A good walk - spoiled

I played golf on sunday. There is nothing remarkable about that, after all I used to play every sunday morning in all weathers and would often play several times during the week too. When I left the Island just over a year ago, I ended my ages long membership of the golf club of course. I had already stopped playing competitive golf some time back when my hip seized up, and never really got back into the swing of it. (No pun intended)

My son was here at the weekend and he is rekindling his interest in golf and we do try to get out now and then even just down to the local par three course which serves to remind me of how difficult golf really is. Jamie had a terrible round and mine was only marginally better but it was nice to be out in the sunshine and all the way round we were serenaded by a cuckoo. I hadn't heard one for a number of years and it was a pleasant reminder that spring is here even if it has gone largely unnoticed.

It is a silly game of course. We go to great expense and use a great deal of energy to knock a little white ball into a hole. Admittedly the hole may be a long way fro where we begin but even so when it comes down to it, that is all that is involved. You might imagine that with practice it would bet easier and easier, until the task became simplicity itself. Those who play know different.  It is a game of variables and they seem to be countless. Apart from the weather and the state of the course, there are all the internal variables that make it so hard. Most of the game is in the mind and it only takes one bad shot at the start of a round to sow the seeds of self doubt and then self destruction. On the other hand, during a bad round it only takes one good shot to make you want to come back and try again and again and again.

These days I find nine holes is more than enough for me and a full eighteen holes on a proper course would be a struggle. Oh for the days when I could manage thirty six holes in a day. Anyway, sunday was pleasant even though the golf was less than inspiring.

It's in the paper

According to a newspaper, and therefore it must be true, there are seven million people in this country that have never been online. This is seen by some as extraordinary and yet I'll bet that there are more than that who have never been abroad or even to London.  I know that when I lived on the Isle of Wight, that there were people who had never been to the mainland and had no wish to do so.

For most of us the internet has become part of our everyday lives and we are in a sense addicted to it. Being online is being a part of a community and empowers us in so many ways. Oscar of course has no real concept of what it is all about and yet, he uses my iPad efficiently and has already grasped the fact that Youtube can feed his main addictions - diggers and dinosaurs.  This is relatively harmless I suppose but social media that will suck in youngsters from an early age, represents a real threat to society at large.

I like to think that I am reasonably intelligent and that I am endowed with common sense and a fairly large streak of cynicism, (Yes really!)  and I do use Facebook and have used other means of communication online.  Facebook is a way of keeping in touch with people that we rarely or never see, but the more I see of it, the less appealing it becomes.  I really am not interested in what people have for lunch and I do not particularly wish to look at a superabundance of really bad photographs. I am bored with sentimental images of domestic pets and other people's drinking exploits.  Advice as to how to live my life or how to feel good, accompanied by twee images,  invitations to share all sorts of garbage, and attempts to engender guilt are all part of the endless tsunami of garbage that is posted each and every day. Having said all that, I still look at it every day and participate in word games and even post rants from time to time.

It seems though that with younger users, social media is riddled with dangers. Children are easily influenced and peer pressure can incite youngsters to make errors of judgement that can have life changing consequences. We hear about online bullying of course, and of kids who post inappropriate images of themselves unaware of the use to which those images may be put.  We hear of children being groomed by paedophiles who cleverly hide their real identities while preying on the vulnerability of the young.  Many children are very cruel and can use these media to taunt and tease and even blackmail their peers, and I am sure that many lives have been ended as a result.

Online fraud is a growing industry and criminals (not just bankers) are finding more and more ways to access our money or to steal our identity.  It is becoming harder and harder to remain anonymous and sooner or later it will be impossible to live outside of the world wide web, as we rely less and less on hard cash and pay all of our bills online.

Everything that we write or say online is recorded somewhere and can be held against us at some time in the future.  I'd like to think that in this blog that I have freedom of speech, but I know that I don't. Many people are finding that expressions of opinion are no longer seen as innocent and careers are being wrecked because of a few ill advised words placed on Twitter.  I am careful in my writing, that I do not name names even though my readership is minimal; this is after all more of a diary than anything else. It is sad though that freedom of expression is becoming eroded at such an alarming rate.

Those seven million people are probably quite fortunate and also I imagine probably quite elderly. As the years go by, their numbers will decline and fall.

Well that passed the time.

It is mid May; I have just been mowing the grass and have come back inside frozen.  There is a bitter wind blowing and the sky is the colour of Welsh slate.  The garden is more or less under control for now, and is looking as neat as a saturday morning haircut. Everything is growing, especially the grass, and so it is a daily chore to maintain that pristine enough state.

