Monthly Archives: August 2021

Going for 100

It’s been one of those days where I have, so far, spent over two hours doing nothing of any substance. It’s been all bits and bats and mostly consisted of emails, lists and blurred photos. It’s not productive, but it’s easy, and I have a habit of doing easy things rather than the ones I should be doing.

August is a light month for submissions, with just one that actually needs doing. I also have four which can be left until the early weeks of September, but I have put them on the August list. This still leaves me with five compared to the seven I did last month. September is even worse – assuming that I do five in August I still have nine planned for September.

So far I have never broken into a sweat writing a poem, or found one I’ve struggled to lift. I haven’t even bled over one, despite the amount of paper I have handled. (However, I think I just found an idea for one . . .) so why does it seem so much of an effort? Not only that, but why is it so difficult to write until, you get close to the deadline? I know there will be people out there that don’t have this problem, but I’m one of those that needs the pressure of a deadline to make me work.

I can produce enough quality pieces to keep at least some of the editors happy. However, even to get to 100 submissions I need to do two a week. I’m currently on 59 for the rolling 12 month average. It doesn’t take a maths genius to work out that is about half of what I need to do. So do I go for 75 next year, which doesn’t seem very ambitious, or do I go for 85 (better) or just go all out for 100? It won’t be the 100 rejections this article talks about but even 100 submissions is going to take a lot of work. However, I expect you’ve already guesse what I’m setting as a target from the title. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do . . .

PS, when I said I’d spent 2 hours doing nothing much, it was just after 11am – I’ve spent another seven hours doing errands and other useless stuff since then. If they ever make procrastination an Olympic Sport I reckon I’m in with a chance. If Break Dancing (now known as “Breaking” can make it to the Olympics I don’t see why procrastination can’t.

£7.99 – an unconsidered trifle

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I’ve just been looking at books of haibun. A lot of them are around the £17 mark, which is a lot for a slim volume of poetry, particularly when some are by writers I don’t particularly care for, or have never heard of. I did find one volume that was more modestly priced, and by someone I like as a writer and a person, so I thought I’d give it a go. I’ve already ordered one book of poetry this week, another wouldn’t, I decided, do any harm.

Then Amazon stepped in. and tried to force me to take out a subscription to Amazon Prime. At one time you could often get free P&P if you looked round and accepted that delivery would take a few days extra. Now you have to pay £7.99 a month. Or I can pay £3.99 P&P for a 50 page poetry pamphlet. Cost, I believe, around £1.29 plus an envelope and the cost of slipping it in and sealing the flap. It’s not worth £3.99, and it never used to be £3.99. They are just trying to push me into Prime membership, and I don’t want it. Even at £3.99 I would have to order three items a month to get any benefit, and I don’t order three items a month.

If I did, I’d buy from eBay as I may as well support the manipulative tax-evading giant that helps pay my wages, rather than the manipulative tax-evading giant that doesn’t. Yes, there are other benefits attached to Prime, but as I don’t currently use them (or know what they are) I’m sure I can live without them.

There must be something magic about the figure of £7.99 a month. If I ever go back to Microsoft office it will cost me £7.99 a month. So does Readly, the magazine service, but I do get value for money there most months. Other things seem to end up at £7.99 too. It’s the sort of figure that doesn’t seem frightening in the same way that £9.99 or £10.99 does, a sort of 21st Century stealth tax on modern life.

However, for the time being I’m not falling for it, and I’m not going to be forced into it, or into paying £3.99 for P&P.

Amazon hasn’t lost a lot, because my purchase is insignificant, but I have lost out by not having the book and the poet has lost out by not having a sale. Eventually this is how the world will go – everybody either bowing to Amazon or suffering a second class life if they dare to resist.

Dreams of Great Wealth

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I am not going to say anything about the NHS today as my head might explode with fulminating wrath. The surgery and Pharmacy are, I appreciate, under pressure because nearly everyone is off due to being pinged by Track and Trace. However, that doesn’t excuse all the stupidity that occurred today, both with the surgery and the Pharmacy.

I want two things. I want to be allowed to put my own sticking plasters on my toe and I want my prescriptions dispensed accurately. Today I was, yet again, disappointed n both things.

