where art collides philosoperontap

According to fitbit I got one hour and forty six minutes kip last night. I was awake from 2am. May well have been awake at that time but actually feel refreshed having had a good night’s sleep. Technology eh?

Bit of calm this morning. Friday. What do people do on a Friday? The proletariat ‘work from home’ if they can. I hear that nowadays they have their own designer treadmills in their small studies or next to the table in the dining room 🙂 I would. Mind you in the bad old days a Friday was when you would go out to the pub for lunch. An institution in many places. Rarely had a beer meself, at lunchtime.

I remember one Friday I was working late. Had to get a proposal across to the New York office. Long Island actually. This was pre email. Had to be faxed. All 150 pages. As I stood by the fax machine, must have been around 8pm (yes on a Friday – 150 pages took a long time to fax), an inbound fax appeared addressed to the Managing Director Bert Sadler. It was an offer from a competitor to buy the company! Not the whole of GEC. Just our bit of it. I picked up the fax and left it face down on his secretary’s desk.

I would have been in my thirties. Keen and career minded. Put the hours in at the coal face. Now I prefer the beach bar or that one by the harbour where you can drink coffee, watch the old men play boules and see the fish stall selling the modest catch landed fresh that morning. Making notes on observations.

It is observed that THG has gone to the gym. An early start for her today. An hour of Les Mills Body Pump. My god! I need to pack the car in readiness for a trip to the deep south. The land beyond the Big Smoke where the natives towk loik vis and support football teams called Maidstone, Chatham and Sevenoaks. Where they grow apples, pears, cherries, apricots, damsons, greengages, mirabelles, plums, and quinces (fanks google). Mirabelles??? 

They eat fresh oysters and Dover sole and nip across the Channel to France for dawn raids on the wine warehouses of Calais and Boulogne Sur Mer where beret clad proprietors tempt with an array of samples and sell plonk by the box. 

Yesterday I registered the car online with the Dartford Crossing website so that we do not have to mess around with paying the toll on the spot. Amazed I thought of it.

Keep flying the flag, of truth. 

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Half an hour now, to wait. The bags are packed, we are ready to go. Riding a set of wheels called the Silver Bullet. The bullet needs fuel. The Tesco garage was rammed. Big queues. Will get it from Waitrose. More expensive but no queues. Time is money. Time is precious. Don’t queue for petrol. Don’t queue. Don’t. Dya think the king queues for petrol? There ya go then.

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The king. A strange concept in the twenty first century. We cling on to these archaic, anachronistic institutions. Mind you you only have to look at other countries to think that maybe it’s the lesser of two evils. I thinkyouknowworrimtalkingabout.

We drove past the Lincoln Equitable Cooperative and Industrial Society building on Burton Road. Most people will just know it as the Coop. You have to cast your eye upwards and to the right, beyond the crappy modern retail facade, to the top of the fortress-like Victorian red brick building to see the gold lettering that adorns the second floor parapet.

I am a member of this venerable institution. Well, I have a coop card which I assume is the same thing. Don’t shop there particularly regularly although I did notice the other week that a litre of Tanqueray gin was only £22.50 compared with thirty quid in Waitrose so maybe I should. We sometimes nip in to the one opposite Yarborough Leisure Centre after a Sunday afternoon swim.

On the A1 we have just seen a sign for Woolsthorpe Manor. Isaac Newton’s old gaff. V famous amongst aficionados of gravity and those who benefit from it. ie all of us.

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Made it to Bexley Eaf. Waze took us by some back road through a council estate. Werere though and established in our room on the ground floor with a balcony looking out over a dual carriageway.

Now expecting two phone calls fwiw. At an appropriate juncture I will hit the bar whilst THG gets ready for the evening ahead. Visiting Hannah’s inlaws who are v nice people. A good time will be had by all.

Night has descended on the Eaf. No idea if the actual heath still exists. Hadn’t quite realised that we are still very much part of the greater London metropolis. I am a stranger in these parts.

I have visions of a farmer in mediaeval Bexley driving his cattle across the heath to get them to market in London, at that time still a day’s walk away.

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I am alone in the hotel bar except for some old geezer tucking into dinner. Plenty of vinegar and ketchup on his chips! Can’t quite see what he has ordered as he is sitting at a high table whereas I am at a low down one the other side of the room. Not particularly interested anyway but I know many of you will be. Crappo background music on and Coco Gauff on the muted telly. Riadh open or similar. Gauff is winning but a long way to go. Do fat ladies sing at the tennis. I know Cliff Richard does. Deuce.

He has his ipad open at the table. The old geezer, not Cliff. Two giggly young barmaids in Marriott branded gear flit about. Nowt going on and a few bags of crisps needed fetching from the store out the back.

I wonder what he has planned for the evening. 5.30pm is somewhat early for dindins. A night in front of the ipad in his room or maybe a big adventure out in Bexley Eaf. Not sure the Eaf is a big night out. We passed a couple of barbers that seemed quite full. Lads getting their grooming done ready for the night ahead. Gotta look right for the laydees. Good luck boys. Saturday night beneath the plastic palm trees, dancing to the rhythm of the Guns of Navarone. I discovered heaven in the Seven Sisters Road. It isn’t particularly politically correct nowadays to assume they will be chasing the opposite sex but hey… I am of an age.

