Monthly Archives: June 2018

A Lack of Undiscovered Places

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What happened today? Ate bacon, eggs and sausage, couldn’t park outside the shop, packed parcels, sorted coins and saw customers. Not a bad day but not exactly adventurous. It’s the sort of day that used to get explorers in the mood for travel. Thanks to generations of bored explorers there are now no things left to discover, so I needed something different to do.

I thought I’d try feeding poems into on-line translators and see what happened. I used Tall Nettles by Edward Thomas as it’s quite short and he’s been dead for a hundred years so it’s out of copywright.

TALL nettles cover up, as they have done 
These many springs, the rusty harrow, the plough 
Long worn out, and the roller made of stone: 
Only the elm butt tops the nettles now. 

This corner of the farmyard I like most: 
As well as any bloom upon a flower 
I like the dust on the nettles, never lost 
Except to prove the sweetness of a shower. 

I translated it into Welsh, because it’s quite a poetic language. Then I translated it back.

TALL BALLS pay for a length, as they have done

these in many wells, the rusty oblique,

the Long digestion curve, and the roller make of stone:

Only the lamb stomach is at the top of the breathe now.

The corner of the yard I like most:

As well as any flowering on a flower

I like the dust of the flame,

never losing exclusion to experience shower mimster.

No, I couldn’t find “mimster” in the dictionary either. Next I tried Italian.

TALL nettles cover, as they did
These many springs, the rusty harrow, the plow
Long worn and stone roll:
Only the bottom of the elm is on top of the nettles.

I like this corner of the farm:
As well as any flower on a flower
I like dust on nettles, I’ve never lost
Except to prove the sweetness of a shower.

It seems to have stayed closer to the original.

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Nettles in the Woods

 

Then, of course, I had to try Xhosa. For a language that includes a lot of clicks it stayed reasonably close to the original.

RULE is issuing sticks, as it does
These many sources, the riding horse, the farmer
Long term, and stone roller:
Only elm butt elevates fat now.

This farmhouse is my favorite:
Together with any bloom of flowers
I like dust in the ministry, never lost
Besides showing the enjoyment of a couple.

I know what some of you are thinking…

TALL is cut short, as it does
The many creams, the rusty crest, wing
Long-term value and stone:
Communication is too late.

This clogfe bag would like more:
Add any flower to the flower
I love the dust with fat, and I do not lose it
In addition to trying to eat food.

Yes, it’s Welsh, Italian and Xhosa, and no, I can’t find “clogfe” in the dictionary, which is a shame.

So, apart from teaching us to ignore exercises in poetry books, what does this tell us about the nature of poetry?

Let’s be honest – nothing.

It does, however, give a possible insight into the difficult nature of international politics and the role of translators.

And it’s a good argument for keeping computers out of the hands of men with time on their hands.

 

A Short Note on Pies

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We had a bit of a mixed day yesterday – got off to a good start but ground to a halt on the Doncaster bypass. Got lost trying to get round it, more queues near York then made the mistake of relying on the satnav in Whitby. Switched it off, engaged brain and ended up in a parking space directly outside Mrs Botham’s tearooms.

Those of you who have been there before will know that the banner isn’t outside the teashop, it’s outside the bakery/cafe as you leave town for Scarborough. There’s a reason for this – mainly a queue in the tearoom and the realisation that we were going to be waiting ages.

We didn’t have to wait as long at the cafe, though it has to be said that the crab sandwiches at the tearoom would have been better than the prawn sandwich at the cafe. Julia’s decision to ask for salad proved to be a bad one as the onion swamped the flavour and the beetroot had no place in a sandwich. Beetroot, in fact, has no place in civilised society. Vile purple abomination.

We selected some pies – two for lunch and two for lunch next day (which was today).

We ate the standards pies for lunch and can report crispy crusts, flavourful fillings, excellent jelly, great texture and spiciness and an all round great eating experience. I’m a great fan of Mrs Botham’s pies.

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The pork and apple pies we had today were crispy and well flavoured but had too much stewed apple in them. They could have used more texture and a little more acidity in the apple. And more meat in the pie.

I wasn’t as keen on the pork and apple.

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But I preferred the pork and apple pie to the prawn and salad sandwich.

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Beetroot, carrot, red onion, cucumber, sweetcorn, tomato, lettuce…

Not many prawns and a distinct tang of salad cream.

Basically it was a salad sandwich with a couple of prawns thrown in.

Pies good.

Sandwich not so good.

The Cream Tea Diaries

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We had an excellent cream tea at Clumber Park on Monday – our second visit of the year. I’ll let the pictures speak for themselves.

