Monthly Archives: May 2020

500 Words a Day

I don’t always write 500 words, though I do normally find no difficulty in the 250 I set myself as a minimum for posting. Most of the time I could write more, but I try to have some consideration for the reader (that’s you) as a thousand words of me moaning about modern life would be too much, even for the most determined curmudgeon.

The germ of this post developed from reading about Philip Larkin, which took me on to read about Kingsley Amis. It appears that Amis gained his reputation for having a prodigious output by writing 500 words a day. This does not seem many. He also, it seems, had iron self-discipline, and would always write his 500 words in the morning before devoting the rest of the day to drinking and adultery. I’m not saying I like him, or have liked any of his books in the past, but you have to admire a man who knows his own mind.

I’m not being dismissive about 500 words a day, or 250 or 1,000, which have all been named as a daily target by various people. It’s not easy. It’s particularly not easy to write 500 useful words.

Here are some figures.

3,000 words a day: Anne Rice, Trollope, Conan Doyle, Erle Stanley Gardner, Frederick Forsythe.

1,000 words a day: J G Ballard, Sarah Waters, Sebastian Faulks, Somerset Maugham.

500 words a day: Ernest Hemingway, Graham Greene, Kingsley Amis.

There’s something there for everyone, and if you want to see more you can look here. The highest target I can find 10,000 words a day, from R F Delderfield and Michael Crichton.

That brings me up to 262 words. It’s ironic that I’m struggling to get the words done for a blog post about daily word targets.

If I was a proper writer I would have to plough on until 500, or 1,000 or even 10,000 words. On the other hand, if I was a proper writer I’d be getting paid for this. I either need to get a grip or re-title the post ‘333 Words a Day’.

The photos for today’s post are part of the series ‘Things I’ve Photographed Whilst Sitting in my Chair in Front of the TV’. It’s one of the easier series of photographs I’ve done as it requires no travel, little thought and no duck food.

Roses in close up

The roses are from Monday’s expedition to Aldi and are a delicate pink with a hint of lavender, or mauve. I’m not quite clear about the colours in that range.

I did do some research on the subject, but it ran to 200 words of gobbledygook and left me none the wiser. Bored, confused and none the wiser, to be honest, so I exercised my power to delete.

That, I suppose, leaves us with an important question.Would you rather have 500 words of Greene or Hemingway or 10,000 words of Delderfield or Crichton. There’s no right answer, of course, as I suspect Crichton has outsold all the others combined. It may not be a judgement on the quality of writing, but what’s the point in being the best writer in the world if nobody reads your writing?

That’s 511. It’s quite enough.

The final photo is not a jar of Marmite, it’s a novelty egg cup. When you go to a charity shop with books, it sometimes happens that you buy something…

Marmite – novelty egg cup

An Avocado Day

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The day started badly when I woke at 6.20 am and found that my hopes regarding my knee (which had become very painful during the course of the evening) had come to nothing. Despite having rested, it was still painful. Fortunately I had taken a walking stick upstairs and was able to make it to the bathroom without too much cursing.

I took ibuprofen, even though they interfere with the warfarin and went back to bed. I couldn’t find any paracetamol and the ibuprofen gel was, inconveniently, downstairs.

At 8.10 I woke again to find that the ibuprofen had lived up to my expectations and done bugger all to alleviate the pain.

That’s what I find about painkillers these days. The ones you can buy at the supermarket don’t do much to help with the sort of pain I get as old age creeps on, and the ones that work, like laudanum, are out of favour. You can’t read a depiction of Victorian life without tripping over gallons of the stuff but, despite the insistence of the Conservative party on returning to Victorian values, you just can’t get hold of it.

By the time I got downstairs the post had been, as had the bin men, and there was a letter waiting for me from the anti-coagulant service. I have, once again, managed to hit target with my recent blood test and have been rewarded with an appointment in August.

This amazes me, as I have a bad habit of often taking the pills either too late or not at all. My phone sounds an alarm at 8pm and I tend to switch it off with the words “I will have to take my pills in a while.” There are always better things to do at 8pm.

A quick shout out for the posties and bin men here – they are doing a great job keeping civilisation going, but they aren’t complaining and they aren’t getting the thanks they deserve.

We had a TESCO delivery last night at 9pm (because it’s cheaper at that time) and it was much more accurate than the ASDA delivery last week. As a result we were able to breakfast on bacon sandwiches made using croissants and our new supply of brown sauce. Life does not get much better…

I also picked up my new warfarin prescription from the pharmacy and took advantage of that to buy a box of co-codamol. It’s not laudanum, but as I write, ten hours after taking two tablets, I have nothing more than a dull ache in the knee. You are only supposed to take it for a maximum three days but I’ve never needed to take more than a couple of doses before it’s sorted me out. Strangely, despite the three day stipulation, it comes in a box containing enough for four days.

