New Year's Eve, and we are about to move into 2008. It is a time when many people make resolutions that have half lives measured in seconds, and a time when for some strange reason, we all hope that things will get better.
Tonight, after the consumption of vast quantities of alcohol, people will declare undying love for complete strangers, they will make promises that in the morning will be forgotten, and those lucky enough to wake up tomorrow will find that it is January 1st and that it is no different to any other day. Things only get better if you are prepared to make changes, and the only person that you can change is yourself. 2008 will see more murder and mayhem, a second coming is unlikely, as is the end of the world. Next year people will be born and people will die, the likes of Osama Bin laden will continue their mindless and cowardly attacks on innocent people, viruses will continue to mutate, and new methods of killing will be devised. People will continue to be greedy and grasping and have little time for others. The yob culture will grow, and society will continue to worship the mediocre and idolise the failures and talentless celebrities.
It will be a year like any other and in 366 days time, people will be preparing to celebrate and hope that 2009 will be a better year. I hope that your year is at least as good as this one has turned out.
Monday 31 December 2007
Wednesday 26 December 2007
Sighhhhh
Well that is over again for another year. Somehow it seems like a fence that must be crossed in order to progress to the next and final straight of the year. Today the shops will be open again and there will be queues of people hoping to get something for nothing in the post lunacy sales.
It used to be said that farmers could be held accountable for all of the ills of this world. Until there were farmers, the population of planet Earth was nomadic and life was truly nasty brutish and short. If you couldn't keep up with the rest of the family, you were left behind and soon became a vital part of the food chain. Then one day, some guys (probably) decided that as they were getting a little long in the tooth, it might be wise to settle down and start growing stuff and maybe, instead of following the herds of four legged food, they would fence them in and hence, have all that they could eat. just outside the confines of their mud huts. Of course it would be a while before health and safety, vet's bills and the subsidies offered by the EEC, but nevertheless, from there onwards they had it made. From such beginnings, began trade, money, enhanced communications, politics and the rest. People had time to sit around and make mischief for the first time in human history. People got older and it mattered not if you could no longer run behind the horse. You could sit in a corner and someone might just throw you a bone now and then.
Of course it now became possible to find time to invent really useful stuff, and to create works of art. Writing followed and before you know it we had the internet and online banking. The population soared and farmers prospered as they always have done. Their vehicles grew in size and number and the roads filled up and so on and so on. Diseases spread easily with growing numbers of people, war became trendy and with that came the need to produce new and more interesting ways of killing people. Farmers demanded ways of killing nature too. Insecticides, fungicides, mulluscicides, nematocides, arachnicides and all sorts of other nasties came from the demands of farmers. I could go on for hours but I won't.
Now of course the damage is largely complete and the farmer has had his day. The hour of the shopkeeper is upon us and we are experiencing a mass delusion that forces us into the acquisition of rubbish.
The shopkeepers are an alien species that work in cahoots with the fashion designers. They invaded Earth several decades ago and through a complex and subtle brainwashing procedure, have convinced the more malleable humans that they MUST have, whatever the shopkeepers wish to sell. They found that is was possible to palm off, oddly shaped bits of coloured fabrics, and shoes for large sums of money, and that this could be enforced by the addition of certain labels. They manufactured myriads of plastic playthings, chemicals to apply to faces, and more and more clothes that no-one really wears but that lots of people think they want.
Inevitably the people collect the rubbish and their housed fill up. Thus they need bigger houses and more and more of the farmer's land gets bought at extraordinary prices.
So in the end - the money all goes back to the farmer, who now gets paid not to grow anything. Hey I can do that quite easily.
So, as you wander through the January sales, accumulating more debris, just think of the poor farmers, sitting at home waiting for their bank balances to grow.
It used to be said that farmers could be held accountable for all of the ills of this world. Until there were farmers, the population of planet Earth was nomadic and life was truly nasty brutish and short. If you couldn't keep up with the rest of the family, you were left behind and soon became a vital part of the food chain. Then one day, some guys (probably) decided that as they were getting a little long in the tooth, it might be wise to settle down and start growing stuff and maybe, instead of following the herds of four legged food, they would fence them in and hence, have all that they could eat. just outside the confines of their mud huts. Of course it would be a while before health and safety, vet's bills and the subsidies offered by the EEC, but nevertheless, from there onwards they had it made. From such beginnings, began trade, money, enhanced communications, politics and the rest. People had time to sit around and make mischief for the first time in human history. People got older and it mattered not if you could no longer run behind the horse. You could sit in a corner and someone might just throw you a bone now and then.
Of course it now became possible to find time to invent really useful stuff, and to create works of art. Writing followed and before you know it we had the internet and online banking. The population soared and farmers prospered as they always have done. Their vehicles grew in size and number and the roads filled up and so on and so on. Diseases spread easily with growing numbers of people, war became trendy and with that came the need to produce new and more interesting ways of killing people. Farmers demanded ways of killing nature too. Insecticides, fungicides, mulluscicides, nematocides, arachnicides and all sorts of other nasties came from the demands of farmers. I could go on for hours but I won't.
Now of course the damage is largely complete and the farmer has had his day. The hour of the shopkeeper is upon us and we are experiencing a mass delusion that forces us into the acquisition of rubbish.
The shopkeepers are an alien species that work in cahoots with the fashion designers. They invaded Earth several decades ago and through a complex and subtle brainwashing procedure, have convinced the more malleable humans that they MUST have, whatever the shopkeepers wish to sell. They found that is was possible to palm off, oddly shaped bits of coloured fabrics, and shoes for large sums of money, and that this could be enforced by the addition of certain labels. They manufactured myriads of plastic playthings, chemicals to apply to faces, and more and more clothes that no-one really wears but that lots of people think they want.
Inevitably the people collect the rubbish and their housed fill up. Thus they need bigger houses and more and more of the farmer's land gets bought at extraordinary prices.
So in the end - the money all goes back to the farmer, who now gets paid not to grow anything. Hey I can do that quite easily.
So, as you wander through the January sales, accumulating more debris, just think of the poor farmers, sitting at home waiting for their bank balances to grow.
Monday 24 December 2007
Saturday 22 December 2007
Rubbish
There was a time, when the words, Made in Hong Kong, meant a lot. It generally meant that this item has been produced in a sweat shop somewhere in the far east, and is guaranteed to be utter rubbish. It will break as soon at is used or will severely damage anyone who is so foolhardy to purchase it. Then everything changed. China wanted Hong Kong back and of course, no-one was going to argue with them. Now the same rubbish is labelled Made in China.
Some people maintain that change is good, and of course if we are to evolve as a species, then we must be prepared to change in order to survive. Many species, throughout time have failed to adjust to climatic and geographical changes and have vanished forever. This fundamental mechanism of evolution works well, but it is driven by the need for change and few changes, that are made for their own sake, or through a whim, are likely to survive in the long term.
In the world of education, employees are puppets in the hands of whiz kids, promoted to a level of incompetence, who feel that in order to make their mark, they must force huge changes on the system. And so, like many other organisations, change after change, has ensured that no-one knows where they are going or why they are even moving. The systems go round and round in circles as old and established ideas resurface, time and time again.
Change is not always good and often totally unnecessary. Sharks, have survived unchanged for millions of years, largely because there has been no need for them to change. They are perfectly adapted to suit their environment. Now some species are facing possible extinction, in order to provide the Chinese with shark's fin soup.
So now we have the world being taken over by the largest and most highly populated country. They seem able to copy everything that the west produces, and do it for a tiny fraction of the cost. Alas however, in this life one tends to get what one pays for and we are now bombarded daily by the cheap, badly made and even toxic or dangerous goods that we in the west seem eager to purchase. Everyone wants something for nothing, we all seek out bargains and bogofs but we should pay heed to the likely outcome of this monumental change in economics. Industries in the west cannot compete on price, and probably never will. Therefore in the face of such a competition, the strongest and fittest will survive and the rest perish.
I suppose the result of this will be that everything that we buy will be rubbish and so no-one will be any the wiser.
Some people maintain that change is good, and of course if we are to evolve as a species, then we must be prepared to change in order to survive. Many species, throughout time have failed to adjust to climatic and geographical changes and have vanished forever. This fundamental mechanism of evolution works well, but it is driven by the need for change and few changes, that are made for their own sake, or through a whim, are likely to survive in the long term.
In the world of education, employees are puppets in the hands of whiz kids, promoted to a level of incompetence, who feel that in order to make their mark, they must force huge changes on the system. And so, like many other organisations, change after change, has ensured that no-one knows where they are going or why they are even moving. The systems go round and round in circles as old and established ideas resurface, time and time again.
Change is not always good and often totally unnecessary. Sharks, have survived unchanged for millions of years, largely because there has been no need for them to change. They are perfectly adapted to suit their environment. Now some species are facing possible extinction, in order to provide the Chinese with shark's fin soup.
So now we have the world being taken over by the largest and most highly populated country. They seem able to copy everything that the west produces, and do it for a tiny fraction of the cost. Alas however, in this life one tends to get what one pays for and we are now bombarded daily by the cheap, badly made and even toxic or dangerous goods that we in the west seem eager to purchase. Everyone wants something for nothing, we all seek out bargains and bogofs but we should pay heed to the likely outcome of this monumental change in economics. Industries in the west cannot compete on price, and probably never will. Therefore in the face of such a competition, the strongest and fittest will survive and the rest perish.
I suppose the result of this will be that everything that we buy will be rubbish and so no-one will be any the wiser.
Thursday 20 December 2007
Poem
Christmas is coming
The Rich are getting fatter
The Poor are getting poorer
But I guess that doesn't matter.
The Rich are getting fatter
The Poor are getting poorer
But I guess that doesn't matter.
Tuesday 18 December 2007
वर
Well the Christmas card barrage is well underweigh, and pretty soon the mountain of paper, card and glittery stuff will be consigned to the recycling centres, to end up as toilet paper, egg boxes or something infinitely more useful.
Every year the same happens doesn't it? We make our lists of people who sent us cards last year, and use them as a fair guess as to how the game will be played. We write the cards and then play athe timing game. Too early is a pre-emptive strike which can pay dividends as it immediately raises a profile and puts others in a tricky spot. Now they may have you on their list, but if not, their list has to be modified, and so it goes on! The best salvo comes at the last minute. Make a subsidiary list of people that dod not send a card last year and hit them at the very last post before Christmas eve, or even better, hand deliver them when you know it is too late for retaliation. That way they will feel guilt at not being able to return fire.
Every year the cards get opened and one begins to think - Gosh is he still alive? or - Who on Earth is this? or Oh God not another Round Robin! These self aggrandisations are the ultimate weapon of course, against which there are no counterpunches. Some people begin them in January and have developed the art to an extent where recipients, upon opening the said delivery, immediately evacuate the contents of their alimentary canals and literally lose stomach for the fight. I strongly believe that regular offenders of this heinous crime, should be tried as war criminals.
I find that over the years, the quantity of cards has diminished substantially. I am no longer seen as a target. The quality of cards has not improved, though I have noted with some interest that this year, a large proportion of cards have been produced in China. How suitable! The true spirit of Christmas at last.
May you - my reader, have a wonderful holiday, and be grateful that you are not spending it with me. :-)
Every year the same happens doesn't it? We make our lists of people who sent us cards last year, and use them as a fair guess as to how the game will be played. We write the cards and then play athe timing game. Too early is a pre-emptive strike which can pay dividends as it immediately raises a profile and puts others in a tricky spot. Now they may have you on their list, but if not, their list has to be modified, and so it goes on! The best salvo comes at the last minute. Make a subsidiary list of people that dod not send a card last year and hit them at the very last post before Christmas eve, or even better, hand deliver them when you know it is too late for retaliation. That way they will feel guilt at not being able to return fire.
Every year the cards get opened and one begins to think - Gosh is he still alive? or - Who on Earth is this? or Oh God not another Round Robin! These self aggrandisations are the ultimate weapon of course, against which there are no counterpunches. Some people begin them in January and have developed the art to an extent where recipients, upon opening the said delivery, immediately evacuate the contents of their alimentary canals and literally lose stomach for the fight. I strongly believe that regular offenders of this heinous crime, should be tried as war criminals.
I find that over the years, the quantity of cards has diminished substantially. I am no longer seen as a target. The quality of cards has not improved, though I have noted with some interest that this year, a large proportion of cards have been produced in China. How suitable! The true spirit of Christmas at last.
May you - my reader, have a wonderful holiday, and be grateful that you are not spending it with me. :-)
Monday 10 December 2007
लिघ्ट्स
So here it is again. Though really I suppose it has been with us for quite a while already, it seems to creep in as soon as the summer is over and makes the winter months even longer than they already seem.
I was asked the other day a rhetorical question. Why is it that December 21st is the shortest day, and yet, the 25th is the longest?
Now I know that it is early for my seasonal rant but, if you can’t beat them, join them I suppose, though joining does rather go against what little grain that I have left.
The reason for my earliness is that this year we seem to have had so many messages in the press regarding saving planet Earth, and it is good to see that people are beginning to respond, by using less plastic bags, but now we have an invasion of Griswalderie that not only erases all the good work but quite easily reverses any trend towards reducing the output of carbon.
Yes the lights are everywhere. What is more they get cheesier and more elaborate each year. Houses, trees and gardens light up with so much energy that the heat generated and the increased daylength is causing plants to flower early and birds to nest. Never have I seen such public displays of bad taste as appears at this time of year. Some do it for fun – hard to imagine what fun can be gained there – while others maintain that it is for charity.
I have a suggestion here. Why don’t they count up all the money that they spend on the lights and the electrical power, and give that to charity instead. By so doing they could help save the planet by saving vast amounts of energy, including the fuel consumed by the car loads of people that tour around laughing at their efforts and the coach loads of tourists that actually pay money to see them.
Ok I know I loathe Christmas almost as much as most other quasi religious festivals. But really this is not about religion and has not been for many years. Christmas is simply a celebration of capitalism and the greed that goes with it. Like capitalism, Christmas only survives by growing, and it seems to be growing more tasteless and tacky as each year passes.
The only saving grace that I can imagine, is that once the 26th comes along, that spring is on it’s way.
I was asked the other day a rhetorical question. Why is it that December 21st is the shortest day, and yet, the 25th is the longest?
Now I know that it is early for my seasonal rant but, if you can’t beat them, join them I suppose, though joining does rather go against what little grain that I have left.
The reason for my earliness is that this year we seem to have had so many messages in the press regarding saving planet Earth, and it is good to see that people are beginning to respond, by using less plastic bags, but now we have an invasion of Griswalderie that not only erases all the good work but quite easily reverses any trend towards reducing the output of carbon.
Yes the lights are everywhere. What is more they get cheesier and more elaborate each year. Houses, trees and gardens light up with so much energy that the heat generated and the increased daylength is causing plants to flower early and birds to nest. Never have I seen such public displays of bad taste as appears at this time of year. Some do it for fun – hard to imagine what fun can be gained there – while others maintain that it is for charity.
