Oooo matron.

 “Just a little prick” Of course that isn’t what she said, but Carry On films do tend to remain in the memory, at least in mine. It was indeed just a little prick but then she pushed in the plunger and my upper arm muscle was invaded by a cold pressure that made me think about all the injections I have endured over the years. 

Earliest memories were those of the 1950s. I contracted TB at the age of 3, and although most memories of that time are sketchy to say the least. I do remember clearly the daily injections of streptomycin, the antibiotic of choice for those of us lucky enough to have picked up the TB bacillus.  Being stuck in bed was bad enough but each morning, a trolley came round, bottoms were bared and pain was delivered. No-one mentioned a little prick, though it would have been lost on me at that age, and it most certainly wasn’t small.

Today was the latest in a line of Covid vaccinations, which are meant to protect us oldies from the worst effects. For all I know, that syringe could have contained iced water that Modena claim to be a vaccine. Would we know any different?  I have benefitted from all the offered vaccinations and yet still wound up in hospital with Covid. 

Anyhow I digress, this was oldies day at a pharmacy some five miles from here. I arrived ten minutes early and found the pharmacy packed with hundreds of years experience and poorly functioning bodies.  Checking in at the counter, my innate optimism suggested that a long wait was a strong probability. However, within minutes I was called in, identified and Modernised; I was out of the place before my appointment was due, slightly sore but pleasantly surprised.

Staring through windows

My window overlooks a busy road and so I have many distractions as excuses for doing very little. People come and go all day, kids go to and come back from school while the elderly exercise themselves and their dogs.

One of the local drug dealers no longer makes an appearance, his house was busted by a rather large group of police officers, since when he has not been seen. His family are still there however, and even though of age, the girls never attend school. I wonder how they get away with it.

There is a flatbed truck over the road. It is owned by a guy who collects rubbish from house clearance and then disposes of it, somehow and somewhere. He came out of jail a few weeks ago so I am guessing that his business is legal and above board, though there are many cases of fly tipping around here.

The oak trees are now without leaves so the squirrels are easier to spot. They are greys here of course, and there is no shortage. At night we even find foxes wandering up and down the road as if they own the place, which of course in a way they do.

We are a microcosm of course. The country is in a mess with a government of chancers and villains, knowing that they can get away with more or less anything, because, fundamentally, most people don't care. As long as we have the telly and some alcohol, the rest of the world does not exist. We sit inside our little boxes and look out with unseeing eyes.

still here

 Good habits are so easy to get out of, unlike the bad ones. Writing is one of the former, and my muse seemed to have flown away. 

This is a new iPad, and in investigating its potential, I have rediscovered this Blog. Looking back over the entries I realised that I wrote quite a lot, and that some of that was ok. I also realised that the readership was very select, and that I was writing for my own benefit. No change there then. 

What a lot has changed since I last had a rant. The Tories are still there and despite many attempts at self destruction, they cling on like diseased limpets on the hull of a sinking ship. Of course there are many that still think that they are a good thing, I seriously worry about those people. I heard the other day of a man who had been lying on a trolley in a hospital corridor for hours, when interviewed he said in all seriousness “This is what it would be like in Corbyn’s Britain.”.  Indoctrination runs deep in the core of this country, the Tories did a very effective job there, and the Mail and the Sun, are still the top selling papers.

Brexit has been a disaster as we knew it would be, and the Royal family are tearing each others throats out. We are the world laughing stock and can do nothing but stand and watch as a totally corrupt system continues to bleed us to death.

Ukraine has been invaded by Russia and this has given oil and gas companies excuses to ramp up their profits at everyone else’s expense. 

Now it is cold and I hate being cold. We came back from a long weekend away. The boiler had failed to turn on and the house temperature was nine degrees, the heating has been on steadily since then and I still feel cold. 

So here we are, halfway through January. Spring seems a long way off. Happy New Year.

The end is nigh

 Everything has an end, entropy demands that. Even the universe will come to an end, matter will cease to exist and energy will be so far dissipated as to become meaningless, time too will end. If there is nothing happening then time will have no meaning.

On a happier note, the reign of Boris Johnson is beginning to show all the signs of terminal decline as his own backbenchers are turning away from him in their droves. History shows us that there tends to be a snowball effect, and we can hope that his demise is not too far away. We have had some not so good prime ministers, but most of them have had some endearing characteristics, Boris has none. He will go down as the worst PM that this country has ever had, and it really is time that he fell on his sword. He has single handedly dragged his party into depths that are new even to the Tory party, and for that the old guard will never forgive him.