I will say no more, but it does follow a pattern, as the National Lottery, once again, failed to deliver at the weekend. I hardly buy any tickets these days, as I know I won’t win, but, at a low point, and feeling that £71,000,000 might cheer me up, I did buy a ticket last week. If I’d have ignored the urge I would be £2.50 better off, and would not be feeling let down by those adverts that depict the lucky winner sitting by a swimming pool.

However, I would like to point out that if I had £71 million in the bank, I wouldn’t be wasting my time sitting by a swimming pool. I’d be reading in my magnificent library, breaking off at times to write as inspiration struck, and to dictate my blog posts to a secretary who understood how the block editor worked. At around 3.30 I would stop to sip tea and eat exquisite pastries with Julia.

Sadly, it is just a dream, but if I ever do come into a large amount of cash be assured that I will be equal to the challenge of spending it wisely. At the moment I’m just trying to work out whether I would have my own pastry chef or whether I would have cakes collected from Mrs Botham’s by one of the domestic staff. With great wealth comes a mass of complex decisions.

My Lazy Day and Olympians – a Contrast

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Had a lie in. Had breakfast. Read some blogs. Checked my emails. Made lunch, which was bacon, mushrooms, black pudding, beans, sourdough toast, eggs and several pangs of conscience – it was not really what I should be eating. Watched Olympic closedown and Murder She Wrote. Dozed in front of TV. Made tea – heavy on the salad. Watched Professor T. Sat down to write, but ended up reading more blogs. It’s now 10.45 and I really should do some work. Julia spent her day making a hobby horse, entering her Covid test results on the Mencap system, making apple crumbles, blanching and freezing beans and topping up the shopping after last night’s pathetically inadequate performance by Tesco – 2 questionable substitutions and 10 items not available. She also watched TV and ate. I really don’t know how she fits it all in.

I am ambivalent about the Olympics. There have been some great stories, and some heroic triumphs. However, it’s also true to say that a lot of rubbish has also been spoken. Tonight it has principally been about Jason Kenny being our greatest ever Olympic athlete. That is simply not true. He is certainly a great athlete, and has won more Olympic medals than anyone else in Team GB. He also seems to be a pleasant person, which isn’t always the case with successful athletes.

To be fair, he hasn’t said anything about it, it is journalists who have been making the claim. Our top four medal winners come from cycling, a sport that has been highly organised over the last twenty years, extensively financed and where there are plenty of medals on offer. Does that make them great, or does it just make them prolific? Steve Redgrave, on the other hand, won his five golds in five consecutive Olympiads. What’s more, he won several of them before the current funding system came in and he won despite suffering from ulcerative colitis and diabetes. If you want to see a candidate for a great Olympian, try him.

Or Eric Liddell. He only won one gold medal. He could have won more, but he wouldn’t run on Sundays and he had a short running career because he returned to China to work as a missionary. He also had a short but successful rugby career playing for Scotland. It’s hard, despite his solitary gold medal, to say that he doesn’t measure up.

The featured image is a sailing boat – they sail in the Olympics. It’s a tenuous link.

A Tale of Missing Glasses

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It was a lesson in First World problems this morning – I left my reading glasses in the pocket of yesterday’s shirt and didn’t want to go upstairs again, as I had cereal in my hand and a computer in front of me. I have spares in my work bag, but couldn’t be bothered to put my cereal down and get up from the computer. It was a combination of shortage of time, creaking knees and laziness.

Fortunately I came up with an ideas, and raised the magnification on the screen until I could read properly. It didn’t quite solve the typing problem, as all the letters are blurred without glasses, but a combination of reasonable accuracy and a spell-checker managed to keep me looking literate. Even with my glasses my typing is often poor, so it was a question of magnitude rather than a whole new problem.

I’m sure there are many people in the world who lack glasses, or computers, or even electricity. I really should be happy, instead of muttering about a lack of glasses. It’s quite frightening though, without reading glasses I can’t actually function. As if to compensate, my long-range vision seems to have improved over the years. The teenager who needed glasses to read the blackboard could read remarkably small print. Now, as I approach the term “elderly” I can see for miles (the sun is quite clear and that is 93 million miles away), but I can’t see much once it gets within three feet of my face.

