Monthly Archives: December 2020

Christmas Stamps

Empty Head – Empty Afternoon

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I’ve dropped Julia at work, shopped, visited and made a vegetable stew. I then sat down with the intention of writing a gripping narrative of my morning and found that I feel like I’m sitting here with a big ball of cotton wool where my brains usually are. Nothing is taking shape and the time is slowly dribbling away.

Tomorrow I intend breaking the law, which I don’t really want to do. It is a small infraction but if everyone does it, it soon becomes a major problem. It is also hypocritical as I have previously been very critical of people who have broken the laws relating to disease control. The trouble is that the offence is small enough for me to tell myself it’s unimportant. It is also a drop in the ocean compared to the recent  mass migration of Londoners. However, all those Londoners were doing was the same that I am going to do – travel a few days early. It doesn’t seem too bad if you say it like that, but in big enough numbers everything builds up to a tsunami of variant Covid virus.

The first of my warning alarms has just gone off – time to wrap this up and collect Julia. That’s assuming it’s possible to wrap something up when you haven’t really started.

I need 312 words to hit the 250 limit, and a quick mention that the header picture is a type of Christmas stamp I haven’t seen before may well get me over the line. It has. The 63p stamp is from an older series but the £2.55 stamps are for this year’s large letters up to 100g to World Zone 2 (Australia and New Zealand and a few other places). It was a bulk lot of coins and needed quite a lot of postage.

I bought chocolate brownies this morning, so I predict a nice cup of tea in the near future. Suddenly it’s all looking up.

A Moral maze

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I’ve been getting messages from the anti-virus programme that is pre-loaded on the computer. It’s time to start paying, it seems. This has ben announced numerous times in the form of pop-ups that are very difficult to get rid of. So, the first decision today was to look for a free anti-virus programme. I selected one, loaded it and found that they wanted £29 to carry on. It’s a 70% discount, they tell me, but it isn’t free.

As I don’t like being threatened, hassled and lied to I’ve crossed the old one and the new one off the list. Time to look for another.

Work was reasonably good – a couple of customers called in. We can’t, remember, visit them at home to chat about generalities and collecting, but they can visit our non-essential shop to chat about generalities and collecting. It’s just one of those strange anomalies that arise. Unlike many people, I’m not going to say this invalidates all the precautions because, as one or two have said, it’s all that’s keeping them sane. Same for me.

Today I switched on the computer to finalise my Christmas shopping and found that I’d missed the deadline. I’ve been thinking of other things recently and they didn’t send me a reminder like they usually do. As I’m under the £40 limit they are going to surcharge me £3 on top of the £6 delivery charge they’ve added, as it’s Christmas and everyone wants home deliveries.

I’m going to have to go shopping tomorrow to buy a few extra bits and pieces, It’s nothing major, and we can survive without them, but it will just make Christmas a little better. I could, however, do without it.

Has anyone in the UK noticed that the new Christmas arrangements are aimed at people with cars, or who live close to family?  Number One Son, who doesn’t drive, can’t just come for Christmas Day, as  there is no public transport on Christmas Day. This is a problem other people have pointed out too. That leaves us with the option of breaking the law by travelling on days when it isn’t allowed or leaving him on his own over Christmas Day.

Yes, in theory I could pick him up on Christmas morning and take him back that night but I don’t enjoy the trip that much that I want to do it twice in one day.

What a moral maze.  That is the trouble with family. One day you help them circumvent a minor law and the next thing you know they are asking you to help in the disposal of a dead body (hypothetically). If it’s one of your kids it would be very hard to refuse them help. My tip for that, by the way (if you don’t have a pig farm) use deep water and wrap the body in chicken wire so nothing inconvenient floats to the surface. A lifetime of reading crime novels has not gone to waste.

Study Number 1 - The Idiot

A Lazy Sunday and Some Useless Painkillers

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Last night I took painkillers (which are not accurately named) and had an early night. Then I had a lie in, told Julia I was going to have to have a day lazing round in front of the fire doing nothing and limped downstairs for breakfast.