The by election today could precipitate his fall, though, the lack of a good opposition, and the innate belief that the Tories can do no wrong, may see a Tory elected. We can but hope that people come to their senses. I won't hold my breath.

Plus ca change

 It has been a while. Here we are on the cusp of yet another Christmas and I stumble upon the settings for this old blog. I have been reading through some of the old entries, and although much has changed, so many things remain the same.

We now have a third grandchild. Jacob came along two years ago and is a real delight. Jamie and Jo are rightly proud of him. Oscar is now at secondary school and Matilda is in year 4 and loving school.

The Tories are cling on to power but the cracks are opening up and the festering malignancy that is the Conservative party is oozing everywhere. Boris Johnson must know that his days are numbered and the knives are out, sharpened and ready. Another corrupt and nasty candidate will take his place, and with a few soundbites will have the Tory faithful back in harness.  The Labour Party has been successfully assassinated by Keir Starmer and the right wing press, and so come an election, the unthinking and uncaring will probably put the Tories back in. The political climate is thoroughly depressing to say the least.

Trump came and went, but he has left a huge trough of supporters, steeped in right wing self obsession.

Then we have Covid. I remember when it first arrived, people were saying it would be gone by the summer, and I was saying that it is here for a long time. It certainly is here and adapting to whatever is thrown at it. Current thinking is that we have to learn to live with it.

Anti vaxers are everywhere, claiming that vaccinations is and infringement of their human rights, as is the wearing of masks. Such is the nature of society in Tory Britain. Everyone has rights and only some have responsibilities.

I haven't written much at all recently, I seem to have lost my enthusiasm. I have hundreds of thousands of words assembled in various places but nothing in my head. Getting old, I know is a privilege, but it does come with issues that are hard to deal with.

New experiences

I am at an age where there is pretty much nothing I need, new body parts aside. When it comes to birthday gifts, people tend to go for experiences and I have had a couple of them recently. The first was a gin making experience in a local distillery. They manufacture, on a smallish scale a gin called Greensand Ridge, and I must say that it is a brand that I quite like.

We were treated to a very pleasant and informative evening, culminating in our own choice of herbals from a very wide range, and the distillation of our own personal bottle. Lack of control on my part led to a the production  of a very aromatic 47% that actually tastes quite good but must be applied carefully.

Yesterday we had a lesson in sushi making at a local sushi restaurant.  Again the experience was interesting even though it was hard to follow verbal instructions, partly due to traffic noise and my poor hearing, and partly due to our Japanese instructor.  We played with sticky rice, sheets of seaweed, and bits of fish, cucumber and avocado for a very fiddly hour, at the end of which we each had produced a meal which was the combination of the above into a pretty arrangement with a huge emphasis on sticky rice. It was fun I suppose, and might have been more so if I actually liked sushi. I like avocado and cucumber but the rest of it I can happily live without.    I think that sushi for some, is rather like bottled water, or paper cups of Costa coffee; it is fashionable.

Not listening

I hear that Amazon is producing a male version of Alexa and calling it Alex.  It is fundamentally the same as Alexa but doesn't listen.

Women are always complaining that men don't listen. It is true, we don't and the reason is simple; we are conditioned not to.

If you work in a noisy environment, you learn very quickly to ignore the noise, filtering it out as it were. Even if the radio is on in the background, unless there is something really gripping, it gets easy to ignore.

Most women love talking. It is fascinating when a bunch of women get together. They talk and when they are not talking they are rehearsing what they are going to say next rather than listening. Gaps in the conversation can be measured in nanoseconds, dead air has to be filled.  They can say the same things over and over again but no-one cares, it is called social intercourse. Phone calls can last hours with neither party getting bored, it is a mystery what they talk about.


Most men talk for a different reason. They talk to convey information, social chit chat may be an expectation but it is not a natural pastime.  Most men are quite happy with silence. Idle chatter tends to distract from thinking, and when that chatter is continuous and repetitive or irrelevant, it becomes a background noise and is filtered out. A phone call often lasts minutes at most, and once the information has been passed on it ends.

Do not expect a man to pick up on instructions or requests if they come bundled in a long diatribe. He won't be listening.