I have a suggestion here. Why don’t they count up all the money that they spend on the lights and the electrical power, and give that to charity instead. By so doing they could help save the planet by saving vast amounts of energy, including the fuel consumed by the car loads of people that tour around laughing at their efforts and the coach loads of tourists that actually pay money to see them.
Ok I know I loathe Christmas almost as much as most other quasi religious festivals. But really this is not about religion and has not been for many years. Christmas is simply a celebration of capitalism and the greed that goes with it. Like capitalism, Christmas only survives by growing, and it seems to be growing more tasteless and tacky as each year passes.
The only saving grace that I can imagine, is that once the 26th comes along, that spring is on it’s way.
Tuesday 4 December 2007
devastation
I am devastated today. I just found out that I missed an opportunity of a lifetime, and one that I had been waiting for for a few years. I had no idea that last march, that Loreena McKennitt came to London as part of her European tour, and I missed it. Ok i was going through an "interesting" phase of my life at the time when bookings would have been made, but it is no excuse. I missed it and will probably never get another chance. Let's face it, i am no spring chicken and come to think of it, neither is she.
Oh well there it is, another of life's disappointments and like most of the others, the tide of time will wash away the remnants and few traces will remain.
I am still mightily hacked off though.
Oh well there it is, another of life's disappointments and like most of the others, the tide of time will wash away the remnants and few traces will remain.
I am still mightily hacked off though.
Monday 3 December 2007
Atmosphere
Just back from a weekend in London. Always nice to go there for a while and even better to get away again. One thing that I cannot bear for any length of time is wall to wall noise. Everywhere is noisy, the streets, the stations, the subways, the shops, the pubs and the wine bars.
At some stage during the weekend we found ourselves in a place called Gordon's Wine Bar. It lies in the depths of Villiers St and is not easy to find. The place lies down in a cellar and there is just the one almost unmarked door that leads down to it. Stepping into Gordon's is like stepping backwards in time. It looks old, smells old and it heaves with the young and the trendy. It is not all that big, but clearly it is the place to see and be seen when out on the town. It struck me that although it has a novelty value, most people would go there for "Atmosphere" and I am trying to imagine what gives a place atmosphere. It seems that if you have this magical property you can charge what you like and people will still come flocking.
We had previously been to a trendy Tapas bar in Covent Garden. It Oozed atmosphere and clearly was so popular that we queued to get in. The food was ........ ordinary. Lots of small bowls containing mainly potatoes, with the odd bit of protein thrown in now and then. I have to say though that I was not overwhelmed by the value for money, unless you count the atmosphere of course, which was loud and made conversation difficult and of course, loud.
I came to a conclusion. Not at all scientific of course, and based on very little evidence, but I believe that the secret of success in the catering business is volume. Make lots of noise, or encourage your punters to do it for you, and Voila - you have atmosphere and it will become a self perpetuating phenomenon. I suspect also that I may have missed something.
Tuesday 27 November 2007
जुस्त words
So an innocent and caring schoolteacher in the Sudan has been arrested and faces charges of Blasphemy and possible flogging or prison or both, and for what? Allowing her children to name a teddy bear with the name of a prophet.
It is no wonder that the world is in it's current parlous state, with the mediaeval and barbaric regimes that run one half of the world, and the bleeding hearts and Christians the other. The two "cultures" are so far apart that it is impossible to imagine that the two might ever meet, yet alone agree on anything other than arms deals and oil purchases. If there was a god, can anyone believe that he would, sorry she, would give the oil to one half and the intelligence to the other? Maybe, just maybe but she would require a sense of humour and be prepared to take all the flack at some time.
It seems that the days of free speech are gone. Even the Oxford Union is having problems allowing those with racist views to air their opinions. For goodness sake, an opinion is just that and surely in a civilised society, all opinions are allowed and should be aired and maybe even shot down in flames if necessary. To silence people simply drives them into an underground where their views can be cultivated and grow in an unchallenged way.
Tory politicians have been forced into resignation recently for airing non PC views. It seems that the only people to go unchallenged in their statements are members of certain ethnic groups, who, for whatever reason are feared by the rest of the populace. I am all for Tories resigning, but not for simply speaking their minds. Let them speak, or we run the risk of living in a society where it will be illegal to call a pet pig, Maggie.
Without freedom of speech a society cannot be called civilised, and the world must learn that before it is too late.
It is no wonder that the world is in it's current parlous state, with the mediaeval and barbaric regimes that run one half of the world, and the bleeding hearts and Christians the other. The two "cultures" are so far apart that it is impossible to imagine that the two might ever meet, yet alone agree on anything other than arms deals and oil purchases. If there was a god, can anyone believe that he would, sorry she, would give the oil to one half and the intelligence to the other? Maybe, just maybe but she would require a sense of humour and be prepared to take all the flack at some time.
It seems that the days of free speech are gone. Even the Oxford Union is having problems allowing those with racist views to air their opinions. For goodness sake, an opinion is just that and surely in a civilised society, all opinions are allowed and should be aired and maybe even shot down in flames if necessary. To silence people simply drives them into an underground where their views can be cultivated and grow in an unchallenged way.
Tory politicians have been forced into resignation recently for airing non PC views. It seems that the only people to go unchallenged in their statements are members of certain ethnic groups, who, for whatever reason are feared by the rest of the populace. I am all for Tories resigning, but not for simply speaking their minds. Let them speak, or we run the risk of living in a society where it will be illegal to call a pet pig, Maggie.
Without freedom of speech a society cannot be called civilised, and the world must learn that before it is too late.
Monday 26 November 2007
रेअदेर्स Block
I started reading The Red Dog by Louis De Bernieres - for some reason i can't get past the first few pages!
42
My life is pretty uninteresting on the whole. I guess most people think the same thing and our own existence seems trivial alongside those of people that we know.
I have spent a significant part of this morning sanding down walls in the hallway in preparation for painting. Needless to say that decorating wasn't my idea - it rarely is these days. Oh I know it will be ok when it is done but I just find it hard to muster enthusiasm. Now i am covered in dust and so is the rest of the house no doubt. My lungs feel a little clogged and goodness knows what i have been inhaling.
While i am doing this job, I don't much feel inclined to start anything else and I am beginning to seriously doubt my ability to focus on anything much. Even this normally meaningless drivel seems more so than usual.
Some days i yearn for something out of the ordinary to happen, but I am always reminded of the Chinese curse - "May you live in interesting times" I guess that I have nothing to complain about anyway. Guess I'll continue to live in my head.
I have spent a significant part of this morning sanding down walls in the hallway in preparation for painting. Needless to say that decorating wasn't my idea - it rarely is these days. Oh I know it will be ok when it is done but I just find it hard to muster enthusiasm. Now i am covered in dust and so is the rest of the house no doubt. My lungs feel a little clogged and goodness knows what i have been inhaling.
While i am doing this job, I don't much feel inclined to start anything else and I am beginning to seriously doubt my ability to focus on anything much. Even this normally meaningless drivel seems more so than usual.
Some days i yearn for something out of the ordinary to happen, but I am always reminded of the Chinese curse - "May you live in interesting times" I guess that I have nothing to complain about anyway. Guess I'll continue to live in my head.
Saturday 24 November 2007
Music
Yesterday I did something that I haven't done in many months. I played my all time favourite CD, all the way through. The Division Bell is in my opinion the best thing that Pink Floyd ever recorded. I know that It is not really the original Floyd and that Waters' cutting edge is missing but that is all beside the point. The point is that I played it and did not need to turn it off part way through.
Music is evocative and there are so many pieces that have so many memories for me. Some are bad memories and some are the reverse, but most of my favourite music I can link to places, people or experiences in my life. A song can take me back to a point in time and enables me to conjure, smells tastes and even fingertip memories. Some pieces I associate with terrible times in my life and of course I avoid listening to them as some things are best left buried.
The Division Bell falls into a strange and bitter sweet category and that is why I have avoided it for a while. However i am glad that I have taken this step and can rekindle my relationship with a piece of work that has been underrated by many Floyd purists.
I did notice though that the disc is getting worn, the box it broken and i may soon have to replace it. Maybe, thinking about it, that would be the best thing to do in any case.
Music is evocative and there are so many pieces that have so many memories for me. Some are bad memories and some are the reverse, but most of my favourite music I can link to places, people or experiences in my life. A song can take me back to a point in time and enables me to conjure, smells tastes and even fingertip memories. Some pieces I associate with terrible times in my life and of course I avoid listening to them as some things are best left buried.
The Division Bell falls into a strange and bitter sweet category and that is why I have avoided it for a while. However i am glad that I have taken this step and can rekindle my relationship with a piece of work that has been underrated by many Floyd purists.
I did notice though that the disc is getting worn, the box it broken and i may soon have to replace it. Maybe, thinking about it, that would be the best thing to do in any case.
Wednesday 21 November 2007
?
One of my worst fears was realised today.
Wednesday used to be a turning point in the week and thanks to one who was a friend, I think of it as hump day, even though my life has few humps these days, mostly I am freewheeling down the long hill. Anyway it started out ok, and believe it or not, the sun shone for a while and I could actually leave the house. So i took the opportunity to go and see my old friend Liz. I haven't seen her in a while, partly due to weather and partly idleness on my part. Anyway, she is fine, at least no worse than last time I saw her.
When i came home i decided to catch up on one or two things that needed to be done. One of which was taking out the vegetable waste to the compost bin. I opened the lid and my heart sank as i saw the leaves moving. I poked and prodded the pile - I really don't know why I do it - and of course the inevitable happened. A rat the size of a small horse, leapt out of the debris and disappeared between the bin and the house wall. Now if you have read my blog you will know that I hate and fear rats, more than anything else. I'd prefer it to be occupied by a lion, and so my mind replayed the last rat v me scenario. The rat won every round and I eventually gave up and moved house. Now i have to face the same problem over again. First I'll buy a trap and the little swine will learn how to get the bait off it or how to spring it without being caught. I'll get my fingers trapped again and then I'll resort to poison. That will be thoroughly ignored, or my rat will be one of the supersods that are resistant to it and so I'll be feeding it at great expense, while it gets fat and laughs at me.
I was quite pleased with my attempts at composting and now I feel a little differently about even opening the lid. Yet another of life's joys has deserted me.
ps i wonder if boiling water would do the trick? Or should I hire a cat?
Wednesday used to be a turning point in the week and thanks to one who was a friend, I think of it as hump day, even though my life has few humps these days, mostly I am freewheeling down the long hill. Anyway it started out ok, and believe it or not, the sun shone for a while and I could actually leave the house. So i took the opportunity to go and see my old friend Liz. I haven't seen her in a while, partly due to weather and partly idleness on my part. Anyway, she is fine, at least no worse than last time I saw her.
When i came home i decided to catch up on one or two things that needed to be done. One of which was taking out the vegetable waste to the compost bin. I opened the lid and my heart sank as i saw the leaves moving. I poked and prodded the pile - I really don't know why I do it - and of course the inevitable happened. A rat the size of a small horse, leapt out of the debris and disappeared between the bin and the house wall. Now if you have read my blog you will know that I hate and fear rats, more than anything else. I'd prefer it to be occupied by a lion, and so my mind replayed the last rat v me scenario. The rat won every round and I eventually gave up and moved house. Now i have to face the same problem over again. First I'll buy a trap and the little swine will learn how to get the bait off it or how to spring it without being caught. I'll get my fingers trapped again and then I'll resort to poison. That will be thoroughly ignored, or my rat will be one of the supersods that are resistant to it and so I'll be feeding it at great expense, while it gets fat and laughs at me.
I was quite pleased with my attempts at composting and now I feel a little differently about even opening the lid. Yet another of life's joys has deserted me.
ps i wonder if boiling water would do the trick? Or should I hire a cat?
Tuesday 20 November 2007
deluge
Today it is raining once more. The sky is grey and the ground waterlogged. I don't envy those that have to be out in it, especially those whose living depends on being in the great outdoors.
I am indoors of course and at present am sanding down the walls of the hallway. Dust is the order of the day and I am covered in it. Because i hate wearing a face mask, my lungs are pretty well inundated too, so no doubt I will pay the penalty for that at a later date. In between sanding sessions I take breathing breaks and dive into my study hoping not to take the clouds of dust with me. This is my bolt hole really and my access to the rest of the world. here I can sit and think, or sometimes just sit, and as long as there is electrical power i can communicate to people that I know and care about.
It struck me that as i blog away, there are plenty of others out there who at some time in my life have meant so much to me and yet now, i don't even know if they are alive or dead. In all probability many friends from the dim and distant past are no longer with us and to many, their passing has gone unrecorded. The same will happen with me. When i shuffle off this mortal coil, there will be some who will miss me, of that I am sure. But the majority of people that I have come across in my life will not even know that I have passed on, unless I have advance notice and can email some of them at least. But most of us die un-noticed by the majority of our friends and acquaintances and that is a little sad.
People drift into our lives all the time, most drift out again and may never leave a trace of their visit. Others stay and others still, leave and either take something with them or leave huge scars that are constant reminders of their passing. Everyone that we interact with touches us in some way, and in some cases people have touched me without ever having met in the flesh. Physicality is just a part of who we are, but the main part, the real us, is deeply rooted in the mind. It is the mind that collects the scars as well as the joys and the memories.
I am very lucky to have shared in the lives of some truly wonderful people. Many of whom will stay in my life as long as I breathe, and I celebrate the roles that they have played and the roller coasters of emotions that they have shared with me. None of them will be forgotten. Well not just yet anyway.
Even rainy days have their bright side.
I am indoors of course and at present am sanding down the walls of the hallway. Dust is the order of the day and I am covered in it. Because i hate wearing a face mask, my lungs are pretty well inundated too, so no doubt I will pay the penalty for that at a later date. In between sanding sessions I take breathing breaks and dive into my study hoping not to take the clouds of dust with me. This is my bolt hole really and my access to the rest of the world. here I can sit and think, or sometimes just sit, and as long as there is electrical power i can communicate to people that I know and care about.
It struck me that as i blog away, there are plenty of others out there who at some time in my life have meant so much to me and yet now, i don't even know if they are alive or dead. In all probability many friends from the dim and distant past are no longer with us and to many, their passing has gone unrecorded. The same will happen with me. When i shuffle off this mortal coil, there will be some who will miss me, of that I am sure. But the majority of people that I have come across in my life will not even know that I have passed on, unless I have advance notice and can email some of them at least. But most of us die un-noticed by the majority of our friends and acquaintances and that is a little sad.
People drift into our lives all the time, most drift out again and may never leave a trace of their visit. Others stay and others still, leave and either take something with them or leave huge scars that are constant reminders of their passing. Everyone that we interact with touches us in some way, and in some cases people have touched me without ever having met in the flesh. Physicality is just a part of who we are, but the main part, the real us, is deeply rooted in the mind. It is the mind that collects the scars as well as the joys and the memories.
I am very lucky to have shared in the lives of some truly wonderful people. Many of whom will stay in my life as long as I breathe, and I celebrate the roles that they have played and the roller coasters of emotions that they have shared with me. None of them will be forgotten. Well not just yet anyway.
