Monthly Archives: August 2024

Writing and Rewriting

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My first activity of the day, if you exclude getting both legs in my trousers and eating breakfast, which are both serious pursuits for a newly retired man, was to call up my folder of moribund haibun. These are the ones that I like, but which seem to lack the final touch. Or the ones that have been rejected several times, but which I still have faith in. Or, to be blunt – the ones that are one press of the button away from the file marked “Storage”, but which could equally be called “Elephant’s Graveyard”. I have dropped a few in there recently and am looking for more.

The one in question was, according to my cunning filing system, started in 2022. The 24th October, to be precise – I can say that with confidence because I just remembered how to find that information – perhaps I am at last becoming computer literate. It has been submitted three times, rejected three times, and left alone for quite a while, as, to be fair to the rejecting editors, it wasn’t very interesting. It is one of those poems that, once the initial attraction wore off, became dull and stale.

Winter trees at Little Gidding

Well, the good news is that I have cut the word count by 25% and replaced or reordered a substantial number of the remaining 75%. I’m actually quite keen to send it out again, and I think I know who it’s going to. He has always rejected my haibun, so it will be a good test.

This poem recycling is going quite well. Earlier in the week, whilst clearing out, I found a few line which had petered out, and realised that some of them would fit in with another poem that was parked in poetic purgatory. That one traces its origins back to  a poem I managed to lose on my last computer. so I don’t know the full history. I know that I mentioned Fotheringhay in 2017, and again in 2021. From the second post I know that I must have started the poem in April or May 2012. It’s been out four times and has not yet been accepted.

Edit: That should read “I must have started the poem in April or May 2021.” 

Once again rewritten, and with a couple of lines dropped in from a poem that never really got going, it’s looking a lot better. It probably needs looking at again, but I am confident it still has some life in it.

Remains of Fotheringhay castle

Learning New Things

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Peacock on the roof

Here is an interesting story. One day I may do something with the knowledge, but I more than likely won’t. I as browsing a list of British Castles, noticed that Lowdham had one, and followed a few links. The story is nothing to do with castles and shows how my huge depth of trivia has accumulated – random chance and devotion to pointless procrastination have been both a gift and a curse to me.

Really, I suppose, I could use each of those links to write an informative blog post. However, that would be too organised and too close to professionalism for my liking. If I followed up on every urge like that I might have an interesting, and even commercial, body of work. But I don’t. I blunder on and end every day wondering where my life went.

Red Arrows practicing over the Ecocentre

Peterborough Castle (until today I didn’t even know it had one, despite living there for years) was built by Abbot Thorold, a Norman appointee, to protect himself from the monks of the cathedral. To be fair to the monks, the abbot was at one time captured and ransomed by Hereward the Wake, and the abbey was also burned by the Danes, so it wasn’t just the monks he needed it for.

I was surprised that the attack was as late as it was (1070) as I had always thought it was a looting Viking horde rather than a group of mercenaries working with Hereward. It seems I have confused two events. Ivar the Boneless and the Great Heathen Army probably attacked it in 870, though the historical record is patchy. The Danes Hereward’s army then attacked it in 1070. In 1071, on the orders of William I, the castle was started. This, sadly, seems to be a more accurate version than the one about the abbot protecting himself from the monks.

Ivar the Boneless, comes from a time when people had much more interesting names. two of his brothers were Björn Ironside and  Sigurd Snake-in-the-Eye. However, if I follow their links I will end up in trouble, as Julia just returned from work and needs a cup of tea.

Photos are from August 2016, when life was more interesting and less predictable.

Oilfield Memorial – Duke’s Wood

Things I Never Write About

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I had thought of writing a post about the things we leave out of our blogs, but then I thought that if I did that I would have to put things into my blog which I normally leave out. And since I leave therm out in the first place, why would I want to tell people what they are?

So, apart from saying my blog posts are a sanitised version of my life and thoughts I will leave it there.

One thing I don’t mind sharing is the minutiae of my trip to drop Julia at work this morning. I usually leave these details out because they are dull. even I think they are dull, and if I can’t be bothered to write about them, why would I think you want to read them.

