Monthly Archives: July 2024

Childhood Reading and Other Stories

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A brief surge of activity and some hasty rewriting sees me with nine poems to send off. They were almost ready, they just needed editing and the haiku/tanka adding. That takes me as long, or longer, than writing and editing the prose sections. Haiku, as I have said before, are slippery and elusive. Tanka are easier as they have more words and fewer rules. Here’s another link – to Haibun this time.

In the last post I forgot to mention two things. One was the yell of raucous laughter that escaped me when a serious, rotund and shiny youth (a trainee lawyer) spoke about a class action he was initiating against landlords. Julia thought I was in pain, but I was merely laughing at his description of allowing landlords to do certain things in relation to insuring flats. He described the situation as like putting Dracula in charge of a blood bank. Vivid and amusing in itself, but doubly so when uttered by a well-fed, junior lawyer who clearly lacks self-awareness and does not realise how the general public views lawyers and their bills.

As Burns said:

O wad some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us!

I’ll leave you to translate that for yourselves.

You may also like to look up this man, who was also a Scottish poet and is probably the second best writer to come from Langholm. This man is, of course, the best.

I said “two things” a few lines back, but I’ve forgotten the second one. This sort of thing happens all the time.

Ah! The books. I found them when I was clearing out. They are surplus to my requirements. I won’t read them again, they aren’t in collectable condition and, although they are part of the foundations of my reading, I am not particularly fond of them. I also found a number of Biggles books and a set of the Chronicles of Narnia. Those, I will keep.

Can You See the Chip on my Shoulder?

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Photo by Janko Ferlic on Pexels.com

What I notice, as a man with no degree, is that lots of poets seem to have Master’s degrees. When I see that, I feel a little under-qualified to be a poet, and once looked at enrolling on a distance learning MA in Creative Writing. On paper it looked like I had a chance because I have a Postgraduate Diploma in Management Studies (despite the aforementioned lack of degree) and was writing publishable poetry.

However, when the rejection arrived it was quite clear from the condescending tone, and attached list of former students, that it was really a course for people who were already published and/or writing professionally. That is why the ambition to do a course has simmered for years without coming to anything. Rejection, I can take, but when I get one couched in sneeringly condescending tones, I take exception. I’ve had several over the years, and they always bring out the hidden Bolshevik I keep hidden in my soul. I really should be grateful, I suppose, because that memory is a powerful motivational tool.

Anyway, I will now return from the distant past and talk about Sunday. Having noted in the biographical notes of a magazine, that one of the poets had an MA in Creative Writing from the Open University, I thought I’d have another look. The Open University is, after all, the University set up to help people earn degrees despite a lack of formal qualifications. Or not.  It seems that you “must” have an honours degree, preferably a 2:1. Many masters degrees are flexible, but the OU Creative Writing MA seems to lack any element of this.

Ah well, I don’t need one anyway, as I’m still getting published. Having said that, I’d better get a move on as I only got until, Wednesday to send my submissions for this month. It’s being going slowly, and I’ve been working on things for the Numismatic Society of Nottinghamshire and the September presentation. I’ve also been honing my snoozing skills and using the cricket as a rehearsal for watching the Olympics, if you want the whole truth.

Books, and more books

Thoughts on Imperfection and Unreasonable Expectations

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George V – Clitheroe

I could have sworn I wrote a post yesterday. To be fair, I can’t recall a subject, so I may just have thought about writing a post. It was going to be brilliant, as the unwritten ones so often are.

The prose was going to flow like the sweet icy water that runs over stones in an upland stream. The wit was going to illuminate like shafts of late spring sunshine and the general effect was going to be both exhilarating and soothing at the same time. Unfortunately you will have to take my word for it, as I forgot to write it.

My poetry is much the same. Rich billows of vocabulary, always in perfect order, roll across the surface of my mind. But by the time they reach the paper, assuming I don’t forget them on the way towards my pen, they stutter and demand a rewrite as they hit the paper, much like the scratchy and imperfect nib of my malfunctioning fountain pen.

Squirrel in a bin – Clitheroe Castle

Life can be unkind, though at least, as you can see from the title of the post, my ability to write pretentious Victorian titles remains undimmed.

Perhaps I should work on that, developing a body of work in the style of Arthur Enfield Clitherow, railway clerk with the Lancashire & Yorkshire Railway (specifically the Ribble Valley Line) who dreams of life on the canals, or sometimes even dares to speculate about life as a ticket inspector on the Canadian Pacific Railway. I feel a sonnet coming on about the trials and tribulations of a man with an inefficient heating system in his lonely ticket office. Oh yes, a whole new world awaits . . .

Clitheroe from the castle

Carrot & Ginger Soup

Carrot Recipes and Procrastination

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Vegetables – Carsington Water

I’ve just been looking up recipes for carrots as we have plenty (partly because of my faltering good intentions regarding soup) and because they are good for us. We have Pasties for tea because Julia spotted some on special offer and bought them. She does that. She also bought meatballs. We already had sausagemeat for me to make meatballs, so that had to go in the freezer. I don’t mind her buying stuff, but I do wish she would (a) cook it herself instead of expecting me to make something of her varied choices and (b) think about the food we already have in before she adds random ingredients. None of this applies to burgers. If she wants to bring burgers home, I’m all for it.

