where art collides philosoperontap

April 28, 2013

3rd Law Part 22 – do Buddhists get cold feet?

Filed under: 3rd law — Tags: , , — Trefor Davies @ 1:19 pm

It’s funny how little things can upset you. On this occasion I don’t really mean “upset”. I was going to use the word disconcerting but that didn’t seem right either. The word I really want is somewhere in between disconcerting and upset but I can’t for the moment figure out what it is. If I remember it later I’ll try and slip it into the flow. What has disconcerted/upset me is the fact that I was looking for something but it wasn’t where I thought it should be.

Apparently it was definitely there on Thursday though there is no confirmation of the same on the Friday but no one is owning up to having moved it or to its current whereabouts. This situation is part of the family of situations that includes when you walk into a room to get something and by the time you get to the room you have forgotten what it is you were after. You have to retrace your steps and start again in the hope that you remember the original objective.

I’m sure there must be other situations in that family but for the moment I can’t think of one. Perhaps that’s one too but possibly not.

So for the moment I am without that which I sought but could not find. Hmm. Ah well. Okay. Those last three sentences are holding sentences whilst I think of what to write next.  It isn’t often that situation occurs. Not nearly as often as me walking into a room and not remembering why, which has been happening all too often for most of my adult life, as far as I can remember.

Conditions aren’t turning out to be great for writing. My memory is on the blink and also my hands are cold. Come on sun, get ye out. Notice the occasional lapse into 17th century speak. Could also be attributed to other centuries of course but I have chosen the 17th as the most likely in my case. Maybe I am really a Buddhist and this current version of me is a reincarnation of an earlier 17th century person. I wonder who I was?  The fact that I said “ye” doesn’t provide much of a clue. May have to wait until the next reincarnation. It’s a possibility that at the point of death and before the next rebirth I get to see all my pasts. Of course it may not happen. Like I said I’ll have to wait and see.

Don’t worry about me though. It won’t dwell on my mind too much. You get on and worry about your own problems. Like whether you’ll be able to meet the mortgage payment next month or whether your wife (or husband) is having an affair! Sorry if that thought hadn’t occurred to you before. Have you checked their mobile text messages lately? Don’t do it. Better you never find out. Think of the kids.

Don’t know what took me down that line of reasoning. You just can’t tell with the 3rd Law. It just takes you places and you don’t know how you got there. It is amazing though how the 3rd Law helps you discover yourself. I didn’t know I was a Buddhist. I might have to look up one of those outfits they wear. At least the summer months are approaching. I hope they have winder outfits, especially for the feet. I imagine those sandals are freezing during the winter, especially in Nepal where there are a lot of them. They must have, surely!!!

If they don’t I would have to consider my position. Maybe they winter in the Caribbean mon. I could live with that. I’d put up with the hurricane season. After all the pirates of old did. They holed up in Inns and Taverns at docksides on different islands, especially Tortuga and Hispaniola, and spent the winter drinking and womanising and spending all their ill-gotten gains before having to set off out again in the spring for more. Avast there me hearties, aharr. I never said I was a particularly good Buddhist. That may well be because until a few moments ago I didn’t know I was a one. We all have to learn sometime. Or not.

We don’t need no education, as you know.  I went to see Roger Waters play “The Wall” last year. Very good it was. Really enjoyed it. Also saw The Rollign Stones (typo not actual spelling) who in all fairness were awesome though they didn’t have time to play “Satisfaction” because of a slight overrun and really strict music licensing hours at the O2. Never mind. We just about squeezed in to the last tube back to town. Don’t know what we would have done if we’d missed it. It was late on a Sunday night with thousands of people still milling around and no sign of a taxi.

Not a problem though because we didn’t miss it. Hey 🙂

The daffodils in the garden are a robust lot. It’s not nearly as warm today as it was yesterday but they don’t seem to complain. I’ve also noticed that the tulips are also out. It’s spring again though you wouldn’t know it from the temperature outside. I’ve had to put on a pair of socks! Won’t make a good Buddhist will I?

I’m pretty sure I’m not a Buddhist mind you though I did have a number two all over hair cut once. I used to use a home shaver and got my daughter Hannah to finish it off round the back. Unfortunately she didn’t hold the shaver properly and I ended up with a swath of number zero up the back of my neck. This was just before an important business meeting as well. I still have a photo of it somewhere. Hey. Such is life. Such is the fast moving close shave world in which we live.

No moss gathering here, no dwelling, cogitating unsurety. We live life for the moment and live it at a pace tempered only by my typing speed. Words per minute abound. Think that may be a new word, unsurety. I know what it means if you don’t. If you don’t know you’re not in my club, my gang, those like-minded people I hang with. My crowd.

Me an’ the gang like to do stuff together. I’m not talking drugs though. I come from a fairly tame well brought up background and never felt the need to do that kind of stuff. It’s one of the aspects of me as a writer that means I will never produce the hallucinatory genius output that makes people think “wow how did he come up with that”. The John Miltons and John Lennons of this world.

I assume there are some others not called John but those are the two that instantly sprung to mind. It’s a good solid name John and not one that would necessarily be associated with hallucination though I’m not sure why not. Neither would Eustace really and don’t ask me where I got Eustace from. Maybe someone put something in my tea, which went cold on me a little earlier so I didn’t drink it all. Good job perhaps. If I’d drunk the whole cup goodness knows what might have happened.

It would certainly have made me go to the toilet. That’s the thing about tea. Goes right through you. It’s a feature of the 3rd Law that has never adequately been documented. “The 3rd Law means you are likely to go to the toilet less often because you will be drinking less tea because it doesn’t really appeal when it has gone cold”. Could have probably described it more succinctly but I will leave that to the philosophers of the future who will probably hold week long conferences where the precise definition of the 3rd Law will be debated to the nth degree. Of course it won’t feel like a week. That’s what the 3rd Law does to you.

They will come back from the conference wearing the free conference t-shirt or hoodie with 3rdLaw Conference, Miami, 2020 on the back and a picture of a half empty cup of tea (or coffee – you choose) as the breast logo on the front.

Now I know what you are thinking. “How did he know it was going to be in Miami?”. I just fancy going to Miami. Never been. You didn’t think I’d let them have a 3rdLaw Conference without inviting me along did you? They would ask me where I thought would be best.

I could also chose Antigua or some other such luxury Caribbean destination. Never been there either. Other suggestions will taken on board but please don’t suggest anywhere I’ve already been except perhaps New Orleans (N’awlins) which was a great place for a conference and I once spent 8 days there a long time ago. I’m not going to supply a list of where I’ve already been. It would take too long.

Not that it would be boring. I’ve been to a lot of interesting places. A lot of good bars and gin joints around the world. Never to Casablanca though, talking of gin joints – one of the famous lines that Bogey comes out with when he sees her. You know the scene I mean. If not I’m not going to tell you. You’re not in my gang.

It’s one of my favourite movies, Casablanca. Another one is Mary Poppins. I like nice films with happy endings. That’s one of the things I liked about Harry Potter. You always knew that Harry would win in the end. There’s no way JK could have him killed off and Voldemort winning. She didn’t disappoint. Not everyone is a Potter fan mind you. Some prefer The Lord Of The Rings. I didn’t mind that movie but it wasn’t very believable unlike Harry Potter who is clearly a real life wizard. If you don’t agree you’re not in my gang.

I have to be careful here. At the rate I’m going on there will be nobody in my gang.  I will have excluded everyone on the grounds of what is going on in their minds which smacks of fascism, or communism or some similar but different regime. Totalitarian probably. I’m not like that really.

Also I’m not a loner. I want people to be in my gang, though I quite like standing at a bar on my own having a quiet pint, but not always.

3rd Law Part 21 here

3rd Law part 23 here

April 14, 2013

The delay – 3rd Law 21

Filed under: 3rd law,chinks,travel — Tags: , — Trefor Davies @ 7:06 am

There is a technical fault and we cannot commence boarding. I am relaxed. Travelling on my own, en route but going nowhere.

This delay is now indefinite. Mm. Okay. I’m still ok. There is no rush, while I have power in my battery or can find a socket. I have with me a European power adapter. I can even switch on data roaming should I chose the extravagant route to the alleviation of boredom. At this time I do not need to. I am not bored and I note also that this airport, Schipol, has 2 x 30 minutes of free WiFi.

That is good. Better than Humberside whence I came, where there was a prominent sign indicating the presence of WiFi but no spectrum to back it up.  No bandwidth man. Nothing. No signal. Schipol is a real airport.

Here I am saving my free time for a time when I need it. At the moment I am fine.

They do not say what is the cause of the delay, beyond “technical fault”. I can see both engines so it can’t be that although visibility is no evidence of functionality. Maybe the spark plug needs changing, or whatever they have in aircraft engines. If it was the… (pause – see next sentence)

The captain is speaking. The brakes on the right hand side of the plane do not work. We expect more news in 20 – 30 minutes while they try to fix them. Fair play to him. There is nothing worse than being delayed but not being told what the problem is. Like the good old days of British Rail. I guess my position is that I want them to fix the brakes. It’s all very well being able to take off but when we land at the other end, Hamburg in this case, I want the skipper to be able to stop the plane, bringing it gently to a halt at the gate without causing me to spill my drink or my bag to be ejected from the overhead luggage compartment.

I realise that during landing I wouldn’t be holding a glass, full or empty, but I used that for effect. Just imagine a coloured liquid spilling over onto my lap. My trousers are brown and even if it was brown coloured liquid such as beer or tea it would still show up as a dark stain and make life quite uncomfortable until I could get to my hotel room, by taxi, to put on a clean pair.

I’m quite glad there is not a glass of beer in my hand at the moment. It is lunchtime and the last thing I want is to be delayed for a long period of time drinking beer, believe it or not. I have a long day ahead of me. Mineral water would be the name of the game. I’m ok at the moment though. Had a small shot of orange juice on the previous flight from Humberside. Did the job.

