How Did It Go?

The tall thing is Julia’s teak candlestick with electric candle inserted. The tall snowman with the badly fitting hat is Julia’s yew snowman. I don’t always know the woods but I recognise teak and the yew started off as a piece of tree with the distinctive bark left on. The three small ones, with non-PC tobacco products are extras that she bought at the fund-raising stall.

This is the second post of the day. It would probably help you to read the first one before starting here, though you will probably guess roughly what I’m talking about as I go through it.

By the time I had taken Julia wood turning and got home, via queues and a Radio 4 interview on the government’s view on Peter Mandelson I had already done the checking of comments an emails, but it seemed like a fair thing to do to check them again, as this was a new start. Nothing much had happened. There was a note from the Numisma6ic Society about the meeting next week, but I’m giving it a miss as it’s still not the right time of year for travel. Does that make me sound old? That, of course, reminded me that I have a talk to prepare. There was also a note from the Peterborough Military History Group – one of my articles has been mentioned in, and linked to, another local military history website.

Two views of a pencil pot she turned for me. I forget the wood. Note the sides are actually flush but the perspective is not easy to control when using a phone. It’s impressive for a morning’s work, parfticulalrly when you consider she only started just before Christmas.

I wrote the prose section for a new Haibun, which was an extra that wasn’t on the list.

So – wasted a bit of time checking emails/blog and wandered a little looking for a decent Mandelson link.

But delivered Julia to wood turning in plenty of time, did my outline for the medallion script. It surprised me how much of it I’d actually done in my head, and is looking quite good, even though it’s just an outline. I don’t think I need to do too much extra to knock it into shape.

It’s now 9.58 so things are going well. I have now written an extra blog post and  have time to write an article and do my list for this after noon, which will be starting with “finish article I started this morning . . .”

Photos are some of Julia’s wood turning, and some she bought for Christmas decorations.

Skittles and ball. Somebody made the ball for her but she made the skittles.  If you are thinking the same thing as me, you are right. However, it appears, as Julia says, that there is no law about what shape skittles should be, or that they should all be the same.

When he visits in May I’m sure the grandson will love them.

Another Day, Another List

Badge and fob of the Cyclis’s Touring Club – probably 1920s or 1930s.

Before going to bed last night I wrote a list of five things I had to do this morning. Number 1 was read the comments on the blog and Number 2 was to read my emails. The first one was additionally noted (Once) and the second was noted as  (Twice – start and finish). That is intended to streamline my time at the desk by stopping me constantly going backwards and forwards to check emails and comments. I never get anything that needs an instant response so this seems sensible.

The ill-fated list – note the dental appointment was 10 minutes too soon for humour

Number 3 is to get the script done for talk I’m giving at the Numismatic Society and Number 4 to write another article for the Facebook page. There has been a temporary glitch and nothing has been posted for a couple of weeks even though I had sent something in. I thought it was because he was busy with something else, and he thought I ‘d  stopped writing. In fact there was an article in his email box which he hadn’t spotted. Normally I would have written to check but I knew he was busy and he’s a volunteer so I didn’t want to start chasing him with questions. When the kids played rugby I was  given a regional prize for my work as a coordinator of volunteers, so I like to show appreciation and a light touch. It used to annoy me immensely when people tried to treat volunteers as employees. Particularly when they were people who quite clearly not fit to employ people. But I digress.

Shopping List – note the reference to Rat is an abbreviation of Ratatouille

Number 5 is to write a blog post, which I just did.

I also have to get Julia to wood turning and pick her up again. It’s now time to eat breakfast so I’d better get that done.

The numbering system could do with some work as I seem to have missed those important bits out, but it’s getting there.

Note that his only occupies the time until lunch. I should have added “Make plans for pm” to the list.

List v2

The first two were photos that cropped up when I searched for “lists”. Why is cyclists easier to find than “list”. I found lists by searching for “list”. It’s a whole new subject . . .

For the second post of the day, and the result of my planning, try here.

One Door Closes and Another Door Opens

 

More of a wish list than an actual “How to” selection of gardening books

Last night I slept fitfully and slept in late. Julia went to Stamford with my sister this afternoon and I went back to bed again, waking some time after they got home. Julia claims I spoke to her when she stuck her head round the bedroom drawer but I did not remember.