Carving at Sheepwash Car Park – Carsington

We got held up on a busy stretch of the journey when a low loader had to turn off to go to a council depot. It needed to swing one way in order to give itself the proper arc for turning the other way. this stopped three lanes of traffic fro a while, as council workmen in high-vis jackets had to clear cars out of the road it was turning into. As I said to Julia, the item which was being transported small enough to have gone on a much smaller vehicle. They had either started off with something bigger on the back, or were going to pick up something large on the way back. The third choice, that the haulage company is staffed by wasteful idiots is, of course, absurd.

On the way back I saw a couple of around retirement age on bicycles, wearing matching pink hi-vis tops. I saw them last week and didn’t mention them, but seeing them twice in two weeks makes them slightly more interesting.

I did think about incorporating them into a poem and drawing a parallel between them in pink and fox hunters in red jackets (which they call pink). Fox hunters aren’t particularly accurate. Apart from the colour of their coats, they think, for instance, that chasing a fox with a pack of dogs is “sport”, which it clearly isn’t. Allow the hunt saboteurs to plant random land mines and arm the foxes, and I might just agree there is an element of sport in it, but dogs and mounted members of the upper classes against one small animal – where’s the sport in that?

When hunting with dogs was banned, I was ambivalent about it. I don’t (in case you were in any doubt) like hunting, but I don’t like banning things either, or messing with tradition.

Anyway, you now know why  leave stuff out.

I only have two pictures of carved foxes so I threw in an owl too.

Owl carving – Sherwood Forest

 

 

A Day Out

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Cormorant at Budby Flash

As days go, it was much the same as many other days. We did the same thing we had done one Wednesday a month ago, and in a similar drifting fashion, We really should, as we also said last time, plan our Wednesdays better.

The only thing of note was that Julia was woken by a phone call. One of her clients is in trouble with the  police. It woke me too, but I managed to fall asleep before the end of the conversation.

We went to the gardens to check on something Julia thought she might have forgotten to do on Tuesday, but she hadn’t. My life gets more and more like Alice in Wonderland. In this case, however, the label on the bottle would say “Drive Me“.

Cormorants

We also filled up with fuel, had a drive in the country (birch leaves are looking yellow in places and most fields seem to have been harvested) and had tea and cake. I continue to have poetic urges and was also able to give Julia a brief taster of my miniature medal presentation.  I have the framework and now I need to finish the slides and photography before making the final notes and setting up the display stands. I should have time, but I know from experience that it just melts away.

Julia said the presentation was boring, but added that it wasn’t my presentation that was at fault, merely the subject. It is, I believe, good to have honesty in marriage, but not too much.

I am going to use Cormorants in the photos today, to balance up the swans from yesterday.

Cormorants at Clumber

Sixteen Swimming Swans

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Mute Swan – Rufford Abbey

This morning I thought of several poems whilst I was on the way back from dropping Julia off. This is the same time frame where I used to have all my best ideas. My brain is awake but the task of driving on a fairly clear road is not too demanding. At that point thoughts come into my head. I actually had my first idea before we left home, had a second as I dropped her off and had several more on the way home. No pad, no voice recorder, just me repeating things to myself.

When I reached home I noted the ideas down and wrote the prose sections for five haibun. That’s more than I did in the last months – the ones I’ve submitted have all been written for ages and I have merely worked my way through them without originating anything. They have had a few tweaks, and have needed a haiku or a tanka here and there, but generally all my recent acceptances have been written for months. That, of course, is how it is supposed to be. People who know these things advise leaving work to mature.

Mute Swan at Clumber Park

I just looked back and realise that I have had three months this year when I have submitted nothing and that everything I have had accepted since March has been, and been rejected, at least once.

Since this morning I have had two more ideas, though I have not settled to write them yet. Even poets have to wash up and drink tea. One of the ideas is actually about drinking tea.

Swan at National Arboretum

If you’ve ever followed my creative process you will have noticed that things change and I’m more of an artisan than an artist. I don’t really have a creative process, despite what I just wrote. In three months it’s quite likely that the reflections on drinking tea will have become a poem about eating sandwiches. That’s how it goes. That’s how my poem about two swans flying by became a poem about sixteen swans swimming, and was eventually accepted and published as a poem about a cormorant.