Old guy sat next to me started to talk to me in German. Ich spreche keine Deutsch, other than the few words I learnt in the 3rd form at Ballakameen High School in Douglas before I chose French as my language option for O’Level and lost the interest of the teacher. Don’t remember her name though I seem to recall she was a pleasant enough woman. Long time ago now.

It is now twenty past one local time. We were due to take off, soar into the skies, at ten past one. Everyone is calm. Nobody is at the point of asking for free food and drink vouchers.

They have now announced that the flight has been cancelled. Oh dear. “Please stay at the gate for further information”. Ah well. Switch on quiet resignation mode – that’s survival mode in the game of the international jet set. There is no executive lounge involved here though I did note the presence of a sports bar just a few gates back towards the main terminal.

The problem is that if I want to make it to a reasonably decent hour before collapsing in bed tonight I have to delay the onset of alcohol consumption. Also I’m quite happy tapping away productively here. It’s an alternative to surfing the internet and one where the Third Law can equally apply provided the creative juices are in full flow, which they appear to be, and I have battery power. It would be nice if they told us what options they were looking at. I don’t particularly want to spend the night on my own in Amsterdam.

…

I’m now booked on a 21.10 flight to Hamburg. That’s an 8 hour delay! No point in getting hot and bothered. A woman in front of me at the desk was complaining that she had flown in from Canada for two days and was now expected to spend one of those days in the airport. It’s a fair complaint but not one that any of the staff could do anything about. All the planes are full, apparently.

I’m currently sat in the food hall having consumed a wholly unsatisfying Burger King. Not quite sure why anyone eats that stuff. I’d far rather have been dissatisfied with a McDonalds but never mind. So this afternoon I am heading in to Amsterdam to look at the tulips, or whatever they have on display for my delight and entertainment. Probably take in a beer or three as well, seeing as I brought the subject up earlier.

People in this food hall come and go. Imagine having to sit here for eight hours, or a lifetime even, seeing everyone else come and go and move on to their ultimate final destination whilst you have to stay here. I imagine it would be a bit like being stuck in a lift for a weekend, but different. I’ve never been stuck in a lift. Obviously it’s not something one has ambitions of doing though I’ve often fancied feeling a minor earthquake. Not a big destructive one, just one that I can definitely feel enough to say to myself, “oo that’s an earthquake”.

Not one like the one that caused the Japanese tsunami. There were videos of that one on YouTube. Pretty frightening, some of it, where the earth was moving and water seeping up out of the ground in front of you.

As I write I look up and see a plane take off. Alitalia. Pronto. Prego.

This food hall is quite quiet. It’s 13.52 so no longer really a mealtime though I doubt that matters if you are travelling. When you are travelling to take whatever you can whenever you can. Caprisco?

Arrivaderchi, Amsterdam beckons…

…

Caught the 18.44 back to Schipol, 50 acorns tied in a sack. The men from the press said nothing, didn’t know I was gone. Okeydokey. Walked out of Amsterdam Centraal through the wrong door and found myself at the waterfront. I then found a long way round to get back to the touristy bit, which is actually most of it. Amsterdam ain’t that big – around 750k inhabitants apparantelement, to coin a Franglais word. After waling around a fair bit I realise that the Reichsmuseum, which was something I considered worth visiting, was a fair way away so I cut my losses and went on a canal trip for an hour.

It was ok and at least I was sat down. Afterwards I found a lovely little bar, Old Nickel Hotel, en route back to the station. Had a couple of Grolsch, availed myself of their free wifi and caught up with the Imps score. We won 2-1. Important as we were only one point above the relegation zone.

Lots of hen and stag trips on the prowl in Old Amsterdam. Not particularly attractive though the Scottish lot that turned up in the pub seemed ok. I could envisage a good trip here with the lads. Heading back to the aeroporto now and a couple more beers before hopefully getting on a plane bound for Hamburg.

I wonder if the burgers are good in Hamburg. You’d think so wouldn’t you? Holland seems a pleasant enough place.

I had been expecting to be in a bar in Old Hamburg by now. I assume there is an Old Hamburg. When I was in Dresden a year or so ago there was an Old Dresden even though it must have been fairly new having been flattened by bombing during WW2. I will find out later. I get there around 10pm – say 10.45 at the Sofitel. I feel a few late beers coming on – in a cellar bar somewhere with buxom waitresses carrying 10 beers at a time. I dream. My imagination is taking hold.

I am seven minutes away from the scheduled stop at the airport (o). I will have to go through security again. Pain. It was bloomin slow last time. We are passing lots of blocks of flats on the way. People live in flats here. Not particularly nice. Their problem not mine.

Back in Het Palais – bar/restaurant at Schipol. I’m flying out of Gate D66 which is a shortish walk away. I have around 2 hours to wait. Will have to pace myself. Drinking Heineken which I’m sorry to say just tastes like gassy cold liquid and not much else. Not sure there is much else in Schipol.

Just had a bit of a minor result. The laptop says it is 18.30 which means the flight is 2 ½ hours away. However the phone says it is 19.30 – 1 ½ hours to go. Now I’ve not connected to tinterweb or the mobile network using the laptop but I have with the phone which probably accounts for it. Otherwise the difference is Android vs Windows 8!

Music here ain’t bad. Beatles, Beach Boys. Of my time, ish. Saw the Beach Boys on one of their farewell tours at Wembley Arena before we got married. Long time ago now. Never saw the Beatles though I have seen Macca three times.

You will tell me if I’m going on a bit won’t you. You will have to leave a comment. Or just close the window. You know how it works. I may never find out I was boring you.

It’s getting towards dusk here at Schipol. The lights are starting to come on outside. The flight to Hamburg is not a long one.

Someone sat opposite me at the bar showing everyone a picture of the bloke next to jhim’s wife. The husband is a shrivelled old guy and she is a young Philipino or similar. Makes you smile. Good luck to him. He is wearing a baseball cap fwiw. A black one with white trim and some sort of badge pinned to the peak 🙂 fwiw.

Just passed the 1,800 word mark. I note this sort of thing since I’ve been planning Philosopherontap Book2. My target is 80,000 words and I suspect I am still shy of 30,000 at the moment. No probs. The words will come. Nuggets of literary beauty articulated in pixels.

Sometimes I feel I need to be able to type a little faster. I’m not bad, though I’ve never worked out my wpm (I assume that is a kosher acronym for words per minute). When I say kosher I’m not Jewish but I’m sure you know what I mean. Sometimes the words flow error free and with a flourish. At other times I am constantly correcting typos. It’s better to get something down quickly and worry about tidying it up later although that’s only the case for typed stuff. If it’s handwriting I often can’t understand my own writing after the fact. Strokes of genius lost to us all because I was never a very tidy writer.

Interestingly, or at least I think so, I have 1 hour and 19 minutes of battery left and 40 minutes before boarding starts, at Gate D66 as you know. This means no typing on the plane, unless I can plug in for a bit at the gate. We shall see. I’m doing without food prior to boarding. The chips don’t look up to much and I already had a burger and chips anyway for lunch, as you know. I quite fancy the chicken satay but it comes with sweet and sour stir fry veg and costs E18.50. I like chicken satay. Just sayin’.

There is a turnover of people at this bar, The guy with the Philipino wife has gone and in his seat is a Brit, by the sound of it. You can’t see it but I have my foot stuck through the strap of my PC bag. A token gesture to stop any thieving git nicking it as I sit at the bar here. The most valuable thing in the bag is actually on the bar – the laptop I’m typing in at as we speak/write. However it does have stuff that would be inconvenient to lose and there is the pair of Oakley shades (shakes hand in a cool way, fingers stuck out).

They seem to be playing a big Beatles tape here. Every time I notice it’s a Beatles song. Of course it’s almost certainly not a tape. They went out decades ago. Didn’t notice when. It just happened. They lost out to the CD which is in itself now a dinosaur though I still like to have the CD as a backup even though I upload the tracks to my laptop/phone whenever I buy anything which isn’t all that often.

The lat time I bought music, and I did a buy a load of stuff, was for my 50th birthday bash. I got all my favourites that I didn’t already have digital versions of. Spent knocking on a hundred quid with Amazon. All good stuff. Donna Summer, The Jam, I can’t remember it all. It was stuff from my era. Had a great 50th birthday bash. Next one is our 25th wedding anniversary.

…

Believe it or not now stood at the desk at D66 charging my laptop. Didn’t inject much charge. Then on to seat 6C. Changed it from a middle seat to an aisle. Result. Apparently there are 20 spaces on this flight. The earlier one was rammed. While I think of it I believe I paid extra to have a choice of seat on the 13.10 which of course I didn’t catch. I think I need to look for a bit of a refund there. It’s the principle of it. They only gave me a tenner towards food and drink for the delay! Not good enough!

I’m tapping away as people board. Going to be looking for a couple of large gin and tonics after we have taken off. Seems reasonable. No sign of anyone tuning up for seats 6 A or B yet though there is still time. Might get a nice bit of stuff next to me. Overweight old slapper more like.

Woman cones on board with a couple of small kids and a cardboard container of fizzy drink. It looks like a medium rather than a large or king size or anything like that. They don’t come in “small” these days do they?

The staff at the front chat enthusiastically. Couple of girls and a clean cut bloke. One of the women has four stripes on her sleeve and the bloke has only one. Either she is massively more senior to him or he is on a different scale. His (smart) uniform is darker than hers. Maybe the stripes are like McDonalds stars. Probably…

Seems like most people are on board but there are still ten minutes before we are supposed to be taking off. If it was me I’d close the door and get on with it. Maybe we are not all here. Buggers. Can you tell I’ve been drinking? Just noticed that the second stewardess also only has one stripe. Those four stripes on the first look like serious seniority then J

There is still nobody in the two seats next to me. Fingers crossed.