          

Getting old

Getting old is probably better than the alternative but it certainly is no laughing matter. I used to smile at our next door neighbour who would regularly tell me that old age does not come by itself, and now I know what he meant.

He and his wife were a dear couple, who, by their own admission had lived  their lives in better times. The modern world was not for them and I felt that they were both ready to leave it when their time came.  Maybe it is the same for all of us,  there comes a time when things start to get away from us. Technology is moving at such a pace that it is hard to keep up with it.  I watch my nine year old grandson using computers and his games, and he leaves me standing. I have a Playstation and already he knows more about it than I do.

We have a smart TV just like most people, and I know that it is remarkable and capable of so much more than the demands I make on it. It's the same with my phone. I carry it around most of the time and pick up the odd message, but actually making calls is not something that I have had much practice at.  Our home is awash with wifi and bluetooth and we have Amazon dots in most rooms. Even the guest room has one so that guests can listen to music or interrogate Alexa should they wish to do so.  We are told that these things are not listening to us and that they only respond to the wake up word, but if they are not listening, how do they know when a wake up word has been spoken? We are all under scrutiny all of the time. I don't care because I have nothing to hide and my life on the whole is pretty dull but there is a principle at stake here.

We are living in a world where elections can now be manipulated using data that is collected from social media and goodness knows where else.  The rise of demons like Trump and other potential dictators has all been assisted by the manipulation of peoples minds; democracy is in its death throes.

I maintain that I was born at the right time. Things were hard when we were kids but they were getting better. We had healthy food, clean air, real freedom and great music. The kids today have none of those things and that is so sad.

I am lucky to be alive I guess, kept that way by a bloody good health service that neither bankrupted my parents or myself with the cost of years in hospital and replacement body parts. So I live with the aches and pains and the narrowing horizons and take each day as it comes with a degree of gratitude.

Adipose

Have you noticed, that cars are getting bigger as years go by.  Even the Mini and the Fiat 500 have increased in size and engine capacity. A possible reason is that people have increased in size and that many need a pretty large vehicle to get into.

Hospitals struggle with beds, wheelchairs and operating tables, and I am sure that many dentists have difficulties accommodating  larger patients in their chairs.

The stigma of being fat is diminishing as more and more people, choose to allow themselves to become outsize. Some say that it is not a choice and that it is a hormonal thing or that it is genetic, or because of any other possible causes.  The real reason though, despite possible help from those factors, is that people eat too much. Food that is surplus to the needs of the body is converted into fat and stored in huge reserves all over the body.  Many people seem obsessed with eating, and are rarely seen without a supply of junk food to keep them going.  It is sad that junk, high calorie food, is cheaper than healthy alternatives, but there it is.

We are getting fatter, of that there is no doubt. There is a much greater risk of having to sit next to an obese person in all sorts of situations; how often do we wait in an airport boarding lounge, hoping and praying that the real fatty will not be sitting next to us, overflowing into our own personal space?

Perhaps the increase in obesity is a good thing. For one thing, obese people do not live as long as they might, thus relieving some of the pressure on populations. Another thing is that the fatter a person is, the more carbon they store, thereby reducing the greenhouse effect. Maybe in years to come, fat bodies will be preserved post mortem and utilised as an energy source; crematoria are already having to adapt to accommodate the larger person.

It is all about choice of course. Lifestyles have changed a great deal in my lifetime as have attitudes towards body shapes and sizes. It is a shame though to see primary kids already obese or on their way to becoming so. Not being taught about the health issues associated with obesity is a form of child abuse.

I carry a lot more flesh than I once did. I make no excuse, I eat more than I should and probably consume too much alcohol. I also do not exercise enough, though for that I have some excuses. I will make a promise though, that is not to wear very tight clothes and especially skin tight black leggings.

Carpets

We just had much of the house re-carpeted. It is over now and I admit to feeling quite tired. Rooms have to be emptied as far as possible, so that the fitters can do their job, and that involves putting other rooms out of use and a great deal of humping furniture and other items about.  This morning I returned the CDs and DVDs to their shelves. They were in some sort of order before the disruption and now they are not. It has made me wonder whether sorting them again is worth the effort. There are hundreds of them, most of which are there just to fill the shelves.

I remember when the children were young, having a house carpeted and showing them that if you scuffed your feet over the carpet, you could become electrostatically charged. That was a mistake as all too often afterwards, I became the object for discharges, especially if taking a nap.

