Tag Archives: Orwell

Which Book’s World Would Be The Absolute Worst To Live In?

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That’s today’s writing prompt. I’m not sure if they have used the word “absolute” because they mean it, or just because they like using lots of words.

Green Woodpecker feeding on ants

The obvious answer is that I don’t know. I haven’t immersed myself in many worlds. Two favourites with other people are 1984 and The Hunger Games.  Yes, 1984 is depressing, but is it any worse than the worlds of Down and Out in Paris and London or The Road to Wigan Pier or Burmese Days. Orwell didn’t particularly like any of those worlds. Nor did the millions of real people trapped in them.

As for the Hunger Games, I’ve only seen one film so I’m not qualified to comment. I’ve seen even less of Game of Thrones, which also cropped up, but I tend to agree, from what I’ve heard of it, that the weather and sudden death don’t make it an ideal holiday destination.

Nobody seems to have mentioned Brave New World or Moby Dick. The former seems every bit as bad as 1984, possibly worse when you think your place in society is ordained from birth. And Moby Dick is set on a ship which, no doubt, has poor sanitary provision and heating and there are constant interjections about the natural history of whales. Cold, smelly, uncomfortable, wet and alternating between dull and terrifying.

Gingerbread Men

The world of Jane Austen, or the Bronte sisters wouldn’t be much better. It may have given us classic literature but Jane Austen would have lived to write more if she’d had better medical care and the Brontes, from all I read, would have done better if they had proper supply of clean drinking water.

That would probably be my answer – the worst world to live in would probably be any world that existed before 1945. Having said that, a world without nuclear weapons would probably be good too. – decisions, decisions . . .

 

Poppies made from plastic bottles

Plans and Plausibility

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Boiling the ingredients

Well, I did make he cauliflower soup I was planning, and it went well. The situation at the moment is that I can get a cauliflower for £1.20 or a large cauliflower for £2. You get more than twice as much cauli if you order the big one so it’s much better value, as long as you don’t mind cauli for three meals.

I have not yet got round to the pickled eggs because I can’t face the thought of peeling all the eggs. I need 12, so I will add at least three more to allow for breakages (and possibly a few more so we can have sandwiches) and it becomes a mountain of eggs to peel.

But I did settle down to do the writing plan. So far I have 93 things listed, and probably still have another 20 to do. It includes some new forms I have tried before, and makes a regular feature of magazines I have only tried a few times. Allowing for sloth and disorganisation and rejection, I can probably manage to keep up the numbers, and if I keep up the quality I can probably get the same results as this year despite the loss of a couple of magazines. At that point I ask myself why I didn’t try harder last year.

When I remember why, I despair about my memory. I was ill at the beginning of the year, and Julia was injured. Strange how easily I forget. The key is obviously to stay healthy. I was going to try that anyway, as five days in hospital is not the sort of experience I want to repeat. It’s a Burns sort of moment here – “The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men / Gang aft a-gley, / An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain, / For promised joy”

Before the addition of Stilton cheese

That sums up the pain of planning – things often go wrong. However, what is certain is that if you don’t plan you will end up with nothing but a pile of regrets. I’ve done that often enough. I wonder what I will be saying at this time next year.

Other than that I spent much of the day watching TV as I couldn’t find the enthusiasm to work while Julia was out wood turning, I then sorted out various medical things, including appointments (my blood clotting is now back on course and I am back to monthly testing) and insurance. I had been putting off the insurance. I was, as I feared, trapped in a labyrinth of customer service bots and had to give my information four times before they connected me to a human. Even then, it didn’t go well, though it is at least sorted. and I don’t need to worry about it.

Brooches from WW1 – cost 1 shilling and 6 pence in 1914.

The latest two articles on the website of the Peterborough Military History Group are a summary of military sweetheart brooches (where I noted a typo and several places where I could have written better) and one on the Home Guard training school at Osterley Park. It was quite an impressive place – set up by an ex-member of the International Brigades and associated with George Orwell. That led me to browse the International Brigades and George Orwell, then into his diaries. The bits I read are much more historic than my equivalents. He was writing during the Battle of Britain, though he still managed to discuss his income tax affairs in one entry, so even well-known diarists still have trivia in their diaries. It was a pleasant interlude, during which I discovered that James Robertson Justice (Sir Lancelot Spratt in the Doctor films), once played professional ice hockey between the wars, fought in the International Brigades and was invalided out of the Royal Navy with a shrapnel wound in 1943. And this was just the tip of the iceberg of the life of a man I always thought of as a supporting actor in comedy films. Time spent with Orwell and a network of Wiki links, is never wasted.

I am now going to send Christmas cards to my cousins. I always think I should sprinkle them with wit and good cheer, but will probably settle, as I normally do, for expressing the hope that they are staying well and will have a good 2026. I normally start thinking in November, and finally get round to it about now – close to the last posting date. Such is my life.

Badges on Mother of Pearl discs – WW! and WW2