The senior stewardess is a brunette. Fortyish. You wonder if she dyes her hair. Must do (bitch bitch). Smart looking woman still.

Couple of blokes (yooves, barely) just come on board and everyone springs into action. We are getting ready for the off. Engines rev, doors slam shut, with a relatively mild smalling noise. It’s all done with hydraulics these days. Smooth.

Cabin crew arm the slides. Slides? Maybe I misheard.

Airborne at last and the bright cabin lights have come on. I was quite happy with the dimmed ones. Ah well. Just blasting Dexy’s Midnight Runners Geno and Come on Eileen on the SGS3. You know it makes sense. The curtains have been drawn on the business class folk so that us plebs can’t get jealous at the champagne and caviar being dished out or the neat shots of Grey Goose vodka if like me they have been delayed by 8 hours. Our trolley has turned up. No G&T. Just some red wine called Terra Andina!!! Also some savoury pretzel type things, no doubt with high salt content. Ah well. There’s always the bar at the Sofitel Hamburg.

Moved on to Donna Summer. Hot Stuff followed by Bad Girls. She’s the tops, the mashed potato – yaknowworramean. Takes me back to my teens in the Isle of Man, The Cave Discotheque. No longer there. Memories buried in the bulldozed rubble of Summerland. I worked there one summer, in the cinema. All gone now. Sad times.

Still have more battery left than flight time which is good. Can plug in when I get to the Sofitel. Leave the laptop to its own devices. Reb.  2 minutes left in the air. The oblivion or happy landings. If oblivion is it you will never read this unless the laptop is recovered from the wreckage and returned to Timico for analysis. See if there are any last messages left by the dying man. KnowworrameanJ

Don’t worry. Not really being fatalistic. Just playing. Bit of playful banter. Like it or lump it, dump it. Amazed I’m still tapping away here really. Been travelling all day. Travelling being somewhat a loose term considering I’ve not been going anywhere. SOB. That’s how I really feel. That’s life Jim though not as we particularly want to know it. Godammit!

Can you tell I’m getting angry? Angry isn’t really the right word. I’m slightly annoyed but have to put up with it. That’s the way it goes amigo. Live with it. Now on to “I heard it on the radio” or whatever the song is called. It’s a goodun. I’m a Donna summer fan in case you couldn’t tell.

At least when I get to the burg of ham I’ll just be jumping in a taxi to go to the hotel.

Left home 7.30am UK time, arrived at Hamburg Sofitel 10.45 Deutschland time. 8 hours late.

Complete, unedited, unexpurgated.

Part 2o here

Part 22 here

 

March 9, 2013

3rd Law Part 20 – black holes, dislocations, unforeseen effects and the structureless society

Filed under: 3rd law — Tags: , , , — Trefor Davies @ 11:29 am

Now waiting for the Openreach engineer. It’s 9.32 and he is due sometime between 8am and 12 noon. The VDSL modem is kaput as ve say. No lights. No internet connection. Ach so. The first thing everyone asks upon returning to the house is “is the internet working yet?”. Non, nein, nyet, na, no.

It is if you use your cellular connection but that is when you notice how good our internet access is normally. It’s raining outside. Which seems appropriate.  I have lots to get on and do but everything involves going somewhere else and I have to stay here to babysit a defunct modem in case I’m not in when the engineer arrives which would not be good news.

I can’t see why I shouldn’t be able to log on to a portal to see where I am in the queue and what progress the guy is making towards my house. It would be a very friendly thing to offer.

I had considered today to be a job free zone but as the body slowly emerged from overnight shut down and systems rebooted a few tasks became evident. Tonight Johnnyboy is cooking us a barbecue style meal involving ribs, wings, tortilla chips and dips together with boston baked beans supplied by his mother, my very dear wife Anne. All the ingredients need sourcing, from Waitrose. All purchasing must in theory be complete by 12.30 which is the time the young footballer goes to play with his mates.

He has also just had a very good bit of news via a letter through the door this morning informing him of a vacant position as a carrier of daily newspapers to residences in the locale. This will involve a certain element of discipline hitherto dormant in the young lad. It means he has to get up at 6.45 am to go to the paper shop and pick up his literary load for onward carriage to the breakfast tables of Wragby Road.

There are several good outcomes from this newly imposed discipline. Firstly it will mean he spends less time on the Xbox in the morning. Second it will bring in twenty quid a week. Untold riches for someone who has only recently entered his teens.

The downside, and this is the bit that affects me, is that he has just tried to pump up his bike tyres in preparation for the 7am meet tomorrow with the round incumbent and the pump letteth all the air out! Now I have to get that sorted which probably means going to Halfords to get a new pump/valve but of course I have to baby site the modem. Scratch that. Just remembered a known good pump/valve combo in the car and it has worked, hooray.

The problem was going to be time. The lad has to be in Welton for the footy at 12.30. I have to be in the Morning Star for the pre match warm up at 1.30. The rest of the day should be considered a write off, starting that early. In one sense it is a good thing I now have this imposed period of inactivity. The third law book doesn’t write itself you know? It does really. The stuff just comes out. None of this sitting down and planning a structure – plot, characters etc. huh!

Could it be that the whole world is moving to a structureless position. We have “the cloud”. An ethereal entity not physically made of anything tangible that we trust is there but know not where. That certainly has the appearance of being structureless. We still have the order imposed on us by society but that order has been built up over hundreds, thousands of years even, of learning how to create red tape for the “benefit” of the whole.

Maybe the process of unravelling that structure takes a little time. Maybe unravel it will, somehow. The third law has unforeseen consequences. The speed at which everything happens means events happen so quickly that the forces of regulation and stability can no longer have sway. We already see that government struggles to keep up with the pace of technological change. Laws designed for an old world order no longer work. Copyright infringement in a world where millions of copies can be made at the click of a mouse, for example.

There surely has to be some structure. When I go to the Morning Star I stay on one side of the bar whilst Dave the barman, or whoever else is on, stays on the other side. He gives me beer, I drink it. I give him money. The money thing is going to disappear for sure, at least the hard stuff in the pocket. This brings us back to my VDSL modem because without the connectivity to make the electronic transaction happen I won’t be able to hand over my invisible cash and I won’t get my beer.

The dependency on connectivity and all things electronic makes our lives very vulnerable to total wipeout. Just as the music file can be copied at the flick of a switch, our online presence, entity if you like, can also be similarly removed. All backups of all the photos of us ever uploaded gone, kaput, as we have been known to say.

I’m going to insert what is known as a dislocation to the third law here. A dislocation is a time shift. A period in the flow where it looks as if there should be something there but it doesn’t appear to be. A kind of black hole but different. I’ve never known anyone escape the python-like squeeze of a black hole but the dislocation to the third law is a regular phenomenon that sees people emerge on the other side, unscathed if somewhat confused.

It is now 10.37. This hasn’t been a continuous writing session as you will recall that I broke to find the bicycle pump which may well have meant a dislocation but only a very minor one and  only visible to the trained eye.

The rain continues. I’d like to have added relentlessly to that sentence, at the end, but I’m not sure whether that would have been an entirely accurate description of the current state of precipitation. There are certainly lots of drops hitting the conservatory roof but they come from the sycamore tree above rather than the actual rain which is usually quieter unless it is if the tropical storm variety in which case it can be deafening.

That tree is toast btw. Our new neighbours have decided it is going and are looking for a sensible quote. I am in favour of this act of forrestial (new word) destruction as it creates a lot of shade and even more leaves and crap on the conservatory roof that then needs cleaning. It will also have the side benefit of generating lots of logs for the fire though in my experience sycamore is a rubbish burner. Not going to say no though.

We are almost at the end of this open fire season. Maybe a couple more fires but then spring should be in full sway. Not that that necessarily means it will get any warmer but psychologically it will mean that we will feel it wrong to have the central heating on, let along lighting the open fire. Ve shall see.

Oops there I go again. Lapsing into German. It isn’t as if I’ve been to Germany much but being born only 16 years after the end of the second world war I grew up with a lot of WW2 fighting in comics. “Hande hoch, Englander schwein hundt” etc. Couldn’t get away with it these days though I do seem to be trying hard.

We will definitely be having an open fire next Sunday as we have some friends coming round to help us eat a goose. V traditional. I have a Delia Smith recipe that involves prunes soaked in Armagnac. I don’t have any Armagnac in so will have to buy some and will inevitably consume some in a non culinary manner (ie drink it) and end up slumping in front of the open fire. Bless ‘im.

We don’t have goose very often. It’s expensive and doesn’t produce much meat though there is always lots of good fat left over for use in cooking roast potatoes. Nothing better, fair play.

10.56 and still no engineer. To be continued…

3rd law Part 19 here

part 21 here

March 8, 2013

3rd Law Part 19 – lowlife, postmen and Winking Owls

Filed under: 3rd law — Tags: , , , , , , — Trefor Davies @ 5:33 pm

Sat in reception of Auto Windscreens listening to some funky music. At first I thought hmm, can they turn this loud stuff off but now I’ve changed my mind. It’s quite uplifting.

I’m here because some lowlife smashed one of the rear windows of the Jeep. The lowlife didn’t get in because they hadn’t bargained for the fact that the knob you use to unlock the door from the inside was broken on that door. I’ve never bothered getting it replaced because it doesn’t stop us from locking and unlocking the car. Hah.

We called the cops who came out straight away fair play.  Apparently there has been a spate of such break-ins in town. They know who is doing it. A bunch of junkies looking for something to steal and sell for peanuts to buy themselves a couple of fixes. Been in and out of prison. There was no evidence onsite at our house to say who it was so I guess the forces of law and order will have to wait until the next incident to try and nab em.