After the quizzes on TV I started typing and reading and generally frittering my remaining hours away. I have just looked up to check how long I have to do this post before midnight and found that three quarters of an hour have dissolved as I answered comments and checked some photos. It is actually 18 minutes past midnight so I have failed to post on Monday despite all my talk of good intentions.

The editor I was emailing last night has decided not to use the poem, which is fair enough. It’s my job to write things that are publishable and she has plenty to do without me taking her time up. I did suggest an edit that involved removing the first six lines and going with the rest, but this didn’t appear to be acceptable. It’s a shame, as i like being published, but I’m not going to lose sleep over it. As I said in my cheery note thanking her for her decision – after a quick edit it will be part of my February submissions. One door closes etc . . .

Books, books, books . . .

Eight minutes gone, 233 words written. It’s funny how I can write faster when I’m relaxed. Given the time pressure of a deadline I start to choke. This is probably a lesson I could apply to poetry. It always used to seem easier in the early days, when my target was to submit on the first day of the submission window rather than the last.

At the moment, I have enough returned poems to make up two submissions for February already. The target is nine for this month. I have  a few others in mind but they are for a magazine that has never yet taken one of my pieces. Sometimes, particularly when I am listing possible  targets, I list magazines that I regard as “hostile” to make sure I keep testing myself. Other times, particularly when I am feeling lazy, or am at the end of the month, I drop them from the list.

It’s a bit like the verse forms that I don’t do. A number of journals take what they call linked forms, which are haiku or tanka, or both, made into a longer poem. Often they are done by people writing in partnership, though it’s possible for them to be done by a single writer. I keep thinking of expanding my range, but it all takes time and effort and enthusiasm, and I’m not feeling that I have much to spare.

Books by Paul Hollywood

I have 88 submission targets for this year., ten more than last year, but I have to be as good this year as i was last year.  And that’s where the pressure starts . . .

Humans are strange creatures. Even when things are going along nicely I have to add extra layers to the general worries. Quite apart from the normal am I good enough? and when will the bubble burst? worries, I have to add to them by setting targets.

Finally, talking of pressure and deadlines, do you remember me joking about how much time I had before my presentation at the Numismatic Society – 12 months, 11 months, plenty of time to start in the New Year . . .

Well it’s 2 months and 10 days away and I still only have a few vague ideas about what I’m doing. I was planning on writing a rough script today but seem to have slept through it instead. Time, I think, for a sense of urgency to appear, ready for next month’s panic.

Yes, I read a lot of low-brow books…

Cutting it Fine Again

Ready, set? 250 words here we come. Julia wants me in the kitchen and I want to be in front of the computer so we have compromised. I told her I would go through when I had finished the latest piece of work I am engaged in. As long as I can keep the clatter of keys going I can stay here. If not I will have to go and clean something.

I managed to get . . .

At that point I stopped to look something up and she caught me. I will be back later.

I managed, as I was about to say, twelve submissions sent. The upper limit was twelve, but that would have involved two attempts at forms I’ve never tried and paying to enter a competition. It was a haiku competition and I have trouble writing haiku so I gave it a miss. As I’ve already entered. It was slightly better than last month, because I was a bit more organised, but it could have been better.

So far I have had two acceptances (both incorporating suggestions from the editors) and one enquiry from an editor asking what it was about. I take it that my attempts to incorporate a bit more complication and sophistication have not been entirely successful in this case.

Of course, once you stop, there is always another job, and a meal, and The Great Pottery Throwdown and the relaunch of Mock the Week and a discussion that needs having . . .

The Throwdown had some good stuff on it but Mock the Week, though still better than many things that get on TV, is not quite as good as it was. This may be down to the show being longer or a couple of the comedians they had on, and a bit of bad language. From watching the out-takes of the original series I’m sure there was plenty of swearing, but they used to edit it out.

As Julia said, if she wants to hear swearing she will just turn over to a programme with politicians on and wait for me to start. She doesn’t need to import and comedian who thinks swearing is wit.

23.57. This is becoming a habit . . .

Winnie’s second article in the Nene Valley Railway Newsletter has just been published.