As my memory is also fading, I don’t always remember my glasses. Fortunately I have a Plan B. The jeweller’s glass I always carry in my pocket came in very useful last week when I needed to read some cooking instructions.

Watching Olympics and Cheering for Australia

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I’ve just been watching the Beach Volleyball at the Olympics. You can tell I’m getting old, because I was actually watching it for the sporting contest rather than the the women in swimwear. It was the Women’s Final between Australia and the USA and it really messed with my head.

Athletes may talk about the pressure of competition, but they have, in most countries, an extensive support system and they have been preparing for the Olympics for four (or five) years. The UK has Lottery Funding, the USA has a college system which pumps out an endless supply of athletes and the Russian Olympic Committee has the benefit of a state-supported doping system (remember that even if they are clean now, most of them are still using the advantages gained from years of doping before they were caught). But what does the average sports viewer get?

I was completely unprepared for the Olympics, following so close on the heels of the football. I hadn’t had time to get up to speed with all the stories, hadn’t had time to plan my snacking regime, and was completely unprepared mentally. When the USA and Australia stepped out on to the court, I was, to say the least, conflicted.

For much of my life the Olympics was just a continuation of the Cold War by another means, as the Eastern Bloc athletes, who all seemed to be in the army, went about the business of winning gold medals in a joyless and efficient manner. At this time, the USA stood firm against Communism on the sports field. So, I still have a part of my heart that cheers for the USA.

However, there are limits, and one of those is that I am incapable of supporting the USA against members of the Commonwealth. Although we all have shared history, the USA decided to opt out in 1776 and the Australians stuck with us. It was with mixed emotions that I found myself shouting for Australia. The problem was that we are very close in medals on the medal table, and one more gold would be enough for Australia to overtake us (at time of writing).

I had much the same problem with the women’s hockey bronze medal match this morning – I wanted the Indians to win their first ever Olympic hockey medal (their men having already taken their first medal in 41 years) but I also wanted the England women to win. It was a great match, where the lead swapped several times and it was a shame that anyone had to lose.

Which gets us back to the Australia versus USA problem. Fate stepped in and the USA won. This was disappointing. Was it as disappointing as Australia overtaking us in the medal table? I’ll let you answer that one for yourselves.

Just for interest (I’m not going to step into any contentious areas if I can help it) look at this. It seems that while the German gymnasts are actively working against the trend to sexualise women’s sporting outfits, the beach volleyball teams already have a choice of attire and generally opt for the swimwear.

Counting Some Blessings

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Number One, despite being treated like a child (the attitude of the nurses has grown more condescending as my hair has turned whiter), I do have decent medical treatment available, and, having turned 60, I no longer have to pay for prescriptions.

Number Two, last Sunday lunch was not as bad as I had feared. I had been worried about the idea of hundreds of people everywhere, coughing and sneezing, but it was almost deserted and very enjoyable to get out. I might be able to re-engage with normal life if it stays like this, though I am actually happy being anti-social.

Number Three, I’ve been given a big bag of potatoes, beans and beetroot (I like potatoes and beans, and Julia likes beetroot) so we have been eating better for the last few days.

Number Four, after a temporary glitch, reminiscent of the empty shelves of the original lockdown panic buying, we now have slightly fuller shelves in the shops. And I can order food today and pick it up on Saturday (I could have had a slot tomorrow but decided Saturday was better).

Number Five, I have a couple of poems in Failed Haiku this month. I’m on page 107 if you want to have a look. Published twice in a week. I’m definitely beginning to feel smug. It won’t last, of course. That’s not false modesty, they have just taken on a new editor. I’ve submitted to her before – sent three, had three rejected.

That about wraps it up for today. It’s been quite a relaxing day and I have started a few changes to my diet and exercise regime, so things are moving. My next shopping trip (we are doing Click & Collect at the moment) features a lot more salad. I am unsettled by the thought, but needs must . . .

The photo is an old one, but it features salad, so is back on topic.

Bullied by a Nurse

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Today I went to see the nurse. She had look at my toe and decided that I have to go back on Friday so she can dress it again. No wonder the NHS costs so much to run. It’s a toe. It needs a plaster. It doesn’t need a whole appointment.