We have beefed up our perimeter defences. I won’t tell you what we’ve done – need to know basis. I’d have to kill you. You can be assured however that it doesn’t involve razorwire or vicious killer dogs patrolling between the fences and trained to attack silently and ask questions after. The mind races away here. Picture the scene.

Dog pounces, forces you to the ground by clamping its huge teeth round your throat, shakes its head to rough you up a little and when it thinks it’s broken your resistance, lets go. It then proceeds to interrogate you in a very business-like manner, enquiring as to the purpose of your intrusion into the Davies estates.

Upon hearing that you are the postman and checking out your ID it licks the blood that has started to flow from the wounds in your neck, backs off and lets you know you are ok to proceed.

No that isn’t what we have done.

We interrupt the flow of this story to say btw it’s Radio 1 playing. Not my thing. I’m not in the right demographic.

Coming back to the security stuff, had the postman had his black and white cat with him in the van it would have scared it witless (words modified to preserve the Universal Classification of this work should it ever get to being assessed by the British Board Of Film or whoever does these things these days.

I assume the postman must have been on foot and without cat. It isn’t practical to take your cat with you on a round if you are on foot as they tend to wander off in search of mice or butterflies (other insects are available).

I’m not a cat person. Not a dog person really either. I like the concept of owning a dog. The faithful retainer trotting alongside you obediently, sitting at your feet in the pub gratefully catching the odd cheese and onion crisp thrown for its benefit. I like all that. What I don’t like is the fact that you have to look after it.

Also what do you do with the dog when you go on holiday?

Puts the mockers on that skiing trip or the villa in Mustique doesn’t it? I guess one could leave it with the gardener or the estate manager, or the mother in law though she wouldn’t be much use. Complains too much. Would drive the dog up the wall. It would attempt to escape and try and find you which is going to be difficult if you are in Mustique though marginally easier if skiing, as long as it isn’t in Canada or somewhere like that.

In fact I haven’t been skiing for many years. Not since Bob Madge suggested we popped up to Aviemore in 1984 or 1985. This was a Thursday and after work on Friday afternoon we were headed northbound with someone else whose name temporarily escapes me but which I will let you know if I remember. George it was I think. So we set off on Friday afternoon for the mobile home we had rented in Aviemore. It is a long way from Lincoln and we got there quite late and were starving.

We had been recommended to go to the Winking Owl to eat but we couldn’t find it so ended up having some poxy pub meal which was ok but not as good as we would have had had it been the Winking Owl, apparently. The ironic thing was that as soon as we had eaten and moved on to the next pub the next pub turned out to be, the Winking Owl of course!!

The next day we spent skiing. The one thing I have refrained from mentioning is that I broke my leg skiing at the age of 13 on a school trip to Sapada in the Italian Dolomites. The consequence of this breakage is that my right leg has never quite been as strong as the left. Normally it doesn’t matter but on that day skiing in Aviemore I found that it was weakening and I was beginning to fall even more than normal. I figured that the safest thing to do was get on the drag lift to the top of the mountain and take the chairlift to the bottom. On the way up someone had to sit next to me because I kept drifting off to the right, my left leg now being muscularly dominant.

When we got to the top we found that the chairlift had been closed due to high winds! Nightmare! The only thing I could do was ski down to the bottom. At this point we must remember from my experience on the drag lift that I could easily go to the right but not to the left! So in attempting to ski down the mountain I found that I could zig but not zag. I ended up having to zig, fall over, turn around on my backside (being ever mindful of that “U”), stand up and zig again. This took me ages and was my last skiing experience apart from a short afternoon on holiday in the French Alps.

Radio 1 is getting a bit irritating btw. I don’t mind the music but the mindless inane rubbish between songs is hard going. Bring back Radio2 or Radio4, though not The Archers. I can’t stand The Archers.

At this point I’m going to change the direction of the conversation because it is in danger of getting too negative. I’m going to take us back in time again to another restaurant we were looking for. This one, whose name is definitely lost in the mists of time, was on the seafront in Haifa. We were in Tel Aviv on business, staying at the Intercontinental Hotel on the beach. Very nice.

The concierge had recommended the restaurant and said it was just outside on the promenade. Getting there all we could find was a closed kiosk. Definitely not the posh restaurant. Looking around us there was nothing in sight. Hmm.

Next thing we know is that an ice cream van comes along, music blaring. I flagged him down and the guy inside, thinking he had a sale, eagerly hopped up to serve us. Unfortunately for him I only wanted to ask where the eatery was.

He was a helpful enough chap and pointed to a spot a couple of miles along the promenade. I then cheekily asked if he wouldn’t mind giving us a lift. Glint in eye etc. No problem.

We piled in and had the surreal experience of riding along the Tel Aviv seafront in the back of an ice cream van. It wasn’t a particularly posh one but hey…

After a short while a kid ran out for an ice cream and we pulled over – right in front of the restaurant. Out we got, thanked him and went in only to find it was fully booked! You lose some you draw some 🙂

How about this – the car is ready. I’m off. Ciao.

3rd Law part 18 here

3rd Law part 20 here

March 2, 2013

3rd law part 18

Filed under: 3rd law — Trefor Davies @ 12:38 pm

This is one of those time has no meaning days. I have a jobs list but nothing that won’t wait. In one sense it doesn’t make sense to use the internet on a day like this. If time has no meaning it means you have a lot of it going spare. If I use the internet the third law will kick in and that time will have gone. Decisions decisions.

I did just pop out to the back garden for a kickabout with a football with our youngest. The garden has no chance really. It is littered with cracked pots and broken plants, bashed by ball. The lawn itself is in dire need of attention, lots of muddy patches and where there is greenery it is often moss. There is really no point in doing anything about it whilst it is still used as a sports field. Perhaps I should get the groundsman from the school over the road to come in and give it some industrial strength attention.

It’s a good phrase, “industrial strength”. Handy for lots of situations though I’m not sure I can quote an example here, other than the one I just did. It’s a bit like “fair play”. Useful, generally. I’ve made myself think here, wondering what other phrases come into the same category.

 

 

The pause for thought is represented by a couple of carriage returns, invisible but hopefully obvious. I’m afraid I can’t think of another such phrase though if I do I’ll burst out mid paragraph, a kind of metaphoric “Eureka”. Eureka is also a handy word but not a phrase and really only meant to represent the fact that you have discovered something unexpectedly.

You won’t see this but I am writing this bit at a desk in the TV room. It used to be my study but that went out the door when we got a TV. It might surprise you to hear that our oldest was thirteen before we had a TV in the house. I eventually bowed to pressure from a daughter about to go up to high school who was worried she might not be able to keep up with the TV gossip in the playground, although I don’t think they call it playground at “big school”. Playground is for kids.

Although I effectively lost my study it is quite handy to have a room that I can shut the door on and not have to put up with the rubbish they have on. It isn’t all rubbish but the vast majority is. I usually end up in another room on my laptop indulging in a bit of third law, or writing stuff like I am now.

Most of my writing is done on a sofa in the living room or in the kitchen or the conservatory (with Colonel Mustard and the lead piping). That bit in brackets is an in phrase for those in the know. It isn’t quite an eureka phrase and certainly not worthy of a shout out, in case you are analysing every word for the promised expression of surprise and discovery.

That expression may never arrive. I do feel as if I should be offering a prize for the first person to spot such an expression but I won’t because I’ll probably be inundated with emails and comments with “entries” none of which will be right and all of which will be expecting some kind of response. Not that I don’t like comments. I’m a pretty gregarious individual and like to engage with folk.

That’s my rule for twitter. I only follow people who are real people and who have something to say other than “buy my left handed widget”, “offers on left handed widgets” and “sale of left handed widgets ends at noon”. I don’t even know what a left handed widget is and seeing as I am right handed can’t see what possible use I could have for one unless it is something like a fork which I hold in my left hand using my right to manipulate the knife. I might be completely wrong here. It may also be that left handed widgets can also be used in the right hand in which case they are mislabelled, misrepresented and quite possibly miss sold, though not to me as I won’t buy one because I won’t be following them on twitter. I don’t think I’ve ever bought anything through following a link on twitter. I do get a lot of my news through twitter mind you. Breaking news, you saw it first on twitter, hot action as it happens from first hand witnesses, unless that is it is just a simple retweet. In fact it is mostly going to come from retweets as I don’t know anyone who lives in a war zone and who is likely to be filling my stream with live action coverage.

I have been stranded in war zones on two occasions in my life. The first was on 9 11. I was at a conference in the USA. The whole thing fizzled out as the planes crashed on day one of the conference. Many of the attendees had not yet arrived and most who could, drove home leaving just the overseas visitors to spend a week around the pool and going out every night.

The second was during the July 7th bombings in London. I had been expecting to catch a train back north from Kings Cross that day but instead was “forced” to spend the whole afternoon in the pub, crashing out at my sister Sue’s place in Balham for the night. It was handy having a sister living in Balham (gateway to the South) but she lives in Cardiff now which is also quite handy for when you want to go and watch the rugby at the Millennium Stadium which I am wont to do every now and again.

I remember once staying with Sue in Balham after watching England play Wales at Twickers. Sue had been the “good Auntie” and taken Joe then aged three out in London for the day. Hamleys toy shop, that kind of stuff. It’s hard work looking after a three year old, especially when you are not used to it so when I got back from the rugby Sue was desperate for some adult company, a few glasses of wine and a meal. Unfortunately I had been on the pop at a corporate jolly all day and all I could do when I got in was collapse. Poor Sue.