I then made lunch, consisting of sourdough rye bread and avocado – I seem to have become much more middle-class during lockdown – with finely chopped wild garlic leaves which Julia had foraged whilst out walking in the local park.

After that the day became less interesting.

Avocado and Wild Garlic

Yes, it’s the same picture, but I like to add two photos where I can. Note the square plate, which I always consider a sign of gastronomic sophistication. I bought several in my abortive bid to become a food blogger.

It’s really avocado, wild garlic, coriander leaves (and stalks) and black pepper. The rye sourdough was a TESCO substitution for ordinary sourdough, which, after last week’s bread substitution from ASDA suggests that TESCO is a better supermarket for home deliveries. At least they understand bread.

A Meal in a Box

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We dined on one of the meals from the birthday present box last night. It contained potatoes, shredded greens, garlic, pork steaks, squares of strong Cheddar and a pot of onion marmalade made by Tracklements, the top notch pickle company. All the ingredients were good and the recipe sheet had a colour picture and clear instructions.

To be honest, I could have sourced the ingredients and made pork steaks with cheese and onion topping with potato wedges and garlic greens without the instructions. However, after weeks of lockdown it’s comforting to be given a meal that hasn’t taken a lot of thought. More to the point, it’s nice to have something different too. We have been getting very dull with our menu. It’s also nice to have something a bit more tasty than usual – I wouldn’t have added the onion marmalade and cheese if I’d been left to my own devices.

Tomorrow we will be having the meatballs with roast broccoli and cheesy mash. The same comments apply. I’d have used ready-made meatballs if left to my own devices, and I’d just have used beef with bread crumbs made from leftover crusts. The kit includes beef and pork mince (in two different packs) and a pack of panko breadcrumbs. It’s a much more elegant way to live.

If I was younger, and had a proper job, I would seriously consider buying a box every week. The quality of ingredients is good, the presentation is good and the result was good. However, I’m one of those old dogs that can’t learn new tricks. Apart from the question of buying a food kit that includes bits I don’t want (like all the cheese) there is the question of ordering things over a week in advance and having to be around to accept a delivery. They had some good ice packs in the box but minced meat and summer heat can be tricky.

It’s meant to be meatballs – I really must work on my presentation.

Tonight we had the meatballs. It’s the first time I’ve used panko breadcrumbs and they were (a) dry and (b) pointless. I can’t see that they were any better than ordinary breadcrumbs for making meatballs. I have no doubt they are better for some things, but I’m not sure you need them in meatballs.

I just looked them up, and added the link, and see that they absorb less fat when being fried. If that’s a concern, I would have thought the easiest way to cut the fat would be to stop adding cheese to everything.

Tonight’s meal – meatballs with cheese mash and roasted broccoli was very nice but, to be honest, making meatballs does involve a bit more standing than I would have liked. The meal was, I think, tastier than last night’s meal, but the instruction sheet was less clear.

Having said that, they have both been excellent.

The only drawback is the aggressive marketing campaign of the company, which made me sign up for regular deliveries just to redeem the gift voucher, and which made it difficult to cancel. They have already invited me to give them another chance three times.

It has, however, persuaded me that I must start making my own meatballs again. They are so much better than the bought ones, though the bought ones are good because they keep well, which is important in lockdown.

A Fine Day Loafing

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It’s early afternoon, we’ve just had lunch (Lincolnshire sausages in warm baguettes), and Father Brown is on TV. It could be a touch warmer, but apart from that life is good.

A delivery driver has just turned up with a box containing three meals (my birthday present from Number One Son) – unfortunately I’ve forgotten what they are, though it will be a nice surprise. One is chickpea and peanut butter curry and another is pork steaks with garlic greens but that’s as much as I can remember. I’m feeling a bit guilty because I gave them some harsh feedback when it was requested, much of it on the grounds that they failed to solve a problem which they created needlessly. I just found their answers – they had sent them but I’d overlooked them. I’d better write and apologise.

While I was writing last night’s post I had followed several interesting links and gave myself an idea for another Medal News article. This is good, as all my other ideas have run into problems and I’m not feeling industrious at the moment. I will regret that when we go back to work and I find I have no time (my perennial excuse).

My original plan was to spend my time writing three articles for three different magazines, but one has turned out to be difficult to write, one needs a table (which I don’t feel like compiling ) and the other is turning out to be harder to research than I thought. They will all end up being written but not just now. According to an article on motivation, which I read last night, I have just increased my chances of completing them by telling people I am doing them.