Carrot recipes on the internet fall into four main categories – carrot cake, orange soup, added to potatoes for rosti/fritters, and roasted. There is a subcategory of roasted – roasted with exotic names and ingredients. So tonight we are having roasted carrots with parsnips and asparagus. And you are correct, I didn’t need a recipe for that. I just wasted 20 minutes looking at useless recipes before deciding on what was already in my head.

Tonight we will be having Ginster’s Cornish Pasties on Special Offer with carrots and parsnips (oven roasted in a pretentious manner – or manière prétentieuse as we top chefs call it), seared asparagus spears (which means you can scorch them a bit without anyone complaining), and sauce brun. I like brown sauce on my pasties. I like brown sauce on nearly everything. The fact that brown sauce improves most of my cooking is, I fear, a comment on the quality of my cooking, rather than a compliment to the culinary qualities of brown sauce.

Pie, gravy and roasted veg

 

Thinking of Dappled Spots of Light

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Calm scene . . .

That was quicker than I expected. I had a double appointment between 10.30 and 10.50. Because I didn’t need it all, even with a blood pressure check, and a stop at the pharmacy, I was actually back home by 10.53. The lump on my arm is benign, though he is going to get a second opinion. The urology problem is, as I pointed out, almost self-healed after waiting two weeks for the appointment. I should be followed up soon and may as well see a urology specialist if there is still a problem, rather than talk to a GP who doesn’t really know much about it.

My blood pressure, even after two attempts, remained resolutely normal, which made us both happy. Normally it’s high, but then I am normally annoyed about something. Today I was happy, and I imagined the dappled sunlight coming through leaves that marks a woodland glade in late spring. Then I imagined a fawn picking it’s way through the spots of light as they danced along its back, merging with the spots of white that are already there.

Of course, I’m not that good on deer and I’m not sure if they have fawns in late spring, and what species has white spots.

I just checked. It’s a good picture – right time of year and we have species round here that have young with white spots. I’m glad about that, as it’s my “go to” picture for calm things and I wouldn’t want to become concerned about any inaccuracies.

So, for my second post of the morning, I am calm, and my blood pressure is normal.

Burntstump Country Park, Notts

Morning Musings

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I’m off to the doctor in a few minutes. I booked the appointment two weeks ago using their new appointments on-line form. It’s just a way of them making you wait two weeks, but the receptionist doesn’t get complained at as much. One of the things I want to see them about was a problem two weeks ago when I requested and urgent telephone appointment, but they schedules it as a non-urgent face to face appointment and I couldn’t be bothered to follow it up. I just looked on the internet and did a spot of self-treatment.

It’s amazing that doctoring is so easy. Ten minutes on the internet allied to fifty years of fixing things with binder twine and gaffer tape, and you don’t need a doctor. It would be handy to have access to all the drugs, but, from what I’ve read on American survivalist websites, you can get all the drugs you need by visiting the average American pet shop.

The second thing might be a bit trickier, and may require surgery. Again, nothing I couldn’t do myself, apart from the fact that it’s awkwardly situated and I’m not sure I am up to wielding a Stanley Knife one handed whilst looking in a mirror. The stitching would be tricky too. However, this is probably just a sign I am too easily put off. This man wouldn’t have been put off, though like me, he did find the mirror tricky.

Well, time to go now. Let’s see what happens.

And yes, following from what I said above, I’m sure that there are plenty of people in graveyards who relied on the internet and a knowledge of bodging to get them through.

The picyure? We are currently harvesting blackberries.

Books, Books, Books . . .

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I was talking to a friend last night (checking if he wanted some old reference books I am moving on) when he said “I expect you’ll be finding books you bought twice as you go through tidying.”

“Ho, ho.” I thought. “I’m not that stupid.”

It seems I am. In fact more than one once. I brought a pile of books downstairs this morning, went through them and thought it was odd that I had a copy of Ruth Padel’s 52 Ways of looking at a Poem in the pile when I was sure i’d . . .

. . . and yes, there was a second copy in the bookshelf next to me, within arm’s reach. I’d looked at it within the last month, which was why I remembered seeing it.

Meanwhile, a few days ago I found a book case i didn’t know I had. Under the wall-mounted shelves that fill the top half of an alcove in the living room, hidden by the TV table and a cabinet of CDs, I noticed a bookshelf last week as i moved things round. It has books on it. So far I haven’t looked at them, or moved any furniture to get to them, as I have enough trouble with the books I already have available.

I’m pretty sure this is a sign that the hoarding is getting out of hand.

Somehow, I’m going to have to work the term tsundoku into this post. It’s a word that I have used before but, due to old age and an excess of books, had forgotten.

Meanwhile, looking for links, I find that I don’t just duplicate books, I duplicate the titles of posts.

The alarming thing, apart from the memory issues, is that I still have a lot of books that are used in the photos, and am still, years later, debating whether I should give them away . . .

Books, books and more books . . .