Sue’s a violinist you know. When we were kids we used to play the sailors hornpipe together, her on the fiddle and me on guitar. We would repeat the tune playing the verses faster and faster until we could physically go no faster. Mam and day would be quite proud when they saw people stop outside our house to listen. We still do it as a party piece. That and “The Irish Washerwoman”. Fair play 🙂

Slipped that one in, the fair play. You can’t claim it as a new phrase though because it was in the original spiel on useful phrases. Spiel is also a very useful word but like Eureka, not a phrase. I might be being a little harsh on myself here insisting on the useful phrase being a phrase rather than just a word but there again rules is rules. If you make ‘em there is no point in breaking ‘em straight away though I know that “rules are meant to be broken”.  That last phrase by the way is not one of the useful ones. It is interesting enough but not in my book useful, and this is indeed my book.

It would be no different if it was my ball and we were playing football. If it’s my ball we play by my rules. Period. Full stop. I don’t really like the word period, it’s too American and I don’t know why I used it.

3rd law part 17 here

3rd law part 19 here

February 18, 2013

3rd Law Part 17

Filed under: 3rd law — Trefor Davies @ 6:34 am

Just installing a piece of software from Dell. I recently upgraded from Windows 7 to Windows 8 and the computer won’t work like it used to. For example I have a SIM in it that needs some driver software call Dell Mobile Broadband Manager. This seems to have disappeared during the upgrade. Dell won’t let me search their website before verifying that I am a genuine customer. The software download is so that it can interrogate me to validate that I am allowed to look for the driver on the Dell website. That’s control for you. So much control that I now have the message “We’re sorry, we encountered a problem and were unable to complete the service tag detection. You can either Try Again or Cancel to select another option.”

Huh. I’m on holiday now. It will have to wait until I get back to work. It isn’t the end of the world as a) I’m supposed to be going offline whilst on holiday and b) I have two phones I can tether the laptop to use for internet access during the week hah – laughs in the face of adversity/authority (delete depending on your mood).

It’s early here in the Davies household and rather than lie in bed waiting for the alarm to go off I’ve decided to get up and let the 3rd law take over. In this case I’m not surfing tinternet I’m writing a bit of the 3rd Law book which seems to work in just the same way. It would seem that the Third Law permeates other areas of life as we know it. Inneresting. There could be a doctorate in this. Taking it to the extreme it could mean a Nobel Prize. Wow. I didn’t realise when I began all this Third Law stuff that it could be so big! It isn’t yet of course but in might be.

I have around 45 minutes before I get up off the settee and make a pot of tea. This is later than is normal but I did say we are on holiday so I am affording us a little lie in. I’m good like that. Generous. Notice that I didn’t say generous to a fault. That would have been going over the top and is really up to others to say. I don’t want to be remembered for being “that guy who used to go around thinking he was generous to a fault.” What a plonker.

I’m not generous to a fault. Happy to give a tip where a tip is deserved and am often being seen to complement someone on their new hairdo – nice words are not hard to come by and if it makes someone’s day then why not. You will have noticed that I kept that bit gender neutral. I didn’t want to be accused of sexism or “being after something”. I’m sure that it is perfectly possible for a bloke to appreciate a nice comment about his hair just as much a woman.

It is more likely that one would comment about a man’s facial hair rather than the stuff on the top of his head. The former will attract statements such as “that’s a fine brush you’ve grown there Martin” whilst the latter is more likely to be in the vein of “thinning a bit on top I see, I’d shave it all off if it was me”. I can see Martin stroking his moustache, rightly proud, whereas the nameless chap in need of a home shaver will have no choice but to agree in a manly but resigned to his fate manner.

Never been into moustaches myself. They are a bit ticklish and I don’t like the way they pick up bits of food. Yuk. Sometimes when we go camping I give myself the week off shaving. I don’t mind a bit of the rugged look when kipping in a tent. It’s all part of the adventure even though we are probably on an organised campsite and pitched in between two large caravans with satellite TV dishes on top where the inhabitants retire every evening to watch a continuous stream of soaps. Huh (to be accompanied by contemptuous sound effects).

There was one year we went camping with a few other families, one of which had a caravan but where all the others were in tents. One morning the skies opened and about a month’s rain fell in two hours. We all huddled under the awning of one tent. The caravan owner, Alistair, was desperate for us to retreat to the comfort of his caravan but we would have none of it. I still have a video of the morning showing a river of water running off the front of the awning. The rain finished and the campsite having the benefit of the good drainage from a sandy soil soon returned to normal. This was in Jubilee Park in Woodhall Spa. Last year we were there and it also rained. I took another video and posted it to YouTube. All it was was water bouncing off the tent. I also decided to monetise the video but got an automated message from Google, or some oik saying that this was an unsuitable video for monetisation! Some people have no idea, or perhaps they were members of the Caravan Club!

We have been camping since time immemorial, the Davies family that is, not the human race. We all know the human race has been living in tents since the dawn of time, or words to that suitably dramatic effect representing the thousands of years of human evolution in a few short words. The Davies family started camping in a borrowed tent when Tom, our first born, was a baby. It was a small tent but we weren’t the family of six that we now are. Having a small baby on our hands we had finished eating and were ready for bed quite early, eight o clock say. I remember playing my guitar inside the tent trying to get him to sleep. It probably looked odd from the outside seeing the tent all closed up with the sound of a lullaby coming from within.

I like to think that my dulcet tones had the right calming effect on the kids though as they grew I did on occasion have to raise the tone to represent slight crossness. Also I’m not sure I know any lullabys on the guitar though it might have been “Summertime” which was one of my staples for singing the kids to sleep. I have been known to sing myself to sleep at the same time especially having just arrived home jetlagged from an overseas trip.

Poor Anne would look forward to my return from these trips having been looking after the kids on her own all week. The funny thing was that I, who would have spent the whole week wining and dining in posh bars and restaurants would be looking forward to a simple meal of beans and toast whilst Anne, who had spent the week living on beans on toast would be after something a little more upscale. Life huh:)

Teatime…

Go to 3rd Law part 16

3rd law part 18 here

February 17, 2013

3rd Law Part 16 – voicemail

Filed under: 3rd law — Tags: , , — Trefor Davies @ 3:23 pm

Voicemail! It used to be called answerphone but not anymore. Blame it on globalization. I wonder who first thought of calling it that. Presumably someone from a former colony, the good ole u s of a. I don’t mind really though there are some things that could be different. Spellings for one and the fact that quite often when filling in a drop down form online when it comes to the choice of country you often find United States first in the list. Clearly a spelling problem for the software developer who must think that U comes before A though if you follow that logic The United Kingdom, Uruguay and the United Arab Emirates would also be before Australia, Azerbaijan and any other country beginning with the first letter of the alphabet.

There must be another reason that the USA comes first in the list though I can’t for the life of me think what it might be. Must be having a bit of a mental block. Senior moment though obv I’m not old enough to have one of those.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oh sorry just nodded off there for a bit. Head must have hit the return button on the keyboard. I’ve probably got a back to front carriage return symbol imprinted on my forehead. I know it doesn’t work like that really but the idea is a goodun. In the old days of the typewriter it couldn’t have happened. As soon as your head hit the keyboard, or whatever it was called way back then, one or more of the metal bits with the letter moulded into the end would have sprang up and hit you in the eye. The resultant sharp pain would almost certainly have woken you up and having cleaned the ink off your face you would have continued typing, clacking away clickety clack clickety clack (for that was the sound of the typewriter dear reader).

Reading that last sentence you could be forgiven for thinking that the sound of the typewriter was very similar to that of a train – many readers will not have heard a typewriter in action except maybe in an old black and white movie film.

Reality is very different. Oh yes. A train sound might be described as a clickety clack clickety clack but believe you me it is a far deeper and more resonant sound than the typewriter. Perhaps it needs a different font. I don’t know. A train would also have the occasional choo choo and chuff chuff slotted into the text so that it would really be quite clear that it wasn’t the sound of a typewriter being depicted on the page.

Both are historical entities now though we still have trains. They tend not to have the chuff chuff bit unless you are at a railway museum so somewhere like that. I quite like going to railway museums and riding on steam trains. I once went on an excursion on the Union of South Africa, the last steam train to leave Kings Cross station on a passenger service. It’s a Gresley A4 Pacific – the same design as the Mallard which still holds the world speed record for a steam train. This particular trip was full of anoraks nerds train enthusiasts who had all brought goggles with them so that they could stick their heads out of the window of the moving train without worrying about the soot and grit from the engine getting in their eyes. It was quite funny seeing their faces covered in black soot but with white bits around the eyes – as if they had been skiing. There was another moment where one of the enthusiasts walked quickly through each carriage telling everyone we had just reached seventy five miles per hour. I don’t think we were meant to be going over seventy so this was extreme flouting of the railway authorities. Huh, come and get us, if you can find us…

As it happens we have a train set laid out in the attic. It’s a big L shaped attic, maybe seven metres by seven metres and the layout itself is around 7 metres by three metres. It doesn’t go around the L shaped bit if you can imagine it. There are three loops so that’s roughly 60 metres of train track and we have a number of engines including, wait for it, The Union of South Africa. Get on!

It doesn’t get played with very much. Building the layout was an excuse for a few beers on a Sunday afternoon whilst listening to some old records. That’s vinyl, not mp3 download, iTunes, shared, pirated, streamed or any other modern format. Ok the occasional LP has a scratch but by and large they are ok.

The deck isn’t in the attic anymore though. One of the kids has it in their bedroom. Retro is cool these days and I do have 250 or so LPs to play including Led Zeppelin’s 4th album in green vinyl. I bought it off my pal Rhys at Bangor University. One of my favourite LPs was Frank Sinatra’s greatest Hits which I left on the deck one day. I got back to my room and the sun had melted it. It was all crinkled. I was gutted. I’ve never been able to find that same record again.

That’s life as we know it Jim. I used to watch that programme as a kid but not kept up with the multitudinous series’ since. What was it called? Star Trek that was it. Sorry if I sound a bit dim there. I don’t keep up with telly stuff.