“In my day” it was all about Saturday Night Fever and nights out in the Cave Disco at the end of the promenade in Douglas. They knocked it down years ago. It was in the basement of Summerland. I worked there the summer I was sixteen. Initially as a flunkey clearing tables then as a projectionist in the cinema. A seriously cushy number but very highly skilled obvs. I saw James Bond’s “The Spy Who Loved Me about 50 times. Used to get adhoc bar work as well for events outside the summer season.

The old boy probs thinks I am some businessman sat on his todd in a hotel far from home. Always tried to avoid that though sometimes not possible. Especially as when I used to travel to faraway places on business I indulged in the practice of arriving a couple of days early to get over the jet lag. I hate jetlag. Most folk would get to the conference on the day or maybe the night before.

Looking at the menu I reckon he is having fish and chips. It’s the only dish offering peas and I’m sure I saw greenery on his plate. Ketchup with fish and chips, yuk. I like bread and butter with my fish and chips, and tartare sauce. No vinegar or ketchup.

Aretha Franklin now playing. Big improvement. He has ordered sticky toffee pudding. Old Guys Rule.

The Marriott seemed to be the only sensible offering in Bexley Eaf. It’s fine. They let me park in one of the blue badge holders spots in front of the hotel entrance. Otherwise it was a serious hike around to the car park at the back and the back door was “permanently closed”. Not much use to man nor boy/dog/choose your own noun.

Bar is starting to get busier. Swatwewantinnit. Bit of atmo. Folk are gradually starting to order food. One woman wanted to know what the soup of the day is. Chicken. “Don’t want to order it yet.” All wiv an accent I only normally hear on the tv. She’s ordered olives.

Old Geezer has gone. Didn’t see him go. Probs never see him again, or know his story. All I can tell you is that the sticky toffee pudding was larvley. Apaz.

Lkasdjhfvla. Typed randomly just to get something down on the page. Get the keyboard going. Squeeze out a few creative juices. Lkasdjhfvla. Did it again. Copy and paste obvs. Well not obvs but it was. I put it there a second time just to see whether there was really any artistic or literary merit in the ‘word’. Depends on your definition of art. ‘I don’t know anything about art but I know what I like.’

Could have been typed by a monkey. It isn’t the Complete Works of Shakespeare I know but the monkey wasn’t given enough time for that. Don’t come down too hard on it. As it stands I’m sticking with Lkasdjhfvla.

The question now is how is Lkasdjhfvla pronounced. There may well be a language or two out there with similar construction. In the wild, so to speak. The fact is I don’t know how to represent pronunciation using the written word so unless anyone else can chip in I don’t think this thread is going anywhere.

The other discussion point is whether Lkasdjhfvla means anything. Not sure it has to to be classed as a word. The nitpickers and grammar police out there will likely disagree strongly with that statement but we are allowed to have our own views. Positions.

Shakespeare himself, already referred to earlier in this post, was known to have invented many new words in each play wot he wrote. I guess he had ideas as to the meaning of each new word and being a top pro  expected the audience to be able to recognise that meaning in real time as the word was uttered. “That clearly means to brush food crumbs off your ruff” they would think, for example.

Shakespeare knew to keep things simple and understandable. In the modern era he might have been a UI designer. Unfortunately he is no longer around to elaborate on the meaning of Lkasdjhfvla and would quite likely use the defence of “not invented here” in any case. Any road up.

In my mind Lkasdjhfvla is a type of yoghurt made from yak milk by monks on the upper Himalayan slopes around the Everest Base Camp. The ‘h’ is silent.

My frequent insertion of Lkasdjhfvla into this post, bearing in mind it will appear on Facebook and philosopherontap, means that it will be seen by Google as the number one reference for the word and come top of the search rankins. I’m gonna be rich 🙂

To finish off I should tell you I used Google Gemini to see whether the ‘word’ had any meaning. The answer was:

No, the string “Lkasdjhfvla” does not have a recognized meaning in any known language or code system. It appears to be a random combination of letters.

Disappointing but perhaps not unexpected.

…

Sounds like a hot air balloon taking off in next door’s garden. They are having some work done on their flat roof. We did a hot air balloon ride a couple of years ago. Fantastic experience fair play. Landed nobbut a mile from my sister Ann’s place but our car was back in Bath so that proximity wasn’t much use to us. The nearness of you.

We also have a small bit of flat roof at the back of the house above the haberdashery overflow room, formerly bedroom 5, but that doesn’t need doing so they aren’t working on that.

Quite successfully avoided the news today. It was on the wireless when I took the tea up this morning but think I got away without hearing/listening to it. Did consider leaving my Bose phones in the bedroom for noise cancellation. Bit bulky though and not comfortable when in a prone position.

That said I often use them on long haul flights. Used to use them rather. Doing less long haul flying nowadays.

Ironically the outcome of Don winning the election is to increase my personal wealth with bitcoin hitting an all time high. It’s a bit like placing a bet on the person you don’t want to win so as to get a consolation prize if they do win.

Anything going on? I’m off for a covid booster jab this morning. Bailgate pharmacy. Hopefully there’ll be a parking spot right outside. Quick in and out, hopefully.

I’ll probably spend the rest of the day recovering. Lying on the settee, arm dangling limply over the edge, that sort of thing. Wonder what’s on telly? 😀

Not really. 

Maybs. Who knows. Have a book to finish.

Playing the Spotify Calming Classical playlist on the speaker in the kitch. Sometimes an appropriate start to the day.

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Really have to make an extra effort to not look at the news today. Bury my head in the sand. Now playing Vivaldi: The Four Seasons. It is currently autumn. In real life anyway. It’s winter in the music. Now is the winter of our discontent etc. It’s almost as if Vivaldi wrote the music to pair with Shakespeare plays.