Even rainy days have their bright side.
Monday 19 November 2007
थे रिंग ऑफ़ fire
I remember my first curry very well. I came from a household that not only had little experience of anything exotic, but who were negatively discriminating in their approach to anything foreign. My first curry, real one that is, was experienced in the Bombay Restaurant, located almost next to the King's theatre in Southsea. The year was 1967 and I think that the cost of the meal was around ten shillings. In today's money that is about fifty pence, and it seemed a lot at the time.
I had for some reason attended a drama course audition that evening along with a friend, and as things tend to, they got a little out of hand. Before i knew what was happening, I was being auditioned too and damn me if I wasn't given a part in Under Milkwood. My Pakistani impression seemed as close to Welsh as anyone else's attempts and I was suddenly a member of the dramatic society. We all trooped down through the older parts of Southsea and there i was initiated into the fine cuisine of the east. From that point i was hooked, and still am, on all things spicy and firmly believe that I suffer withdrawal symptoms if deprived for any length of time.
By today's standards the Bombay was pretty basic and would struggle to escape the eyes of the public health people. The walls in parts were spattered with strange stains and to this day, I believe that some were blood!
It was a denizen for students, but also for other local lowlife, and so there were periodic conflicts - let's face it, no-one likes students except other students, and so we were seen as the enemy by many locals. We were never deterred however and would frequent our equivalent of an opium den whenever we could afford it, and sometimes even when we couldn't. I remember walking the three miles down to the Bombay after midnight, to pick up a few poppadoms and some free chutneys, just because we felt like it. It became a home from home over the months that followed and we became known well by the management, who strangely, although we were students, seemed to like us. Maybe they saw us as fellow persecuted minorites.
In those days of course it became the macho thing to eat the hottest thing that you could. It was supposed to impress, I am not sure who it was supposed to impress but to climb to the heights of the hottest on the menu was the aim of some of us.
The Vindaloo was ok. Having graduated through, the milder Kormas, and byrianis, we weaned ourselved onto the Madras and the Dansak before attempting the Mighty slopes of the Vindaloo. The secret is to keep going once you have started. If you drink water or stop for a breather you are lost without hope, and many failed before the halfway stage. To complete a vindaloo is an achievement and it is not for the faint hearted. The tell tale signs that someone had had a vindaloo the night before was that the next day they did not emerge from the toilet until mid afternoon, and all one could hear were moans and groans emanating from the cubicles. The vindaloo bites twice and the second is far worse than the first.
I did try the main peak one day - The Tindaloo and was so drunk that I managed to finish it. The next morning is best not spoken of. Suffice it to say that I remembered the meal for several days.
There was one time when we were sober and enjoying a sensible curry, when some really drunken locals came in and ordered the Tindaloo. Or ears pricked up - we thought we were the only ones to attempt this. The meal duly arrived and we watched in awe as this guy, shovelled the food in without batting an eyelid. He called the waiter over and complained that it wasn't hot enough. Open mouthed we waited for the next event. Minutes passed while the plate was taken away, and then the waiter returned, followed by the kitchen staff who watched and waited for this guy to eat. He did so while everyone gazed on in some sort of bizaare admiration.
I often wondered how he felt the following day.
I had for some reason attended a drama course audition that evening along with a friend, and as things tend to, they got a little out of hand. Before i knew what was happening, I was being auditioned too and damn me if I wasn't given a part in Under Milkwood. My Pakistani impression seemed as close to Welsh as anyone else's attempts and I was suddenly a member of the dramatic society. We all trooped down through the older parts of Southsea and there i was initiated into the fine cuisine of the east. From that point i was hooked, and still am, on all things spicy and firmly believe that I suffer withdrawal symptoms if deprived for any length of time.
By today's standards the Bombay was pretty basic and would struggle to escape the eyes of the public health people. The walls in parts were spattered with strange stains and to this day, I believe that some were blood!
It was a denizen for students, but also for other local lowlife, and so there were periodic conflicts - let's face it, no-one likes students except other students, and so we were seen as the enemy by many locals. We were never deterred however and would frequent our equivalent of an opium den whenever we could afford it, and sometimes even when we couldn't. I remember walking the three miles down to the Bombay after midnight, to pick up a few poppadoms and some free chutneys, just because we felt like it. It became a home from home over the months that followed and we became known well by the management, who strangely, although we were students, seemed to like us. Maybe they saw us as fellow persecuted minorites.
In those days of course it became the macho thing to eat the hottest thing that you could. It was supposed to impress, I am not sure who it was supposed to impress but to climb to the heights of the hottest on the menu was the aim of some of us.
The Vindaloo was ok. Having graduated through, the milder Kormas, and byrianis, we weaned ourselved onto the Madras and the Dansak before attempting the Mighty slopes of the Vindaloo. The secret is to keep going once you have started. If you drink water or stop for a breather you are lost without hope, and many failed before the halfway stage. To complete a vindaloo is an achievement and it is not for the faint hearted. The tell tale signs that someone had had a vindaloo the night before was that the next day they did not emerge from the toilet until mid afternoon, and all one could hear were moans and groans emanating from the cubicles. The vindaloo bites twice and the second is far worse than the first.
I did try the main peak one day - The Tindaloo and was so drunk that I managed to finish it. The next morning is best not spoken of. Suffice it to say that I remembered the meal for several days.
There was one time when we were sober and enjoying a sensible curry, when some really drunken locals came in and ordered the Tindaloo. Or ears pricked up - we thought we were the only ones to attempt this. The meal duly arrived and we watched in awe as this guy, shovelled the food in without batting an eyelid. He called the waiter over and complained that it wasn't hot enough. Open mouthed we waited for the next event. Minutes passed while the plate was taken away, and then the waiter returned, followed by the kitchen staff who watched and waited for this guy to eat. He did so while everyone gazed on in some sort of bizaare admiration.
I often wondered how he felt the following day.
Friday 16 November 2007
Tripe
I don't know what drives me to do things. I never know that, and the reason I say this is that I am listening to Leonard Cohen, Suzanne, a song that I love,and one that has so many memories attached to it. So why did i suddenly get the urge to write? I literally have nothing that I want to say. Many people think about our lenny, as i am sure no-one calls him to his face, as a dreary and depressing singer, whose songs are best taken with plenty of razor blades. Ok he tends towards the melancholy on occasions and yes i confess that I am feeling a little that way today, but that is ok and i know that by the time i have finished the first bottle of wine all will be different.
I spent a part of today designing a christmas card of all things. That could account for a lot. The only reason i do it is because most of the cards we send are so bloody awful, i get embarrassed to send them. Oddly I don't get embarrassed sending out my own designs but I try not to include the usual hypocritical and insincere crap that i associate with this time of year. My greetings are succinct and yes i do wish my friends well and hope that they have a happy 25th of december, but not just that day. What is so bloody special about one day in the year?
Len is now singing so long Marianne, he does it so well and his pain is so easy to feel. Only a man in real agony could write a song like that. Ironic isn't it that I should only have happy memories associated with him.
Tuesday 13 November 2007
चरिटी बेगिंस अत होम
I have been asked to design some posters and flyers for the local community club who are asking the membership to dig deep into their pockets in order to raise money for some new windows. I will of course enjoy the challenge and produce something that will suit their needs.
It made me think about the fund raising that goes on all of the time now. It seems that there is never a day that is not devoted to some special case or another, and it is impossible to walk the streets without being collared for a donation to any charity that you can imagine. Has it always been like this? or are we suffering from a glut of open hands, applying a type of blackmail that eases money from many who can ill afford to part with it.
Many door to door collectors focus on the less well of as they know that they are more likely to get contributions from them. The National Lottery sells more tickets to those on benefits than to anyone else and I guess that is why, by and large that the poor stay poor and the rich don't!
I donate to charity and could probably afford to give more but i do find it wearisome when i get pleas through the post, over the telephone, people at the door, on the radio, on the TV, even for goodness sake in the pubs, where dubious people come around selling roses at inflated prices via a haze of emotional blackmail and alcoholic fuzz. When they have gone the Salvation Army come around with their Watchtower, hoping to prick the consciences of the merrymakers on a weekend night.
There must be more charity collectors than there are contributors, especially if you count the sellers of Big Issue and why is it, I'd like to know that they always have dogs and they all wear a neck scarf and they all look the same?
I know that most charities are functioning well and that they do a great job by and large but I just feel totally and utterly bombarded by the constant fire, to the extent that I hate to answer the phone or even the door - well it's my excuse anyway, So if you call and get no answer, I am working on the posters and can't hear you!
It made me think about the fund raising that goes on all of the time now. It seems that there is never a day that is not devoted to some special case or another, and it is impossible to walk the streets without being collared for a donation to any charity that you can imagine. Has it always been like this? or are we suffering from a glut of open hands, applying a type of blackmail that eases money from many who can ill afford to part with it.
Many door to door collectors focus on the less well of as they know that they are more likely to get contributions from them. The National Lottery sells more tickets to those on benefits than to anyone else and I guess that is why, by and large that the poor stay poor and the rich don't!
I donate to charity and could probably afford to give more but i do find it wearisome when i get pleas through the post, over the telephone, people at the door, on the radio, on the TV, even for goodness sake in the pubs, where dubious people come around selling roses at inflated prices via a haze of emotional blackmail and alcoholic fuzz. When they have gone the Salvation Army come around with their Watchtower, hoping to prick the consciences of the merrymakers on a weekend night.
There must be more charity collectors than there are contributors, especially if you count the sellers of Big Issue and why is it, I'd like to know that they always have dogs and they all wear a neck scarf and they all look the same?
I know that most charities are functioning well and that they do a great job by and large but I just feel totally and utterly bombarded by the constant fire, to the extent that I hate to answer the phone or even the door - well it's my excuse anyway, So if you call and get no answer, I am working on the posters and can't hear you!
Monday 12 November 2007
speed
For some reason the web seems very slow today. We have become very impatient and expect everything to happen instantly and no longer are we prepared to wait for anything. It seems that we all want everything and we want it yesterday.
As a child, I was brought up to be very patient. Partly through having spent a long time in bed, but also because we had very little to anticipate, and almost no money. In those days if you wanted something you waited until you could afford to buy it. No-one was foolish enough to lend you money and mostly it was a case of living hand to mouth. Expectations were low.
I fished a lot, largely as an escape, and in all weathers, i would wander the riverbanks looking for the elusive or even non existant big fish. They rarely appeared but it didn't seem to matter much. Time went by and eventually I guess i grew up. Some may argue that I never did, but I don't really care what anyone thinks anymore.
I have bought yet another computer. Not because I needed one but because I rather fancied one and besides, I may not be around by the time the next upgrade comes along and so I just bought it. Partly because it is bigger and sexier than the old one, but also because it is faster and will help me to do very little but I will be able to do it so much faster. It is still a Mac and has a lovely 24 inch screen, so I can see much more of the hardly anything that I do. Planning for the time when eyesight fails one might say.
So it is fast and powerful and yet I still want it to be faster and bigger and more powerful still. I do not yearn for a fast car or much else really but that extra speed could save me whole nanoseconds every day and just think of the use that I could put them to. Whoever said that life was futile?
As a child, I was brought up to be very patient. Partly through having spent a long time in bed, but also because we had very little to anticipate, and almost no money. In those days if you wanted something you waited until you could afford to buy it. No-one was foolish enough to lend you money and mostly it was a case of living hand to mouth. Expectations were low.
I fished a lot, largely as an escape, and in all weathers, i would wander the riverbanks looking for the elusive or even non existant big fish. They rarely appeared but it didn't seem to matter much. Time went by and eventually I guess i grew up. Some may argue that I never did, but I don't really care what anyone thinks anymore.
I have bought yet another computer. Not because I needed one but because I rather fancied one and besides, I may not be around by the time the next upgrade comes along and so I just bought it. Partly because it is bigger and sexier than the old one, but also because it is faster and will help me to do very little but I will be able to do it so much faster. It is still a Mac and has a lovely 24 inch screen, so I can see much more of the hardly anything that I do. Planning for the time when eyesight fails one might say.
So it is fast and powerful and yet I still want it to be faster and bigger and more powerful still. I do not yearn for a fast car or much else really but that extra speed could save me whole nanoseconds every day and just think of the use that I could put them to. Whoever said that life was futile?
Wednesday 7 November 2007
remembrance
November is a time of remembrance, for Europe at large as well as for me personally. In November both my brother and my father died, and of course, on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month we remember those who died in wars that were meant to change the world forever.
I recently drove accross France to Germany, and on that trek along the pristine French Motorways, came upon frequent reminders of those conflicts as whe whizzed through the locations of ancient battles and historic sites that are forever linked with the tragic deaths of countless men and women. There is something very moving about the vast plots filled with identical graves, filled with the remains of persons mutilated and butchered in the name of ........ what exactly? Wars to end wars? It doesn't seem to work does it? Looking at the sheer numbers of dead, makes one grateful; to them for their sacrifice, though I guess many must have not been there through any choice, and grateful that I will never have to kill another human being in the name of someone else.
How many lies were told to those sent to die?
DULCE ET DECORUM EST
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas!Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent14 for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.
I recently drove accross France to Germany, and on that trek along the pristine French Motorways, came upon frequent reminders of those conflicts as whe whizzed through the locations of ancient battles and historic sites that are forever linked with the tragic deaths of countless men and women. There is something very moving about the vast plots filled with identical graves, filled with the remains of persons mutilated and butchered in the name of ........ what exactly? Wars to end wars? It doesn't seem to work does it? Looking at the sheer numbers of dead, makes one grateful; to them for their sacrifice, though I guess many must have not been there through any choice, and grateful that I will never have to kill another human being in the name of someone else.
How many lies were told to those sent to die?
DULCE ET DECORUM EST
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas!Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent14 for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.
Thursday 1 November 2007
Reunions
Looking back over my blog history, I notice that I have been very inconsistent in the frequency of my entries. I am not sure why, though I guess that I have used this vehicle to gt things of my chest and by and large it has been of benefit. On the other hand there have been times when it has felt so utterly futile, and such a waste of time. However on balance I have to say that the plusses outweigh the minuses and I will try hard to get down to writing more.
I had got as far as College days, and I still see them as some of the most influential, if not happiest days of my life.
The re-union weekend went well and although the old college has long since gone the way of all things, the Halls of Residence are still there and still in use. Some sweet talking to the bursar, got us into the building and a very kind assistant gave us a tour, even letting us into our old rooms. How odd to stand in that room on the seventh floor, seeing a view that had changed little in all those years. The rooms had changed, not only did they seem smaller - they were smaller as they have added en-suite facilities that we never had. I think I preferred it the way it was, but then I would wouldn't I?
The city was much the same too, and many of the old haunts were still recognisable. We even had a Curry in the old Bombay Restaurant, no longer the Bombay but the food was excellent and the service wonderful.
Maybe in 40 years we'll have another reunion, but I don't suppose it will be in the same world.
I had got as far as College days, and I still see them as some of the most influential, if not happiest days of my life.
