Monthly Archives: October 2022

PM, Politics, and Poor Performers

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Well, I did put a post in drafts for today, but I rather think that events of the day have superseded that. It’s been a record-breaking time for British Politics. First Kwasi Kwarteng resigned. He was pretty poor as Chancellors go, though I’m not sure he was the worst. He wasn’t even the shortest serving as Ian McLeod died after just thirty days in office – Kwarteng managed to cling on for 38. Then we had Suella Braverman. I hadn’t even heard of her until the last leadership election. As a result of what I imagine was a deal of some sort, she became Home Secretary. She just left, as I remarked yesterday. Unlike Kwarteng, who couldn’t manage the economy and couldn’t manage top set a new record, Braverman did set a record by becoming the shortest serving modern Home Secretary.

And now Truss . . .

Despite serious opposition from George Canning, who died in office after 119 days. It was a difficult record to break, particularly for a healthy person, but she has done it in some style, shattering Canning’s record by a good margin. It will take a PM of stunning incompetence or really bad health to break that one. Even the Master of Mendacity (or Prince of Porky Pies if you prefer rhyming slang) Boris the Bumbling Blonde Buffoon managed 3 years and 44 days.

Of course, Boris might yet bounce back. Stranger things have happened. It’s just so embarrassing that our Politicians are so bad we even make the septics look good. That’s rhyming slang again. Here, I’ll show you.

Chancellors, Cuts and Citizenship

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I had a look through some old drafts while thinking about a subject for today. I had 88. I now have 83. Really I shouldn’t have any, but I get attached to my false starts and slightly imperfect ramblings. I may go back and get rid of more, but it’s like clearing cupboards – always the temptation to put it back for later.

One of the newer ones includes a selection of thoughts on poetry, elephant’s graveyards, the racist boys adventure stories of my youth. It wasn’t too bad but it did tempt me into territory. where my old-fashioned view of life might get me into trouble. Another has been in progress for two years and  a third was just a link to something I was thinking of writing about. Strange how my house, my brain and my computer are all run on the same basis – clutter and the products of procrastination.

I’m going to go back now and ruthlessly prune . . .

That didn’t quite go according to plan. Eight hours later I am now having a look at the work I left undone. Instead of pruning like a machine, I finished writing the post about Private Dunkerley’s Plaque. I also find, that as the Home Secretary has resigned today, in a cloud of confusion and stupidity. If you can’t tell the difference between your own email account and the government’s email account it’s probably just as well you aren’t trusted with any important decisions. Just imagine if she had control of the nuclear button. Actually, don’t. It’s not a good thing to think of just before bed.

I will post this, rather than add it to the list of drafts. It is either the second post of yesterday or the first post of today, depending on my mood. Of course, if you aren’t reading it on the day of publication, it will be neither.

The pictures are of the medallion given to people by Harrow Council after their citizenship ceremonies. I bought it from eBay for 1p. It doesn’t have a  date on it, so it doesn’t really fit in my cheap medallion collection, but for a penny I thought I’d have a go.

Harrow Citizenship Medal.

Private Dunkerley’s Plaque

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The featured image is a bronze memorial plaque from the First World War. They were given to the families of servicemen, and women, who were killed in the war. Around 1,355,000 were issued, with 600 being named to women.

We bought it in the shop a couple of years and it has been lying in the back room since then. It’s clearly had a hard life. The hole at the top with wire loop is a modification you regularly see. It’s a defacement, but at least it means that the family displayed it for a while in memory of the life it represents. There’s a nick in the edge, probably where it was dropped, and green specks in several places. Normally that is verdigris, but in this case it’s what I’ve always thought was Windsor Green paint, a traditional shade used on exterior woodwork in old cottages. On looking it up I’m not quite so sure. It may actually be Brunswick Green.

Whatever it’s called, it’s an external paint and suggests the plaque might have spent some time outside or in a shed. It won’t be the first one to have suffered like this.

The final fault is that someone has polished the bronze, so it looks bright and shiny. I’m not sure it’s an improvement. However, it’s 100 years old and it’s seen many aspects of life in that time – from a memorial to a family member, hung on a wall, to a piece of history offered for sale at a car boot sale. One of our customers saw ti and brought it to us.

Meanwhile, what of Mr Dunkerley?

Great War Memorial Plaque –  32265 Private Charles Dunkerley, Manchester Regiment

He is actually traceable because only one  Charles Dunkerley died in the war. The Commonwealth War Graves Commission website has details of 46 Dunkerleys. They came from Australia, Canada and South Africa, though the majority came from the north-west of England. They are buried from the UK to the Far East.

Charles Dunkerley’s military records are still available on-line. He was a clerk, who enlisted in 1915 aged 32. He served in Mesopotamia with the Manchester Regiment, being wounded by shrapnel in the shoulder on 9th January 1917 at Kut al Amara, during the retaking of the city. It had been the scene of a humiliating defeat in 1916 and is not one of those campaigns that attracts much notice. He was treated in hospital in India and was posted to Egypt in December 1918.