If a poet’s studio is a serene place of beauty where words flow and great thoughts are written in flowing calligraphy, mine is more like a backstreet workshop where power tools scream and where things are bolted together roughly and beaten into shape with hammers.

Eventually I will rewrite the one about the two swans flying by.  I liiked it and it contained an idea that didn’t work with cormorants.

Guess what the theme of today’s photos is . . .

 

My Reader Disappears

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Yes, I know the title makes it sound like I only have one person who reads the blog, but there are more than that. I’m sure I have at least six regular readers plus another six irregular readers, and several thousand who once pushed a button to follow the blog, before fading away and never coming back. I’m actually talking about the tb that says “Reader”.

When I have run things, I have always thought that communication was important. I admit I’ve never run any big important things, so it may be that as you increase in size and importance you don’t need to bother with things like this. When I’ve been in charge it has always been something small and manageable so it has been easy to walk round and talk to people. If you are a massive entity like WordPress, you can’t do this, but you could email everyone. They seem to know how an email system works, as they always manage to send my invoices.

However, change the system in a major way, and all they send is silence. Take the most recent one – the loss of the tab that says “Reader”. I use it quite a lot and find it very useful. After a bit of prodding and pushing buttons I still couldn’t find it, so used the Help facility. I try to avoid this as it’s often more annoying and mystifying than the problem I’m trying to answer.

After a few attempts I found that I had to follow a link and press a button. I did this. Nothing. I did it again. Nothing. So I did it again more carefully. Nothing.

Then I realised that the two circles which ahd appeared on the top bar, were probably meant to be spectacles. And you use spectacles for reading, so I clicked on that. What had been a useless pair of circles when I had originally tried it, now had a link attached to it and the reader function was restored.

Would it not have been easier to have sent everyone a message to warn them.? It would have taken somebody at HQ 20 minutes. Instead of that it took me 20 minutes, and I assume it took a lot of other people similar amounts of time. If a thousand people ll wasted 10 minutes reconfiguring that button (because most would be quicker than me) that is 10,000 customer minutes wasted. Or 166.66666666666666  hours, according to my calculator. I have left all the 6s because it amuses me to see 666 linked so comprehensively to the management of WP.

I confess I am easily amused.

Correct, the pictures symbolise my detective efforts to trace the missing reader.

Plums and Problems

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Thinking of it, I shouldn’t have been surprised it was a poor day today. Yesterday my new batteries arrived. When I had ordered them – eight AAA batteries and a charger Amazon had suggested that I might like to try the latest model instead, so I did. The batteries seemed better and it was only a few pounds more.

The only problem was that they were AA batteries. I am annoyed at myself for not reading the details more carefully, and even more annoyed with Amazon for suggesting I order the wrong thing when I was well on my way to ordering the right thing before they interfered. They will have to go back, and because I don’t intend giving them another £15 while I wait for the £19 refund, I had to get a card of normal, non-rechargeable batteries. All my good intentions have gone for nothing, but at least I have my illuminated magnifying glass back. I had missed it.

Then I found I can no longer access my “Reader” from the bar at the top of my WP site. I have tried asking for help but it was not a lot of use. I can, at the moment, access the reader by using a link. However, I can’t seem to add a link permanently As I am trying to be a nicer person I will add no more..

We picked plums this afternoon. Well, Julia picked plums. I confined myself to a supervisory role. Some have already gone over, and the remaining ones are a poor selection – there has been too much rain this year and the fruit is watery and tasteless. We have had to leave some on as the picking tool has gone missing since last summer (I suspect it has been put away somewhere safe), we are not safe on stepladders these days, and I have let the pruning get out of control. However, that will be a problem for the new owner if all goes according to plan.

I’m now going to eat another plum and cogitate on writing poetry about eating fruit from the garden.

Reflected Plums – Victoria

Setting the Bar Low

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Olympic Breakfast

 

I have just written a post and deleted it. It has, so far, been that sort of morning. Julia is unhappy with my many failures as a husband, the weather is miserable and I can’t get a grip on writing a short post. What more can go wrong?

At the moment that is a genuine question, rather than a rhetorical one. Give it an hour or so and I’m sure I will have some answers for you.