The re-union weekend went well and although the old college has long since gone the way of all things, the Halls of Residence are still there and still in use. Some sweet talking to the bursar, got us into the building and a very kind assistant gave us a tour, even letting us into our old rooms. How odd to stand in that room on the seventh floor, seeing a view that had changed little in all those years. The rooms had changed, not only did they seem smaller - they were smaller as they have added en-suite facilities that we never had. I think I preferred it the way it was, but then I would wouldn't I?
The city was much the same too, and many of the old haunts were still recognisable. We even had a Curry in the old Bombay Restaurant, no longer the Bombay but the food was excellent and the service wonderful.
Maybe in 40 years we'll have another reunion, but I don't suppose it will be in the same world.
Saturday 27 October 2007
le Chat a le Lion D'Or
Some people believe in conspiracy theories, and there are many who do not. There are those who believe that the American moon landings never happened, and that they were the product of some Hollywood studio. Some believe that Diana Spencer and Dodi Fayed were murdered by the Royal family, and that JFK was assassinated by the Republican party. In order for a conspiracy to work and to remain undetected for such long periods, would require a huge amount of careful planning, a lot of luck, and to have very few people in the know. Inevitably, if enough people know the truth, then the truth will out so long as someone is still digging.
I just came back from a trip to Freiburg, pronounced Fry - bourg, I am reliably informed by a resident. The trip was planned, paid for and organised well in advance and nothing was left to chance. Well strictly speaking that isn't true, as I shall explain in a moment.
We were dues to set out last thursday, the plan being to stay the weekend with my daughter and her husband, before setting off for the tunnel on sunday. Last wednesday, we had a call from aforementioned offspring, informing us of the death of one of here best friend's husband. He had been diagnosed with a terminal brain tumour seven years previously, but even so, his untimely death had a great impact on all those who knew him. I had had a conversation with him only a month before, when we talked about a shared love of Pink Floyd. The discussion was alittle odd as he couldn't remember what he had said in the previous 5 minutes, but we understood each other pretty well.
Anyway, clearly that put a spoke in the wheel of the perfect plan, and departure was delayed so that daughter could come down to us and spend some time with her bereaved friend. Ferries were cancelled and new ones booked...............so on the friday afternoon we set out again, and headed for the late afternoon ferry. All went well until the moment that we were signalled to drive onto the boat. The car refused to start! I pulled the car out of the loading lane, opened the bonnet so as to look like someone who recognised what was under there, and gazed vacantly into the gleaming technology that we take so much for granted every day.
The nice men at the terminal diagnosed a flat battery and produced a booster charger. We started the engine but the ferry had gone, so I drove around for half an hour to charge us up again. We caught the next boat and hoped that the engine would start at the other end. It did! We got to daughter's house and had a nice evening belated celebrating her birthday. The following day we set out to explore Maidstone. Not somewhere that I'd recommend, but it was dry and not too cold and passed the day. After having driven back to daughter's place, I discovered a flat tyre and because it had been driven on, and had a screw in it, it had to be replaced at huge cost! £170 for a tyre?? I couldn't believe it, and the comment from the mechanic about Ferrari tyres costing £1000 each was not exactly helpful.
The new day dawned and we set off for the Tunnel. The tyres looked ok, but now I was expecting another disaster to strike so, the journey started as a worry. The drive across France and into the Fatherland is a little over 500 miles and as we had already covered 100 getting to France in the first place, we decided to stop overnight en route.
Verdun has always been linked in my mind to the great war and treaties etc - Not any more!
We pulled off the motorway into Verdun and as is our wont, passed dozens of hotels before deciding that we'd better stop. The Lion D'Or was in a side street, not far from a war cemetary and it's only endearing feature was that it was open, and had a room. No it had all it's rooms empty! The owner, chamberperson, cook, concierge, whatever, was a tired and dishevelled Frenchman, that made Basil Fawlty look like a kindly saint. Hegave us a key, we didn't sign in, and he told us that if we wanted le petit déjeuner, it would be at 8, but clearly he didn't care much for that or for the English either. We went to the room - dark cold and dingy but it looked clean enough. There was no dinner - not to oneself - don't ever expect dinner in France on a sunday night! We wandered into Verdun and found a Vietnamese restaurant open and had a warm meal there.
Retiring early after a long day and collapsing into a very short bed with few blankets, sleep came reluctantly and when it did, it was doomed not to last. At 2am I was awoken by the sound of a cat miaowing outside the door. I turned over blocking the sound from my good ear and tried to sleep again. No chance at all, the bloody cat went on and on and on, unceasing bloody noise until at 7.30 I gave up and got up. Showered and the rest, I won't go into details, I ventured out of the room to find the sodding cat hiding behind a curtain on the landing. It was black and abou 4 inches long. How it made so much noise and created so much misery I will never understand. Maybe it was a reincarnation of one of the poor bastards who died here all those years ago and was seeking revenge. The last laugh was almost on me as i took the cases down to the car. i opened the front door and the little bugger shot out of the hotel straight over the busy main road. It missed becoming a very flat cat by nanometers and vanished into some bushes. I hope that it is still there, though i suspect that it's role is to make sure that English guests do not sleep. Clearly the landlord had no problems in that department as by 8.15 there was no sign of life in the dining room or at reception. Unscrupulous people might have just left the keys and gone but no- we waited and eventually he stumbled down the stairs in a half awake state and within half an hour had reluctantly assembled the makings of a continental breakfast. By the time it arrived, any original interest in food had evaporated so we paid the bill and left.
The Hotel in Pfaffenweiler was wonderful. Clean, light ,airy and warm even though the outside temperatures were 4 degrees.
The Black Forest is beautiful and arriving felt good. That night we had a really good meal in the hotel restaurant and a good night's sleep.
Next morning I awoke with a terrible cold and have had it since!
Next time I plan a holiday - someone please remind me that even though I may not be paranoid, that there IS somebody out there who has it in for me.
ps - the journey back was uneventful, but it would be wouldn't it?
I just came back from a trip to Freiburg, pronounced Fry - bourg, I am reliably informed by a resident. The trip was planned, paid for and organised well in advance and nothing was left to chance. Well strictly speaking that isn't true, as I shall explain in a moment.
We were dues to set out last thursday, the plan being to stay the weekend with my daughter and her husband, before setting off for the tunnel on sunday. Last wednesday, we had a call from aforementioned offspring, informing us of the death of one of here best friend's husband. He had been diagnosed with a terminal brain tumour seven years previously, but even so, his untimely death had a great impact on all those who knew him. I had had a conversation with him only a month before, when we talked about a shared love of Pink Floyd. The discussion was alittle odd as he couldn't remember what he had said in the previous 5 minutes, but we understood each other pretty well.
Anyway, clearly that put a spoke in the wheel of the perfect plan, and departure was delayed so that daughter could come down to us and spend some time with her bereaved friend. Ferries were cancelled and new ones booked...............so on the friday afternoon we set out again, and headed for the late afternoon ferry. All went well until the moment that we were signalled to drive onto the boat. The car refused to start! I pulled the car out of the loading lane, opened the bonnet so as to look like someone who recognised what was under there, and gazed vacantly into the gleaming technology that we take so much for granted every day.
The nice men at the terminal diagnosed a flat battery and produced a booster charger. We started the engine but the ferry had gone, so I drove around for half an hour to charge us up again. We caught the next boat and hoped that the engine would start at the other end. It did! We got to daughter's house and had a nice evening belated celebrating her birthday. The following day we set out to explore Maidstone. Not somewhere that I'd recommend, but it was dry and not too cold and passed the day. After having driven back to daughter's place, I discovered a flat tyre and because it had been driven on, and had a screw in it, it had to be replaced at huge cost! £170 for a tyre?? I couldn't believe it, and the comment from the mechanic about Ferrari tyres costing £1000 each was not exactly helpful.
The new day dawned and we set off for the Tunnel. The tyres looked ok, but now I was expecting another disaster to strike so, the journey started as a worry. The drive across France and into the Fatherland is a little over 500 miles and as we had already covered 100 getting to France in the first place, we decided to stop overnight en route.
Verdun has always been linked in my mind to the great war and treaties etc - Not any more!
We pulled off the motorway into Verdun and as is our wont, passed dozens of hotels before deciding that we'd better stop. The Lion D'Or was in a side street, not far from a war cemetary and it's only endearing feature was that it was open, and had a room. No it had all it's rooms empty! The owner, chamberperson, cook, concierge, whatever, was a tired and dishevelled Frenchman, that made Basil Fawlty look like a kindly saint. Hegave us a key, we didn't sign in, and he told us that if we wanted le petit déjeuner, it would be at 8, but clearly he didn't care much for that or for the English either. We went to the room - dark cold and dingy but it looked clean enough. There was no dinner - not to oneself - don't ever expect dinner in France on a sunday night! We wandered into Verdun and found a Vietnamese restaurant open and had a warm meal there.
Retiring early after a long day and collapsing into a very short bed with few blankets, sleep came reluctantly and when it did, it was doomed not to last. At 2am I was awoken by the sound of a cat miaowing outside the door. I turned over blocking the sound from my good ear and tried to sleep again. No chance at all, the bloody cat went on and on and on, unceasing bloody noise until at 7.30 I gave up and got up. Showered and the rest, I won't go into details, I ventured out of the room to find the sodding cat hiding behind a curtain on the landing. It was black and abou 4 inches long. How it made so much noise and created so much misery I will never understand. Maybe it was a reincarnation of one of the poor bastards who died here all those years ago and was seeking revenge. The last laugh was almost on me as i took the cases down to the car. i opened the front door and the little bugger shot out of the hotel straight over the busy main road. It missed becoming a very flat cat by nanometers and vanished into some bushes. I hope that it is still there, though i suspect that it's role is to make sure that English guests do not sleep. Clearly the landlord had no problems in that department as by 8.15 there was no sign of life in the dining room or at reception. Unscrupulous people might have just left the keys and gone but no- we waited and eventually he stumbled down the stairs in a half awake state and within half an hour had reluctantly assembled the makings of a continental breakfast. By the time it arrived, any original interest in food had evaporated so we paid the bill and left.
The Hotel in Pfaffenweiler was wonderful. Clean, light ,airy and warm even though the outside temperatures were 4 degrees.
The Black Forest is beautiful and arriving felt good. That night we had a really good meal in the hotel restaurant and a good night's sleep.
Next morning I awoke with a terrible cold and have had it since!
Next time I plan a holiday - someone please remind me that even though I may not be paranoid, that there IS somebody out there who has it in for me.
ps - the journey back was uneventful, but it would be wouldn't it?
Thursday 27 September 2007
Blasts from the past
This weekend sees a very significant anniversary for me. I am going to meet up with my oldest and dearest friend in the city where we went to college. I have no doubt that we will revisit all the old haunts and be terribly disappointed when they are no longer there, or changed beyond recognition. I am sure that we will tell all the old stories and be transported back to a youth that we wish that we still have, or that we wish that we had mis-spent differently.
College days were very special and the memories lie deep and are well rooted. Some things are best forgotten but that is not really a possibility until senility wipes out what is written only in our minds. I find it very sad that old age and death remove, from the earth, treasure box after treasure box of memories that can never be replaced. People say that we should not look backward but forward, and though I can see the sense in that, as we get older, there is far more to look back on than there is to look forward to, and there is much pleasure to be gained from reliving the good memories.
My course at college was Junior/secondary Biology, which meant that we had to study a whole host of subjects as well as Education and our subject of choice. The idea being that we would be prepared to teach accross a wide age range, and thus there was a necessity to be as versatile as possible. The course was not great in terms of its educational value I have to say, and most people could get by with a minimal amount of effort. The real learning took place in the three teaching practices, and not surprisingly, these were the times when some people failed and were thrown out. I don't recall anyone having to leave on the basis of a failed exam.
For general subjects we were placed into "Curriculum groups" and these were fairly random in their make up. I guess that they wanted each group to have representatives from all subject areas. Anyway much of the week, we were a unit and moved around from department to department, suffering the joys of a range of tutors.
We had lectures in Maths, English, Art, Music, PE, Drama and RE and were expected to pass in all of them. It wasn't hard, though you did need to turn up now and then i order to be recognised. My friend managed to turn up to two PE lectures atthe beginning of the course and then hung up his kit. I think he still has the shorts - they never needed washing.
Mostly these sessions were seen as social gatherings, though some tutors did engage us, and attendance for their sessions were pretty good. I have fond memories of Art, Drama and Maths, and I have to say that I enjoyed PE and never missed a session. In those days i was quite athletic and enjoyed playing team sports such as basketball, hockey and athletics. I never had the legs for football.
Our resident lunatic tutor, was in the Art department. I'll call him Dennis as that was his name. He was an enthusiastic potter among other things and I think that he found our particular group quite hard to handle. Never in the history of the college had so many cynics been brought together. They say that all education is subversive. We certainly were. Is it me I wonder? but I have always found myself in subversive groups! Dennis's lectures were fun though I don't think we ever learned anything curricular. It did give me inroads into the typography department however and that kindled a life long interest in type and layout.
I became the only one who could use the ancient presses and soon became responsible for printing all the tickets for social events, posters and invitations too. There were no word processors of computers then and it was all done by hand. Images were done in linocuts or hand drawn, I wasn't able to use silk screen, type was all hand set and the presses all manual. I loved the typography and spent many happy hours in there by myself. Eventually though, I managed to break one of the presses in a moment of exuberance and was banned from typography forever.
The real joy of college though is the people that you grow up with. And i guess that that is what we were there for. To learn from each other and to grow up. Some did that very quickly, and I believe that I have yet to meet that objective.
I am looking forward to our mini re-union and although nostalgia is not what it once was, we will revel in the past for a whole day, which will no doubt terminate in a curry!
College days were very special and the memories lie deep and are well rooted. Some things are best forgotten but that is not really a possibility until senility wipes out what is written only in our minds. I find it very sad that old age and death remove, from the earth, treasure box after treasure box of memories that can never be replaced. People say that we should not look backward but forward, and though I can see the sense in that, as we get older, there is far more to look back on than there is to look forward to, and there is much pleasure to be gained from reliving the good memories.
My course at college was Junior/secondary Biology, which meant that we had to study a whole host of subjects as well as Education and our subject of choice. The idea being that we would be prepared to teach accross a wide age range, and thus there was a necessity to be as versatile as possible. The course was not great in terms of its educational value I have to say, and most people could get by with a minimal amount of effort. The real learning took place in the three teaching practices, and not surprisingly, these were the times when some people failed and were thrown out. I don't recall anyone having to leave on the basis of a failed exam.
For general subjects we were placed into "Curriculum groups" and these were fairly random in their make up. I guess that they wanted each group to have representatives from all subject areas. Anyway much of the week, we were a unit and moved around from department to department, suffering the joys of a range of tutors.
We had lectures in Maths, English, Art, Music, PE, Drama and RE and were expected to pass in all of them. It wasn't hard, though you did need to turn up now and then i order to be recognised. My friend managed to turn up to two PE lectures atthe beginning of the course and then hung up his kit. I think he still has the shorts - they never needed washing.