He appears to have been employed as a clerk after his wounding, and is listed as Category B 2. Category B meant that he was not fit enough for General Service  but still fit enough to serve overseas on lines of communication. B2 denotes that he was able to walk 5 miles to and from work and see and hear sufficiently for ordinary purposes. To be B1 he would have had to be fit enough to march 5 miles and shoot with glasses. I’m guessing that marching involved full kit where walking was less onerous.

His parents were both dead by the time of his return, and he had one sister. The address he gave on enlistment was the same as her address, which he gave as his address when embarking on his demob leave. The journey home began in Egypt on 4th July 1919 and he went to Prees Heath (a dispersal depot which received men landing at Liverpool).  He was released on 22nd July and made his way to Manchester. He was, according to his sister, in perfect health on 25th July but complained of a pain in the head on Friday 26th. After a few days of illness he began to feel better but on Friday 1st August relapsed into unconsciousness. He was admitted to Nell Lane Military Hospital, where he died at 5.55pm on Saturday 2nd August. Cause of death was due to Acute Infective Meningitis, probably due to parasites from sandfly fever.

The 1911 census shows that he was living with his mother, Alice. I know this is her name as she was still alive in 1915 when he enlisted. His sister Martha Ann (Martha Ann Whittaker as she became on the service record) was 20 and still living at home.

In 1911 Charles was a Railway Engine Fitter’s Labourer/Student. He had obviously moved up in the world by 1915. His father died somewhere between 1891 and 1901 and he also seems to have lost both a brother and a sister between 1891 and 1919.

It’s taken me two years to write this, but there is clearly more to do. That’s the allure of working in the shop, the ability to reconstruct a story, even imperfectly. It’s not a happy story, but I like to think it was worth doing – his sacrifice merits more than just being sold at a car boot sale.

 

 

Pennies, Parsnips and Prime Ministers

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Julia has just returned home bearing parsnips. She managed to find some in Marks & Spencer, which means tonight’s meal can have a proper balance of root vegetables. I cannot believe we are actually short of something I have taken for granted over the last 64 years. It’s very unsettling, next someone will be telling me that the Conservative party is no longer the home of fiscal responsibility and safe hands for the economy . . .

Talking of which, Liz Truss has to last another 78 days to avoid becoming the shortest serving British Prime Minister in history. George Canning currently holds that distinction, but to be fair, he was hindered in his premiership by dying. I’m not sure which way I would bet if called upon to make a wager on her chances of survival, but you have to wonder if it’s worth her ordering her official Christmas cards just yet.

Discussion in the shop today included whether the questions on University Challenge are getting easier. We think they are, because we are generally finding them easier to answer. As none of us are getting younger or brighter this tends to suggest that the question quality is declining.

At the moment, people seem to be wanting to sell things. We bought a great accumulation this morning. It had belonged to the father of the two brothers who brought it in, and had lain dormant for about twenty years. It wasn’t a collection as such, he had just kept all the coins and other similar junk he had come across aver the years. We were surprised to find a half sovereign amongst the clutter of old copper coins. Not very surprised because it’s happened before, but it’s always nice when it happens. However, we were more surprised to find another half dozen spread through the layers of junk. It ended up well into four figures.

Then we had a collection of modern sets, which was reasonable money, though not as interesting, and while that was in progress a lady came in and sold us a few other bits. It was a more modest selection in an old biscuit time, but she still walked out with an extra £50 in her purse.

Just to balance things up we had a couple of good coin sales to replace some of the cash.

 

Apples

My Plans for Senile Delinquency

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We had oily fish with a rich white sauce tonight. I did mention to Julia that this sort of defeated the object of healthy eating, but just shrugged. I sometimes feel she isn’t as keen on healthy eating as I am. That sounds bad, as I’m not exactly a poster boy for the body beautiful. We had broccoli and carrots with it. And oven chips. It just gets worse and worse, doesn’t it? However, we are happy and mainly healthy, so why worry. Worry is a killer.

I’ve been looking at mobility scooters. Yes, this is slightly hypocritical after all I’ve said about them, bu they were advertised on TV yesterday and seem to strike a chord with me. I must be getting old. After checking the manufacturer in the advert I had a look on eBay. They are quite affordable and as they only do 8mph the 35 mile range represents four hours. I don’t know about you, but I’m not keen on the idea of sitting on one for four hours.

When I retire I am going to treat myself to one and use it for pottering about. I may well become a delinquent and start using it on cycle paths and in cycle lanes, even though this is banned. Cycles and electric scooters use footpaths all the time, so what’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.