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Didn’t make it to the shed until eleven o’clock this morning, fwiw. I realise this is not of interest to anyone but I’m telling you anyway. My wonderful chosen life partner THG has brought across a pot of tea and life is good. I am a lucky man.

The leaves continue to pile up on the deck. Those autumn leaves of red and gold. I am in no hurry to remove them. I quite like the colours. They can stay. It is still out. No wind. Nothing to blow the leaves into crinkly drifts for children in wellies to shuffle, rustle and kick. I assume children still wear wellies.

C’est une chanson qui nous ressemble
Toi tu m’aimais, et je t’aimais
Nous vivions tous les deux ensemble
Toi qui m’aimais, moi qui t’aimais

Mais la vie sépare ceux qui s’aiment
Tout doucement, sans faire de bruit
Et la mer efface sur le sable
Les pas des amants désunis

…

Let forever begin tonight.

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Crazy world stay away
Stay focused on the important
Finish digging the bunker
Amass stocks of tinned foods

…

Lot’s of negativity around at the moment. Let’s discuss the important things in life. Pizzas should be very meaty with hot chillies. Pineapples and rocket salad should not be allowed in the same room. You can have olives if you really want but it is optional. Thin crust. Served with good quality Italian red vino.

Waiting in front room for a plasterer to come and look at a job. He is running behind but at least it got me out of bed early. Trouble is cars keep stopping in front of our drive and make me look around to see if he has arrived. They are only stopping because of the pedestrian crossing and, presumably, the weight of commuter traffic.

The ped xing is quite handy for us. We live over the road to a school but the kids all cross at the lights and never make it as far as our house. They hang around in front of next door and have been seen sitting on their front wall. We have a hedge anyway so they wouldn’t be able to sit on ours.

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Plasterer came before brekkie this morning to size up a job. He was a good guy. Then a good breakfast of THG’s very excellent granola was taken.

Had to turn off the wireless yet again. Didn’t want to hear Don’s closing pitch, again. Just more bullshit.

Now waiting for a phone call. On my mobile. The ‘landline’ is never plugged in. I must cancel it sometime. Costs me three quid a month plus a twenty pound top up perhaps once every three or four months. See how it goze. THG never uses it. I rarely use it. The phone number that we have had for over thirty years no longer means anything to us. We live in a mobile world. Was a goodun mind you. 

The voip handset takes up space on the desk. It is tucked away behind a monitor and is only brought forward when it needs to be used. Probs could do with tidying the desk a bit as well. Manăna.

Excellent and somewhat long lunch with the golfers yesterday. I left after five and a half hours. Lightweight. Was picked up from the back of the bus station by THG and got home in time to watch the Imps beat Chesham. I may have fallen asleep before the end of the game.

Caught the Number 5 bus into town. The bus station is only a hundred yards or so from the Cosy Club where lunch had been booked. My transportation choices were taxi, £6.60, Uber £3.76 or bus, £2. Walking would have taken me too long.

I took the easy line and opted for an Uber but all the available cars were hovering downtown and none of the buggers wanted to come to our house for a measly four quid so I cancelled and left the house for the bus stop fifty yards up the road. 

This was a first for me. I’ve caught the bus home a few times. A relatively easy decis as there is a big hill, part of which is called “Steep Hill” between downtown and our house. However I rarely actually go downtown and catching the bus really felt like I was joining the great unwashed. I mean who goes downtown? All it has is chain shops and chain restaurants.

I guess the answer yesterday was that ‘I’ go downtown. Would have preferred to have had lunch up the hill in the Bailgate area but the vote went for the Cosy Club so that’s where we ended up. See how it goze for the end of season bash in December.

This morning we are out of milk. There is just enough left to service one cup of tea which I shall prepare next time I venture into the house. THG is sourcing some more on her way back from the gym. There is a milk shop opposite. They sell other things too. 

Soup for lunch.

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Soup was supped. As usual a top notch THG production. Roasted tomatoes.The phone call came in as I was heating it up. Sorted. Back at the shed face now. Might go swimming at 3pm. Wait until lunch has gone down innit.

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We are both back in da hoose. Me from da pool and THG from helping out at the old dears afternoon tea. She says it’s for all ages. Oo maybs I’ll see if the boys fancy going along one afternoon 🙂 . At least one of them is officially at retiring age next year. Afternoon tea at the church would be a marked contrast with yesterday’s all day drinking session.

Don’t want to do that too often. Next one is in exactly one month’s time with the end of season get together. Plenty of time to recover. Everyone will be in bed early tonight.

Snearly dark. Is dark really. The mood lighting is on in the shed. I have a cup of tea in hand. All good folk should be thinking about getting home to their warm front rooms or kitchens, slippers on, stroking the cat etc.

The shed TV remains off and there is no music playing. It is a slight downside of the system that when I stream Spotify over the Google TV Streamer all the track metadata is displayed on the screen together with my family photos (thousands of em) screensaver. 

The screensaver is quite a good feature as I am reminded of good times past that might otherwise have stayed buried. However I do quite like the idea of playing music whilst watching muted TV. Sport for example. There’s probs a way of doing it if I stared at it long enough. Spotify used to be able to pick up the amp as an option but for some time now it has played through whichever streaming device happens to be plugged in. Prefer it to go direct to the amp actually.