Hard Work and a Sneak Thief at Work

It was a big day for wring today. My normal bad organisation triumphed in the end and left me in a last-minute panic. Fortunately I was a bit better organised than usual and managed 12 submissions. It won’t be as bad as this all year – there is, for instance, only one planned submission for march.

The upshot was that I ordered pizza for tea as Julia was feeling under the weather and I didn’t have time to stop. We got a good deal and the food will last for two days. I am having salad delivered tomorrow, so we will have it with salad and baked potatoes.

Tonight, however, we had it with garlic bread and onion rings. A piece of garlic bread was missing. I shrugged it off, thinking I must have missed the portion size being reduced on the menu. Shrinkflation is all around us.

However, when the onion rings did not divide equally I knew something was wrong because I’d checked there were ten of them to satisfy myself about value for money.

Turns out we should have had four garlic bread too, so we are one piece of bread and one onion ring down. It’s not ahuge amount but it’s annoying. It also makes me wonder if someone along the line has had his larcenous, and possibly unhygienic fingers in my food. I doubt we will ever get to the bottom of it, as it’s impossible to actually prove we were short but unless I get at least a decent apology I won’t be going back to them.

Modern life is nothing like it was portrayed by Gerry Anderson and Eagle comic, though I don’t actually remember the Tracey brothers having a pizza delivery on the island, and I’m pretty sure dan Dare and Digby never had garlic bread and onion rings. Ah well!

Sorry about the lack of photos today. Julia took some more but by the time I got round to writing this I had only ten minutes to do it and get credit for posting on consecutive days. So I did most of the text, the title, the tags, the category and the single photo and pressed the Publish buton at a minute to midnight.

My paln worked, by the way, I am currently on a six day streak.

A Few Sobering Thoughts

 

I knew it was the end of the month because of the increasing sense of urgency that always comes on at this time. What I hadn’t realised until today was that this also means I have doner nothing about decluttering for over a month. One twelfth of the year has slipped by . It’s not as if I have that many months to waste. Assuming I live into my mid-80s, which is about the family norm, I only have about 200 months to go. I will pause for a moment and think about that.

I paused. I thought. And then a little voice came into my head. Looks like I will be going on a diet tomorrow. And exercising. And taking more notice of the doctor. I might even start taking notice of Julia, though it’s unlikely. The trouble is that if I were a betting man, I wouldn’t be confident about the “mid-80s” part of the prediction.

When we were moving house I found some paperwork I had done when I was working for someone else and  before we had children, detailing what I had to do to retire at 60. Of course, the accuracy of that prediction melted like snow in June as soon as I went into business for myself and we had kids.

Once, though, I was organised and reasonably successful. I wasn’t, however, as happy as I would have liked. I am, despite the unsuccessful life that followed, quite happy and although my lack of material success and career achievement come back to haunt me now and again, I’m reasonably happy with what I’ve done.

And so, with 200 months to go, I’m going to start making the most of it. More plans, more things to do and around 6,000 more blog posts to write. It’s going to be an interesting time.

Photos are some that Julia took at Ferry Meadows. The one of the heron shading the water is particularly interesting – I didn’t know they did that in the UK. I thought it was something they did in sunny places. he second picture shows it with a fish in its beak. Unfortunately, the light ws poor.

The Price of Silver, the Price of History

 

 

 

 

This is what is known as a 1914 Trio with clasp, or sometimes (inaccurately) as a Mons Star Trio, because Mons was the most famous British battle of 1914. The Star was issued to British troops who landed in France and Belgium between 5 August  and 22 November 1914. This included men of the Indian Army and the Canadian forces, men and women of the medical services and the poet Rupert Brooke who fought as part of the Royal Naval Division. Approximately 378,000 medals were issued. 145,000 of them had the clasp, as seen in this photograph. This indicated that the wearer had been within range of the enemy and was part of what the Kaiser supposedly referred to as  “Britain’s contemptible little Army”

The recipient was Pte Edward Broomhead of the Army Service Corps, who landed in France on 26 August 1914. He was a foreman bricklayer from Nottingham, who joined up a the age of 39, was rushed out to France within days, contracted rheumatic fever from working in the cold and wet, was invalided out, re-enlisted for Home Service, was invalided out again, and died of influenza in 1918, leaving a wife and five children.