Mostly these sessions were seen as social gatherings, though some tutors did engage us, and attendance for their sessions were pretty good. I have fond memories of Art, Drama and Maths, and I have to say that I enjoyed PE and never missed a session. In those days i was quite athletic and enjoyed playing team sports such as basketball, hockey and athletics. I never had the legs for football.
Our resident lunatic tutor, was in the Art department. I'll call him Dennis as that was his name. He was an enthusiastic potter among other things and I think that he found our particular group quite hard to handle. Never in the history of the college had so many cynics been brought together. They say that all education is subversive. We certainly were. Is it me I wonder? but I have always found myself in subversive groups! Dennis's lectures were fun though I don't think we ever learned anything curricular. It did give me inroads into the typography department however and that kindled a life long interest in type and layout.
I became the only one who could use the ancient presses and soon became responsible for printing all the tickets for social events, posters and invitations too. There were no word processors of computers then and it was all done by hand. Images were done in linocuts or hand drawn, I wasn't able to use silk screen, type was all hand set and the presses all manual. I loved the typography and spent many happy hours in there by myself. Eventually though, I managed to break one of the presses in a moment of exuberance and was banned from typography forever.
The real joy of college though is the people that you grow up with. And i guess that that is what we were there for. To learn from each other and to grow up. Some did that very quickly, and I believe that I have yet to meet that objective.
I am looking forward to our mini re-union and although nostalgia is not what it once was, we will revel in the past for a whole day, which will no doubt terminate in a curry!
Monday 24 September 2007
Pain
I am playing an old Vinyl record of J J Cale and wondering what the hell I can write about today. I know that once I stop writing for any length of time, that starting again becomes less and less of a probability. Blues music is wonderul but one thing that it doesn't do is to raise a smile. It is about pain and loss and maybe that is why it appeals. If we can engage in someone else's pain, maybe it makes ours seems less.
I was reading some Jonathan Miller last night and he was talking about body image and various sensations, including physical pain. Body image is a very strange concept, and he is so right when he talks about our own built in image that never seems to change. Inside i feel the same as I did when I was eighteen, and yet whenever I look into the mirror, I step back mentally, not recognising what my bodyhas become, and not liking it much either.
Pain is a part of out body image and has evolved as a means of protection. Without pain we would self destruct in no time at all. There are cases of people born without pain reception and they have a tough time of it. Toddlers chew anything and without pain, this includes tongues and fingers as well as any other body part that teeth can access. Without pain, we'd continue to walk on broken legs, would ignore rotten teeth and most illnesses and ailments. We know our bodies and we know when things are not as they should be.
In extremis, people may lose touch with their body image and then trange things can happen. Sensations may be perceived but not necesarily conected to the body map. Amputees often suffer phantom pains in limbs that no longer exist, and that is something which must be pretty horriffic. Imagine having an itch in a foot that is no longer there.
In Hard Times, by Charles Dickens, Mrs Gradgrind's death scene includes
"Have you a pain Mother?"
"There's a pain somewhere in the room, but I cannot be certain that I have got it."
We can, to a limited extent dissociate ourselves from pain and the odd illegal substance may help; while some people can manage without. Accupuncturists claim that they can remove pain to the e xtent that some have had surgery without any other form of anaesthetic.
Pain is hard to recall in full. Perhaps that is just as well. I was trying to remember the most painful experiences of my life, and I guess that I have been luckier than some. The earliest pain that I can recall, was at Grammar school. I must have been 13 or 14 and was picked on by an older boy, who for no obvious reason, kneed me in the balls. I went down like sack of potatoes and can still feel an attenuated version of the agony now. It took me a day to recover from that.
Later on, as a result of the TB I had suffered as a child, I was tormented by Arthritis in the hip. This pain is both acute and chronic, and what is more it rarely goes away, and as the months go by it takes it's toll. That sort of pain is pure misery and it becomes all consuming, to the extent that it becomes you. Analgesics do little and besides they have their side effects too.
I was fortunate in having the necessary treatment to remove that pain once and for all. Not everyone is so fortunate, and must live their lives in misery.
Well J J has finished and I have to turn him over. I budgetted for one side but I have over run and will stop before I suffer with RSI.
I was reading some Jonathan Miller last night and he was talking about body image and various sensations, including physical pain. Body image is a very strange concept, and he is so right when he talks about our own built in image that never seems to change. Inside i feel the same as I did when I was eighteen, and yet whenever I look into the mirror, I step back mentally, not recognising what my bodyhas become, and not liking it much either.
Pain is a part of out body image and has evolved as a means of protection. Without pain we would self destruct in no time at all. There are cases of people born without pain reception and they have a tough time of it. Toddlers chew anything and without pain, this includes tongues and fingers as well as any other body part that teeth can access. Without pain, we'd continue to walk on broken legs, would ignore rotten teeth and most illnesses and ailments. We know our bodies and we know when things are not as they should be.
In extremis, people may lose touch with their body image and then trange things can happen. Sensations may be perceived but not necesarily conected to the body map. Amputees often suffer phantom pains in limbs that no longer exist, and that is something which must be pretty horriffic. Imagine having an itch in a foot that is no longer there.
In Hard Times, by Charles Dickens, Mrs Gradgrind's death scene includes
"Have you a pain Mother?"
"There's a pain somewhere in the room, but I cannot be certain that I have got it."
We can, to a limited extent dissociate ourselves from pain and the odd illegal substance may help; while some people can manage without. Accupuncturists claim that they can remove pain to the e xtent that some have had surgery without any other form of anaesthetic.
Pain is hard to recall in full. Perhaps that is just as well. I was trying to remember the most painful experiences of my life, and I guess that I have been luckier than some. The earliest pain that I can recall, was at Grammar school. I must have been 13 or 14 and was picked on by an older boy, who for no obvious reason, kneed me in the balls. I went down like sack of potatoes and can still feel an attenuated version of the agony now. It took me a day to recover from that.
Later on, as a result of the TB I had suffered as a child, I was tormented by Arthritis in the hip. This pain is both acute and chronic, and what is more it rarely goes away, and as the months go by it takes it's toll. That sort of pain is pure misery and it becomes all consuming, to the extent that it becomes you. Analgesics do little and besides they have their side effects too.
I was fortunate in having the necessary treatment to remove that pain once and for all. Not everyone is so fortunate, and must live their lives in misery.
Well J J has finished and I have to turn him over. I budgetted for one side but I have over run and will stop before I suffer with RSI.
Saturday 22 September 2007
Comms
In my youth, communication was about talking to people, mostly face to face. I was never very good at it and kept my self to myself as much as i could. Being inside one's own little world can be a great comfort.
If you wanted to talk to someone who lived more than a bike ride away, you wrote letters, and that was something else that I loathed. I remember being forced to write letters to relatives, that were by no means close, and struggling to find anything to say. We didn't have a telephone, and any phone calls were made from a public call box halfway down the village. To make a call, you had to put in 4 old pennies, wait to be connected and if successful, press button A. If unsuccessful you pressed button B, and if you were lucky, you got your money back. Long distance calls had to be booked in advance, and were extraordinarily expensive, and therefore reserved for emergencies.
Bad news always came by means of a telegram, which meant that the woman at the post office got to hear it before you did, and that probably meant that the whole village found out pretty quickly.
We did have a radio, but TV came later, and living in the village, newspapers were like hens teeth. Things were pretty basic, and i don't recall it being a problem.
The other day, i was involved in a very near miss, while driving. A woman, shot out in front of me from a junction, and how I missed her I just don't know. She was of course on her cell phone, and oblivious to anyone else on the road. I am afraid that I gave chase and pulled her off the road to tell her what i thought about her driving, and she seemed to think that she hadn't done anything wrong. A strange perception.
Mobile phones are so ubiquitous now that we all have them and seem to become more dependent on them as time goes by.
Mine tends to sit in my desk drawer most of the time, though if I am going to be away, I do take it with me and sometimes will switch it on. Of course, it never, or rarely rings, and so because of that i often forget where it is. I don't make calls and so I don't get them either, it is a bit catch 22 i guess.
On the other hand, i am a big user of electronic mail and enjoy email contact with the world in general. I love to receive email, and have no objection to spam, though having said that I seem to be spam free at the moment. Email is direct and simple and most people are pretty good at responding. It is also less intrusive than a telephone, though I have known individuals to stop a conversation in order to read a mail. I used to be a devotee of Napster and MSN, and found meeting strangers fascinating. Second life is my current interest and a link to a strange world occupied by some very nice and some not very nice people.
Information overload is a growing problem, and the bombardment can only increase in volume and intensity. It would seem that we have no excuses any more for not keeping in touch with our friends.
I still loathe writing letters by hand and recently realised that handwriting is hard work.
This is my first entry for a while and I am aware that I have little new to say. I hope that I can find the will to write more effectively next time.
If you wanted to talk to someone who lived more than a bike ride away, you wrote letters, and that was something else that I loathed. I remember being forced to write letters to relatives, that were by no means close, and struggling to find anything to say. We didn't have a telephone, and any phone calls were made from a public call box halfway down the village. To make a call, you had to put in 4 old pennies, wait to be connected and if successful, press button A. If unsuccessful you pressed button B, and if you were lucky, you got your money back. Long distance calls had to be booked in advance, and were extraordinarily expensive, and therefore reserved for emergencies.
Bad news always came by means of a telegram, which meant that the woman at the post office got to hear it before you did, and that probably meant that the whole village found out pretty quickly.
We did have a radio, but TV came later, and living in the village, newspapers were like hens teeth. Things were pretty basic, and i don't recall it being a problem.
The other day, i was involved in a very near miss, while driving. A woman, shot out in front of me from a junction, and how I missed her I just don't know. She was of course on her cell phone, and oblivious to anyone else on the road. I am afraid that I gave chase and pulled her off the road to tell her what i thought about her driving, and she seemed to think that she hadn't done anything wrong. A strange perception.
Mobile phones are so ubiquitous now that we all have them and seem to become more dependent on them as time goes by.
Mine tends to sit in my desk drawer most of the time, though if I am going to be away, I do take it with me and sometimes will switch it on. Of course, it never, or rarely rings, and so because of that i often forget where it is. I don't make calls and so I don't get them either, it is a bit catch 22 i guess.
On the other hand, i am a big user of electronic mail and enjoy email contact with the world in general. I love to receive email, and have no objection to spam, though having said that I seem to be spam free at the moment. Email is direct and simple and most people are pretty good at responding. It is also less intrusive than a telephone, though I have known individuals to stop a conversation in order to read a mail. I used to be a devotee of Napster and MSN, and found meeting strangers fascinating. Second life is my current interest and a link to a strange world occupied by some very nice and some not very nice people.
Information overload is a growing problem, and the bombardment can only increase in volume and intensity. It would seem that we have no excuses any more for not keeping in touch with our friends.
I still loathe writing letters by hand and recently realised that handwriting is hard work.
This is my first entry for a while and I am aware that I have little new to say. I hope that I can find the will to write more effectively next time.
Saturday 15 September 2007
In the absence of my own thoughts
I am Very Bothered
I am very bothered when I think
of the bad things I have done in my life.
Not least that time in the chemistry lab
when I held a pair of scissors by the blades
and played the handles
in the naked lilac flame of the Bunsen burner;
then called your name, and handed them over.
O the unrivalled stench of branded skin
as you slipped your thumb and middle finger in,
then couldn't shake off the two burning rings. Marked,
the doctor said, for eternity.
Don't believe me, please, if I say
that was just my butterfingered way, at thirteen,
of asking you if you would marry me.
-- Simon Armitage
I am very bothered when I think
of the bad things I have done in my life.
Not least that time in the chemistry lab
when I held a pair of scissors by the blades
and played the handles
in the naked lilac flame of the Bunsen burner;
then called your name, and handed them over.
O the unrivalled stench of branded skin
as you slipped your thumb and middle finger in,
then couldn't shake off the two burning rings. Marked,
the doctor said, for eternity.
Don't believe me, please, if I say
that was just my butterfingered way, at thirteen,
of asking you if you would marry me.
-- Simon Armitage
Thursday 13 September 2007
Thought for the day
Philip Larkin - This Be The Verse
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself
Tuesday 11 September 2007
An explanation but not an excuse
I am aware that when one writes, there is a risk involved. Probably many risks, but one that springs to mind, is that it is easy to offend others. I am no Jeremy Clarkson, who seems to make a living out of being obnoxious, but I guess that inadvertently I may have said things that others find innappropriate or hurtful. I have no wish to effect anyone in a negative sense and do not set out with malicious intent.
When I write, it is simply a stream of consciousness, brought on by whatever I have absorbed in the recent past. Sometimes I'll begin, knowing something of what i am about to say, but often it is just what comes into my head there and then.
I have had a good morning, after a not so good start. and with a haircut to look forward to, today looks like being ok. I saw my first student of the year today and she is a delight, so that was a good restart to the day. I enjoy the challenge of teaching, and still find my subject to be fascinating. As with most things, I find that the more I know, the more I know how little i know, and that is always humbling.
I have in front of me a pile of plant bits and pieces, the residue of our lesson and it feels good to be able to share knowledge with another human being.
When I write, it is simply a stream of consciousness, brought on by whatever I have absorbed in the recent past. Sometimes I'll begin, knowing something of what i am about to say, but often it is just what comes into my head there and then.
I have had a good morning, after a not so good start. and with a haircut to look forward to, today looks like being ok. I saw my first student of the year today and she is a delight, so that was a good restart to the day. I enjoy the challenge of teaching, and still find my subject to be fascinating. As with most things, I find that the more I know, the more I know how little i know, and that is always humbling.
I have in front of me a pile of plant bits and pieces, the residue of our lesson and it feels good to be able to share knowledge with another human being.
Monday 10 September 2007
Virtuality
I was trying to think hw long it is since I had a haircut. I know I toyed with the idea of shaving my head some while ago and it was a good few weeks before that. Needless to say I am in dire need now. I have gone off the idea of something like a grade one or less, what with summer being about done and all that, but having shorter hair makes aspects of daily life easier.
I have never been too bothered by my appearance, and have no "Style" at all. I dress for comfort and for me a pair of jeans and tee shirt is all I need to wear. I can wear a suit if I have to and I do have some othet clothes I think, somewhere, but as I see very few people anyway it doesn't seem to be of any importance.
This has carried through to Second Life, where one invents oneself again, and imagination is the only limit. I still tend towards black tee shirt and jeans and that again seems to be my comfort zone. Having said that, I met a lovely lady yesterday, who has talked me into doing something about that and I have already begun to redesign. I want to thank her for her words and her generosity in supporting me and I hope to make the most of her help. Oh that things were so easy in reality.
Change is hard. Change has a nasty habit of biting in all the wrong places and causing problems that one never even considers. We all live in boxes of our own construction and breaking out of them, while being liberating, can of course set dominoes falling that were best left undisturbed. The fallout from that can continue for years after the event and I guess that it takes a very selfish approach if that is to leave one unscathed.