When we were kids we used to watch a lot of telly. Nowadays the kids get chastised for spending too much time in front of a screen but we used to do it all the time. Ok I also used to read a lot but still watched far too much TV. Saturday mornings were great – White Horses, The Lone Ranger, The Banana Bunch. They don’t make em like that anymore. I have a lot of books these days though I don’t read as much as I used to.

When we started to have kids I began to buy up some of the books of my childhood. I wanted my own offspring to share in my boyhood experience. I gave all of mine away which I regret now. I bought a few Enid Blyton Famous Five’s. My god what drivel! To think I used to love them. It just shows how tastes have changed and also how little literature there was around for kids in those days. Blyton was a pioneer.

Nowadays you can get stuff like Alex Ryder that is truly gripping true to life adventure stuff. Well I know it isn’t really true to life but it all feels totally plausible. You should read one or two – you’ll be hooked. Same goes for Harry Potter who is totally believable. I need to get myself one of those wands. You have to use them carefully though because they can do some pretty powerful stuff. Levitation for example. Never saw any teleporting like they do in Star Trek but I guess Star Trek was (is?) much further into the future where technology is that much more advanced.

Harry Potter is in the here and now. It must be. I’ve seen the sign for platform 9 ¾ at Kings Cross Station. QED.

3rd law part 15 here

3rd law part 17 here

February 10, 2013

The third law part 15 – the fireside chat

Filed under: 3rd law — Tags: , , — Trefor Davies @ 7:33 pm

Sitting here by the fire listening so someone else’s choice of music. It’s ok. He has similar tastes to me. Bought some smokeless fuel from B&Q this morning. Some packaged “instant light” stuff. It’s not right. Coal should be delivered on the back of a lorry and the bags emptied straight into the coal hole. We don’t have a coal hole any more. It went along with the pantry. Sacrificed for a side extension – two bedrooms a garage, utility room and downstairs toilet.

I’m not complaining, just sayin’.

I occasionally think about getting a coal bunker and taking delivery of a proper load. We used to have one when I was a kid in Wales. I remember Mam used to lie in front of the fire. Then when we moved to the Isle of Man the house only had electric radiators which weren’t particularly effective and probably expensive to run. Mam then used to lie in front of the radiator, behind the settee!

Mam and Dad moved house around ten years or so ago and the new place is warm as toast. So warm in fact I get too hot there. Ours is a big house and quite draughty which you get used to. The fire when lit is a real luxury to have. We don’t really need it. When the house was built central heating was the domain of the rich and our house had a fireplace in both downstairs living rooms. The one in the TV room is long gone, it went at the same time as the coal hole.

I think most people don’t have open fires anymore though they always seem to shift a lot of coal at the Garage on Burton Road so perhaps I’m wrong. They don’t have their purchasing right though because they keep running out of smokeless first. Considering that the garage is in a smokeless zone you wonder why they even bother with the proper smoky stuff.

I know I know, people travel into Lincoln and pick up coal on their way home. They should get themselves a coal bunker then. It’s a much cheaper way to buy coal.

Dunno what got me going on coal, other than I’m sitting here enjoying the company of the fire. It’s ‘orrible out there. Drizzly with the promise of hail and snow later. Bring on the real stuff. The big flaked deep drifting hole up for the winter stormy weather blotting out the sun snow. Ya have to lurve the stuff. Never mind about the aftermath. Enjoy the moment.

Anyway it isn’t snow at the moment it’s drizzle as I said. Rain is a bit of a pain if you are a bespectacled individual as I am. I used to think it would be a good idea if someone invented windscreen wipers for specs but thought that they would probably not be practical due to their being too heavy. You would think that problem could be easily overcome in these days of advanced technology wouldn’t you. Doesn’t appear to be the case.

If you are not a wearer of glasses it is hard for you to appreciate the total freedom represented by walking in the rain, face up to the heavens and letting the water run down your face. I take off my glasses sometimes to do it. Freeeedommmm. I was just imagining doing it then in case you were wondering.

Mind you don’t get me wrong I like the rain though there comes a point after forty days and forty nights where one does look forward to a bit of sun. There’s nothing quite like a summer’s day in the back garden, sipping a glass of something cool. The best bits about those kind of days are the evenings. It’s not often we can sit out in the evenings here. Maybe a week’s worth in a year. We are too far North. It’s good when we can though I do suffer from mozzies. They love me. The answer is to sit around the firepit – the smoke keeps them off. It’s worth ending up smelling of woodsmoke and it is easy enough to have a quick shower before going to bed. It’s back to the fire theme by the looks of it which wasn’t deliberate. Stop arson around Tref.

I’ve moved now from the living room to the kitchen where I am cooking roast pork for Sunday dinner. I’ve followed Michel Roux Junior’s tip for getting good crackling which is to pour boiling water over the skin of the pork before putting it in the oven. You have to dry the skin afterwards obv though as I think of it not all of you may have realised that you have to have dry pork skin to get good crackling. Especially the vegetarians amongst you who have no real need to know that information.

Might come in handy in a pub quiz one day though that does assume that you frequent such forms of entertainment. I don’t like pub quizzes myself because I have no idea about TV soaps and football which it seems to me is what half the questions are about. I have watched one episode each of East Enders and Coronation Street just so that I could educate myself about the genre, if that’s the right way of putting it. Must have easily been 25 years ago now. I doubt much has changed. Characters come and go and from what I can gather come back again. Woteva. Get a life people.

The other thing about pub quizzes is that some teams have loads of people in them which unfavourably stacks the odds against the smaller teams. I did once go to a Scout Group Family Quiz on a Saturday night in the Bailgate Methodist Church Hall of all places. Not my idea of a thing to do on  Saturday but one sometimes has to make these little sacrifices for the sake of the family. On this occasion Anne had to take one of the kids home at half time so I kept up the honour of the Davies’ and soldiered on for the second half. Blow me down if the first set of questions wasn’t about the Bible. Being a rampant non church goer married to a Sunday School teacher I felt helpless. I also felt that it was fair game to phone home to find out the answers to some of the questions which is what I did. Eyebrows were raised but when challenged by the Minister I explained and of course he, being a good Christian, understood and accepted the situache.

Pub quizzes are not helped by the fact that they are in pubs. Obvious I know but what I’m trying to get across is that when I’ve had a drink or two I get even worse at the quiz. It doesn’t really matter though sometimes there is a lot of cash at stake. I’ll never make my millions at pub quizzes.

I do occasionally buy a lottery ticket. Maybe two or three times a year. It is very rare for me to even get one number right. It has certainly been years since I won anything. Since the first year it came out I’d say. I think I won a tenner the first time I played it but not very much since. It’s how they get you hooked. Didn’t work in my case witnessed by the three times a year entry level. I do sometimes see people queuing up at garages to spend tens of pounds on tickets though. Probably those who can least afford to do so. Ah well.

I bet on the gee gees once a year when they run the Grand National. I’m sure it’s the same for most people.  I never win anything, or at least don’t get all my money back. I quite like going to the races themselves as opposed to watching them on tv and we have been known to go to Market Rasen for a day out. Usually the budget is a fiver a race but we’ve never had cause to pop the champagne.

One year we had to get a tractor to tow our car out of the mud! Didn’t have the Jeep then. There’s something about a race meet that is different to when you watch it on the telly. I suppose for one I have usually got a bet on at a meet which won’t be the case for the telly – except of course the Grand National. You also get the real life atmosphere, roar of the crowd, thudding of horses hooves – y’awl understand?

I’ll just go and put some more coal on the fire… 3rd Law part 14 here. 3rd law part 16 here.

February 3, 2013

Third Law Part 14 – thief in the night

Filed under: 3rd law — Trefor Davies @ 11:48 am

I saw on Facebook just now that a dog had killed someone’s cockerel.   Not good. The trials of life in the country I guess. A friend of mine keeps chickens in the centre of town and had a cockerel that was the subject of regular complaints from a neighbour. You do hear of people moving into the countryside and finding themselves woken regularly at a very early hour by a farm cockerel. For such people I have no sympathy. It is a little different for those living in town where cockerels have probably not been common features in the urban landscape for hundreds of years now. Having said that I was a bemused bystander where it came to my friend’s situation. I wasn’t affected by the dawn cock crow and didn’t mind him having a cockerel. I think the cockerel eventually died – the strain of having to service all the hens must get to them all in the end.

A regular supply if fresh eggs is no bad thing. Makes a big difference having your eggs fresh. You don’t notice it until you’ve tried. Almost the same as with bread though not to the same marked extent. Fresh bread is a real luxury. I went to a baking master class once at the cockerel owner’s place (the one in town, not the one in the countryside). The baker told us that in “the old days” mothers would not let their kids have bread until it was a few days old as otherwise they would wolf the whole lot down. Inneresting eh?

The subtitle of this bit of the third law is “thief in the night”. Please note that only refers to the death of the cockerel initially referred to and has nothing to do with the rest of the piece unless it slips in accidentally. I’m thinking swimming now. I started swimming last summer when there was a general consensus that I needed to lose weight. The treatment is working and the inches have been disappearing.

The one thing about swimming is that it gives you a lot of time to think. The pounding of the lanes could be an intensely boring exercise were you unable to “get into the zone”. There isn’t much looking around to do. I can’t see much without my specs anyway, even to the point where I have to ask an attendant the time when I think it is getting near to when I should be getting out. This is important as I normally stop off for a swim at Yarborough Leisure Centre on my way into work and I need to make sure I’m not (too) late in.