Because everything in the front room had been disconnected, I was unable to watch the debate between our would be Prime Ministers. By all accounts it was the usual embarrassing display of self aggrandisement and I am rather glad to have missed it. It would appear that we need some sort of super hero to get us  out of the mess that we are in right now. Whatever happens in the next few months, there will be a population that is split, acrimoniously down the middle, in a way that we have not been split before, largely thanks to social media.

With everything being disconnected, there was no access to any of that for a few glorious hours. Maybe we need more carpets.

Open wide

It is a warm day and in forty five minutes I have an appointment at the dentist. Nobody enjoys going to the dentist I am sure, but I guess that it is worse than the alternative. My parents generation had all their teeth extracted in their twenties. It saved money in the long run I suppose but it meant that their entire adult life was accompanied by plastic teeth that were soaked overnight in a glass by the bedside.

I am mindful of this when I go  and even the pain of the bill, makes me thankful that the teeth I have are my own.  This is just a check up and I hope that nothing needs doing. She will poke and prod while talking to me very quietly in a voice that I cannot hear while her nurse hovers about looking busy.  I vanish into a sort of trance in which I dissociate myself from whatever is going on.

I am reminded of an awful joke about dentists.  A woman is sitting in a dentists chair, terrified. She says to the dentist "Id rather have a baby than a filling."  The dentist replies "Well make up your mind and I'll adjust the chair."

There, that took my mind away for a few moments and now I must change into something more respectable before we go.

Interesting times

We live in interesting times.  At a point in history when we should be forming unions, we are instead seeking division.  Trump's America is in a parlous state, and thanks to Nigel Farage, so is the UK. There has always been a split between the right and the left, but the current division has gone much deeper and the wound is much more serious.  Both of the main political parties are divided on the one issue and are in danger of imploding, allowing clueless parties to fill the gap.

We have a ludicrous battle for the leadership of a party that is on its last legs, each candidate determined to deliver a policy that was voted for by a small majority and which is now supported by a minority, because if they don't, they will be seen as betraying democracy.  They are like headless chickens, flapping around trying to win support.  One of these less than honourable gentlemen will assume the leadership of the Tory party and thereby become Prime Minister. Immediately there will be proposed a vote of no confidence which could lead to the fall of the government and the precipitation of a general election. Then what?

We have a bunch of idiots representing our interests in Europe, and they will of course do no such thing. They are there only to sabotage  and should not be paid or entitled to any financial claims. If they are going to screw things up, it should be at their own expense.

Childish protest

I remember when I was at school in the 1960s, being involved in a protest against the obligatory school cross country run. For many it was an annual humiliation and for others it was just something to rail against. They were turbulent times; massive cultural shifts were taking place and the world was changing rapidly. Authority was being questioned and challenged wherever you looked and it felt good to be part of that.

Our protest was harmless and got a few of us into more trouble than it was worth.  The start of the race involved the whole year group, apart from those who were excused on medical grounds, lining up across a starting line dressed in white PE kit.  A not very large group of us chose to wear red socks, which made us easily identifiable, and when the starting pistol fired, instead of racing off, we walked; in fact we walked all the way and of course came in as a group in last place.  It was a futile, adolescent exercise of course and achieved absolutely nothing.

Today was the opening of the European Parliament. It begins with the European anthem, which is Beethoven's Ode to Joy from the ninth symphony.  A large group of our MEPs, the Brexit party chose to turn their backs in a token gesture. Childish and pathetic in the eyes of the world of course, but that is the Brexit party.

I am sure that each of them will be drawing their salaries and claiming huge expenses despite doing nothing to enhance the organisation. 

Musing on music

I can just remember when 45rpm and 33rpm vinyl records replaced the old, heavy and frighteningly fast 78s. I still have my collection of vinyl records but they are consigned to the basement and will probably never get played again. It all seems so much trouble now, to find the record, to take it from its sleeve, dust it, place it on the turntable, clean the stylus, place the stylus onto the run in groove and listen to the clicks and pops before the music begins and more clicks, pops and even jumps during playback.

Vinyl is making a comeback and there are people out there collecting the half century old records that I grew up with. I am pretty sure that mostly my old discs are battered and worn and of no interest to anyone, and that they will inevitably end up in charity shops or landfill sites.