National Trust cream tea
Rodda’s – what else?
National Trust jam
Clumber Park cream tea

 

There are many things I could say about the National Trust, and they wouldn’t all be compliments, but they do know how to put on a good cream tea. At Clumber they may have staffing issues, as we’ve found on both visits, but the teas, when you eventually get them, are excellent.

To be fair, if you take scones, jam and cream it should be hard to get it wrong. On both visits the food has been excellent but the service has stuttered a bit.

Tea room decor at Clumber Park, Nottinghamshire
Pomegranate wallpaper
The traditional wasp

 

There is actually a Cream Tea event coming up –

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More Cream teas at Clumber

Skies and Disappointments

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Last night I took No2 son to work. It was just after 10pm and the sky was a fantastic shade of saffron. As usual, I didn’t have the camera with me, though it wouldn’t have helped much – all the best views were from roadworks and dual carriageways where I couldn’t have stopped anyway.

This morning, at around 4am, on the way to the bathroom, I noticed the sunrise was similarly colourful. This time I did have access to the camera and I didn’t need a parking place. I did, however, manage to ignore these advantages and went back to sleep. That’s why I’m using the pictures fron last Wednesday.

I’m not cut out for the hurly-burly of high-level blogging. I’ll leave that to Derrick Knight and Tootlepedal – they are like blogging machines. Me, I’m more of a dormouse.

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After a hard half day sorting parcels and pennies I went for a cream tea with Julia. We’re thinking of blogging about cream teas.

I’ll show you the pictures later.

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Have to go now- Julia says it’s time for me to cook.

Derrick and TP don’t have this problem…

Sundays and Self-Improvement

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I’m currently reading yet another self-improvement book. I can’t recommend it as I’m currently wondering whether to carry on reading it, and one of the few things that I have learned from it is that extremely successful people say “no” more often than people who are merely ordinarily successful.

So I’m close to saying “no”, I won’t waste more of my life on this book. It’s strident in tone, doesn’t really explain the concept of being extreme and isn’t giving much in the way of insight.

Fortunately, being a Kindle book, it was cheap, it hasn’t killed a tree and nobody else will have to suffer as I can’t pass it on.

It’s even worse than the last one. I decided I would benefit from a book on Cognitive Behavioural Therapy. So far, I haven’t. I kept falling asleep when I read it. This probably isn’t the fault of the book as I have a habit of buying psychology books despite knowing that they have a soporific effect on me. I’m going to persist with this one as I think it has something for me.

I can finish most books, including the one about eating frogs. It isn’t really about eating frogs, but it does offer an extended, and overdone, metaphor. It was irritating but useful.

For some reason the writers of self-improvement books really have it in for frogs, as do Victorian scientists.

A couple of weeks ago, I listened to a radio programme on self-improvement and research suggested that by the end of a self-improvement book you feel worse about yourself for failing to be the person the book implies you should be.

The strident book mentioned in the opening paragraph is a bit like that, and tells you that you should write all your failures in a journal as this helps you get over them. I’m currently failing to make the change from self-employment to employment, and did wonder, momentarily, whether to write it all down. I’m not sure, but if I do you will be the first to know.

The picture shows a cream tea that came off second best when it went head to head with me on Wednesday. It wasn’t the greatest cream tea, but it does have a link to self-improvement and failure in that one of my long-standing self-improvement targets is to lose weight.

That cackling sound you hear is 2,000 calories laughing ironically.

And that concludes my thoughts for Sunday morning.

Fun with Stamps

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We get offered a lot of stamps in the shop, and turn most of them down. The stamp market is such that there is no real call for First Day Covers, schoolboy collections or, indeed, most stamps we are offered. We even turned away a Penny Black the other day. As you can see from the link – they printed 68,808,000 of them and many used examples were saved. They were hand cut from unperforated sheets and only ones that have been well cut, with four even margins, are really worth anything. They frequently sell for under £30 on eBay, with several under £20. It’s not much for a cultural icon. (On the other hand, Stanley Gibbons have a nice one for sale at £250,000. Well, I assume it’s nice for quarter of a million.)

Heavily stamped envelope
Heavily stamped envelope
Heavily stamped envelope
Heavily stamped envelope
Heavily stamped envelope

The ones we buy are the Presentation Packs. We then break them up and use them on parcels. As long as they are priced in decimal currency you can still use them. You can even use the ones priced in 1/2p denominations even though we stopped using the 1/2p coin in 1984.

It can take a while sorting all these stamps and working out the postage, as you can see from the accompanying pictures. It’s good for your mental arithmetic, if nothing else.

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Bluebells and Winnie the Pooh

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A very orange stamp

The first perforated stamps were Penny Reds. They were originally issued to replace Penny Blacks in 1841, and continued until 1879. In the beginning they needed cutting like the Penny Black but in 1854 they were issued perforated for ease of use.

