Tag Archives: motivation

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

A Walk in the Park

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I’ve been dragging myself out of bed recently, rather than springing into action with eagerness. Whether it’s the time of year, a lack of motivation or just a natural tendency to idleness I’m not quite sure. As spring approaches and removes the time of year as a factor things may become clearer.

The late start, when linked to a bit of paper work, some hoovering, lunch and several episodes of Four in a Bed meant that we didn’t get out until the light was beginning to fail. That meant we had go somewhere close for our walk, and the nearest place with ducks is Arnot Hill Park in Arnold.

I’ll leave a description of the park until later, when I can take some better photographs. There wasn’t much light and I didn’t want to waste valuable duck watching time by taking pictures of buildings. Birds move, but buildings tend to still be there when you go back later.

We started off with a light feed of sunflower hearts and attracted a reasonable selection – Mallards, some interesting cross-breeds, Coots, Moorhens, Tufted Duck and a Mandarin drake. I couldn’t get many decent shots because they were moving too fast for the camera.

At that point a man appeared and started feeding handfuls of food a few yards round the pond. We were still able to see the birds so it wasn’t a problem.

Then, with his partner and child, he moved round to the next bay. So did most of the birds.

It was a bit irritating, but we still had things to watch, and didn’t feel any need to attract every bird on the pond.

Sign – Arnot Hill Park, Arnold
Bird feeding as a competitive sport
Sign – Arnot Hill PArk, Arnold

Seemingly the man and family did seem to need to have all the birds to themselves. They worked their way round to a small beach and started shovelling food in by the handful. They also started throwing it on the path and attracting pigeons (something the signs specifically ask you not to do). Oh yes, I can be very attentive to detail when it suits me.

I’d never realised that bird feeding could be a competitive activity.

As things turned out it didn’t matter because we walked round to the other side of the pond and found a pair of Red Crested Pochard and a Grey Heron. The heron stood nice and still in a light area, but most other things weren’t so cooperative.

Grey Heron at Arnot Hill Park
Heron at Arnot Hill Park
Heron at Arnot Hill Park

I’m not as excited by these Red Crested Pochard as I was with the ones we say at Rutland Water last week. I like to think the ones last week had flown in from the Continent. The two today seemed as tame as the Mallards, so I’m pretty sure they are feral birds who must spend their time lurking round local ponds.

 

Beware – introspection in progress!

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I suppose it’s time to admit a few things.

The willow water, for instance, has not proved to be a success. I took two sets of mint cuttings, putting one set in water, and one set in willow water. After around five days the ones in willow water started to look a bit sickly. When I took them out, the bottom couple of inches had been eaten away. I’m going to say that my experiment indicates that standing in willow water doesn’t make mint cuttings sprout roots quicker. The ones in water were much healthier and hadn’t been eaten away at the bottom.

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One on the right is Willow water

It might be too strong, as I’ve just seen someone recommending that it should be diluted to half strength. I’m going to try this when I take cuttings on Monday. This time I’ll use rosemary.

I’ve also managed to kill the kiwi berries and badly scorch the tea bushes; it’s just been too hot in the tunnels and I haven’t been active enough in shading things.

Finally (which isn’t the final confession – just the last one I feel like making at the moment) the accidental permaculture bed is having problems. You may recall that we improved half the bed by layering it with pig manure, wood chippings and used paper towels. The half that was treated has grown a massive crop of fat hen, which is now interfering with the beans. The half that wasn’t treated has grown a sparse crop of fat hen and allowed room for self-sown rocket. The beans? So far the runner beans have been uniformly poor due to a week of cold winds that coincided with them being planted out. We probably put them out too soon, but we wanted a good show for Open Farm Sunday.

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Broad beans and French beans have been good

Actually – more confessions while I’m in the mood – the New Zealand spinach I used to fill gaps all died in the cold wind and the four-year-old runner bean plant is looking sickly, as are the year one  plants (see above comments on cold winds).

My experiment design skills are clearly leaving something to be desired.

However, it’s easy to be negative. And it’s easy to take the wrong attitude about failure.

I don’t want to get into pseudo-science here but I know people who are frightened of failure. To me it’s either of no consequence or it’s a step on the way to something else.

As Edison said:

“I have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work.”

He has so many quotes on persistence listed that I don’t know how he found time to invent things.

I have failed many times. The failures listed above don’t even begin to cover the mistakes I’ve made. Occasionally I have a night where I can’t sleep and all my failures come back to haunt me, many in painfully sharp detail. A few dead plants don’t even make it into my top thousand failures.

I learned a long time ago that it’s better to think about the future than the past. I’m going to plant beans later next year. I’m going to move the kiwi berries outside. I’m going to design a new willow water experiment.

Not only that, but I’m going to plant wild garlic this autumn, get some peach trees and train standard gooseberries.

I’m going to spread my wings and do a thousand things, including misquoting lyrics from musicals.

And I’m going to concentrate on remembering the things that went well. Like the good beans, or visitors who think we’re doing a good job.

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Smiling visitors mean we’re doing something right