Along came cassette tapes and quantum leaps in technology and soon we were compiling our own selections of music, recorded from our own, or friends LPs or even from the radio. The sound quality was quite acceptable and the tapes did not accumulate more clicks pops and scratches. I have a huge collection of tapes; they are also in the basement.

It was CDs that saw the demise of vinyl. Crystal clear digital sound from small, light plastic discs that were originally said to withstand all sorts of damage without the sound quality being marred. Nobody mentioned the effect of childrens fingerprints.

Then home computers with massive data storage enable us to copy our collections onto hard drives, select songs and play them at the touch of a key. Now there are no fiddly tapes or discs and the CDs have become redundant. I have hundreds of them and rarely play one; soon they will be consigned to the basement.

Now we have Spotify.  For a few pounds a month, I can stream from I don't know where, any music that I want and play it in any room in the house or even on my smart phone or iPad.  There is nothing else to consign to the basement apart from me.

Fortnite

For those of you, who think that the above title is simply yet another spelling error, it isn't. Fortnite is a computer game, and not one that I particularly like.  It has been around now for a couple of years and is a free download that makes it accessible to anyone with the means to play it. It may be free to play but there are in game purchases, which, if you are young and malleable are a vital part of the gaming experience.

I played it once, or attempted to. There are variations in the game but the one I played involved a hundred people parachuting down onto an Island with the aim of killing all the others. There are weapons, and ammunition statues and places to hide, but everything is very fast paced  and so I did not survive more than a few minutes. Your opponents are all real people from all over the world, and you can, if you are so inclined, interact with them by message or by talking to them.

I find it a little worrying.  Oscar is now nine and he is addicted to the game. He is not allowed to play it on school days, but when he is not playing, he watches Youtube videos of others playing it.
Watching him play is educational. His reaction speeds are quite something, and he knows exactly what he is doing. He only talks to his real life friends and their conversations are quite incomprehensible. Recently he has been more interested to the creative mode of the game, building and manipulating the landscape and setting lethal traps. It has a language and culture all of its own and is a huge moneymaker for its makers.

I guess that eventually the obsession will wear thin and the kids will move on to something new; whatever it is we will probably not approve.

Another day

I hope that my announcement yesterday was not too great a disappointment to some people.

In a town and at a time, not far away, indolence had become an art form. Never had there been such a concentration of idleness. There were some that just about kept the town ticking over but the bulk of the population had one purpose in life and that was  to watch TV. There were plenty of jobs that needed doing, but no-one prepared to do them, fruit and vegetables remained unharvested and bottoms of old and young alike, remained un-wiped. Hospitals remained uncleaned, cars were left unwashed, roads unswept and civic gardens un-manicured. Most of the factories had closed and taken their businesses abroad.  It was only when the pubs began to close that people began to even notice, and even then they could not wrench themselves away from their screens. Apathy was rife.

News of the unfilled jobs slowly leaked out and people from places, where if  you were lazy, you died, began to move into the town to do the work that the townsfolk had spurned. It was a slow process but gradually, the town began to improve. Hospitals were cleaned and bottoms were wiped again.  Fruit and vegetables were harvested and local farmers began to look happy with their lot.  Roads were repaired, and cars began to look sparkling new. The Civic gardens became a thing of beauty all over again.  Old abandoned shops reopened with unusual names and new exotic restaurants opened to cater for the exotic appetites of the new and growing influx of people. The town was growing at a steady rate as more and more of the vacant jobs were filled. The old and shabby houses that had long been abandoned were refurbished and inhabited by the families of hard working folk, and still the bulk of the people remained glued to their televisions.

All went along quite well, the TV made sure that the people were kept stupefied, and stupefied they were. They felt informed because they had seen it all on the telly. Everyone was an expert and so the real experts ceased to be listened to and so left the town. They knew who to vote for in elections because the television told them, and they knew that all was well with the world for the same reason.

One day a rather weird fellow arrived in the town. He wore odd clothes and an even stranger grin.  “Just call me Nigel.” he would tell the small crowds that would gather around him in the few pubs that were left. He would buy them drinks and tell them all sorts of outlandish tales and soon became very popular. News of his presence soon spread and people began to tear themselves away from their televisions to listen to him in the hope of being bought a drink.