We have just had a visit from a neighbour. Julia dropped her a card and present off this morning as it is her birthday. She came to give us a plate of cake. Unfortunately we weren’t able to invite her in as we don’t want to be delinquent. This morning the internet carried the news that house sales have started again and people can view houses. So, you can’t invite a neighbour or family member in but you can have an estate agent and a stranger looking at your home. Life is very strange.

Photos are, again, from the free picture library.

Photo by Min An on Pexels.com

1926

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Yesterday was my 1,926th post so, thinking of something different to do, I decided to fall back on the idea of writing about 1926. I’ve been holding it in reserve for a few hundred posts, since the 1,685th post in fact, but always managed to find something else to fill the 250 words.

Today, I feel like a change of pace. I really should write about 1927, but I’ve done some of the work for 1926 so I’ll carry on.

The biggest event of the year was the General Strike, with the country being under martial law from May to December. This lasted considerably longer than the strike, which, like the reign of Lady Jane Grey, and the jig of William Kempe, lasted nine days. There must be some fascination for nine days amongst historians. This may strike a few chords to those of us in lockdown, though there was a major difference – after some problems in 1925 the British Government was prepared for trouble in 1926 and swung into action in an organised way.

In January, the Rhine flooded and 50,000 people had to evacuate their homes, we had flooding in London suburbs, and John Logie Baird demonstrated the first TV.

In February the Irish Government formed the Committee on Evil Literature. Times were different then and there was a lot more censorship about, though it didn’t usually come with a title that sounds like something out of 1984.

In April, the future Queen Elizabeth II was born.

In July the first British Greyhound track opened in Manchester.

In August Rudolph Valentino died at the age of 31, sparking off mass hysteria in women around the world.

In September the Great Miami Hurricane ripped through Miami.

October saw the government of Italy pass a decree banning women from holding public office.

In December Agatha Christie disappeared from home in suspicious circumstances, eventually turning up in Harrogate.

Not much different to 2020 when you think about it – celebrities, TV, sexism, bad weather and politics. Depressing really.

No pictures today, so I went for flowers.

Alpine Strawberries – Sherwood

Apple Blossom – Sherwood

Alyssum

Blood Test

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I went for a blood test this morning, amalgamating two visits (one for methotrexate and one for warfarin) into one, and donating a total of three tubes.

My original plan was to rise at 6.30 and get down to City Hospital for just after 7.00. That was replaced by a second plan, rising at 7.30 and getting down to the Queen’s Medical Centre (QMC)for 8.30.

Like my last trip, there was plenty of parking and no queue.

Instead of tickets from the machine they are using laminated tickets you pick up from reception. Last time I mentioned that I wondered if they cleaned the tickets between uses. I noted this time, that they do. To be honest, today’s tester seemed much more on the ball than the last one.

They couldn’t get anything from the insides of my elbows, so they used something with a needle and flexible tube. This went into my forearm and the tube was screwed onto the end. It’s difficult to describe, but is probably a cannula. I always think of them as having massive, painful needles, but I have checked up and some of them look like the equipment from this morning.I feel quite faint after looking at that. It wasn’t so bad this morning but I’ve had some really bad experiences with cannulas (or cannulae, if you want to be true to the original Latin).

After that I risked my life by shopping for bread and various other bits. It wasn’t essential, but it eases the pressure on the ingredients cupboard.

Then I went home.

After a late breakfast and a cup of tea I checked to see that I was still waterproof and started to consider my activities for the rest of the day.

This was, as you have probably guessed, fatal.

I had a phone call from the surgery. They had, in turn, had a phone call from the anti-coagulant service to tell them to tell me that my sample had not been acceptable. This usually means that the tube wasn’t full enough, though the filling should be automatic with modern equipment.

They printed me up a new request form, which I had to collect, and I then nipped into the nearby City Hospital for the test. There was no parking. I could have parked further away, but I’m lazy, so, after staring at the new testing facilities. I drove back to QMC.

It all went smoothly, we had a laugh about my second visit of the day and I got stabbed in the arm again.

If I was Richard Curtis this would be the inciting incident for a prize-winning romcom – Four Blood Tests and a Cannula or Blood Actually. These are just working titles, they still need some work.

I was so glad to get out that I can’t even rise to being irritated by the duplication of tests, or the demise of my cunning isolation plan.

I was slightly irritated by the presence of a Staff Testing facility at City Hospital. There were tents, signs, barriers and a Security Guard. There were no cars, no staff and no evidence that anything was happening. The testing regime will, I’m sure, come under scrutiny in the months to come.

As a final note – I saw a dead badger on the Ring Road – the first in over 30 years. You see dead foxes, because they live in town but the badger must have sneaked in as part of the wildlife resurgence. Unlike my projected romcom this is a story that doesn’t end well.

Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.com

Burbling Boris the Blonde Buffoon

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I was thinking of other alliterative terms too, but good taste prevents me from using them.

The long-awaited speech from the Prime Minister on TV tonight turned out, after two days of leaked snippets, to be pretty much useless. It wasn’t so much a speech as a succession of vague mumblings, and very short on detail. It did verge on the Shakespearean in being told by an idiot and signifying nothing, but there was a sad lack of sound and fury.

Shakespeare – British Library

As a result, I am none the wiser about the way forward, but I do have a feeling of deep gloom. I didn’t have much confidence in the Government before lockdown, and I have less now. The only time I’ve been reasonably happy with the conduct of the Government coincided with the period the Prime Minister spent in hospital.

We don’t have a plan, it seems, just ‘the shape of a plan’.

It reminds me of Churchill – ‘ this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end.
But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.’

It is not a plan. It is not even the beginning of a plan. It is the shape of a plan.

Sadly, Boris Johnson, in addition to being no Shakespeare, is no Churchill.

Churchill

Forgive my underwhelming response, but I now have to plan for going back to work.

This starts tomorrow, or Wednesday, or the first week in June. It’s even more non-specific if you work in a pub or restaurant.

They would like me to walk, cycle or use my car because public transport is going to be limited due to the need for social distancing. That should quickly undo all the gains we made by staying at home for six weeks.

And there was no mention of masks.

Although we are allowed to do a bit more mixing they are going to beef up the police powers by doubling the fines for breaches of the regulations. If severe punishments worked I’m sure we’d still be hanging people for stealing handkerchiefs, but try telling a politician that.

That never looks correct in writing, but I checked it up and dictionaries seem happy with either handkerchiefs or handkerchieves. The spellchecker isn’t, but that’s life. The strange thing is that I pronounce it handkerchieves, but spell it handkerchiefs.

I’m just watching a programme about Ladybird books, which is why I’ve missed my deadline. It seems that a child only needs a vocabulary of 12 words to start reading. One of them appears to be ‘dog’ but ‘cat’, it seems, is not necessary. Adults, they claim, have a vocabulary of 20,000 words. I am dubious about that. I honestly doubt that I use 1,000, but I really can’t be bothered to count them. I do know it’s possible to get by with eight words on my drive to work. These eight don’t feature either ‘cat’ or ‘dog’.

I just went looking for a vocabulary test to see how large my vocabulary is. Instead, I started to do a quiz about how long I’m going to live. Based on diet, lifestyle and various other quasi-scientific mumbo-jumbo I have 6 years 293 days and 32 minutes. That’s a bit less than I calculated in a previous post. (2,483 compared to the previous calculation of 2,920). That’s a nuisance as I was planning on using those 500 days to write my memoirs.

A Man with No Plan

Watching TV and Wasting Time

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I’ve managed to fit in several episodes of Perry Mason, two films – Darkest Hour and Four Weddings and a Funeral – and several quiz shows.

It’s not been a bad day, but it’s not one to be proud of, and not really a good use of a day when I may only have around 2,920 left. (That’s based on the Biblical three score years and ten).

That’s the limit of my inspiration today. I’ll have to write an extra-long post tomorrow.

The pictures are from the days when I did do things. Apple juice and Peppermint Creams.

Peppermint Creams

A Confusion of Scientists

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From what I’ve seen today the Government doesn’t need to ease the lockdown restrictions because people have already decided to cut themselves some slack. This is annoying after we’ve made major efforts to isolate ourselves.

I’ve been reading about the voluntary lockdown in Sweden, which everyone says has worked well. I’m not sure it would work too well in the UK, from what I’ve seen today. On top of that, Swedish Government scientists have even said that our lockdown is futile.

However, after some of the things they have done I’m not sure how far I’d trust Swedish scientists. Not that they were the only ones who thought eugenics were a Good Thing.

You would expect that their death rate would be very low in that case, wouldn’t you? It isn’t. It’s lower than hours, to be sure. But it’s higher than Ireland, where the low rate of death has been attributed to Ireland adopting a lockdown policy.

So, with a lower death rate being linked to (a) strict lockdown policies and (b) relaxed lockdown policies you have to wonder who is right.

Or if anyone is right…

That’s it for now. I’ve failed to hit my self-appointed 250 words, but I’m having trouble concentrating. Lockdown has finally softened my brain, and I’m devoting too much of my brain to thoughts of the gooseberry crumble one of the neighbours gave us.

The picture is from the free picture library – sorry about that but I’m nor getting out much. That should be about the right number of words.

quercuscommunity

Life after the Care Farm