my sister Tessa and her husband, himself a surgeon.

On the upside, though, this has been an excellent opportunity to catch up with myself ahead of my 65th birthday next week, and to consider how I best use my energies, assuming that they return. It has also proved to be an extraordinarily timely opportunity to edit and update this website, and to begin to get this blog series back on the rails.

My thanks to all the NHS people who have helped me to date. Almost without exception, they have been wonderful. But aspects of the NHS system, at least at Kingston Hospital, seem to be creaking at the seams. I have written a long letter to the CEO of the Hospital, itemising the different things that went wrong, and getting to eleven mishaps with ease.

But then, as Tessa told me, if I had this particular condition 50 years ago it would have been a death sentence, so once again I’m thrilled to have born when I was and to be alive when I am.

I can think of few people who have caused me more grief in life than Craig Ray, of Origin Creative. He was webmaster of this website for some years, then headed off to New Zealand (which is fine) and either had an emotional or professional breakdown (I’m being charitable here). In either case, if you are thinking of working with him, don’t come to me for a recommendation.

One result of his effectively dumping this site late in 2013 is that all the photographs since the beginning have been degraded in quality. That’s the downside. The upside is that from this point forward not only do we have a revamped website, with huge thanks to Geoff Kendall, Sam Lakha  and Chris Wash for making that happen, but also the images from now on should look as we intend them to look.

Elaine, Hania, Jake (Lushington) and I flew to Toronto a few days back for Gaia’s wedding to Paul Eros. Some felt that her having one god’s name was enough, but two seems the perfect balance. In the interest of brevity and catching up with this blog stream, I will simply run a number of photographs of  the festivities, to give a sense of what made it one of the absolute highlights of my life to date. But one of the unforgettable moments was seeing beaver dams for the first time, another catching up with Doug and Margot Miller (he of GlobeScan). The ultimate joy, though, was seeing Gaia and Paul so happy in each other’s company.

A vase in a Tweed storefront, speaking of God, seen here backwards

Tweed, according to urban myth, is where Elvis retied, when he didn’t die

They deliver everywhere, anyhow

Tweed flooding 1

Tweed flood 2 

Margot (Miller) arrives

Paul and Gaia ahead of the wedding

The wedding over, the bride and groom prepare to depart

Hania back at the (B&B) ranch

Elaine and Doug (Miller) up at Bon Echo lake

Lakeside trees

Doug, Jake and Hania, lakeside

Lake ice

Spring is coming