She said she doubted that it would be any different from one of my normal days and carried on preparing for Christmas.

She later asked me a lot of questions and diagnosed my problem as sciatica. It seems to fit with the variety of symptoms I get and has improved today after making a few changes. I might even try the recommended exercises, but on the other hand, might not. It would be embarrassing to end up on my back with my arms and legs moving aimlessly like a tortoise on its back.

Losing weight should help, as should giving up smoking. Unfortunately I gave up smoking 20 years ago, so it looks like a diet or going to the doctor. As I usually end a visit to the doctor with more problems than I had when I went in, and orders to lose weight, I try to avoid that.

I must have had the new computer a month, as I keep getting pop-ups about signing up for virus protection. The pop-ups are a lot more annoying than the viruses, particularly as Microsoft seems able to keep my computers clean these days.

And, a final thought for the day – I see that the train stations of London are full of people wanting to get home for Christmas despite being told not to by Boris Johnson. We should take a leaf out of the mediaeval treatment of besieged cities and give it a new twist. Instead of catapulting infected carcases into cities we should stop the trains at a pre-set spot, take all the Londoners off, and start catapulting them back into London. After the first few are sent flying through the air, I expect the rest will volunteer to return

Not My Best Day

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Sorry, I’m struggling with a throbbing ankle tonight after too much walking today. I say walking, I mean a few laps of the shop. It isn’t impressive. When you think that in my teens I used to walk to a market town 13 miles away, eat my sandwiches and then come back the long way, this shows how much I have declined. It also shows I used to live in a flat part of the country.

I often thought about buying a bike and doing the run from land’s End to John O’Groats but it remained a daydream. If only…

Unfortunately I think this is now likely to remain a dream.

Christmas is now officially cancelled, and the nation is having to take holier than thou advice from a man with a father who has been photographed more than once flouting Covid guidelines and supported an adviser who did the same. It doesn’t sit well.

Even Julia, who is generally not one to bear a grudge, said the same. When you manage to upset her, you really are pushing your luck. I know this from experience.

I’ve been looking at government stats on vaccinations – at the rate we are going I’m more likely to die of old age than I am to be vaccinated. I think the government has worked out that if they allow those of us in the 45-65 age groups to suffer high Covid mortality it’s better for the pension scheme than keeping us going for another 20-30 years.

If I ever get round to planning a prize-winning blockbuster (because nobody ever plans to write a mediocre potboiler) I may use this as the main premise – a group of accountants releases a deadly virus to make up for deficiencies in the welfare state. I just need to find a reason why there is a hole in the finances – as they are accountants wine, women and song aren’t going to play a big part in their lives and it’s unlikely they put a billion on red in Monte Carlo.

Ah well, I’ll just have to see what my imagination comes up with over night…

At least Strictly Come Dancing ended well.

 

 

 

A Man Broken by the Threat of Salad

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MY ankle is still a bit tender. I am having to walk slowly and carefully and concentrate on driving in order to reduce the need for use of the clutch. It’s strange how a single joint can make such a difference to your life. As I re-read that sentence, I realise what a complex language English is. It sounds like I’m confessing to cannabis use. Or I might just be talking about a piece of roasted meat, a place where electrical wires meet, ditto for water or gas pipes. I may even, if I were Raymond Chandler, use the word in relation to an establishment offering hospitality. I think that’s about it.

Why, I have to ask, do we make one word do so much when we appear to have other words, like “engative” that seem perfectly good words in search of a meaning.

Anyway, back to ankles. I went to work this morning with the intention of asking the owner to walk to the Post Office this afternoon because my ankle didn’t feel up to it. Unfortunately , he called in sick shortly after I got there as he has a cold and wants to try not to spread it. Seemed like a good idea, as I have enough problems without a cold.