1854 – we couldn’t run an efficient army nursing service but we could perforate stamps…

The day I nearly got political

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On Wednesday I was out and about when I spotted a distant turkey in a cage. This struck me as symbolic. An American icon and a cage, I thought. Then I thought: It’s a good thing I’m not political or I might ruffle a few feathers with some comments on symbols and cages.

Well, to be honest I only just thought the feathers thing but it makes me look more witty if I pretend I thought of it at the time.

Of course, now that the children have been released from their cages, it’s no longer symbolic.

I’m hoping that their release from cages will be easier than the experience of Ezra Pound after he was kept in a cage for six weeks.

I cannot, however, help wondering about an alternative history where the Native Americans didn’t share their food with the undocumented aliens also known as Pilgrims.

 

We will never know.

Thoughts from a Fried Chicken Shop

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KFC Mapperley Nottingham

KFC Mapperley Nottingham

Julia had an appointment for lunch with some of her colleagues from work yesterday. She has more friends than I do, and no shortage of invitations. As a consequence I found myself in a familiar situation – dining alone at a fast food outlet. Fortunately I like my own company. and I like fast food. The choice was KFC.

My first thought on arriving was “Where are all the people?”. I know KFC suffered from bad press recently with their supply chain debacle, but I had thought there would be more than three people in there at 1.30pm. That number was reduced to two when one of us left with his food to eat it elsewhere.

My second thought was that I was surprised by the average age of the clentele. I always think of fried chicken being food for young people. Bearing in mind that I’m 60, and that I’m not wanting to be ungallant about the lady who was the other customer, I reckon that our average age was about 70. This did fall when a couple of youths came in, but not as far as the drop in the average IQ.

This brought me on to thought three – why do white youths adopt the lisping patois they seem to associate with black youth in the ghetto? Or should that be “lithping patois”. It completely seems to escape them that we don’t have ghettos in Nottingham, and that there’s a distinct lack of rap music. I’m not sure whether it’s a case of imitation being the sincerest form of flattery or some sort of condescending cultural appropriation.

Anyway, back to a thought with less potential for argument. Would it be possible to develop a vaccine, or maybe a yoghurt drink, to increase IQ?

Talking of dodgy liquids, I had the gravy. It isn’t really gravy, and Colonel Sanders once referred to it as  “sludge” that had a “wall-paper taste”. That was while he was acting as a brand ambassador for the company after selling it. His idea of an ambassador seems slightly at odds with mine. The company felt this too and sued him. They were unsuccessful, indicating that judicial opinion was on the Colonel’s side.

It’s better than that now, though I do think it’s been better in the past. This isn’t unusual, I tend to think everything was better in the past.

The final thought, as I stared across the road, was that 20 years ago Collectors Corner was still in business and there were none of those shops about that bought old clothes by weight. This is progress.

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A closed collectors’ shop – the very definition of sadness

And on that note I think it’s time to go.

 

As I stood in the shop one day

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Yesterday afternoon the sound of “Greensleeves” drifted through the open door of the shop. It wasn’t the instrumental version, with its memories of school music lessons and a youthful Henry VIII, but the tinny ice cream van version. According to the Wikipedia entry for Greensleeves, it’s probably not by Henry VIII, and it is a common earworm.

Where do I go from here?

I could discuss Henry VIII. I could talk about the psychology of ice cream van music.  Or I could tell you that when I was working in Africa a letter arrived from my mother telling me my cousin had been killed on his motorcycle I had Linda Ronstadt’s Blue Bayou playing at the time.

Every time I hear the song it takes me back to that letter. Everytime I think of that letter, the song starts in my head. And every time the subject of earworms crops up the whole thing starts going round in my head. It doesn’t happen often, but like now, when it crops up the whole thing starts again.

Forty years have passed since it happened and though the image is fresh in my mind, it’s simply there and no longer evokes any emotion. This might be natural, or it may be I’m just not very sensitive.

It’s the same with the car accident flashbacks. After a lifetime of driving I’ve been in a few accidents and near misses as driver or passenger. With one exception, which happened nearly 30 years ago, they’ve not really made much of a mental impression on me.

One of them caused flashbacks. I don’t know why, but for a while I was getting two or three a week. They gradually declined over the first year until it was one or two a year, then none for a couple of years. However, when they did come they were quite disturbing. The last one was about five years ago and it woke me up with a feeling of panic just as I was drifting off to sleep.

Since then I’ve rarely thought of it and it no longer bothers me when I do. It’s now just a memory.

I suppose this is how we are meant to be – you can’t worry about everything in life or you’d break down.

Well, that’s been quite a journey – from ice cream vans to road traffic accidents. All I meant to say was that after two fire engines and a police car it was nice to hear an ice cream van.