In truth, the Kaiser probably didn’t say that. It is more likely to have been the invention of British propagandists who desperately needed to enthuse Britain to fight a German Army ten times its size. In 1925 these men banded together to form an organisation known as the Old Contemptible Association.

The price of silver is currently £87.19 per ounce. It will be different in ten minutes, but that will do for now. That means that the silver medal in the middle of this group is worth more now than the entire group was worth a couple of months ago.

The British War Medal (BWM) awarded for service in 1914-18 weighs one ounce and is struck from Sterling Silver, which is 92.5% pure. The 7.5% copper is to make it harder wearing. Sterling silver was the silver used in British coins until 1919, when the costs of WW1 compelled us to reduce our coinage to 50% silver. That was reduced to zero in 1946, after another expensive war, when we converted to cupro-nickel.

British War Medal 1914-18 (Obverse)

That means that one ounce of Sterling Silver is worth 92.5% of £87.19. That’s £80.65 for the amount of silver in a BWM.

When I was at school they used to cost £1 or £1.50 each  and there were plenty about – 6.5 million being issued.  When I was living in Preston in 1980 the Hunt Brothers of Texas tried to corner the market in silver but failed and lost a lot of money. However, the price of BWMs went up sharply and as collectors are interested in history rather than bullion, many were melted for bullion. It wasn’t just the common WW1 medals going into the pot, many older and rarer medals were scrapped too, as were a number of gallantry decorations, rare coins and sports awards. People were just buying for bullion without any appreciation of the history behind the articles they were scrapping.  The same thing happened again in 2011 when prices shot up. They were round £15-£20 retail for many years, which seems fair compared to inflation. At a silver value of £80.65 I fear that more will be melted.

Silver is needed for many industrial processes and currently supply is lagging behind the demand for solar power, batteries, electronics and computer chips It will be interesting to see what happens to Mexico once the USA realises that its southern neighbour is the largest producer of silver in the world. What are the chances of another late night raid on a Presidential Palace?

Of course, it’s not rarity or gallantry that concerns me here, most British campaign medals are named, so any medal that is destroyed is a loss of history because each one has the potential for a story to be found. Private Broomhead never did anything famous, he didn’t lead any charges or have any gallantry medals pinned on him by a grateful King, he just went to France, became ill and, weakened by his war service, died. It’s still a history that deserves preserving.

British War Medal 1914-18 (Reverse). Note that the horse, symbolising man’s control of technology, is treading on a shield with a German eagle whilst a skull reminds if death. Symbolism in 1918 was a lot more in your face than it is now.

The single medal pictured, was issued to the next of kin of Pioneer Harry Gow of the Royal Engineers. It is his sole entitlement. The BWM was awarded by the Army to personnel who left the UK. To get the Victory Medal (the gilt one with the Angel and the rainbow ribbon) you had to serve in a war zone. For soldiers, the sea was not considered a war zone so when the troopship Transylvania was torpedoed by the German submarine U-69 on May 4 1917 this became his only medal, and probably, apart from his grave marker, the only proof he ever lived. He was 19 years old and had not had much time to leave anything behind, apart from his grieving parents who had the inscription Gone from us but not Forgotten Never Shall His Memory Fade carved on his memorial stone.

Over the years I have traced stories of domestic violence, babies born out of wedlock, amputations, ill health, criminal careers and, quite often, normal family lives. I recently researched a man who, after being wounded in 1914, transferred to the Royal Flying Corps, served in he Army between the wars, retired in the late 30s, and spent WW2 as a Colonel in the Home Guard. I was a life of service and adventure which ended abruptly in the 1950s when he and his wife were charged by a rhino whilst walking on their farm in Kenya. He was gored and died in hospital, having succeeded in diverting the animal from his wife by hitting it with his walking stick.

 

 

Here I Am Again

Soda Bread

I have a head full of nothing worth blogging about and that’s where this post should really end.  However, even by my standards a blog post of eighteen words that says I have nothing to say is quite minimalistic. It would be a good thing for politicians to do though, so maybe I should do it and hope it catches on.