He was the biggest news that the town had seen in years and before long he was making appearances on local television, ironically dragging more people away from it and towards him. People would find out which pub he was going to be in and they would flock to it. Pub managers soon began offering him appearance money as well as free beer. His band of followers grew and grew, they hung on his every word, unable to distinguish between lies and truth.

Then it happened. He began to turn their attention to those who had no televisions because they were too busy working. He made the suggestion that the reason that his followers had no jobs was because of these newcomers. Pretty soon they all agreed with him, after all , if you repeat a lie often enough then people will believe it. He told them that all of their problems were rooted in this group of outsiders and convinced them that he could put things right.  Soon his supporters began to organise marches and protests outside the town hall and the Mayor and the town council began to get very worried.

“We want our jobs.” they would chant as one voice, which was strangely ironic as most of them had never had any sort of job. “Nigel for Mayor.” was much more worrying for those in the town hall, who had enjoyed a quiet life for a long time and had got quite used to it. It was clear that they had to listen and so the Mayor arranged a meeting with the strange man. By this time Nigel had gathered around him a group of tough looking men and one or two large muscular  people of indeterminate gender. Annette and Loretta looked more fearsome than the rest of the gang whose members tended to give them a wide berth.

Nigel, flanked by Loretta and Annette stalked into the Mayoral chamber, and without being asked, sat down.  Nigel grinned in his usual inane fashion and waited for the Mayor to speak. Loretta picked her nose while Annette scratched her rather large belly.

“Well, Mr  ummmmmmm” said the Mayor. 

“Oh Just call me Nigel, everyone else does.” The grin widened almost to the point of his head splitting into two.  His companions grinned awfully too.

“Well ummm Nigel.” Said the Mayor, staring at Nigel’s ghastly tie. “You seem to have made an impact on the town. The council don’t like it.” Loretta and Annette stopped grinning and leaned forwards menacingly. The Mayor blanched and continued hesitantly.  “I have been authorised by them to offer you a substantial reward if only you will put things back to how they were and frankly, just go away.” 

Nigel smiled and Loretta and Annette leaned back.  There was a long and pregnant pause before there was a reply.

“How much?” said Nigel through his grin. He was mercinary if nothing else.

The mayor took an envelope from his desk drawer and passed it over the desk. Nigel’s grin broadened even further as he opened the enveloped and then pocketed the cheque. The Mayor wondered how his head stayed together.

“Consider it done. As soon as the cheque clears.” said Nigel and stalked from the room without another word. His bodyguard trotted behind like faithful Labradors.

Over the next few weeks, Nigel and his gang visited each and every newcomer to the town, and strangely, each and every one of them left soon after.  True to his word, Nigel left too and his gang of followers no longer had anyone to follow and so went back to their TV sets. 

Soon there were no dentists, so teeth went rotten, many bottoms remained un-wiped, the old and insane had to be looked after by their families and the hospital had to close because there were no doctors, nurses or even cleaners. The streets remained unswept and un-repaired. Many high street shops closed along with all of the takeaways that had gone so well with the TV. Fruit and vegetables on the local farms rotted in the fields and the few businesses that had moved into the town closed down.  Even the charity shops began to struggle.

Now there were plenty of jobs that they did not want, the people were happy and went back to their TVs and got fatter.  As for Nigel, he took Loretta and Annette and moved to another town also not far away. 

I am still alive.

It has been a while since I even looked into this blog. I know that I vowed to write more but somehow things seem to get in the way.

I turned 70 this year and though my mind finds it hard to accept, my body reminds me on a daily basis. Since I last wrote I have had a knee replacement and another lens replaced with plastic. Pretty soon there will be less of the real me than the replacement parts. I am not complaining though, without those interventions I would not be able to function at all well, so I blunder on through what some call the twilight years.

My main reason for being here in blogville today is to revisit and copy some of the entries into a printable format. It is a vanity I suppose that makes me want to pass on the contents of my mind to my children and grandchildren, though I don't suppose in reality, anyone will be at all interested. That is the nature of our endings. Nothing that is not materially of value will be committed to black plastic bags and either binned or donated to charity shops, ready to complete another cycle.

Since I last made an entry here the only writing I have done has been with a creative writing group. It is a small selective group of old ladies and myself and we meet when everyone is available, which seems less and less often. The world has a habit of getting in the way of things. It is an outlet however and I need outlets.  Most of my time is spent at home and much of that time I am alone. I find that I like people less and less and choose not to venture out unless I have to.  Pubs and restaurants are noisy, it seems that many find it necessary to shout and I find it very hard to follow a conversation.