5pm exactly and I think I just heard a firework. If we had a dog it would be time to bed it down safely and draw the curtains

Had to switch the wireless off even before we got to ‘thought for the day’. Was full of US election crap. They seem to have more than their fair share of extremely gullible people in Amurica. Now I think about it, thought for the day is preferred listening.

Lunch out with the lads today. Lads who do lunch. Well it beats going to the bingo or the afternoon whist drive at the Derby and Joan club. Made that last bit up. Dunno if such a thing exists really. Derby and Joan club. Correct me if I am wrong. Were we hard core golfers we would be getting a round in beforehand but we ain’t so we ain’t. I dare say we will be getting a few rounds in with lunch.

Today is stardate November 4th. It’s a bit of a non date really coming as it does between November 3rd and November 5th 🙂The point being that the fifth is obvs quite a famous date in history and is typically celebrated with fireworks displays and bonfires and the third happens to fall on the Sunday before the fifth when people in reality hold these celebrations.

The fifth of November may well not be particularly famous outside the UK of course. Other countries will have their own prominent dates in the calendar. For example Bhutan abolished slavery in 1958. 1958!! I found that out when looking for prominent dates in a randomly selected country. Started with Brazil but didn’t find that interesting enough though, interestingly, slavery also featured there. The timeline of Bhutan was not particularly interesting either, at least to me soz Bhutan, but I wasn’t interested in spending any more time looking for other interesting dates so I’ve stopped.

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Got an email from Lancashire Cricket Club offering me tickets for Day 3 of the India test match next summer. I’m systematically unsubscribing from ‘promotional’ emails but I don’t mind getting this sort. 

Only thing is I can’t see myself going to all the faff of getting to Manchester for the day. Takes 3 hours on the train, changing at Sheffield, and I’d probs want to stay the night which starts to make it an expedition. Won’t be watching owt at trent Bridge next summer either as they only have Ireland playing a test match there. Soz me Irish bretheren. I guess we could probably decide at the last minute for that one as it is unlikely to be sold out.

Quite a few years ago now my trefor.net email address found itself on a PR distribution list. Agreeing to that was a mistake. It was when I was actively writing posts for trefor.net and was a bit of an ego trip at the time. Found myself inundated with totally irrelevant press releases from any company that might half describe itself as involved with tech. Took years for those to stop.

It isn’t as bad nowadays but I am slowly trying to weed unwanted mails out. Since I figured out how to stop LinkedIn notifications I’ve pretty much completely stopped getting ‘social’ emails.

Lots of no shows for the CIM awards yesterday. I wrote some of their names down. Mostly blokes due to there being a relatively small number of them there to pick up an award.

The first male no show was a guy called Amir Ahmed. Didn’t catch his surname but that matters not. I’m not here to pick on him. I am just writing what I observed and in fact lining up the second no male show who was a guy called Elvis. This brought a smile to my face. Elvis, if he had showed up at all, had left the building 🙂

As we left the Methodist Central Hall there was a long queue of tourists lining up to have a picture taken with a red phone box. Bit strange I thought until someone pointed out that the Houses of Parliament were in the background. Iconic tourist photo op. I’d have done the same, maybs.

Overall a great day out. The Royal Navy was in town bedecked in their Number Ones. Annual Submarine Service remembrance weekend. Chatted to one medal laden naval type in the Silver Star pub after watching the All Blacks game. One of his gongs, with bar, was for service in Afghanistan. You wouldn’t have thought there would be anyone from the navy there let alone the submarine service. I guess they were short on personnel.

We are now chillin’ in the room, glancing out the window occasionally at Nelson atop his column. A lofty stance. THG is off on a stroll to Buck House before we get a cab to Kings Cross for the journey home. I don’t currently do strolls down the Mall, largely because of my hips giving me gyp. Getting them looked at the week after next. Need sorting.

Bells ring out across Trafalgar Square. St Martin in the Fields calling the faithful to Sunday worship. I imagine they get some tourists in. Kill a bit of time before lunch at the National Gallery. Stuff like that. Famous gaff SMITF. Biggun.

Relatively few people out on the square. The bells have stopped. Praps everyone has gone into the church. Probs. Except the souvenir sellers. Someone has to keep an eye on the stalls. Otherwise those not in church would be nicking fridge magnets left right and centre.

When we get home there is an afternoon of sport in prospect. Spurs v Villa and Man U v Chelski. Mildly interesting. Someone at breakfast was wearing a Spurs hoodie. Amazing how people come from all over the place to watch a football game. This ain’t a cheap hotel so it is an expensive hobby.

Tomorrow Lincoln travel to Chesham in the FA Cup. Unsure as to whether I’ll be able to watch that as we have a golfing ‘lunch’ lined up with no real feel as to what time lunch will finish. Maybe sleep through the football. At least THG is available for a lift afterwards.

We were due to travel to the Hexham area for golf but the club has pulled the use of buggies because of soft ground so we’ve pushed it back until springtime. Lunch replaces that trip. Not walking 36 holes of golf.

Enough!

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Farewell to the dirty ground of London town. We shall return, soon enough. A contrast of bright lights, buzz and brazen wealth and poverty, homelessness, loneliness.

Bit daleky the pa on this train. Not quite but nearly. Muffled anyway. Lacking in crispness and clarity.  I only noticed because I’d removed my headphones at Stevenage and as the train left the station the announcement began. Didn’t really register what they were trying to say. Usual blurb. Gough. BlahblahPeterboroughblahblahseeitsayitsortit.