I still can’t, for instance, get into my Open Learn Account, and I’m still waiting for Julia’s Christmas presents to arrive. It’s not serious, but it is irritating. IT’s also irritating when you limp across to the Post Office and find a note on the door saying “Back in Five Minutes”. They weren’t. We all, when running shops on our own, have to do things like use the toilet, so we stick signs on the door. I appreciate that. I do however think that a proper note should say when you will be back. We waited in the rain for longer than five minutes (I had no choice – we need to get the parcels off as the Post Office no longer opens on Saturdays). As soon as the door was opened I charged in, making sure nobody could get past me. It’s a good thing I did, because having handed over my three parcels I noted there were eight people in the queue behind me. Eight!

I slowed down as I walked back as knee and ankle started to protest and on the second part of the crossing – the bit with the slope and adverse camber – I was so slow that the lights changed while I was still crossing. I really am going to have to address the weight question and relieve some pressure on my joints. I suppose a future full of salad beckons…

Compared to getting run over, I suppose salad isn’t too bad.

The tranquil pond is meant to calm my panic at the thought of a lifetime of salad. Tranquil stained glass – ditto.

Stained Glass from Ely

The Internet versus Real Life

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I’ve recently being reading Quora on the internet. It’s a site which, at first reading seems to ask, and answer, interesting questions. After ten minutes of reading it begins to dawn on me that the questions are, in many cases, pointless and the answers are worse. Imagine those drink-enhanced conversations you used to have as an earnest teenager – these are probably about the same level as that, but worsened by the influence of the internet.

One I saw recently asked who would win if you pitted thirty members of elite WW2 German units against 10 modern SAS soldiers. This generated a lot of serious information about squad size, troop morale, the correct use of Special Forces troops and all sorts of stuff. Some people appeared to know what they were talking about, but only one of them grasped the essentials of the question. It would be a walkover for the SAS. It could be nothing else, as all the Nazis would be well over 90 and in no shape to put up a meaningful fight.

The other I was reading recently was about the way Hollywood portrays the Americans as winning WW2. This was particularly in relation to the film U-571. I’ve never watched U-571, and don’t really want to. That’s not because I consider it a slight to HMS Bulldog, or because it shows German U-boat commanders in a negative light (two frequent criticisms of the film), but because I have better things to do. One day it might crop up and I might watch it, but I’m not going to make a special effort.

In the end, it’s a film, and a work of fiction. If the people financing it want to alter the story, they can do that. It is, to be fair, difficult to make the history of the Enigma machines interesting without applying a great deal of rewriting. The main players in cracking the code weren’t the sailors of HMS Bulldog, or even the codebreakers of Blectchley Park – it was the Poles.

Anyway, all this talk of HMS Bulldog ignores the actions of HMS Petard and her crewmen who died retrieving an Enigma machine from U-559. Or the other 11 Royal Navy ships that captured Enigma machines. The Canadians and the Americans also captured machines, bringing the total to fifteen.

However, on Quora it quickly degenerates into an argument about the relative contributions of the USA and the UK to the war effort. If you follow that up you can soon get into questions about why the British hate the Americans and the Americans hate the British. Until then, I wasn’t aware that I hated Americans, and I’m pretty sure that most of them don’t know I exist.

The truth is that history is never as simple as it seems. I’ll leave the last word to a man called David Balme, the historical adviser on the film all the fuss is about. His obituary in The Telegraph says:

 In 1999 Balme was historical adviser during the making of the Oscar-winning film U-571, which recast the capture and boarding of U-110 as an American victory. When the prime minister at the time, Tony Blair, called this an affront to British sailors, Balme, the one-time chairman of Lymington Conservatives, pointed out that it was a great film, that it would not have been financially viable without being Americanised, that the credits acknowledged the Royal Navy’s role in capturing Enigma machines and code documents, and that he was glad the story had been told in tribute to all the men involved.