I’m not quite clear why electric scooters and electric cycles are allowed in cycle lanes but electric wheelchairs and mobility scooters aren’t. I’m also not clear why riders of electric cycles and scooters aren’t made to wear crash helmets. I’m happy to leave it as a free choice for cyclists, but when you start adding power it gets more dangerous. Then there is the question of insurance . . .

I think I may have found something to keep me occupied in my retirement.

First thought – organise a phalanx of mobility scooters to ride along cycle paths at 4 mph and hold cyclists up. Let’s see how they like it!

Everything a cyclist can do, a mobility scooter rider can do slower, and with worse reflexes. There are, however, some things I may not attempt.

Apples in the living room. And a couple of oranges. It was quite sunny yesterday.

Parsnips, Migrants and Social Media Influencers

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So, what did I learn this week?

I learnt that we might be short of parsnips for Christmas. It is due to inclement weather at planting time and through the growing stages. Or, in other words, all year. This is a refreshing change from it being the fault of Covid or the war in Ukraine. I also learnt that glasshouse producers are shutting down production because they can’t afford to heat and light the crops. If I was producing something that needed lots of electricity I like to think that I would have solar power or a windmill by now. Half of me says that if they haven’t already thought of that they deserve to go out of business, so they probably did.  You have to wonder if this has more to do with restricting supply to make the supermarkets pay more. I’m ambivalent on that.

I like cheap food and I like the ability to buy food out of season. I also like being able to eat tomatoes and cucumber with my lunch, as it cuts down on bread and gives me a selection of nutrients. On the other hand, I could eat carrot sticks. Or eat less. Supermarkets do take the mickey when they are buying from farmers and I would like to have a planet left to leave to my kids. If this means cutting down on hothouse crops, going seasonal and paying more for food then it’s a price worth paying.

Vegetables – Carsington Water

I also found out that in the UK we are losing food due to labour shortages. I may get a bit political from here. I voted to stay in the EU. It isn’t perfect, but I think life inside the EU is marginally better than life outside it. Most of this can’t be quantified, but food lost by labour shortages can be.

I’m also intrigued by the fact that we have more job vacancies in the UK than we have unemployed people. I’m sure there will never be a perfect solution but it does strike me that we could improve on the way we are doing things now. The trouble is that if you have vacancies for rocket scientists and are only capable of educating social media influencers there will always be a mismatch. On the other hand, if you need people to work in fields picking fruit and veg, even a social media influencer should have the brain cells for that. They may not have the motivation, but being paid piecework will sort that out.

Also, as a radical solution, if people have the drive to travel half-way round the world and cross the Channel in a rubber boat, they would probably welcome the chance to work. We could even set up an exchange system. We will take refugees and export social media influencers. I know which I’d rather have.  Scripted reality TV shows may find itself a little short of self-publicising airheads but that’s one labour shortage I’d be happy to see. I loved the Gary Oldman quote inn that link, describing reality TV as “the museum of social decay”. Oh yes!

Photo by Lisa Fotios on Pexels.com

The Great Parsnip Plot

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The shopping arrived just before 9.00 tonight. Still no parsnips. I suspect that sinister forces are at work. One week can be an accident, but two weeks is starting to look like a plot. There is also, according to the delivery driver, a national shortage of tinned tomatoes, which is why we ended up having tomatoes with Italian herbs. This is not a problem, I can cope with herby tomatoes. The parsnips, on the other hand are beginning to take up too much of my thinking.

No eggs again this week. We could have free range eggs but no economy eggs. This, I feel, is part of the plot to get rid of poor people. First they add to our tax burden, then they cut off our fuel supplies. Now they ensure that only middle-class foods are available (you never hear of a shortage of quinoa, do you?). In time, like cash and Izal, the famously useless glazed toilet paper, we will cease to exist.

I don’t usually talk about my dreams. This is partly because I forget them easily, and partly because other people’s dreams are usually boring. It’s also because I don’t want to give anyone an opportunity for Freudian imaginings. I assure you that if I, was in the habit of dreaming about parsnips it would be because of the supply situation, and they would definitely be parsnips.

However, I recently had a very strange dream. It featured a doctor telling me that my latest blood test indicated that my left hand lung, liver and kidney were all being starved of nutrients. For the moment let’s ignore the fact I don’t have two livers, I’m not sure how that sneaked in. It seems that the reason for this nutrient deficiency is because I do up my trouser belt too tightly.

I will leave you with that thought, and find some pictures. The header is a reminder of the time we could still obtain root vegetables.

 

Some thoughts on Long Covid

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I made six submissions last month, all apart from one were in the final week of the month. This month I have only two submissions to make, and have made them both already.

This is a welcome return to what I consider normality. Twelve months ago I was able to make the month’s submissions on the days the submission windows opened. Illness intervened and I found myself entering a period where I was mainly editing work that was already written, and I was struggling to complete it and submit for the end of the period. After six months I started writing new poems again, and it is only this month that I have managed to get far enough ahead to submit closer to the beginning of the period.