We pass a field of wind turbines. Power to the people. I am listening to Pink Martini Radio on Spotify. If you don’t have a crowd, there’s no parade. The everyday story of life in the year twenty twenty four. Now we pass a field of solar panels. Not sure I am a fan.

The windows on this train need a clean, honestly. It is a boring journey. Must be for me to start noticing and commenting on such things. I’ve finished the cup of tea and eaten the banana.

I’ve moved on from Pink Martini Radio to something a little more upbeat. The Tropical Trefbash playlist. Turned up the volume and got to restrain meself from dancing. The gin has arrived. It’s far too early for gin, especially on the Sabbath. Both THG and I have however taken our fair share and it is now packed away in my laptop  bag for consumption at a future date. We had a little bonus of a second serving as the steward made his way back to the crew area. May struggle to get the laptop in the bag before we get off at Lincoln! First world problems.

I just can’t get enough, I just can’t get enough. Depeche Mode. Not really my thang but was requested by a friend who is coming to trefbash. We aim to please.

Just passed what would appear to be the pleasant rural hamlet of Creeton. I looked it up on google maps. Church of St Peter, a few farms. Not much going on I daresay. If I spent all my time going up and down on the train I’d get to know all the places we passed. Norrapnin. A lot easier to just look them up. Tbh not reelly that interested. 

Just leaving Grantham. The Asda car park looks full. Good citizens of Grantham getting a few last minute supplies in for tea tonight. Foie gras, smoked salmon. Stuff like that no doubt. No sooner had Grantham disappeared into the rear view mirror we arrived in Newark and most of the carriage emptied. Platform three. 

A red coated station manager stands on the platform ready to blow her whistle. She is keeping people back from crossing the yellow line as a southbound train is just pulling in to platform two. Safety of the public is paramount.

The train now heads into the wilds beyond and to the east of the A1 Great North Road. The last leg of the journey and the point at which I bid farewell to this post, uploading whilst I still have a little signal.

The mark of a good hotel is whether the toast comes out right first time off the conveyor belt. In the case of the Trafalgar St James this was very much the case. I had ordered sourdough toast that was brought to the table but only two small triangles arrived hence the need to add to my toast total.

It’s a good breakfast although they do have a habit of overcooking the bacon. I very much like well rendered fat but the bacon still needs to be soft. At home this is achieved by standing the bacon on its side around the side of the pan whilst finishing off the egg/waiting for the toast to pop up etc. They also offer large flat field mushrooms as part of the breakfast buffet which is very much to be commended.

We are now back in the room with an hour and twenty minutes to go before we meet Hannah and George for her CIM Diploma ceremony at  Central Hall Westminster. Tis only a short distance from the hotel which is why we chose to stay here.

The rooms are v comfortable at this hotel. Great pillows. Very dark at night with the curtains closed. Pitch black actually. Quite refreshing. No bedside clock to throw its dim illumination across the void.

Up at the crack of about twenty to eight and headed for the kitch to switch on the patent water boiling device/machine/kettle. THG rang. She too was about to go down for brekkie after a long day out with old pals yesterday. We both opted for a full English. In her case a full Wirral. In mine a full Waitrose. Today we shall be reunited, yay.

Now it is twenty to nine. Ma belly is full and there is just enough milk left for one more cup of tea which I will have once I’m dressed. Mostly packed so not too much to do this morning other than tidy the house sufficiently to at least pass the minimum acceptable level of tidiness for THG when we get home on Sunday 🙂

On this occasion I have had to pack some number ones as tomorrow we are off to see Hannah’s graduation ceremony.  Diploma in brand management or simlar from the Chartered Institute of Marketing. She worked hard at it fair play and deserves the recognition. In the evening we are off to a posh Italian for a family meal.

Hit town last night with the golfers. Bit of an eye opener as half the people out and about were in fancy dress. Not all ghoulish. A few ladies in cowgirl outfits, a batman, stuff like that. One medal bedecked Soviet era military uniform! We started at the Straight and Narrow, then hit the Cardinal’s hat followed by a new gaff called the Tap and Tonic (I think) which has taken over the shop previously occupied by Patisserie Valerie (or Pat Val as I used to call it – never went in meself). We were the only people in the T&T. How do they stay in business? Probs wont. 

Three pina coladas (a bit sweet) and a dark and stormy later, between the four of us, and we headed out into the street. We finished the night off in the Slug and Lettuce before Adie and I left the others to it and Ubered it home. That’s my night out downtown over for another year or three or four or more. Rooftop Bar of the Trafalgar St James tonight if anyone is in the area. A quiet night in.

No trick or treaters last night. I checked the cctv.

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For your information, five red arrows just flew over in formation. 

…

The train slowly approaches the station.

Man with flag, invisible.

The barriers open and the people flow.

Let the people flow.

The people. The masses. The great unwashed. Proletariat. Brainwashed. Yes master. Those who shop downtown. When you’re alone and life is making you lonely you can always go downtown. Break your online retail addiction.

We slide swiftly and surely past the Sarah Swift building. Seat of learning, healing. 

Sheep graze in a pale green field. Autumn has arrived in the hedgerows.

In seat E2 I am cocooned from the world. The E2 cocoon. Unlikely that E1 will be wanted. I will look fierce. E numbers.

I booked E5 which had noone else on the table at the time. However three temerity filled travellers have reserved the other seats from Newark. I don’t want to talk to them. That was my table. Mine I tell you.