I hope that appointment runs better than it did today. I was there five minutes before my 8.45 appointment and had to wait until 9.10 to be seen. As far as I could tell the nurse had no patient in, she was just doing some admin. As a result, I ran late, was caught in traffic and ended up being late for work. It was only two minutes late, but I hate being late, full stop. I particularly hate being late because someone else has delayed me.

Wednesday should have been my day off but I agreed to go in because a number of things cropped up yesterday. It just goes to show that no good deed goes unpunished. You try to do a good thing and karma creeps up behind you with a sandbag.

We had an interesting conversation about health. I will paraphrase but give a general idea.

The nurse asked if I had thought of going onto statins then said:”Oh, you’re already on them.”

“Are you sure? Nobody has told me that I am.”

“You must be. Your cholesterol is only 3.7.”

In broad terms 3.7 is considered good, though it doesn’t do to get too smug about this stuff. After years in the poultry industry, and watching research and marketing collide, I know that cholesterol changes from good to bad on a regular basis.

“I don’t think I am.”

Clatter of keyboard

“Oh, you’re not, but you should think about taking them.”

“If my cholesterol is so low you think I’m already on them, why do I need to take them?”

“Er . . . well, your triglycerides are a little high and recent research shows that you’re more at risk of a stroke and heart attack.”

There is always some new research. I am actually at risk of a stroke and heart attack because I’m far too heavy and because I don’t exercise. I don’t need “recent research” to point that out.

Nor do I need more tablets. I currently take seven sorts of tablet. Two of them are to counter the effects of the other five. The last thing I need is more tablets.

This is probably a good place to leave it. I am going to give serious thought to lifestyle changes and new strategies for avoiding contact with this particular nurse.

Haibun, Beards and Undesirable Company

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I had to provide a picture for Drifting Sands Haibun this morning. I generally try to avoid that sort of thing but I keep being linked to a mystery photo of a younger, less hairy and, let’s be honest, less handsome man. I decided that the only way to combat the interloper was to provide a photo of myself. As you can see from the header picture, personal grooming has not been a priority in lockdown. Not that it has ever been at the top of my list.

You can find the new photo in action, plus a haibun, here, in the latest edition.

So, who was the mystery man? Turns out it was the Nottingham journalist Simon Wilson. I’m not sure how he sneaked into the magazine, but it’s not the first time he’s caused confusion. I tracked him down using “Search Google for Image”. I then, of course, had to check my own picture. I am still on page that mainly comprises sex offenders and drunks, though this time there were two theologians on the page too. Plus a man advertising that he would like to rent a room. That, I feel, is the plot of a horror film waiting to unfold. Who invites someone into their home in response to any internet advert, let alone one featuring someone who looks like me. To make things even worse, halfway down the page toy can find Gary Glitter. I suppose he’s unknown outside the UK, but he used to be known as a popular musician.

Sorry – just looked and realised how big the picture is. I don’t seem to be able to reduce it. If you are of a nervous disposition, I apologise.

Olympic Stories

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Is it that time already?

There’s something about the Olympics that tempts me into watching too much TV. I see that GB won a silver in the women’s weightlifting (the frightening 87+kg class) and I’m told by Number One Son that she used to be a shot putter at the athletics club when he was a member. We had a couple of women in the top ten earlier in the competition. An interesting thing in the various stories is the difficulty with funding. However, they seem to have put it all together and while the expensive efforts of the rowing team came to nothing (and seem to have ended in acrimony) the women weightlifters can all be proud of their efforts.

There have been some great stories in the is Olympics, as well as some lessons in the double-edged nature of investing heavily in sport.

It was interesting to read something by Dame Katherine Grainger on Lottery Funding for sport. She said that when she started in the rowing team in the lead up to the 2000 Olympics the rest of the team members all had jobs or overdrafts or family to help them live as they trained. She, from the outset, was funded from the National Lottery money. (I use the word Dame because it seems polite, not because I agree with our honours system or think that the current crop of titles handed out to Olympians is appropriate).

It was refreshing to find that some of our athletes, such as Bethany Shriever and Charlotte Worthington, have had proper jobs and have struggled to get to Tokyo.

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Life after the Care Farm