I have a maelstrom of poetry in my head that needs sorting out, a list of titles for numismatic subjects and that’s all. At the back of my mind, having listened to Johnny Cash last night on TV, I obviously have a few scrapings of country music, because the title just popped up. And that’s it. Nothing else.

Unless the thought of breakfast counts. That’s in there too.

Cheese and Onion Soda Bread

Do I dare to get an idea by checking the news?

Or do I stay happy but clueless, and uninspired?

Well, I looked at the news, and I’m still clueless and uninspired. This is probably a good thing as it means little is happening.

It is now three days until the end of the month and I have done very little about sending submissions. Despite an early flurry (two) I have done little about finishing most of my submissions and am starting to worry. That’s what I will be doing in a minute.

At this point yesterday I added my tags and posted without either a title or photos. It was  a senior moment, but even my senior moments are growing more mundane. It’s probably a sign that I’m getting older and they have lost their novelty.

Soda Bread with a poor attempt at a Cross.

 

Recycled Poetry

Thomas Paine, Thetford. I wonder what he would think of the modern USA.

Yesterday I generally poked and prodded and did a few lists. I have enough poetry written to meet my planned submissions, the quality is good and it is nearly all finished. It’s a lot easier to finish something that it is to come up with an idea from scrstch. This is particularly true in areas like poetry where editors like subjects that haven’t already been flogged to death. Of course, you have to be careful, like the time I was told I was “difficult” because I referred to the poem  Adlestrop. However, I’ve mentioned that before so I won’t carry on with that.

I once wrote a poem about scrambled eggs. It was 2020 and I taught myself to make better scrambled eggs during lockdown. I tried it on four or five editors and nobody took it so it ended up at the back of my mind. A few months ago I decided to give it another go. However, I rewrote it instead of just tinkering. Same, subject, same story, but written differently, including an observation that I’d never seen a poem about scrambled eggs. It was accepted by the first editor who saw it.  Might have been flawed in its first version, might just have been the right person at the right time. Who can tell?

Gates at a redundant church – Thetford

Next month I will be going through my back catalogue of failures and rewriting a lot of them. It saves coming up with new ideas. On the other hand, if I spot any with familiar and well-worn subjects I will pull the plug on them. Life is too short to continue with old ideas, unless they work, and computer space is limited. I did once think I should store all my notes in case an American University wanted to buy them, or a biographer wanted to study me, but it’s unlikely and I need the space. It was moving house that brought that on. I had a box of notebooks, most of the writing was my normal illegible scribble and the stuff I could read was not inspiring. It is probably recycled by now. Julia’s Uncle has 9.2 linear feet of space in the Harry Ransom Centre at the University of Texas. He, of course, did everything on paper. I do most of my writing on a computer, which would, in any case, be harder to collect. Same with letters – he has letters from artists, writers and editors. I have emails.

House Sparrow

24 Posts 26 Days

I suppose the title gives things away. Despite all my good intentions this will be post 24, but it is 26th January. Two days have been swallowed up by that mad whirl of naps, TV and procrastination. I can pull two days back quite easily, so it isn’t a problem for now. Be prepared for two supplementary posts over the coming days.

I had an email from an editor yesterday, two more acceptances, bringing the total for 2025 to 55. I know numbers mean nothing, because it’s about quality. But at the same time it does mean I’ve been applying myself to writing and I carried the plan through.

It’s the same with a blog a day – it doesn’t mean I’m writing better blog posts but it does, I hope, mean that I will improve because of the constant practice.

The same goes for ideas. In the past I have hoarded ideas, ready for the day when I feel that stars have aligned and the day is propitious for one of my great ideas. However, theory, and reality, seem to indicate that the more ideas you use, the more you will generate. It does seem to work.

In other contexts, I don’t consider this a good thing. Every time I think about it I remember being in a meeting once where one aspiring volunteer (or aspiring chair, if the truth is told) said “My strength is having ideas. If anyone needs an idea, just ask.”

What still makes me grit my teeth at this, is that everyone can have ideas, but what you need on a committee is people who will work.

That’s the secret with most things. I can have all the ideas I like, but if I don’t work, nothing happens. That’s why quantity is important, it means you are doing the work which will lead to quality. And if you are doing the work and achieving the quality, you may, with luck, become good.

Sunset at Sherwood