Even though I can’t see much I do like to wear “mist resistant” goggles, given to me for Christmas by my sister Ann, fwiw. Her family are also swimmers. They are real pros compared to me. I asked one niece if she would like to come swimming with her old uncle Tref. I said I was a pretty slow swimmer at 25 minutes for 20 lengths. She said she did 16 lengths in 5 minutes. Hmm. We had a race and even with a handicap of having to swim four times as far as me she still won. Fair play.

Anyway in pounding the lanes I get, as I said, time to think and to observe. The first observation is in swimming techniques. Some are really annoying. There is one woman who bobs up and down a lot and her feet seem to go at twice the rate of mine, an unfeasibly fast stroke rate. For some reason I find this irritating. Then there are the women who seem to just go for a chat. This too is irritating when I am there, totally focussed (ish) on the task in hand.

Some people swim faster than others. Most swim faster than me. I’ve long since stopped worrying about being passed by old dears who seem to glide effortlessly by. I’ve not been able to work it out. I suspect it is down to the length of my inside leg. I always buy “short” legged trousers and I reckon that the power in swimming comes from the leverage obtained from the longer leg. For the record there is an etiquette when lane swimming. The written rule is that you always swim in a clockwise manner with the slower swimmers sticking to the lanes marked out for that purpose. The unwritten rule is that if you catch up with a slower swimmer you don’t try to overtake. You just wait until nearly at the end of the lane and turn around early thereby finding, if you are lucky, a totally empty pool ahead of you. There are exceptions to this. If there are only two of you in the lane it is perfectly acceptable to pass on one side as you are not likely to encounter another swimmer coming the other way. Sorted.

Being pretty blind I have come to recognise the regulars from their outlines. If I saw them in the street, me with my specs on and they fully dressed I’d probably blank them. They’d think I was a right antisocial bastard. The average age of the regulars tends to be on the high side though you do get a younger cohort coming for the very early swim. I can’t understand how they have the discipline to do this. If they are coming out at 7.30 when I am getting in the pool they must have been up and at it by 6am wouldn’t you think?

I tend always to use the same locker, number 333 or triple Nelson. That refers to a cricketing term – Google it. I also like to use the same end changing cubicle as it is slightly bigger than the others. I reckon I only get it a third of the time as other swimmers must have the same idea. Sometimes people leave their clothes in the cubicle rather than using a locker and it can be a bit annoying when this cubicle happens to be my favourite. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not a massive deal but I thought it worth mentioning. One of the culprits might read this and change his or her ways. Unlikely but you never know.

By the way I know that some of you will be thinking that these Third Law posts are longer than your average post. Well that of course is because the third law says time goes faster when using the internet so in practice they shouldn’t seem to take any longer to read than one of say 500 words which is normally considered to be more of a sweet spot for posts. I’m a reb I am.

That’s all. Gotta go swimming. Cockadoodledoo.

Part 13 is here.

Part 13 is here.

January 28, 2013

Third Law Part 13 – Christmas is officially over

Filed under: 3rd law — Trefor Davies @ 8:23 pm

Christmas is officially over. I realise that Christmas was really officially over on twelfth night, some time ago. The decorations have long since been packed back into their boxes and restored to their high up inaccessible places ready for next year’s bout of figuring out which lights worked and which ones didn’t.

This however was not the case for my office. The Christmas cards have stayed there all month, totally unnoticed if I am completely honest. Ignored. Call me a miserable git but I don’t send Christmas cards from work. Whilst I don’t mind receiving cards if that’s your thang I far prefer chocolate, wine, whisky and so forth. Doesn’t happen very often mind you.

So today the Christmas cards at work were brutally disposed of. That isn’t entirely true for no brutality was actually employed. I was just feeling around for a dramatic way of putting it across. Emphatic was the other word that came to mind but it didn’t seem right. Perhaps “efficiently swept aside and deposited in the waste bin” might have done it but the fact that they have been there three or four weeks longer than they needed to be doesn’t sound particularly efficient.

Anyway in the bin they are and by now the bin has been emptied and the cards are on their way to the great rubbish tip in the sky, or wherever they are taken in Newark, and are no more.

This is worth examining. On each card was a greeting. The greeting varied from card to card but the sentiment was the same. “Happy Christmas from Reg, Val and the gang at Global Telecoms Solutions Ltd” or some such organisation. Often I have not heard of Reg, or Val, or maybe even both of them but hey, they obviously meant well.

The question is did the sentiment die with the card or does it live on in spirit? This is similar to the fridge/light bulb question but totally different. If you don’t know what I’m talking about Google it. You may not find the answer but it will keep you quiet for a few minutes. To find the answer is going part of the way towards finding the meaning of life. To go the rest of the way will take more than a few Christmas cards.

I went to a philosophy lecture the other week at the White Hart Hotel in Lincoln. It was a most enjoyable evening. When I first arrived I got talking to a woman and somehow the conversation got around to religion, possibly because of the philosophic theme of the night. It was at that point I must have mentioned that I couldn’t understand the whole religion thing despite having lived for a year in a theological hostel – Coleg y Bedyddwyr, Bala Bangor (again Google it).

Known affectionately as Bala Bang the hostel was populated by a rich mix of Ministers of Religion in waiting and rugby playing good time boys who were there because of its low cost and proximity to the library and bookshops (ie pubs and takeaways) in Upper Bangor. It was there that I discovered Bill Parry’s duck.

I was making food in the kitchen one day and in walked one of the apprentice inmates known as Dai Chink (don’t ask) with a gentleman in a dog collar. I was introduced to the visitor who proceeded to ask me whether I supported football. I replied that I didn’t which somewhat threw him. He had had in mind a line of reasoning designed to persuade me to abandon my wanton life of hanging out in pubs and playing pool for a simpler and more rewarding existence that comprised a service to a Higher Authority.

Rather than ask me what sport I did like he proceeded to tell me that if I was a football supporter I would be wanting to cheer my team all the time, wouldn’t I? I replied somewhat cautiously that I might but wasn’t completely sure about this. He went on to say that the lads that lived in Bala Bang did support a team and were cheering them on all of the time.

At this point I found my feet and said that I lived here and didn’t hear the lads cheering all the time. The line changed to a metaphoric cheer (!?) and that their team was God’s team. Oh okay I said and proceeded to eat my food, the missionary pitch being over as far as I was concerned. As an afterthought I said that he knew my name but he hadn’t told me his. At this he said that I didn’t want to know who he was which I accepted without concern.

Dai Chink however butted in and proudly announced that this was the reverend Bill Parry. I’d never heard of him and at that point we kissed goodbye (metaphorically) and they went on their way.

That night I remembered the incident and related it to the boys in the pub. It turned out that the reverend Bill Parry was infamous for his duck. Bill Parry’s duck was a World War 2 amphibious landing vehicle that he had bought with the intention of sailing with his family to Australia!

His first attempt ended in failure as the duck apparently sank in Caernarfon harbour, a few metres after leaving the quayside. His second attempt was slightly more successful but still only made it a few hundred yards further into the Menai Straights at which point it sank for good and the project was abandoned.

Both attempts made the local TV news in Wales and understandably made Bill Parry a bit of a laughing stock. He was by the time I met him a minister without a parish as presumably nobody would have him.

The story was slotted away in my list of anecdotes to be occasionally recanted over the years when the conversation turned to religion, or maybe even football.

There is a nice twist in the tail of this story. I was out with some of my old university mates a couple of years ago and I said “whatever happened to Bill Parry?”. The story goes that Bill is now a Sandra, or some similar female name. What a wonderful way to round off the story I thought.

Returning to the present I told that very story to the woman with whom I was chatting to at the White Hart. It didn’t raise much of a giggle and turned out she was a journalist working for a Christian publication.

A friend arrived and I moved on. It was an interesting evening. This was partly because the lecture and pursuant debate was enjoyable and partly because to a certain extent it crystallised my thoughts on the subject of philosophy – highly valuable considering my involvement with the philosopherontap movement.

The lecture covered the subject of Simulation Theory and the Matrix. The Matrix is a movie – Google it. Simulation Theory holds that we all just exist as simulations run by a civilisation more advanced than ours.

There are some convincing logical arguments in support of the theory although no certainty. It is an interesting philosophical subject to debate. During the debate there were some quite revealing questions from the audience. Some clearly didn’t have the intellectual capacity to follow the argument. Others clearly felt very uncomfortable with a line of reasoning that clashed with their own religious beliefs. At some stage it was mentioned that surely a people with the capability to run such simulations were dangerously close to being god-like, which was “obviously not possible”. The lecturer had logical answers to all the points made by the audience.

The bit of the debate that crystallized my own thoughts was the notion that none of this process of logical thinking was ever going to lead to anyone finding the meaning of life.  This was almost certainly the case whichever line of philosophy being considered though it doesn’t take away the value of the subject as a line of academic study and debate.

So I was left with my own original perspective that the meaning of life would either never be discovered or that there isn’t one so I might as well enjoy myself while I am here. The organiser of the evening had anticipated this because there was a wonderful drinks ordering system designed so that people didn’t have to get up to go to the bar. All you had to do was send a text to a particular mobile number with your order and table number. My pint of lager appeared within minutes of sending a text – surely a miracle! J

You can decide for yourselves if there is an answer to the Christmas card question but given the choice my preference is whisky or wine.

go to 3rd law part 12 here.

go to 3rd law part 14 here.

without xmas cards

January 12, 2013

The Third Law Part 12 – Sport, Excitement and Romance

Filed under: 3rd law — Trefor Davies @ 11:12 am

It’s another cold day in Glocamorra. I’ve just noticed that the heating switched itself off so I’ve changed it to “all day”.  Today is one of those gentle no pressure days. I have some boxes of kids books to put up in the attic and Hannah to pick up from Newark Northgate train station and that’s the lot.

There is something romantic about a railway station. The start or the end of an adventure. Of course this is not always the case. You might be one of the entrapped majority, slavishly arriving for your regular commute, cursing a delay, the absence of a seat or the underperformance of the air-conditioning system.