I could have submitted sooner, but have become lazy in the last year.

The advantage of submitting earlier in the period is that (in my theory, at least) you establish yourself as the favoured candidate, and later submissions have to work harder to push you out.

The advantage of submitting later is that you (probably) have more time to let the piece mature (unless, like me, you are struggling to keep up) and you get answers quicker, as decisions are made within days of submission rather than waiting until the end of the month.

In years to come, the mythical PhD student I always think I’m writing for, will be able to read this post and add it to the list of Long Covid symptoms – difficulty in writing new poetry. I didn’t write anything new for several months after Covid, and even struggled to knock the existing writing into shape. I then spent a long time struggling to write anything new – resulting in missed deadlines and lots of last minute submissions. Finally I managed to find some form and, for the last month, have finally started writing with fluidity again. The plan for next month is that I will submit as much as possible in the first week of the month, using things which I am finalising now.

What a difference a year makes.

Disaster and Disaster and Disaster . . .

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Well, I may be exaggerating a little, but the day started badly and carried on limping from problem to problem.

First, a phone call (this was last night to be honest) about the delivery time of my medication – the specialist one that needs refrigerating. I noted that the delivery time they had texted me was impractical and spent 30 minutes waiting until I could talk to someone on a very dodgy line. He agreed to change the delivery time from 8am – 8pm and make it 5pm – 8pm. However, when I checked my text this morning it said 2pm – 5pm. I don’t get home until 4.30pm. However, I didn’t have another half hour to waste so I decided to just let things happen.

Then, on the way to work, I got a phone call. Julia answered it because we were on the way to drop her off. There was no power at the shop and National Grid were desperately digging the road up to find the fault. So I arranged to go to the boss’s house to work, as he had collected a medal collection the previous night and we needed to go through it. That was two.

Third was the medal collection. It was, without doubt, the biggest anti-climax of my collecting life. I have known the collector for 30 years and, although he has spoken of his collection, I had never seen it, and never seen him buy anything. In a way I always doubted it was as good as he claimed, but couldn’t be sure. It may have been brilliant. Unfortunately, it wasn’t.

Almost everything was damaged, repaired or faulty. He had, as we always say, a good time building the collection, but it isn’t going to be an investment as his prices are are all based on prices for a medal in good condition.. We are going to tell him that we believe it would be better if he put it into an auction and let the market decide the value. To be honest, it saves us the task of criticising his life’s work.

South Africa medal with 1879 bar for the Zulu war. This is one that we bought in the shop – it’s possible for a 150 year old medal to look presentable, as you can see. Very few of today’s selection were as good as this.

The good news is that we were finished by lunchtime, the workmen say we will have electricty tomorrow and I got home in time to meet my delivery.

Then I knocked a four-pack of beans off a shelf and onto the floor. The whole thing fell on the edge of one can, the other three all added their weight, the lid split and bean juice oozed across the floor . . .

I can only wonder what tomorrow will bring.

A Good Soup Day

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Time is slipping by and my good intentions are going with it. They always do. Julia cooked again tonight, or, to be accurate, heated up the soup she made yesterday and made egg mayonnaise sandwiches. We have enough filling to make egg sandwiches tomorrow too.

The soup was carrot and squash (carrots from ASDA, squash from a neighbour). It had quite a lot of chilli in it. It was spicy enough to wake me up, but stayed within the bounds of acceptability. In my younger days I would test myself against chillies, but these days I prefer to enjoy my food rather than compete against it. It’s a little bit annoying when she hardly ever makes soup but just throws a few things together and makes it better than I do.

I will have to cook tomorrow, and am thinking of pizza. Not very adventurous, but we have pizza bases and I have no inspiration. We do have plenty of carrots though, so I may try something new. I don’t see why thin slices of root vegetable won’t work on pizza . . .

I may think about that before I try it. I have ordered our ASDA shopping for Friday and if we get parsnips this week I may try that pizza, though I may just try a vegetable bake instead. I can’t believe that I just said “if we get parsnips”. What sort of world is this? Are we back in 1940. We ran short of onions in 1940, you know,  It seems strange, but even in 1940 we were buying  a lot of food from abroad (as we were in 1914). It takes a war to make people concentrate on food security, then we let it all slip again. Of course, we now have so many people it would be difficult to feed everyone. Even if we could feed everyone it wouldn’t quite work as we couldn’t, for instance, grow rice. It seems we might, however, be able to grow durum wheat in the eastern counties and make our own pasta. (The hagberg number they talk about is a measure of its suitability for baking – the higher the better. It’s  a farmer thing. At harvest they talk of little else other than yield, moisture and hagbergs).

An older humorous postcard for today –  Great War vintage.