I am on the eleven twenty seven express to London Kings Cross. Staying at Trafalgar Square, heart of empire. Where the sun never set. I expect they operated a 24 x 7 follow the sun support function. Driven by an express postal service protected by the Royal Navy.

A grey couple got on at Newark and took their place at my table. They look uninteresting but maybe that’s just a cover for a rock and roll lifestyle. On their way south for the start of their stadium tour. Dunno. I’d have taken the chopper.

…

The grey lady is playing a word search game on her iPad. Fair play. Gotta keep that brain active. Can’t see what the rock star is doing.

We pull into the grey town of Peterborough. Peterborough has a cathedral so it must be a city. Dunno if the old fashioned ways of place identifiers are valid anymore. They seem to make cities left right and centre these days, very much devaluing the institution/accolade/noun.

What do you do for a living? I’m the Bishop of Peterborough. Either that or a ticket inspector on the Nene Valley Railway. Both very respectable occupations if somewhat very different. Took the kids on the Santa Special on the Nene Valley Railway once or twice. They used to dish out mince pies with whisky or brandy miniatures to the mums and dads. The bish probs just splashes the communion wine around. Same but different. Very different.

The grey mob (decided this was appropriate) are taking the Piccadilly Line to Leicester Square and then changing to the Northern line. I overheard him say. In theory could be headed to the same hotel as me. Bit of a faff though. You almost might as well walk from Leicester Square tube. Not worth changing to go one stop. 

I’m jumping in a cab at Kings Cross. Won’t offer. I don’t know them from Adam. They are now talking about the budget. Not really my thang. Unless it’s pensions but I have a while to wait for that 🙂

Just walked past their table. He is reading the Daily Mail. Nuff said.

It is the last day of October in the year of our Lord (if you are that way inclined) twenty twenty four. The first and last time this will ever be the case. If it is a good one we may fondly look back on it, smiling quietly to ourselves whilst nodding our heads. We were there. The likelihood is it will be another unremarkable day remembered only because I’ve written this post 🙂.

Unremarkable is not a fair way to put it. In the great scheme of things they are all unremarkable. When, as seems inevitable, our civilization gets buried under the jungle canopy the day will not be remembered.

…

The lawn is now mostly invisible. The only green bit left is under the kitchen window. Otherwise the yellow and gold sycamore cast offs are sitting there motionless awaiting the inevitable attention of the leaf blower. The blower operator is away. It will be next week before blowing operations commence, unless the wind gets up.

In the meantime, THG being away, I am having an even lazier than normal start to the day. The ingredients for a full English lie on the butcher’s block in front of me and the cast iron frying pan is ready in position on the stove. I am however consuming the first cup of tea of the day and have decided that breakfast can wait until the drink is drunk. In the words of the prophet, there is no hurry. No rush. No deadline to meet. No print run beckoning. No worries.

Well there is always something to worry about isn’t there. Nothing specifically springs to mind but I daresay that given time something will float to the surface, so to speak. I’ve probably just forgotten something v important.

Breakfast will be more of a brunch today by the looks of it. I guess sometimes people change the mix of the food when it starts being called a brunch. In my case it is just a late breakfast. I’ve even found a tin of beans that may be opened although not totes made my mind up on that one. Probs will

The problem is I have some chicken in the fridge that needs to be consumed and the lateness of the quite large breakfast will mean that I won’t really want lunch.

Once I’ve finished breakfast and showered I have a bit of packing to do. Off to London tomorrow and got a bit of a night out with the golfers tonight so it makes sense for me to be mostly packed today. Also have a bit of plaster to clear up in the ‘play room’. Part of the wall is being replastered and yesterday I hacked away at some of it to assess the scope of works.

New 1st world problem for you. Bread slices are often too big to fit into a toaster so as to toast evenly all in one go. I find myself having to turn them upside down once toasted to part toast the top of the slice. 

Now some of you I know will say just cut the bread in half and fit it all in the toaster. Well I don’t want to do that. Simples. Today I found the answer. Once the toast has popped up just cut the untoasted bits off and put back in the toaster. Don’t leave them for the full toasting cycle (or whatever it is called) as they will already be partly toasted. You end up with two large square bits of toast and two smaller rectangular pieces. It also avoids over toasting the middle bit of the slice. Simples.

…

Just had a couple of Jehovas Witnesses at the door. The older one had a leaflet sized handbag and her hand was poised ready to whip one out for distribution. The younger one made the opening remarks. I asked if she was selling religion. ‘Not selling as such’ she said. I politely declined and they went on their way. I think next door might be a hindu. Doubt they will get anywhere there.

…

Have moved one of the black bins into the kitchen. First step of the act of getting it into the play room for filling with old plaster. Why not stick it straight in the play room I hear you say. Well only because I think I have some large thick bin liners in the shed that would be right for this job so I’ve detoured to the bottom of the garden. Yet to look for the bin liners mind you. I think they are under the spare desk.

…

Chicken sandwich with a glass of red before heading out. Seemed like the right thing to do. Bottle needed finishing off. I realise beer after wine is not supposed to be good but let’s see shall we. I dunno. I didn’t want a beer with my sandwich and as I said the bottle needed finishing off. Rarely drink a whole bottle in one sitting nowadays.

I have fifteen minutes before the taxi is due. Sat in the snug with the curtains shut in case any trick or treaters wander by. Sdark out. Dark very early. Racing headlong towards midwinter. Deep midwinter. Frosty winds. Moan.

Don’t particularly want the taxi to arrive early. Don’t want to rush the glass of vino. What’s the hurry, man.