I stepped out of my box once, and although I am back inside and the lid nailed shut, the aftermath is sustained. It echoes around me and I have a constant battle, attempting to disregard it. Being selfish can be hard too, though it seems to be no problem for some. I sometimes wish that I could disengage myself.
Meeting people in second life has so far been a wonderful experience and has done much to restore my faith in the goodness of people. For those out there who have never visited, it is worth a try; there is a new community out there and you too can remodel yourself, should you feel so inclined.
I have never been too bothered by my appearance, and have no "Style" at all. I dress for comfort and for me a pair of jeans and tee shirt is all I need to wear. I can wear a suit if I have to and I do have some othet clothes I think, somewhere, but as I see very few people anyway it doesn't seem to be of any importance.
This has carried through to Second Life, where one invents oneself again, and imagination is the only limit. I still tend towards black tee shirt and jeans and that again seems to be my comfort zone. Having said that, I met a lovely lady yesterday, who has talked me into doing something about that and I have already begun to redesign. I want to thank her for her words and her generosity in supporting me and I hope to make the most of her help. Oh that things were so easy in reality.
Change is hard. Change has a nasty habit of biting in all the wrong places and causing problems that one never even considers. We all live in boxes of our own construction and breaking out of them, while being liberating, can of course set dominoes falling that were best left undisturbed. The fallout from that can continue for years after the event and I guess that it takes a very selfish approach if that is to leave one unscathed.
I stepped out of my box once, and although I am back inside and the lid nailed shut, the aftermath is sustained. It echoes around me and I have a constant battle, attempting to disregard it. Being selfish can be hard too, though it seems to be no problem for some. I sometimes wish that I could disengage myself.
Meeting people in second life has so far been a wonderful experience and has done much to restore my faith in the goodness of people. For those out there who have never visited, it is worth a try; there is a new community out there and you too can remodel yourself, should you feel so inclined.
Thursday 6 September 2007
What's in a name?
I apologise in advance for any offence - but hell you don't have to read it.
I was thinking this morning about the number of people that come into and out of our lives, and often, all that we remember are their names. I must have met thousands of children in my teaching life, and the names come back to me, as do the faces. My problem is matching the two lists.
Parents often don't think too hard about the names they give to their offspring, and kids may well be branded fro life with names that they hate. (I know this from personal experience.)
One of the worst combinations I ever heard of was a local family whose surname happend to be Royd, who named their daughter Emma. How cruel can you get? Another that springs to mind was the Carte family and their teenage son Orsen. I know this sounds like an exerpt from "I'm sorry I haven't a clue" but they are true.
One of my jobs when I was teaching was the setting of new intake students. I can remember looking down the lists and identifying many of the lower ability kids by their forenames. The Waynes, Shanes, Carlys, Sharons and Tracys often wound up together. (I have to say that I did in fact use their reports and not their names for the setting process)
As one's teaching career goes by, names become attached to personality types and, it is a mental picture that once formed is hard to remove. Negative images tend to stick, and there are some forenames that my own brain has stereotyped irrevocably.
Not all names of course have negative connotations, some are very agreeabele and I link with wonderful people. Some stand out as they are the only ones that I have met, but these are few and far apart. I only know one Edith, Maureen, Zena, Luke, Edmund and Gabrielle, and most of these are delightful people
Names also have a habit of coming back to haunt, because of events that have taken place in ones life. Names such as Anne, Michael, and Jack still have strong negative influences.
Maybe kids should be given numbers or temporary names until they are old enough to choose one for themselves. Then I guess we'd have some intersting school registers.
I was thinking this morning about the number of people that come into and out of our lives, and often, all that we remember are their names. I must have met thousands of children in my teaching life, and the names come back to me, as do the faces. My problem is matching the two lists.
Parents often don't think too hard about the names they give to their offspring, and kids may well be branded fro life with names that they hate. (I know this from personal experience.)
One of the worst combinations I ever heard of was a local family whose surname happend to be Royd, who named their daughter Emma. How cruel can you get? Another that springs to mind was the Carte family and their teenage son Orsen. I know this sounds like an exerpt from "I'm sorry I haven't a clue" but they are true.
One of my jobs when I was teaching was the setting of new intake students. I can remember looking down the lists and identifying many of the lower ability kids by their forenames. The Waynes, Shanes, Carlys, Sharons and Tracys often wound up together. (I have to say that I did in fact use their reports and not their names for the setting process)
As one's teaching career goes by, names become attached to personality types and, it is a mental picture that once formed is hard to remove. Negative images tend to stick, and there are some forenames that my own brain has stereotyped irrevocably.
Not all names of course have negative connotations, some are very agreeabele and I link with wonderful people. Some stand out as they are the only ones that I have met, but these are few and far apart. I only know one Edith, Maureen, Zena, Luke, Edmund and Gabrielle, and most of these are delightful people
Names also have a habit of coming back to haunt, because of events that have taken place in ones life. Names such as Anne, Michael, and Jack still have strong negative influences.
Maybe kids should be given numbers or temporary names until they are old enough to choose one for themselves. Then I guess we'd have some intersting school registers.
Tuesday 4 September 2007
Time travel
I heard on the radio the other day, that some guy wants someone to give him 20,000 pounds, or was it 200,000? I can't remember, so that he can build a time machine. I don't know i f he has found, or ever will find, anyone daft enough to come up with the money, but I guess there is always someone who is both rich and stupid, so I wish him luck.
It has been said that time travel will never be a reality. This is based on the fact, that no-one has visited us from the future, so therefore, in the future there is no means of travelling to the past. If they ca only travel into the future, they'd have no way of getting back, so therefore the whole thing seems a bit unlikely.
What though, if we could travel in time? Would I want to go forward or back? There are days certainly when I would like to go back into the past and make changes to the things that I did or did not do, but on the other hand it would be interesting to look ahead and see what the future holds. I guess though, that knowing too much about the future, including the time and nature of one's demise, could have calamatous consequences, and would knowing what was going to happen, enable one to change the future? Maybe the future is only an illusion, much in the same way that the past is. We only really experience the present.
I can imagine our inventor friend picking up his money and vanishing, to a future that he already has planned, somewhere in the Caribbean. Punters beware.
It has been said that time travel will never be a reality. This is based on the fact, that no-one has visited us from the future, so therefore, in the future there is no means of travelling to the past. If they ca only travel into the future, they'd have no way of getting back, so therefore the whole thing seems a bit unlikely.
What though, if we could travel in time? Would I want to go forward or back? There are days certainly when I would like to go back into the past and make changes to the things that I did or did not do, but on the other hand it would be interesting to look ahead and see what the future holds. I guess though, that knowing too much about the future, including the time and nature of one's demise, could have calamatous consequences, and would knowing what was going to happen, enable one to change the future? Maybe the future is only an illusion, much in the same way that the past is. We only really experience the present.
I can imagine our inventor friend picking up his money and vanishing, to a future that he already has planned, somewhere in the Caribbean. Punters beware.
Monday 3 September 2007
A rant
I have been following with some interest, the latest exchanges between the Atheists and the Theists, as argued by Richard Dawkins on the one side, and virtually everyone else on the other. Being of a similar mind to Dawkins, I have made myself take a look at the arguments put forward by some of his opponents, and, trying to be as open minded as it is possible to be, I have made an attempt to find an argument that is as convincing as his.
Yesterday I read an extract (and I know that it is not the whole book!) from an offering by John Humphries, whose intellect I also admire. One of the questions that he addresses, is Dawkin assertion that Religion is dangerous, and although he tends to agree that the "Mad Mullahs" that gather extremist Muslims around them, are a serious threat to world peace, in general, he finds himself at odds with the general idea. Now it is easy when putting together any argument, to put to one side, the facts that run counter you your own interpretation of events. We all do it, and to ignore the atrocities, conducted throughout history, and still going on, in the name of God, Allah, or whatever you like to call him/it.
He makes no mention of religious wars, the Spanish Inquisition, the Salem Witch trials, the torture and murders of Catholics by Protestants and vice versa. He ignores the years of conflict in Northern Ireland and the genocide of the Balkans.
Whether or not, there is a God, and as yet no-one has provided me with any supportive evidence for that assertion, organised religions, however benign they may appear, by definition are divisive, closed books, clubs to which only believers are entitled to membership. As such, their existence must lead to conflicts of interests and that is a danger.
It is time that the world grew up and began to look for solutions to the very real problems that we face today. We need to look at ourselves and at the fragile Earth upon which we live. The solutions are here, and it is for human beings to find them. Hoping for the intervention of a divinity is pointless and counterproductive. We are on our own and need to stop believing in fairy tales.
By all means, look at the night sky, or listen to music and wonder. But just because we don't understand something does not mean that supernatural forces are behind it.
Humphries says that people need a faith. Why? There are plenty of us who don't. Maybe it is time that the closed minded, entrenched religious zealots, were put in their place and asked for some real evidence to back up their assertions. A holy book is simply a book, and books can very easily mislead. Throw them away and let people think for themselves for the first time in human history.
Yesterday I read an extract (and I know that it is not the whole book!) from an offering by John Humphries, whose intellect I also admire. One of the questions that he addresses, is Dawkin assertion that Religion is dangerous, and although he tends to agree that the "Mad Mullahs" that gather extremist Muslims around them, are a serious threat to world peace, in general, he finds himself at odds with the general idea. Now it is easy when putting together any argument, to put to one side, the facts that run counter you your own interpretation of events. We all do it, and to ignore the atrocities, conducted throughout history, and still going on, in the name of God, Allah, or whatever you like to call him/it.
He makes no mention of religious wars, the Spanish Inquisition, the Salem Witch trials, the torture and murders of Catholics by Protestants and vice versa. He ignores the years of conflict in Northern Ireland and the genocide of the Balkans.
Whether or not, there is a God, and as yet no-one has provided me with any supportive evidence for that assertion, organised religions, however benign they may appear, by definition are divisive, closed books, clubs to which only believers are entitled to membership. As such, their existence must lead to conflicts of interests and that is a danger.
It is time that the world grew up and began to look for solutions to the very real problems that we face today. We need to look at ourselves and at the fragile Earth upon which we live. The solutions are here, and it is for human beings to find them. Hoping for the intervention of a divinity is pointless and counterproductive. We are on our own and need to stop believing in fairy tales.
By all means, look at the night sky, or listen to music and wonder. But just because we don't understand something does not mean that supernatural forces are behind it.
Humphries says that people need a faith. Why? There are plenty of us who don't. Maybe it is time that the closed minded, entrenched religious zealots, were put in their place and asked for some real evidence to back up their assertions. A holy book is simply a book, and books can very easily mislead. Throw them away and let people think for themselves for the first time in human history.
Friday 31 August 2007
Thursday 30 August 2007
Teaching practice 1
Ok back to the point. Year one at college and the slow and painful growing up process that I guess never ends.
The college itself was small enough for everyone to more or less know everyone. I think there were only something like 700 places altogether and it wasn't hard to be on nodding terms with most.
Through the sports teams and other societies as well as fellow residents in hall, I soon gathered many friends and became part of a community, in a way that I had never experienced before. My enthusiasm for life was probably at its peak and I was up for everything and anything. I won't talk about relationships and the like, as it wouldn't make interesting reading and besides I'd hate to forget someone!
Lectures were ok, although I am pretty sure that the only time we learned anything about education was when we were sent out on teaching practice. This was a baptism of fire, as after only six weeks in college, we were all sent out into schools for the first of three placements over the course. The idea was, I suppose, to find out early on, the ones that were just not cut out for it, and there were a number of friends who never returned after that first placing. We assumed that they had left, rather than being eaten by the children.
The whole thing was very scary. We had no say in where we went, and I found myself posted overseas. I had never heard of the Isle of Wight and had no idea of its location, but come the day, a number of us, bags packed, headed for the ferry and for our six weeks in schools.
We were placed into digs, run by two ancient spinsters, who hated students but loved the rent. There was another woman tenant who continually played the theme to The Good The bad and the ugly, and somehow that seemed appropriate if bloody annoying.
I was sent to a primary school, and although i adored the kids, I quickly realised that I was not suited for primary school life. It went ok and my tutor was satisfied that I'd make the grade, and what is more I enjoyed my time there. I don't remember very much of what I did or even the staff, but at the end of the time, I realised that I could, if i had to, manage a classroom.
That being done, we all went back to college in time to end the term and go home. Something that I was not looking forward to. I had no money left and so had to hitch hike my way back, and i seem to recall that it was raining that day, and it took hours to get a lift. However I did get home eventually and redefined the word homesick - to me it meant sick of home and it hit me very quickly. I wanted nothing more than to be back at college with the freedom that it offered.
Catching up with friends at home made me realise that a gulf was opening up between us and that it was unlikely ever to be bridged again. They were moving on in their directions and so was I. I felt that their paths were likely to be straight and that I had yet to find one.
The college itself was small enough for everyone to more or less know everyone. I think there were only something like 700 places altogether and it wasn't hard to be on nodding terms with most.
Through the sports teams and other societies as well as fellow residents in hall, I soon gathered many friends and became part of a community, in a way that I had never experienced before. My enthusiasm for life was probably at its peak and I was up for everything and anything. I won't talk about relationships and the like, as it wouldn't make interesting reading and besides I'd hate to forget someone!
Lectures were ok, although I am pretty sure that the only time we learned anything about education was when we were sent out on teaching practice. This was a baptism of fire, as after only six weeks in college, we were all sent out into schools for the first of three placements over the course. The idea was, I suppose, to find out early on, the ones that were just not cut out for it, and there were a number of friends who never returned after that first placing. We assumed that they had left, rather than being eaten by the children.
The whole thing was very scary. We had no say in where we went, and I found myself posted overseas. I had never heard of the Isle of Wight and had no idea of its location, but come the day, a number of us, bags packed, headed for the ferry and for our six weeks in schools.
We were placed into digs, run by two ancient spinsters, who hated students but loved the rent. There was another woman tenant who continually played the theme to The Good The bad and the ugly, and somehow that seemed appropriate if bloody annoying.
I was sent to a primary school, and although i adored the kids, I quickly realised that I was not suited for primary school life. It went ok and my tutor was satisfied that I'd make the grade, and what is more I enjoyed my time there. I don't remember very much of what I did or even the staff, but at the end of the time, I realised that I could, if i had to, manage a classroom.
That being done, we all went back to college in time to end the term and go home. Something that I was not looking forward to. I had no money left and so had to hitch hike my way back, and i seem to recall that it was raining that day, and it took hours to get a lift. However I did get home eventually and redefined the word homesick - to me it meant sick of home and it hit me very quickly. I wanted nothing more than to be back at college with the freedom that it offered.
Catching up with friends at home made me realise that a gulf was opening up between us and that it was unlikely ever to be bridged again. They were moving on in their directions and so was I. I felt that their paths were likely to be straight and that I had yet to find one.
Wednesday 29 August 2007
Writers block or something like that
I seem to have run dry today and I don't know why? Guess that it's a form of writer's block, not that I'd ever consider myself a real writer. Real writers have real readers, and can inspire and influence. They have ideas and ways of looking at the world and making even the dullest things interesting.