The Day Drags to a Close

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Gatekeeper

Another day and another set of excuses. After reading more of the Terry Pratchett biography I thought of writing an autobiography, but it soon passed. I’m having enough trouble keeping up with a blog and a bit of poetry. Add a talk for the Numismatic Society and a historical whodunit and I definitely don’t have the time or the energy. And, as a final point, I’m not famous, successful, on reality TV. or the possessor of either an abusive or criminal past. so I really have little to offer in the way of subject matter.

Mint Moth

That, of course, is the lesson to be learned from Terry Pratchett – he never seemed to stop writing once he went full time. So far today, I have written what the counter on this blog tells me is 133 words. I’ve also replied to a few comments and done another 150 words that I deleted. And written a haiku to finish off a haibun I want to submit in a  couple of days. That’s it. It’s not an impressive work rate.

I don’t even know why I’m not happy. My time is my own, I have plenty to do, and I am being paid to stay away from work. This should be the best time in my life. I do know it won’t get much better. Julia just told them at work that she will be leaving at the end of September. Once October arrives I am likely to find myself living in a less relaxed way, and having a lot more little jobs to do.  I’d better start appreciating how lucky I am.

Comma

Photos are from July 2015. It all seems so long ago, and there seemed to be more butterflies.

Carrot & Ginger Soup

The Twilight Zone

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I had a very bad night last night, due to several factors. Heat, too many thoughts and pain all contributed. As a result, I hovered. Part awake, part asleep, part wondering whether it was all worth it. And, of course, part wondering whether I would get anything done. My inactivity this summer has been stupendous. Comparing what I need to do with what I have actually done I don’t ever remember such a mismatch.

Fortunately, as I said to Julia, we have quite a lot of leeway and though we will move inefficiently it will be inconvenient rather than a disaster. She didn’t seem particularly pleased at the news. In fact she was quite snippy with me. She felt, it seems, that I could have left this news a few hours longer and told her after her alarm had gone off.

As a result of my night spent hovering between sleep and wakefulness, I spent a lot of my day hovering in much the same condition and achieved very little.This is made worse by the fact I am currently reading a biography of Terry Pratchett, who seems to have packed quite a lot into his life. However I do take comfort from one thing _ I am disorganised, but I have never lost, as he did, a royalty cheque for quarter of a million pounds. I can’t imagine that I will ever get a royalty cheque, but if I do, I know it won’t be for that amount of money. Fortunately it will all be done by bank transfer these days – a piece of modern life that I can appreciate.

Tomorrow I hope to be more with it, as I have carrot and ginger soup to make, amongst other things. The catering has gone slightly awry over the last few days and I need to make an urgent cauliflower cheese. Alternatively I can make cauliflower soup, but carrots and ginger with cheese sauce, which will be the companion dish, don’t sound altogether edible.

Cauliflower Steak with vegetables and Nut Cutlets

 

A Rant About Groceries

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It’s just after midnight. The typing chair is a bit harder than I would like and is becoming uncomfortable, as my recent urological problems are still playing up. They aren’t really recent, it must be five weeks now – I will have to look it up. I will be discussing these problems on Thursday when my appointment at the GP finally comes round.

But first, I will look for a cushion. Self-help is always my first choice.

I can’t do much self help with the other problem, the lump on my arm. It is probably nothing, but it needs looking at. I lost a friend about 15 years ago. It started off as a small discolouration of the leg and over the course of three years, despite medical attention, it killed him. His wife, who coincidentally had a similar problem, but more advanced, had a more successful intervention and is still alive today. The moral of this is that you never know what is around the corner. I’ve had a couple of biopsies, several chest X-Rays (which are always a knee jerk over-reaction so don’t really count) and some cream to burn off some skin problems. What I haven’t had, so far, is cancer.I’m hoping that the current problem won’t be cancerous, and am hoping they can dig it out under local anaesthetic at the surgery. If it was on the front of my arm I would probably have a go at it myself, but it’s round the back and I can’t see it.

Meanwhile, more annoyingly, I switched from TESCO to ASDA for groceries this week. I have been getting annoyed with TESCO for never having parsnips so I tried ASDA. They are significantly cheaper with both food and delivery costs. Unfortunately they sent me a message this afternoon to say that they were substituting four items and that three were out of stock.

They swapped the lettuce, sent strawberries instead of raspberries, blueberries instead of figs and a full size cucumber instead of the small picnic size ones I ordered for Julia’s lunchbox.  Lettuce I can understand and the swap, and the same goes for the berries. They are all reasonable substitutions. Blue berries for figs, when we already have blueberries in the order? No way are they similar. Same for the cucumbers. I have half a full size one left, I specifically wanted the small ones.

Then there were the peppers – they couldn’t supply them. That is incomprehensible – TESCO has them in so many ways, surely ASDA could have found  a few, or a bag of mixed, or some green ones . . .

And finally – no flowers – which totally spoiled my great romantic gesture.

Then, to add insult to injury, they split the milk container and we found, after the driver had gone, that several cans were damaged. After paying them to deliver groceries we will still have to go out to buy milk.

This is very annoying.

I thought I’d reuse the Bath Inn and Doctor Who photos from Julia last week.