Balme, in case you are wondering about his credentials as historical adviser, commanded the party that spent six hours on board the U-110 unloading the Enigma machine and the code books. If he’s happy with the way the film worked out, I think I’ll take his word for it.

Christmas Stamps

A New Word, a New Year and a (Possible) New Project

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Today I have what is generally referred to in medical circles as “a bad ankle”. Julia refers to it disparagingly and suggests that a reduction in calorie intake may cure the problem. Sympathy, I have noticed, is in short supply, these days. In some ways it’s good that it had happened on my day off, so I can rest in front of the fire, but in others it’s a bit of a nuisance as I had plans for today.

Still, sitting in front of a fire with my leg up isn’t the worst use of a day I can think of.

Sitting in front of the computer waiting for a message so I can reset my OU password, on the other hand, is not a good way to pass the day. I haven’t forgotten the password, it’s just that they have decided we should all reset our passwords on 16th December. I don’t know why and mine, when it is eventually reset, will doubtless be a bit sweary in content. It’s already been ten minutes. These days it’s normally instant. I know this because I forget a lot of passwords.

As it’s at their instigation and I really want access to my account now, I’m not happy. I rarely am when it comes to technology. The trick is to concentrate on the positives rather than the negatives. The internet is a miracle, and not the last refuge of idiots, nerds and password resetting jobsworths.

I seem to have invented the word “engative” whilst typing badly. It seems to have no meaning and the internet wants to correct it to “negative”. I think it has a future – maybe a word used to describe the process of being negative about England. The English are quite engative, as are the Scots, Welsh and Irish. That is to be expected as we’ve been neighbours for many years. I’ve noticed that the Americans on Quora (the last refuge of the Mental Pygmy) seem to be quite negative about England too (though they often mean the UK). This often takes the form of criticism about the British Empire. This is ironic, as our last major imperial misdemeanour took the form of expelling the Chagos Islanders from their homes in 1969-73 so that the Americans could have an air base there.

I feel another blog post coming on – The History of the World in 100 Blog Posts.  I will have to look into that…

A Cup of Tea and the Decline of Modern Morals

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Today I discovered another downside to old age , when I was outwitted by the wrappers on a couple of pasties. In an ideal world I would, of course, be making my own pasties, but as I have no intention of spending an hour doing something that five minutes should accomplish, I bought two pasties last week (they were on offer) and stuck them in the fridge. Tonight I got them out and just spent ten minutes wrestling with them.

It seems that I no longer have the dexterity to open a packet and extract a pasty. The packet kept resealing itself and the pasty seemed to swell so that it wedged itself in the opening. Instead of throwing them in with the roasted veg to finish the preparation of I ended up in the middle of something that felt like I was  Tarzan wresting a crocodile. What should have been a simple case of lazy cookery became a voyage into self-discovery and a realisation of my own mortality.

The day started badly when someone drove into Lidl’s car park at high speed, trailing loud music, and parked across two disabled spaces. He didn’t seem disabled. He was clearly of low moral character, but that isn’t the same as a disability. He went on to crowd me at the bakery counter (which just made me move slower) and to throw fruit and veg around as he searched to the back of the shelves to find the fresher produce.

If he’d been in his twenties, or in an expensive car you’d have said he was one of those tycoon types who was always in a hurry to get ahead in life. As he was in his late 30s and driving a shabby Vauxhall, I feel he was probably just a jerk. He would, I’m sure, know all his rights if you engaged his poor lonely brain cells in conversation, but have no concept of obligations.

In an ideal world a vengeful God would have pointed a finger from the clouds and this man would have been left as a bubbling grease spot on the floor near the fresh fruit counter. He would have been a slip hazard, but no more than that. This, I feel, is where the Old Testament could teach us a thing or two.

I then went home, clutching various baked goods and helped  a neighbour with a sticking door latch. This developed into a clandestine cup of tea (as we should not be meeting indoors). I think some socially distanced help with the door was in order, but drinking the tea was a sign of my moral decline. I obviously caught this from the bloke in Lidl.