I really admire and envy those who have the ability to capture the imagination, whether it be through the written word, the spoken word, painting or music. I have always aspired to these things and never really had the talent for anything much. Oh there are things that I can do quite well; nobody is without some sort of skill, but I yearn to be really good at something. I am working at writing, but each time I read a good author, i realise that I have left it too late, much like everything else I guess.
I love the work of Margaret Attwood. She is one of many very talented Canadians, and being Canadian, few people over here have heard of her. Well that is a bit of an exaggeration, as she lives here much of the time, but she is not in the same popularity league as the likes of Steven King, Terry Pratchett, Ian Rankin and the rest of the wonderful authors that keep our bookshelves full.
She is quite prolific and thankfully there are still plenty of novels left for me to read. Reading about Canada becomes less painful as time goes by and I can immerse myself in her prose, without feelings of anger or loss.
Her characters are real and easily accessed, and I guess that is what makes for a good story, probably more so than the plot itself. Steven King maintains that he does not "plot out his books" but allows stories to unfold all by themselves. I try that, being fundamentally lazy, and then i run out of steam or get hopelessly confused. I think I need to focus on characters more, but I don't meet many people these days. I seem content to have withdrawn from the real world for most of my time, it's better for me that I do in some ways. Reaching out only seems to cause me pain and I don't want any more of that. Much better to stay numb and maintain the appearance.
I have met some wonderful people in my life and I hesitate to make use of some of them, though I don't know why. I 'd like to imagine that somewhere, somebody is using me in a book. It would be a form of immortality I guess and maybe that is what immortality is all about.
Anyway, clearly I have little to write about this morning and I am not in the mood to continue with college days, so I'll cease this rambling and do something a little more worthwhile. Having said that I haven't a clue what that will entail!!!
PS I just checked my profile - i can see that changes are needed, but I can't be bothered really. I notice that it has been accessed 243 times? Who on earth can possibly be interested?? Do feel free to comment!
I really admire and envy those who have the ability to capture the imagination, whether it be through the written word, the spoken word, painting or music. I have always aspired to these things and never really had the talent for anything much. Oh there are things that I can do quite well; nobody is without some sort of skill, but I yearn to be really good at something. I am working at writing, but each time I read a good author, i realise that I have left it too late, much like everything else I guess.
I love the work of Margaret Attwood. She is one of many very talented Canadians, and being Canadian, few people over here have heard of her. Well that is a bit of an exaggeration, as she lives here much of the time, but she is not in the same popularity league as the likes of Steven King, Terry Pratchett, Ian Rankin and the rest of the wonderful authors that keep our bookshelves full.
She is quite prolific and thankfully there are still plenty of novels left for me to read. Reading about Canada becomes less painful as time goes by and I can immerse myself in her prose, without feelings of anger or loss.
Her characters are real and easily accessed, and I guess that is what makes for a good story, probably more so than the plot itself. Steven King maintains that he does not "plot out his books" but allows stories to unfold all by themselves. I try that, being fundamentally lazy, and then i run out of steam or get hopelessly confused. I think I need to focus on characters more, but I don't meet many people these days. I seem content to have withdrawn from the real world for most of my time, it's better for me that I do in some ways. Reaching out only seems to cause me pain and I don't want any more of that. Much better to stay numb and maintain the appearance.
I have met some wonderful people in my life and I hesitate to make use of some of them, though I don't know why. I 'd like to imagine that somewhere, somebody is using me in a book. It would be a form of immortality I guess and maybe that is what immortality is all about.
Anyway, clearly I have little to write about this morning and I am not in the mood to continue with college days, so I'll cease this rambling and do something a little more worthwhile. Having said that I haven't a clue what that will entail!!!
PS I just checked my profile - i can see that changes are needed, but I can't be bothered really. I notice that it has been accessed 243 times? Who on earth can possibly be interested?? Do feel free to comment!
Tuesday 28 August 2007
English - C-
I have just been reading through the previous entry and realising how badly that it is written. I am tempted to edit it but at the end of the day, what is the point? I will just try to be more careful next time.
Today has been pleasant for a number of reasons, mainly linked to a long email this morning. I won't go into that, suffice it to say that it brought a rare smile to my face.
Time to get dinner. I wonder what to cook? I'll see what is in the fridge and maybe an idea will come crashing into my head.
Today has been pleasant for a number of reasons, mainly linked to a long email this morning. I won't go into that, suffice it to say that it brought a rare smile to my face.
Time to get dinner. I wonder what to cook? I'll see what is in the fridge and maybe an idea will come crashing into my head.
College years part one
I seem to have been sitting in front of my screen for too long today. I have been catching up on important emails - not many i must add, but it's a way of saying what is on my mind.
I have already let a cup of tea go cold and drunk a lukewarm coffee and already it's about lunchtime. The sun is shining again so I guess we are getting a little late summer after all.
Next week sees the return to school, and so I guess there are a lot of students feeling trepidations at the thought of getting up in the mornings again, and even more parents who will be glad to get them out of the house again.
Going to a new place, whether it be a school or a college, can be a very daunting experience for some; I expected it to be but it was not. I felt utterly free, for the first time in my life. Liberated from the tyrrany of my father, I determined to change myself and become more me than what he had tried, unsuccessfully to mould me into.
I had no restraints, physical(see back!) or otherwise, and I didn't know how to use that freedom. The fun came in trying to find out. Actually i did have one pretty important constraint, and that was money. I hadn't much in the way of savings and my student grant was pretty minimal, so I had to get by as well as i could. Fortunately in those days, accommodation, bills and food were all provided, so all i had to find was money for a hectic social life that was to develop over the next three years.
This will make some people laugh, but in those days a pound would buy 8 pints of beer, or about 100 cigarettes, it would pay for two curries, or keep one in busfares for a month. My budget ran to two pounds fifty a week, plus whatever else I could earn or beg from my mother. Anyway i did get by, I never bought clothes or other luxuries, and tended to live in jeans and probably nylon shirts. (They didn't need ironing!)
That year i made some wonderful friends, one of which I still see from time to time, though not often enough. He and I are very different in all sorts of ways, yet we get on very well and he has been one of my greatest supports through troubled times. I know that he is reading this and want him to know how much i appreciate him. He is one of four people to whom this blog is entrusted. If you are one of the other three, then you are in good company.
Growing up was the chief aim of college years, and to do so slowly and with as much pleasure as possible. Girls were in abundance, (one of the attractions of Portsmouth was the huge ratio of 7 women to one man!) and although we had to compete with the polytechnic guys, there were plenty to go around and go around I did. The first year I suppose I was testing the water as it were. I had assumed that my girlfriend back home would have moved on and did not expect her to wait for me to come home. Something else i got wrong, and for which I am very sorry now. I know now that i was not ready for a relationship that had any meaning at all. I wonder if I ever was? Anyway I confess to a long string of casual relationships, none of which meant much at all, and I didn't let them get in the way of important things like, hockey, basketball, athhletics and Caving. I joined everything that interested me. I even joined the Historical society because they ran free trips to all sorts of places. My life was very full and those were probably some of the happiest days of my life.
I have already let a cup of tea go cold and drunk a lukewarm coffee and already it's about lunchtime. The sun is shining again so I guess we are getting a little late summer after all.
Next week sees the return to school, and so I guess there are a lot of students feeling trepidations at the thought of getting up in the mornings again, and even more parents who will be glad to get them out of the house again.
Going to a new place, whether it be a school or a college, can be a very daunting experience for some; I expected it to be but it was not. I felt utterly free, for the first time in my life. Liberated from the tyrrany of my father, I determined to change myself and become more me than what he had tried, unsuccessfully to mould me into.
I had no restraints, physical(see back!) or otherwise, and I didn't know how to use that freedom. The fun came in trying to find out. Actually i did have one pretty important constraint, and that was money. I hadn't much in the way of savings and my student grant was pretty minimal, so I had to get by as well as i could. Fortunately in those days, accommodation, bills and food were all provided, so all i had to find was money for a hectic social life that was to develop over the next three years.
This will make some people laugh, but in those days a pound would buy 8 pints of beer, or about 100 cigarettes, it would pay for two curries, or keep one in busfares for a month. My budget ran to two pounds fifty a week, plus whatever else I could earn or beg from my mother. Anyway i did get by, I never bought clothes or other luxuries, and tended to live in jeans and probably nylon shirts. (They didn't need ironing!)
That year i made some wonderful friends, one of which I still see from time to time, though not often enough. He and I are very different in all sorts of ways, yet we get on very well and he has been one of my greatest supports through troubled times. I know that he is reading this and want him to know how much i appreciate him. He is one of four people to whom this blog is entrusted. If you are one of the other three, then you are in good company.
Growing up was the chief aim of college years, and to do so slowly and with as much pleasure as possible. Girls were in abundance, (one of the attractions of Portsmouth was the huge ratio of 7 women to one man!) and although we had to compete with the polytechnic guys, there were plenty to go around and go around I did. The first year I suppose I was testing the water as it were. I had assumed that my girlfriend back home would have moved on and did not expect her to wait for me to come home. Something else i got wrong, and for which I am very sorry now. I know now that i was not ready for a relationship that had any meaning at all. I wonder if I ever was? Anyway I confess to a long string of casual relationships, none of which meant much at all, and I didn't let them get in the way of important things like, hockey, basketball, athhletics and Caving. I joined everything that interested me. I even joined the Historical society because they ran free trips to all sorts of places. My life was very full and those were probably some of the happiest days of my life.
Monday 27 August 2007
Monday
"When you die, first you lose your life, then you lose your illusions." Terry Pratchett
Think I am going about things the wrong way.
Hi Guardian - You help me more than you know.
Think I am going about things the wrong way.
Hi Guardian - You help me more than you know.
Saturday 25 August 2007
Thursday 23 August 2007
More results
Well Holly got her A grade and i think that Stephan Got his 2 A*s so i am very happy with them all.
I take little credit for their success as they all worked so hard and deserve to wallow in their achievements.
I hope that the celbrations have begun and that they last well into the weekend. I shall raise a glass to them all
but it's a bit early right now. maybe later.
I take little credit for their success as they all worked so hard and deserve to wallow in their achievements.
I hope that the celbrations have begun and that they last well into the weekend. I shall raise a glass to them all
but it's a bit early right now. maybe later.
Results
Results day has arrived, and you know what? I am nervous too. I shouldn't be, but when you have an interest in these things, you also feel a certain responsibility for the outcome. I feel sure that all three of them will do well, but I will feel better when I hear from them.
I am determined to write more today, I am spending a lot of time fiddling about with a website right now, and that, along with work for the club has been absorbing my time. Today I feel like being creative in a different way.
I am still exploring Second Life and find it fascinating. One of the frustrations originally was that on my old computer, everything ran slowly and jerkily, so interest waned rapidly. Since transferring to the newer machine, that problem seems resolved and now I pop in most days. I think that fundamentally it goes some way to filling a gap in my life, one that has been there for quite a while. I have met some lovely people there and one in particular who has awoken my creative urge that seemed to have withered and died. Now i feel it growing again and I want to make the most of my time, as you never know how much you have left. In Second Life, one can take on whatever persona you like, and there are those who become the avatars of their own inner fantasies, exploring the dark, bizaare and even perverted natures of their personalities. There are cruel and viscious people ther, as in real life, but on balance most people simply project their own persona onto what is effectively a real time, role playing game. I know that it is a game that can become very addictive and so I try not to log in too often, but the temptation is very real. Oddly I find it impossible to behave in any other way than I do in real life, and my Avatar, like me, wears just a tee shirt and a pair of jeans. Guess that I don't do role play very well.
Just had a call telling me that Lucy has 2 A* grades for her science, so I am thrilled for her. Not heard about Holly of Stephan yet but I feel that they too will have done well.
More later in the day.
I am determined to write more today, I am spending a lot of time fiddling about with a website right now, and that, along with work for the club has been absorbing my time. Today I feel like being creative in a different way.
I am still exploring Second Life and find it fascinating. One of the frustrations originally was that on my old computer, everything ran slowly and jerkily, so interest waned rapidly. Since transferring to the newer machine, that problem seems resolved and now I pop in most days. I think that fundamentally it goes some way to filling a gap in my life, one that has been there for quite a while. I have met some lovely people there and one in particular who has awoken my creative urge that seemed to have withered and died. Now i feel it growing again and I want to make the most of my time, as you never know how much you have left. In Second Life, one can take on whatever persona you like, and there are those who become the avatars of their own inner fantasies, exploring the dark, bizaare and even perverted natures of their personalities. There are cruel and viscious people ther, as in real life, but on balance most people simply project their own persona onto what is effectively a real time, role playing game. I know that it is a game that can become very addictive and so I try not to log in too often, but the temptation is very real. Oddly I find it impossible to behave in any other way than I do in real life, and my Avatar, like me, wears just a tee shirt and a pair of jeans. Guess that I don't do role play very well.
Just had a call telling me that Lucy has 2 A* grades for her science, so I am thrilled for her. Not heard about Holly of Stephan yet but I feel that they too will have done well.
More later in the day.
Wednesday 22 August 2007
Busy day
Such a busy day today, just can't seem to get down to writing for pleasure. You know, I used to hate writing, but now it has become one of the main pleasures in my life.
I have a new friend who also writes and we seem to be on simmilar wavelengths over a number of things. I hope that we can write together at some time. That is a rewarding occupation, and hopefully this time we can finish something.
This week sees the arrival of the GCSE exam results, and because of my lovely students I have an interest again. I do hope that they do well and can ignore all the crap in the press that will follow. If the results are worse than last year the teachers will be blamed of course, and if the results are better then the exams will be too easy. It's a lose lose situation and i know all about them. Anyway, good luck to Holly, Lucy and Stephan - you all deserve to excell in all you do.
I have a new friend who also writes and we seem to be on simmilar wavelengths over a number of things. I hope that we can write together at some time. That is a rewarding occupation, and hopefully this time we can finish something.
This week sees the arrival of the GCSE exam results, and because of my lovely students I have an interest again. I do hope that they do well and can ignore all the crap in the press that will follow. If the results are worse than last year the teachers will be blamed of course, and if the results are better then the exams will be too easy. It's a lose lose situation and i know all about them. Anyway, good luck to Holly, Lucy and Stephan - you all deserve to excell in all you do.
Tuesday 21 August 2007
Pastures new
I have just preordered the latest offering from Loreena McKennitt. It's a DVD and double CD package and a snip at £15.00 so I look forward to its arrival. I am sure that my young musical friend will be interested in borrowing it at some stage, and of course she is always welcome to do so.
Now - where was I?
Oh yes, I was off to become a teacher and could look forward to heading south for the next three years. I should have felt nervous I suppose, but I felt no trepidation there at all. All I can recall is a sense of relief. I had an escape route and i was going to take it. My only regret was that I'd be leaving my girlfriend behind, but we'd keep in touch of course we would. The rest of the year swept by, and then it was the exams - meaningless and pointless for me. Once the exams were done, school was over, and all the routine rituals of cap and tie burning gone through. A long summer holiday lay before me, and then - the unknown and unexplored.