Actually watch Disney+ this pm. Afternoon telly! National Geographic channel. A documentary about living in Alaska. Was interesting. I like documentaries about Alaska. Survival. Wilderness. Stuff like that.

Gone…

Banging out some tunes in the shed. Tropical trefbash playlist for after the @Jeff Brown band has finished. I want to keep y’all dancing. This year’s graphics are fantastic. You will meet the designer on the night. Most advanced orders that need placing are placed. All is in hand. We have over two hundred partygoers coming. 

With THG away I am relaxing with a gin and tonic. I know it is only a Wednesday but it feels like a Friday, whatever a Friday feels like. This I guess. Didn’t have any gin in but bought some specially.

Got an hour and forty five to kill before Brighton v Liverpool. In that time I need to get the Charlie Bigham chicken  jalfrezi cooked. Almost restaurant quality. All in all feeling relaxed. Now playing Love Shack by The B-52s.

All the tunes on the tropical trefbash playlist would be considered retro by younger generations. They all come around again and in fact many of them are probably staples at weddings and similar parties. My kids all have very eclectic and sophisticated tastes in music. Musicians themselves. Play that funky music.

We are having to rearrange tomorrow evening’s entertainment. The golfers were all going to converge on Lincoln Rugby Club for a cup game but the opposition, Stamford RFC, cried off because they couldn’t raise a team. Huh. Ah well. Probs afraid 😀 We are still doing something. Thursday afternoon is golf night, so to speak.

Bit of a result last night when watching the Imps beat Northampton. Managed to book the hotel we are staying in at the weekend for seventy quid a night cheaper. Always pays to check these things a few days before ya go. Also got double points! Yay. 

Noticeably lighter in the morning when I got up to make the tea. My turn. GMT. It’s almost as if the T in GMT stands for tea. Really it means lighter in the morning when I make the T. Time has no meaning. I suppose time does have meaning really. It’s the be all and end all.

I returned to the bedroom, tea tray in hand, to find the wireless blaring out a news item about the forthcoming budget. Don’t like to think of it. Ditto US presidential elections. I tune these things out. Do the right thing Amurica. 

The one mildly amusing political news item is the Conservative Party leadership election. Two useless candidates who will have no effect on anything, bless. They will be electing someone else within a couple of years. Bless. Thassenoughpolitics.

Scrolling through the paper, so to speak, the only good bit of news I could find was “Majestic brightness’: Warsaw’s Museum of Modern Art finds a new permanent home” After decades of nomadic existence, the Polish capital’s art temple is open for permanent business in an inspirational, light-filled new building (Guardian). Comes to something when an obscure article from Poland is the only good news I could find.

Chances are I won’t be going to see that museum. I’m a member of the Tate which is a lot closer and hardly ever go there. I’d prefer Krakow anyway. Great spot. Old, not modern. I realise you can’t blame Warsaw for that.

I’d spend more time reading cookery recipes which you might think would be innocuous enough and free from negativity were it not for the fact that chefs these days struggle to find anything new and find themselves concocting ‘delicious’ new dishes out of obscure or boring ingredients. 101 things to do with pumpkins. The hidden side of broccoli. Sprouts revisited.

Different day today. Dropping THG off at the stayshun then going foraging as I’ll be fending for myself for a couple of days. See what’s fresh in the market. Sokay I’ve done it before. Don’t fret, pet. Won’t be anything out of the ordinary. Maybe a nice quinoa and lentil salad.

Unsurprisingly after my recent post on the subject Facebook is pushing me offers on Nordic socks. Forty quid for five pairs or buy two get one free. So for eighty pounds I get fifteen really warm pairs of socks. Problem is I don’t need fifteen pairs. I don’t need any more pairs as we keep finding the lost singles 😀. Problems problems.

I did the other day make a purchase: “This small corner: A history of Pencader and district by Steve Dube. The definitive and fully illustrated history of this north Carmarthenshire village, including the neighbouring settlements of Llanfihangel ar Arth, New Inn and Gwyddgrug.”

Exciting. I am specifically interested in Llanfihangel ar Arth whence came two of  my 4g grandparents. Doubt they get a mention but am hoping it will be a good read. Arrives tomorrow or Friday, hopefully before I set off for London.

I have several lines of enquiry I am currently pursuing, albeit slowly, in my hunt for my 5g grandparents. 4gs Daniel and Anne Davies’s wedding was witnessed by a Benjamin Davies. Must be a good clue but not definitive proof. 

Dan’s brother David was Rector of Llandysul church and a few outlying places of worship. As part of the established church there must be some record about him somewhere. Need to find it. I have his will which is v interesting. He owned a house in Llandysul which is not an insignificant achievement in the eighteenth century.

Then Daniel’s farm Talgoed was rented from the Coedmor Estate, the records of which, or at least some of them, are lodged with the National Library of Wales. I need to check those out. There was another brother who went to the Unitarian College in Brecon. That may be a useful lead. All the brothers were literate.

Although these people were Davieses I got to them via my 3g grandmother Margaret who married an Evans and whose daughter Mary proceeded to marry a Benjamin Davies. Ben was the farmer who became a woollen factory owner and is a line I have as yet not had time to explore further.

Plenty to be getting on with but trawling through online records is like wading through treacle. 

Luxuriating in the company of THG in the snug. She sews and I type. All is calm. All is quiet. The all is calm bit somehow feels like we are embedded in a Christmas carol. Outside the snow falls steadily muffling any sound. The wind has dropped. Very soon the front door will become impassable.