So I have become the grumpy old man who is losing faith in the human race.  I am out of touch and largely out of sight and mind, and what is more it suits me.

Old people

Visiting a retirement home, a modern euphemism, is a very mixed experience.  We go in once a week to play bridge with a couple of residents, which is fine and enjoyable for us as well as them. Jim is 85 and Monica much the same age, though it is not polite to ask. They have led interesting lives but now they are left by their families, for good reason no doubt, to wait for the inevitable.

Looking around, our bridge played are remarkable in that for the most time they have full possession of their faculties. Many of the other residents are not as fortunate, although that is a subjective viewpoint.

The home is beautiful, it is warm, well appointed with lots of space. Residents rooms are comfortable and roomy and the staff are wonderful. I am sure that it is not cheap, and has the feel of a hotel. However, the stereotype is still there; a number of residents sit around looking, unknowingly at each other or sleeping the day away. Conversation is rare, and there is an inescapable feeling that they are just waiting to die. They do have activities laid on and even trips out, but even so it is so sad that people have to endure this in their final days. Most are placid and isolated in their minds, while a few are vocal and never seem to stop moaning or complaining and others barely know where they are or why, let alone what day it is.

Mealtimes are a highlight for many, and they seem to drift from one meal to the next in the silent company of others.

Jim yearns to be taken to the pub, something that doesn't happen at all, so we have agreed to take him out for lunch on friday. I hope that it goes well.

Signs of spring

Daffodils are already pushing through the waterlogged soil, and are the fist sign that spring is not too far away. Of course there is much winter left to endure, and who knows what the next few weeks will bring?

I am having a clear out at the moment, a sort of spring cleaning if you like. I am a hoarder, I can't throw something out if I think that it might have a use somewhere down the line, so although most rooms in the house are laden with books and likely  to remain so, my garage and workshop are now under attack. Not only is it filled with stuff, the stuff is also disorganised and largely redundant.

I have boxes of transformers and leads from previous electronic devices; most of which will never have any use. This week I have discarded dozens of SCART, phono, and telecom fittings, along with leads and drives that were only used on the very old Mac computers, I don't even know what those connections are called.  I found an old Zip drive complete with a set of discs that I have little memory of their contents; that and others like it have found their way into the bin. I have multiple duplicates of USB leads, mains leads and an assortment of audio and video connectors that will never be used again. So many things in my life are becoming redundant. I still have three complete HiFi systems, one of which I use in my study, albeit occasionally, another is boxed and stored in the attic and another is in the garage and does get played when I am working down there. I cannot bring myself to get rid of these. On day the ability too stream music or to play the store on the computer may not work and so there is an insurance. Life without music is unthinkable.

I hoard useful bits of wood, lengths of plastic and metal piping, plumbing and electrical fittings. Some of these will be going soon, but it is hard to think of those things as redundant.

So I am creating, or clearing space, and simultaneously making it easier to get rid of stuff when I have gone. At the moment what I have done is making very little difference I know, and besides space calls out to be filled. Who knows what will fill the void?

Bits and Bytes

Ok I missed a day already. See what I mean about resolutions; there is always something that gets in the way. Yesterday it was grandchildren, who are rather demanding of attention, usually both at the same time. My grandson, like me, is a fan of video games, and unlike me he is good at them.

My first brush with video games was a Sinclair Spectrum computer, with 8Kb of RAM. Programs had to be typed in on a basic keyboard, so you would spend more time typing than playing. The same was true of the BBC computer that followed; though it was a more powerful machine with 32Kb of Ram and a proper keyboard.

Nowadays I confess to owning and using a Playstation 3 and a Playstation 4 as well as two Apple Macs, an iPad and a smart phone. Yes I am a computer victim and am fully addicted.

Yesterday I was playing a game and proudly ,making a lot of progress, having practiced for quite a while. Then in comes the seven year old, who, never having played before, takes over with minimal instruction, and proceeds to make me feel both inadequate and stupid.

Children are so plastic and can adapt so quickly and we are getting left behind at an alarming rate when it comes to IT. However it is a worry that he has reached a level of addiction that has taken me a long long time to achieve. Thankfully next week he goes back to school and will have to tear himself away from screens for a while, and I will have no excuse for not writing.