It was a hot summer and full of parties and music and of course work. I took a job in a hotel bar in town, which meant a 4mile walk back home at 1am. Not a great prospect after a long day in the bar, however I managed it for a while, and then moved into a spare room in an Aunt's house. That worked out well for a while as the walk there was much shorter and I was left more or less to my own devices. Things fell apart a little when she came into my room one night, wearing very little and quite drunk. I think she wanted more than i was prepared to give, so I moved out again.
Much of the rest of that summer was a blur and it was soon over. My relationship with my girlfriend had developed into a real relationship for the first time in my life andI was getting reluctant to go away. I knew that if i stayed that I would be trapped into the routine existence of village life and I could not face that, so I went.
I left for college with a small amount of cash, some textbooks that my mother had bought for me, my puny wardrobe, and little else, packed into a tatty cardboard suitcase. I left the house and walked a mile or so to where the coach would pick me up. No-one came to see me off and I felt quite alone as i waited for the bus to come. Alone but exhilarated - I knew that I would never live here again, and as the bus pulled away I didn't even glance back.
It was a long journey, as coaches stop everywhere en route, but eventually I was there, in the centre of the City of Portsmouth. I felt alive and thrilled to be there amongst so many people. there were others at the coach stop, seemingly of my age and also with suitcases. I struck up a conversation and soon found someone to share a cab to the hall of residence.
This was a newish site and I was consigned to the twelve storey block, known as Barnard Tower. I had arrived!
Monday 20 August 2007
Looking for an out.
Last time I stepped back into the past, I was talking about deaths and how I responded to them. Not a particularly upbeat sort of subject, though one that can't be avoided. Someone who used to be the closest friend I ever had, recently experienced a vicarious bereavement and I know that it will have been painful for her, because it will have opened up wounds that have barely healed. I feel for her, I am finding it hard to stop caring.
Today I will go back to the last days at school and see where we go from there. I have never been a great planner and tend to go for things head on, never knowing where I will wind up. Maybe if i was a better forward thinker, I'd have done better at school and perhaps I'd be better off now than I am.
The last year at Grammar School, was probably better than most of the others. By this time, I'd got to know a number of people and could drift in and out of any number of social circles. The main problem however was geographical. I still lived out in the wilds and had limited means of getting around. One of my friends from the village had bought a car, and we did get around quite a bit with him, but that was only the one social group, and many of my friends were those from school.
Through Mike, at the youth club, I got to hear of a scooter that someone wanted rid of. It was an old Lambretta LD150, and although it worked, it was not in great condition and I had little money. He settled for a princely sum of Two pounds and ten shillings - all that I could muster, and i proudly wheeled it home. The next few days were spent, buying paint, helmet and the rest of the gear that was necessary. I really wanted huge rear view mirrors and an aerial with a foxes tail attached, I wanted a parka with a fur hood, I wanted to be a Mod!
What one wants however is not always in keeping with what one can afford and so I had to settle for the paint job and the helmet. I think that the helmet cost several time that of the scooter, and come to think of it, the paint probably did too. Anyway I did a fair job and painted it two tone blue and before long it was ready for the road. I still remember the first ride, when i had to take it to get it MOT tested. The sense of freedom was amazing, even though the sense of speed was sadly lacking. The engine was not at its best and I never exceeded 40 mph, but it was mine and now I could go places. (As long as they were not far away!) It passed the test, and from that day I rarely used buses. I even took it to school, which I thought was pretty cool.
My social life improved enormously and I could get to parties that were not on a bus route and finished after ten at night, I could disappear for hours, exploring the wider area, and I have visions of escaping once more. There were one or two girls that came into and went out of my life that year, but one that could have shared a long term relationship, had circumstances been different. She was two years behind me at school and very petite and pretty. We began to see each other very frequently, and I could now get to her house with no difficulty. So our relationship grew and I experienced feelings that I had never had before. I guess that she was the first love of my life, and our relationship became as close as it could be. Although I loved her, I still had to escape. I could not live in the village, I did not want what long term residents seemed to settle for and so I continued to work towards my getaway.
Careers advice in those days was simple. If you were smart and worked hard you went to University, preferably Oxford or Cambridge. If you were less smart or didn't do the work, you went to Teacher's training College, if you were even less smart you went into nursing or the Police force, and that was that. It was suggested that my A level performance may not be up to standard for the first option, and so i was steered into applying for Teacher Training.
ME? a teacher? I was the scourge of most of mine, so why should i become one? Well I did think long and hard about it and decided that if nothing else I could get away from home for three years and then? Well who knows? Three years then seemed a lifetime away. So I applied. I chose three colleges on the basis of - 1. Distance away from home 2. Proximity to Caving areas 3. Being close to the sea. I filled in the forms and off they went.
In what seemed days, i was offered an interview at Portsmouth, and friend offered to drive me down there. That was very good of him and I don't think I ever returned the favour. I was not familiar with the big cities and the experience was exhilarating. I recall the interview well and in particular being asked questions about aestivating snails. My natural history interest came in handy and I seemed to make a good impression. I must have done, as I was offered a place - unconditionally!
Now that was a bad move in some ways. I did not need any A levels at all to get where I wanted to go. What was I to do? Work like a demon to get through? or enjoy my last year? It wasn't a hard choice to make.
Sunday 19 August 2007
Sunday bloody sunday
A wet sunday, so i am indoors and awaiting the start of the football match on the Radio. It's not as bad as it sounds, as I can sit and write for a while. I have started writing short stories again, largely due to a new source of inspiration. I don't think that they are suitable for this blog but who knows?
Next week I must get back to writing the story that I started so long ago. I have spent so long on it, I feel that I must get it finished. It is very rare for me NOT to finish something that I start; call it pig headedness if you like but I will even struggle through a book that I am not enjoying, rather than not finish it.
I am reading Margaret Attwood again. This is some sort of self imposed punishment, as her books are all set in the southern part of Ontario, and as such are constant reminders of the past. She writes wonderfully well though and I will not deprive myself of her, simply to avoid pain.
OK - I promise myself that after today I will return to blogging on a regular basis. For now though, I have little worth saying.
Next week I must get back to writing the story that I started so long ago. I have spent so long on it, I feel that I must get it finished. It is very rare for me NOT to finish something that I start; call it pig headedness if you like but I will even struggle through a book that I am not enjoying, rather than not finish it.
I am reading Margaret Attwood again. This is some sort of self imposed punishment, as her books are all set in the southern part of Ontario, and as such are constant reminders of the past. She writes wonderfully well though and I will not deprive myself of her, simply to avoid pain.
OK - I promise myself that after today I will return to blogging on a regular basis. For now though, I have little worth saying.
Tuesday 14 August 2007
Just drivel
There are days when I have no clue as to what to write, and there are days like today when I have so many thoughts tumbling around in the vacuity of my mind that it's hard to decide which angle to take.
Today started well. Yesterday afternoon I ordered some new ink tanks for my printer, which of course is out of action as I ran out of black. This morning the postman got me out of bed to receive the aforementioned inks. Delighted by the speed of service, I opened the pack expecting to be able to catch up on the backlog of tasks awaiting print. Alas, I had ordered the wrong tanks - the numbers are so very much alike and the containers so very different. Now the reason I mention this is because I have made the same mistake before. This is a cause for concern as I rarely make the same mistake more than once. Now i have to send the package back and re-order. Such a hassle, but at least it is a mistake which is not important and one that can be made good.
Yesterday was pretty good too. I received an email from my young friend, the one with the amazing musical talent. She sent me a recording of another Leonard Cohen song - "If it be your will." I had sent her a cover recording by Jann Arden, so she decided to record her own version and it is delightful. She has a terrific voice as well as an ability to get inside a song and make it her own. If there are any readers out there, I do recommend her recordings on You tube. Just search for Hallelujah My Version, and you will find her at the top of the list.
It's raining again and blowing a gale. The Cowes week weather was excellent so I guess that was our summer. At least when it's like this, I don't feel guilty about staying in my office all day. At least here I can think and write down my thoughts, for what they are worth. That reminds me, I must get on with the story; maybe later today if the mood takes me.
On the gardening front, I have lost all my tomato plants due to a severe fungal attack, the chillis are abundant and thriving, and I am harvesting fresh figs, which though not abundant, are delicious. The french beans have been good and the experiment of growing lettuce in pots seems to have worked well.
That's enough for now-I will package the ink tanks and send them back. Would that other things were so simple.
Today started well. Yesterday afternoon I ordered some new ink tanks for my printer, which of course is out of action as I ran out of black. This morning the postman got me out of bed to receive the aforementioned inks. Delighted by the speed of service, I opened the pack expecting to be able to catch up on the backlog of tasks awaiting print. Alas, I had ordered the wrong tanks - the numbers are so very much alike and the containers so very different. Now the reason I mention this is because I have made the same mistake before. This is a cause for concern as I rarely make the same mistake more than once. Now i have to send the package back and re-order. Such a hassle, but at least it is a mistake which is not important and one that can be made good.
Yesterday was pretty good too. I received an email from my young friend, the one with the amazing musical talent. She sent me a recording of another Leonard Cohen song - "If it be your will." I had sent her a cover recording by Jann Arden, so she decided to record her own version and it is delightful. She has a terrific voice as well as an ability to get inside a song and make it her own. If there are any readers out there, I do recommend her recordings on You tube. Just search for Hallelujah My Version, and you will find her at the top of the list.
It's raining again and blowing a gale. The Cowes week weather was excellent so I guess that was our summer. At least when it's like this, I don't feel guilty about staying in my office all day. At least here I can think and write down my thoughts, for what they are worth. That reminds me, I must get on with the story; maybe later today if the mood takes me.
On the gardening front, I have lost all my tomato plants due to a severe fungal attack, the chillis are abundant and thriving, and I am harvesting fresh figs, which though not abundant, are delicious. The french beans have been good and the experiment of growing lettuce in pots seems to have worked well.
That's enough for now-I will package the ink tanks and send them back. Would that other things were so simple.
Monday 13 August 2007
Such excitement is hard to contain
I sat out under the stars last night, hoping to witness the meteor shower known as the Pleiades. This is an annual disappointment as mostly when the "shower" is at its peak, the sky is overcast, or it rains or both. Last night the sky was clear and I sat in a garden chair and watched the northern sky, hoping against hope to be entertained.
Meteors are fragments of comets and the like, often no bigger than a grain of sand, that plough into the atmosphere, where friction causes them to burn up in milliseconds. As they burn they show up in the night sky like transient fireflies. If you are not looking at the right place in the firmament, all you perceive is a flash in the corner of they eye. The Pleiades come around every year and have done for centuries.
As I waited, my mind churned over all the usual mess that it contains, but there is something so timeless about the night sky that seems to make everything seem so trivial and unimportant. My own personal universe is by comparison, pathetically uninteresting and insignificant. Nothing that I do or say can ever have any lasting effect, and my passing will go unnoticed and unrecorded, just like the 15 meteors that I saw before boredom set in, and I went to bed. I guess that if I am still here next year, I will once again gaze hopefully.
Meteors are fragments of comets and the like, often no bigger than a grain of sand, that plough into the atmosphere, where friction causes them to burn up in milliseconds. As they burn they show up in the night sky like transient fireflies. If you are not looking at the right place in the firmament, all you perceive is a flash in the corner of they eye. The Pleiades come around every year and have done for centuries.
As I waited, my mind churned over all the usual mess that it contains, but there is something so timeless about the night sky that seems to make everything seem so trivial and unimportant. My own personal universe is by comparison, pathetically uninteresting and insignificant. Nothing that I do or say can ever have any lasting effect, and my passing will go unnoticed and unrecorded, just like the 15 meteors that I saw before boredom set in, and I went to bed. I guess that if I am still here next year, I will once again gaze hopefully.
Friday 10 August 2007
Thursday 9 August 2007
To be, or not
I am thinking about shaving my head. Now there is an interesting thought, for me anyway. I am trying to think of reasons why I shoudn't.
I don't know why I wrote that, I suppose it was the first thing that sprang to mind and, like most days, i have no preconceived idea as to where this is going. For me the blog is like my normal day. I don't often plan anything, it simply rambles on and finds its own conclusion.
It's Cowes week, but that too is drawing to a close. The town is full of people, all there for their own reasons, some for sailing and others for various nefarious purposes, but many for just a family day out or to enjoy all day drinking in the sunshine. We had the pleasure of armed police the other day, the reason being that the Israeli Ambassador was in town. I shudder to think of the consequences of machine gun fire in the tiny and crowded streets.
There are representatives from all over the world, and for once it feels like a multicultural society. Money is flowing in a torrent from the punters pockets into the tills of the town, and the local traders are smiling from ear to ear. It is after all the one week when they can make enough to see them through all those winter monday mornings.
I like Cowes week, though a lot of people that I know don't. They even go so far as to go on holiday until sanity returns, and some even rent out their houses for 4 figure sums. These are family homes, not second or third properties, and so it may be a case of camping out somewhere or going to stay with Mum. It's all part of the grey economy assocaited with big festivals.
It's a great time for photography, and watching people of all shapes and sizes doing all sorts of things. I was accosted by a sailor yesterday who mistook me for press. He wanted to sell me some photos that he had taken of a Yacht losing its mast. Now, I can think of some interesting situations that might have tempted me a little, but broken masts are everyday events, and like this ambling nonsense, not at all interesting. I still don't know why he mistook me for a newspaper man. Maybe I should shave my head, but then I might get mistaken for Patrick Stewart - I should be so lucky!!!!
I don't know why I wrote that, I suppose it was the first thing that sprang to mind and, like most days, i have no preconceived idea as to where this is going. For me the blog is like my normal day. I don't often plan anything, it simply rambles on and finds its own conclusion.
It's Cowes week, but that too is drawing to a close. The town is full of people, all there for their own reasons, some for sailing and others for various nefarious purposes, but many for just a family day out or to enjoy all day drinking in the sunshine. We had the pleasure of armed police the other day, the reason being that the Israeli Ambassador was in town. I shudder to think of the consequences of machine gun fire in the tiny and crowded streets.
There are representatives from all over the world, and for once it feels like a multicultural society. Money is flowing in a torrent from the punters pockets into the tills of the town, and the local traders are smiling from ear to ear. It is after all the one week when they can make enough to see them through all those winter monday mornings.
I like Cowes week, though a lot of people that I know don't. They even go so far as to go on holiday until sanity returns, and some even rent out their houses for 4 figure sums. These are family homes, not second or third properties, and so it may be a case of camping out somewhere or going to stay with Mum. It's all part of the grey economy assocaited with big festivals.
It's a great time for photography, and watching people of all shapes and sizes doing all sorts of things. I was accosted by a sailor yesterday who mistook me for press. He wanted to sell me some photos that he had taken of a Yacht losing its mast. Now, I can think of some interesting situations that might have tempted me a little, but broken masts are everyday events, and like this ambling nonsense, not at all interesting. I still don't know why he mistook me for a newspaper man. Maybe I should shave my head, but then I might get mistaken for Patrick Stewart - I should be so lucky!!!!
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