From there to struggling with the pasty packaging just shows how steep the slippery slope is…

I was looking for photos when I found this picture. You don’t often find a butterfly on a crocus because butterflies are rare in crocus season. I thought I’d use it to remind myself that hope is just around the corner.

A Fresh Start

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I was so full of ideas this morning that I filled two pages of my A4 notebook before I even got my trousers on. It’s maybe not the most dignified of mental pictures, but it shows the wisdom of always keeping a notebook close to hand.

Most of them will, of course, not develop much further. I could feel that from a few of them as they hit the page and scurried across the book. Some will not be good enough to develop, though a few will be merged with other ideas. Some will, I confess, be illegible by the time I have another look. My handwriting is truly, and embarrassingly, terrible.

That will still leave plenty. It’s quite likely that some will never be developed simply because I move on to other things before finishing the list from this morning. That is the life of a poem. Sometimes it soars, but it, more often it staggers or simply slumps.

Sunset over Wilford, Notts

Sunset over Wilford, Notts

I really must get a grip. I have some haiku to finish, because they need to be submitted tomorrow. I also need to arrange my buildings insurance (which just means remembering to pay for it) and order the Christmas food. It’s only ten days to Christmas and I am not at all prepared. I’ve ordered Julia’s main present (which probably won’t get here until after Christmas) and a supplementary present which I hope will get here before Christmas. The post is unfortunately very random. In my defence, she didn’t tell me what she wanted until last night, so it’s not entirely my fault. However, we don’t currently have a turkey. I’m not that bothered myself, I’d be happy with a tin of corned beef and a sprig of holly, but everybody else expects turkey.

At the moment my only proper preparations for Christmas are two tubes of cheese footballs I bought several months ago, a Christmas pudding and a packet of stuffing. As preparations go, it’s not impressive.

Sunset over Wilford, Notts

Sunset over Wilford, Notts

These area few sunset photos I took last week. I’m not sure they were successful, looking at them in this size, but at least they are new.

 

Mystery

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There are certain things in life that will always be a mystery, such as why things I put down in one room appear, after months of looking, in a completely different room. I haven’t moved them, and Julia hasn’t moved them, so how does this happen?

If I suggest that Julia might be being inaccurate in her recollection, I end up in trouble. If I nod wisely and suggest that we must have a ghost that likes moving my stuff about, I also get into trouble. If I suggest that we must have a stranger living in the attic, the one who never replaces the toilet rolls and empty toothpaste tubes, I also…well, you get the picture.

A similar mystery is why WordPress suddenly decides to send comments to my Spam folder. So, welcome back Lavinia and Malkie.  Not every recent comment had been filtered out, just some, which makes it all very strange. And that, readers, is why there might be multiple comments on the same subject from these two. They haven’t become unusually verbose, they have just posted multiple times to register a comment. There is probably some cosmic plot afoot to prevent us all commenting at the same time and tearing a hole in the space-time continuum with our fearsome combined intelligence.

I’ve just, by coincidence, been reading an article on traits of highly intelligent people and Lavinia qualifies because she has cats. I didn’t realise that, but of you think about it, the decision to buy something that needs long walks in bad weather and holds the fate of your soft furnishings in its dribbling mouth, is not as intelligent as the decision to get a cat.  Malkie, of course, is famous for his top hat. I don’t think I need to say more. This is not the headgear of an idiot. As for me, I have an untidy workspace. That is a sign of genius, as I just told Julia. She seems unconvinced. However, bearing in mind the vocabulary she exhibited in telling me this, and the fact that bad language is also, it seems, a sign of high intelligence, it would appear that I married a genius. .

I won’t post a link as I made the msutake of not noting it down when I found it – now I can’t find it again. There are plenty of them about if you just google it. I may be tall, have blue-eyes, be the the oldest sibling etc,, but I’m still not smart enough to remember to make notes.