None of that is the case. It very rarely snows in Lincoln. Not even when I was a boy, a time where nostalgia played tricks on the memory. The good old days when Wales always won at rugby and I had a thirteen golf handicap.

It is the calm before the storm. Lincoln City v Northampton. Seven forty five. Quite late kickoffs these midweek games. Don’t they know people have to go to work in the morning. Some of em anyway. 

I prefer to watch the game and heave myself upstairs to bed immediately after the final whistle. No trudging home through the red bricked terraces of downhill Lincoln then a climb up the Lincoln edge, ie Lindum Hill, to Wragby Road. I am not a diehard fan. They are however our local side and as such deserve support. Cha cha cha.

Tomorrow night, when THG is in Liverpool it will be Liverpool v Brighton. Or Brighton v Liverpool. Not looked.

It is very nice when you can luxuriate in someone’s company. On this occasion it won’t last long as THG is off out to a body pump class. Worrawoman. I can almost hear the music thumping, banging out time. Synchronised weight lifting. Focus. Concentration. Perspiration.

Fifth cup of tea of the day. After lunch. Two before breakfast, one after breakfast and one slightly later on in the shed. I take it with me. One more may well get consumed but that feels as if that is it.

So I’ve just worked out that I typically drink six cups of tea a day. I only have a coffee perhaps once a month. Twice at the most.

At the weekend I may have a gin and tonic or three before dinner. Sometimes wine but I have to feel brave in the face of THG’s disapproving gaze to open a bottle. Sometimes I’ll do gin during the week. There isn’t a standard practice. I did open a bottle of red on Saturday night to have with the steak. Will finish it off tomorrow when she has gone to the Wirral.

Last year as we moved into deepest winter and my feet decided it would make sense to have some warm woollen coverings I took the plunge and invested in ten pairs of Nordic socks.

I was promised comfort and high quality, beautiful Scandinavian design and exceptional warmth from Luxurious Scandinavian-Patterned Merino Wool Socks. Yanow what? They delivered. The socks are indeed warm and comfortable and whilst they have an element of man made yarn, that serves to make them more robust and easier to stretch over my feet when putting on. This is in contrast to my artisan wool socks that are always a bit of an effort to get over the foot! Anyway that is detail, none of which is relevant to the line being pursued here.

For the last week or three I have been wearing the aforementioned Nordic socks but couldn’t quite lay my hands on ten pairs. In fact three pairs seemed to represent peak sock shelf occupancy. I did have one single whose mate was undiscoverable regardless of how often I would rummage at the back of the shelf looking.

I mentioned the orphan sock to THG who produced five singles from the small basket she keeps somewhere knowing that one day each individual would eventually find its mate. One of these socks matched my single but this then produced a dilemma. Where on earth were the other four?

I rummaged further into the sock shelf. This is not as straightforward as you might think because it isn’t just a sock shelf. It is also the repository for underpants and pyjamas so there is quite a bit of gear in there under which a sock may choose to hide. This morning I even found a pair of braces I’d forgotten I had and not worn for decades. On this occasion, as before, I was a luckless rummager.

Now this is not as major a calamity as some of you might be thinking. I am quite happy to wear non matching socks. The other four will someday resurface. Probs. I am however not going to empty the sock/underpants/pyjama shelf just to find them. 

Mind you it does need doing as my rummaging brought to light a fair number of trainer liners in need of matching. Also the summer socks should really be consigned to a separate repository so as not to be a hindrance to their winter cousins as seems they may well be right at this moment.

I feel sure that at the back of the sock shelf, buried right at the bottom, there are four single undiscovered Nordic socks together with two matching pairs, the numbers I need to bring the cohort/school/flock up to its full complement. 

No idea what the collective noun for socks is. Disappointingly there doesn’t appear to be one. How unimaginative.

That feeling when you wake up, open an eye to look at the clock and see that it is telling the right time. I corroborated this with my fitbit. I can’t recall exactly what the time was but I do remember the satisfaction. The little things in life…

Makes me think that perhaps the last few months of having to mentally adjust the time might have been very mildly stressful. Don’t remember this being the case but if the levels of stress were very low they may have had a subliminal effect on me, somehow. 

There were occasions where I wouldn’t bother making that adjustment and would run with the incorrect time on the basis that it didn’t really matter anyway. Oh those carefree days before the clocks went back and I set it correctly.

Perhaps it is about time we bought a new clock for the bedroom. The spec is very simple. It must be easy to use, have good volume control, play Radio 4 in the morning and evening and keep accurate time. Automatic adjustment for daylight savings would also be useful.

The problem is when you look online there are thousands of different clocks available and none of the spiel will tell you whether they reliably stick to the right time. They aren’t going to tell you about that two second drift over six months (four over a year) are they? I dunno.

THG has cautioned me about rushing out to buy a new one especially when the one we already have now tells the right time anyway. Sigh. It’s a good job this isn’t really a big deal innit. Mountains and molehills eh? We don’t get moles in our back garden, touch wood, fingers crossed etc etc.

Outside the leaves still pile up on the greenhouse roof. No point clearing them yet. Still lots left on the trees that will eventually fall and make for more work.

This morning I am not going swimming with THG. Having to wait in for a delivery that has to be signed for. Bit of a nuisance but it is what it is. I originally asked for it to be delivered to our accountants office as I knew there is always a staffed reception. That’s when I discovered that as a registered office they don’t accept parcel deliveries. Ah. Ah well.