Some subjects just seem to keep coming round in domestic arguments. I am, I admit, completely unable to read Julia’s mind. I’ve never been able to do it, and have never been able to learn how to do it. If she is, for instance, lying in bed and showing every appearance of being happy and relaxed on a Sunday morning, does this mean she is happy and relaxed and intending to have a lie in. I thought so. However, it seems she was merely waiting, like a coiled spring, to leap into action and devour the substantial cooked breakfast that I had no clue I was supposed to prepare.

I don’t mind cooking breakfast, but I only tend to do it when I know we are ready to eat. It seems a waste of effort to make a breakfast that will then cool and congeal as the intended consumer snores gently upstairs.

Even if I had cooked it, I would have been wrong. I’m thinking of doing something meat free. It’s healthier, better for our weight and, more important, it cuts out some of that carcinogenic cured meat we keep hearing about (or bacon as we used to call it). We all know that in a perfect world I would consume huge fried breakfasts, but as I approach my three score years and ten with a variety of ailments and a large amount of extra weight, compromises must be made. One is that we can’t eat bacon all the time. It’s better for us, and it’s better for the pigs.

Breakfast at Harvester

3,419

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Visit of the Russian Naval Squadron to Toulon (1893)

It’s not a significant number by any means, but it does mean I’ve written 3,418 previous blog posts. Mostly they have been inconsequential, but that’s not what is important. What is important is that it has enabled me to practice my writing, and I have been able to chat to some interesting people along the way. Nothing in life is ever wasted. The ability to rattle out 250-350 words on nothing of any importance, for instance, would be vital if I were a journalist, and is also quite useful for a man who write haibun.

I’ve just done another post for the Numismatic Society of Nottinghamshire, and am just getting into my rhythm. At the moment I am actually able to write more than we need for my contribution to the Facebook page. The President write something nearly every week, on classic numismatic items – mainly ancient coins, and I do something nearly every week on the less serious side – plastic transport tokens being one of the more recent ones.

Centenary of the railways in Britain (1830 – 1930)

having had another reasonably industrious day, I am feeling better about things, even if I have had to write an entirely new outline for the Miniature Medal talk. The ideal talk, to my mind, avoids assuming that everyone is as fascinated by the subject as I am, it does not batter people with facts, and it falls short of being an hour long. Forty minutes is plenty. You can then have questions, a chat and all get home still feeling like you have the use of your legs.

The chairs in the meeting room are hard plastic and an hour is usually long enough for me to start feeling numb, at which point I find my legs feel old for the rest of the evening. You want to atlk for an hour – you provide me with a chair that has a cushion.

Miniature Medals – the subject of my next talk

Introspection, by a Blockhead

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Bumble bee on bramble flowers – Sherwood Forest

Toast and marmalade, tea, emails, WP comments, find my glasses. This latter task would be easier if I had a pair of glasses to help me see. As it is, I have to stagger through a nightmare world where I rely on memory to find the right keys, as the letters tend to simmer and shift when I am trying to type without glasses. Old age, whilst a matter of amusement to the young (I remember, with pain, the things I used to say to my parents, the amusement I gained from each senior moment.)  Those turned into Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s and, eventually, not only claimed my parents but showed me a glance of the world that is going to be my future.

At times like this, I think it is an advantage to be shallow, as there would be little to gain from an in-depth analysis of my past conduct and future health. You are born, you fritter away your life, and you die. My main regret, in  a life that featured too much frittering, is that I wasted so much time going through the motions and building a lacklustre facsimile of a career. I should have pursued my original writing ambitions and at least been a better poet, even if the rest evaded me. If you are going to fritter, you should, I think, fritter big time. There is no point in being half-hearted.

Flowers – detail

What is blogging, if it isn’t frittering? No man, said Doctor Johnson, but a blockhead ever wrote except for money, and blogging is a good example of writing without money. We sit, we write, some of us, I’m told, plan their blog posts in advance, and, after all this work, the money is made by WP, a soulless entity with an infinite capacity for capturing writers in its web and charging them for the provision of “new and improved” services. In the last seven or eight years I have seen many new services, but the “improvement” is, as far I can see, is on a level with a Unicorn or a water horse.

This is the first tick on my Friday list. Now I’m off to do the washing up. It’s going to be a long, slow day.

Wild flowers