Tag Archives: eternal optimism

Every Bursted Bubble has a Glory

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Dalek, The Bath Inn, Sneinton, Nottingham

I know that Sunday is, theoretically, the start of the week, and that Monday morning is not the beginning, but deep down I have never believed this. Traditionally, even when I as a small boy, Sunday often seemed the pinnacle of the week, as if we’d spent all week building up to it, and Sunday night seemed like the edge of a depressing precipice as i teetered on the edge of what seemed like the horror of a headlong descent into Monday morning.

Part of this was caused by going to a village school that was in the grip of a bullying sexual deviant. I can say this, because he eventually ended up in jail for some of his activities, so it isn’t defamatory, or exaggerated. I was once shaken violently and thrown to the floor for making a mistake whilst reciting my tables. I can’t say that it left any lasting scars, but at the time it used to make Sunday night a time of special torment.

So, as I sit here pottering away at the laptop, I am reflecting on the end of another week, and looking forward to the next one. The next one, I always think, will be better. Experience dictates that it will be much the same. That’s the tragedy of life, as I am starting to see it. I don’t mind that I wasted my life, or even that I find myself dwelling on it so much, I just regret that having wasted part of my life I didn’t learn from it and do better in the next part. In the end I just lurched, well, oozed really (lurching is too active a word and indicates some sense of direction) from one disappointment to another.

Ah well, it’s time to add the title, tags and photos and then pack Julia’s sandwiches for tomorrow. Then bed. Time to pack away the past and face the false dawn of future optimism.

They say you are more likely to die on your way to buy a lottery ticket than you are to win the top prize. I do hope this isn’t true, as all I do to buy a ticket is walk from the living room to the dining room, where I tap away at my computer, squander several pounds and then spend several days or hours hoping that I have won, and planning the spending that will follow my win.

You can tell how my life has moved on over the years. I used to want a Ford Mustang, a property overseas and a life of adventure. Now I want a practical electric car, a reclining armchair and a housekeeper. That is a true measure of how I have declined.

However, a corner of my mind still burns with ambition. And that is where I take my title from.

Tardis and Dr Who themed wheelie bin, The Bath Inn, Sneinton, Nottingham

Photos are from Julia. While we were running the Quercus project she worked at the Sneinton Leisure Centre to keep groceries on the table. It is just across the way from The Bath Inn, a handsome old pub. It is now even more handsome, having had a change of landlord who, with a magnificent display of flower baskets, is attempting to make it into The Hanging Gardens of Sneinton. He is called Piers Baker, and the reason for the Doctor Who murals is that he is the son of Tom Baker, one (in my opinion) of the better Doctors.

The Destroyer of Dreams

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It’s Human Nature.

Show me  bag of coins and I think of the hidden gem that might be in there. It rarely is. I’ve offered on four lots of coins this week.  I bought one lot for £3 after they decided to  keep the two best coins. The other lots were worth less and they decided to keep them. I was happy with that, as we do have plenty of junk. We are currently building up towards a third of a ton, the level at which the scrap man will call and collect.

The commonest “rare coin” we find in a bag of coins is a sovereign or half sovereign. They were circulating coins until 1914 when they were withdrawn in favour of paper money. People who had them put them away as gold is something people trust in times of economic trouble. The Treasury designed a £1 note over the  last weekend of peace (1st and 2nd August) sent them to the printers on 4th (the day war was declared) and put it into production using stamp paper, which was the only suitable paper available in bulk. They were issued to the public on 7th August. Quite impressive. Over the years the sovereigns and half sovereigns which were put away were either spent or mixed in with a general accumulation of coins.

I once pulled a sovereign out of a paper bag of coins (worth about £10 in total) and told the lady it was (in those days) worth £300. Delighted? Not a bit of it. She snatched the coin from my hand, shoved it in a pocket and glared at me. It was, I speculated, a probate job and she was intent on defrauding her siblings.

Apart from that we’ve had very few rare coins in lots. Probably one or two a year. The clue is in the word “rare”. Take the man with the New Pence coins last week (he still hasn’t written to say thank you for my time and trouble in replying to his query). If they are worth £1,000 each, did he really think he had found a handful of them? Obviously he did, and his £15,000 daydream became a handful of loose change.

I once had someone say “I thought it was too good to be true.” as I told him this on the phone. He had gone through his kids’ piggybank and found 13 of them  All I could do is agree with him.

And, now, back to the photos on my old camera card, what gems lurk in there. You always think it will be good, don’t you? Human nature, as I said. I used three of the best yesterday. Three more today and that’s it. There are a few duplicates as I tend to take back-up shots and a few of the group but I( don’t think I can use them – old photos are a tricky aspect of our data protection laws.