For now though I am back at my desk and pondering over what to write about. I have decided that writing is not really my thing. I have attempted all sorts of things, short stories, essays, letters, blogs and even dreamt of writing a novel, but none of these ever really come to much. I lack the self discipline for a start and then there is the need for ideas.  Some people have fertile imaginations and can generate stories at the drop of a hat. Some of these become politicians whilst others do actually become writers and provide us all with entertainment.

Would be writers are advised to read a lot.  Not just to research but to broaden their experience of the written word and to experience the styles of different writers. It is also advised that one should maintain a notebook in which to record the little gems of ideas as and when they arise.  I do read every day, but mainly in bed. If I read during the day I have a tendency to drop off to sleep and so I tend to avoid that. I have tried keeping a notebook but it doesn't work for me; I either forget where it is or can't be bothered to look back over the pages and so it really is not at all useful for me. I just don't have the wherewithal.

A writer that I admire enormously is Terry Pratchett. He is about my age and has accomplished so much. He has written a plethora of novels which are read by millions of people all over the world. Although suffering from a form of Alzheimer's Disease, he is still working and at the same time campaigning for research into his condition.

Many of his books are set in a world of his own making; a sort of parallel one to our own, populated by  characters  inspired by people that we would all recognise in real life. Everything is Disc world is based on our own world; Pratchett simply turns things on their head and makes them funny whilst simultaneously making serious points.  His novels are unpretentious, absorbing and great fun.

There are so many good writers alive today and as time goes by, the mountain of books that are available to read gets higher and higher. I have not yet managed to read all the Mr Pratchett has written, and I know that there must be countless other writers whose work I would enjoy had I the time to find them and read them.

I guess that the successful writers have one thing at least in common, they are or were dedicated to their art and shared a willingness to sacrifice much in order to achieve their goals. I have always been a jack of all trades and never really mastered anything at all. I can turn my hand to a lot of things but I really don't do anything well.  My life I guess has been about compromise.

Well the sun has still not come out and the wind is still howling so my good intention of working in the garden will come to nothing. It will soon be time to pick up Oscar from School and then there will be tonight's meal to prepare and cook. There is housework to do and I suppose I could sort out the garage again.  I'd do some drawing or painting but  I am no good at it and that leaves me frustrated and angry, so maybe I'll just let the day pass as it always does.

Time passes

The fourth dimension is a concept that is hard to grasp.  The notion of "Before Time" is often bandied about but can we imagine a universe where time did not exist?  Without time of course, nothing can happen. Any event can only occur during the passage of a finite period of time and so our lives, and all of the changes and events that make them up are dependent upon the passage of time.

When we were children, time seemed to pass so very slowly. Every day was a long one, summers and winters lasted an eternity and the years crawled by. It took a great deal of time to grow up. It even seemed to slow down when anticipating birthdays or special treats.

As adults, time passes faster and faster, its relative speed being in direct proportion to deadlines and unwanted appointments.

Maybe time is actually speeding up. If it were, then we'd probably not be able to measure it, as events that we use to measure time would also adjust accordingly.  Maybe it is just our concept of time that changes as we get older and the past stretches out behind us and our mortality seems to be hurtling towards us .

Oscar loves to come to grandad's house for the occasional sleepover. It gives his parents a break and he knows that he will get lots of attention and that his obsessions with space rockets and diggers will be encouraged.  He stayed over the other night and enjoyed the Hipad, the puter and the bricks. He loves grandads big bath and the big bed that he gets to sleep in. He likes Grandad to read his bedtime story and he sleeps well. That  is he sleeps well until around 5.30 am.  At this unearthly time of day, he gets out of bed and needs help using the toilet. After which he likes to get into bed with grandma and grandad while he wakes up and grandad tries to get back to sleep.

I was lying quite still hoping  that he would doze off the other morning, when after a few moments of peace, a small voice said
"Grandad; in a minute we can go and dig in the garden."
I said "Yes Oscar, in a minute." and closed my eyes again. There was a silence that lasted all of 30 seconds, then
"Grandad; in a minute we can go and play with the bricks."
"Yes Oscar, in a minute. Why not try to sleep for a while. It isn't morning yet."
Thirty seconds later Oscar Sits up.
"Grandad; where is the Hipad?"
He knows very well where it is and I know that my night is done. So at quarter to six I am up with Oscar, looking at diggers and dinosaurs on the iPad, playing with bricks and generally avoiding going out in the garden where it is still cold, in order to dig.

Oscar's concept of time is so very different to mine and so I have to adapt to his, which can be quite hard, especially before six am.  His sleepovers are lovely but very testing, and a reminder perhaps of why childhood days seemed so long - it was because they start so bloody early.