The rules

Do not talk to anyone and avoid eye contact.

This was traditionally achieved by carrying
(more…)

May 15, 2012

The Third Law Part 11 – Easyjet living

Filed under: 3rd law — Tags: — Trefor Davies @ 6:32 am

I’m on an EasyJet flight from Luton Aipowt to Berlin. Sat quite comfortably on a front row aisle seat having forked out £20 for speedy boarding. Worth every penny. In fact had I forked out £12.50 in advance I could have been sat in the ServisAir Executive lounge before hand. As it is I spent most of the waiting time eating lunch and doing emails and still left enough juice on my laptop battery for the whole flight ahead of me.

We were 20 minutes late taking off. 5 persons had made last minute decisions not to travel which meant that 5 bags had to be retrieved from the hold. You wonder whether one of them had a premonition. The real reason is almost certainly mundane. Bad back suddenly got worse, phobia about flying returned, straightforward family argument (again!), etc etc etc. I stuck in three etc’s there but in reality I couldn’t think of any more reasons on the spur of the moment, which was almost certainly the way they decide not to travel – on the spur of the moment that is – it’s unlikely that they had taken a lot of time to think about this or they would probably not have bothered checking their bags in. I will never know their fate and tb quite h not in the least way concerned.

Whilst in “departures” at the airport I purchased a copy of the Daily Telegraph for £1.20. This was only to (more…)

April 8, 2012

Third Law Part 10 – The Boat

Filed under: 3rd law — Trefor Davies @ 12:32 pm

Sometimes I practice the third law whilst wearing earphones and listening to music instead of surfing. It’s difficult to know whether this is a genuine alternative. I suspect not but sometimes there is no choice and on a boat in the Mersey estuary heading for the Isle of Man I am in one of those ongoing “no option” situations. No cellular signal = no internet access.

Actually this may not be entirely true but if such a connection exists it is almost certainly diminishing and a drain on the laptop battery which, in the absence of a power point, I need to last the whole journey.

You will have instantly noted that I am on the way to the Isle of Man. This is an annual pilgrimage to see my mam and dad for Easter. We do see them at other times of the year but usually it is on the mainland. The ferry journey to Douglas is not only expensive – knocking on £500 for the car and six of us, but also a full  day’s journey as we have to drive over to Liverpool to catch it.

In going to the Isle of Man there is an element of going back in time. This is partly due to the quaint olde worlde aspect of the place and partly down to my rule of going offline when on holiday. No twitter, no email, no Google+, Facebook or any other online destination guaranteed to prove the Third Law without a shadow of a doubt.

I like to describe this as the process of going offline and re-entering or reengaging with society. You have heard about the fact that every cigarette you smoke knocks an hour off your life (or whatever the factoid is).  Well every week you stay offline lengthens your life by a month, or certainly appears to and it is often the appearance that matters, to some people anyway.

I’m not big on appearance, being a bit of an internet dweller where such things are either irrelevant or can easily be manipulated according to your choice of profile picture. It is difficult then to modify this practice when it comes to real offline behaviour. That’s why I like to spend some downtime in places like the Morning Star of the Strugglers where nobody really gives a toss about what you wear. Afaik.  At least when they mention my shorts or loud shirt they don’t do it in a derogatory way, I think.

It’s hot on this boat. I have discarded coat, fleece and shirt. Before you start to get worried I should hurriedly mention that I am still wearing a tshirt. It’s my red “Training” tshirt purchased from LA Fitness, Newark’s small clothing and accessories display. I guess most people buy stuff to train in.

I bought it because I had caught the first train back from London having spent an unplanned night there. The previous day I had been about to enter the gym when the phone rang. To cut a long story short it was a chap called Keith who I proceeded to meet that night in a pub in Kings Cross and then to whom I offered a job.

I can’t remember where I stayed that night. Perhaps with my sister in Balham but perhaps not. Anyway I didn’t have any clean clothes to change into the next day. When the train arrived in Newark I got off and went to LA Fitnes for a shower and purchased an outfit there.

I like that sort of spontaneity. We don’t do enough of it. So anyway that’s where I got this shirt from and I am wearing it now much to everyone’s relief I’m sure. It’s funny how a shirt can be the source of such relief. One can imagine the whole of the Niarbyl Lounge letting out a big sigh of relief as they realised “there was another layer”. They are a discerning lot the occupants of the Niarbyl Lounge. They have all paid three quid each to reserve a seat there and every conversation is conducted in hushed tones. We are a very refined.

Not as refined as those in the Mannanan Premier Lounge where people have paid an extra eighteen quid for the privilege of free cups of tea and coffee and the personal service of an attendant. There being six of us I didn’t fancy forking out an additional two hundred of her majesty’s best spondooliks  for the round trip.  We did at one time travel first class but then they introduced the “no kids under the age of eight” rule which annoyed me no end. Now that we have no family member in that category it is expedient not to fork out the extra cash in anycase.

For those of you that have not yet experienced it they get more expensive as they get older. On a logarithmic scale I believe. If you don’t know what I’m talking about google it. Logarithmic that is – I doubt google search is intelligent enough to understand the finer points of the growing cost of kids as they progress through their education.

It’s almost dark out there now. According to the skipper we are approximately half way, at least that’s what he said over the tannoy a few minutes ago. I call him skipper because I can’t remember his name. He must have told us. They normally do when telling us the ship is about to depart and run through the safety procedures etc.

I am, if you haven’t already spotted it, admitting that I didn’t listen to the safety announcement. I was listening to 10cc on my laptop. Not good, not responsible, I know but there you have it.  My interest in 10ccwas rekindled a few years ago when I was out and about in Cambridge with Terry. We were on our way to or fifth or sixth pub, can’t remember exactly, when we came across a poster at the Corn Exchange in the middle of town.  The poster said “10cc on tour”. Bugger me if they weren’t playing in Cambridge that night.

In we walked and they let us in free of charge – there was only half an hour or so of the gig left. The great thing of course is that bands reserve their best songs for the last half an hour and there we were: Dreadlock Holiday, I’m Not In Love, Rubber Bullets etc etc. I was in heaven. All my childhood favourites. What a night.

At this time I must point out that the sum total of all my favourite songs of youth were not just those produced by 10cc. There are others, but you understood I’m sure. The list is in fact a long one and one that I revisited and spent a small fortune acquiring digital versions of in advance of my 50th birthday beach party last December.

In my ears at this very moment is Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody.  One of the greats.  I remember the DJ at a school disco telling us it wasn’t really a dance track but he played it for us anyway – we were, after all, the customers.

Anyway back to the safety announcement. If you are reading this it means I must have survived the trip to post it so all’s well that ends well eh? Said with a slightly impish grin on my face suggesting I thought I had been a very slightly naughty boy but got away with itJ

The main cabin of the ship is downstairs from where we are by the way. Noisy and full of kids under eight. Let’s move on.

Brief intermission

During that barely perceptible interval the Davies boys headed out on deck. It was v windy and there were some lads there having an illicit cigarette. Preferring not to die of passive smoking and having emitted a loud fart which we all know can be highly dangerous in the presence of a naked flame, we withdrew to the safety of the bar where we purchased some cold diet cokes for our refreshment. At the same time, John, the youngest of our party, returned from the ship shop (and Bristol fashion – sorry had to get that one in) with a large bag of M&Ms which he generously shared around.

We hung around the bar, as boys do, swapping stories and generally enjoying a bit of banter. Later, drinks consumed and with no mutual desire to prolong the session, we returned to the Niarbyl Lounge and safety. The bar was in any case about to close as re were about to enter Manx territorial waters. At least I think that’s the reason it shut – they weren’t very specific when they made the announcement. Sounds good anyway if possibly totally off the mark. It clearly can’t have been the skipper because I’m sure he would never have made an announcement that left its audience still asking questions. I’m happy with my thought process – I wouldn’t want to be driving off the boat with doubts in my mind as to the reasons the bar shut. It would be a huge waste of some brain processing cycles that could have been applied to the creation of the most famous poem that was ever written

Probably not. Driving a car is no the best environment for writing good poetry, especially in the dark and even though I know the road very well.

It has changed a bit over the years mind you, the road that is. That’s progress, evolution even. The addition of a traffic light or two is evolution. It’s the road adapting to traffic usage patterns, assisted no doubt by the fine men of the Douglas Corporation. I assume they are men though I dod see a female civil engineer a few years back. She was in charge of a gang of men lifting the new Peel Marina bridge into place. Very exciting it was. We stood there for ages watching the crane work its magic.

Waaaa, one time, head nods rapidly up and down. The music is taking over and the ship is coming into harbour. That’s what I call the third law in action – offline mode.

3rd law part 9 here 

3rd Law part 11 here

 

February 19, 2011

3rd law part 9 – gobbles, gold top and the IOM southern agricultural show

Filed under: 3rd law — Trefor Davies @ 1:35 pm

It’s raining on the roof of the world. Well on the roof of my conservatory at least. I can hear it and I can see it. Being a bespectacled person I can also often provide advanced warning of the imminence of such precipitation. It only takes a drop or two. There is probably a scientific formula that states the necessary rainfall density (drops per square metre) required for this early warning mechanism to work and likely includes the value of the surface area of the specs (glasses – not specifications – use of the latter word would not have made contextual sense in this sentence). Today I am sitting inside the conservatory so talk of an early warning system is immaterial.

I have just come back from town. A trip down town is never countenanced lightly but on this occasion I had to buy Joe a pair of trousers before we go on holiday. The task was made harder by the fact that he was not there with me and I had instead his little brother John in tow. Anyway I came away with some trousers and bribed some peace off John by taking him to Cafe Nero.

I am not the biggest fan of sitting in coffee shops. I think people do it for the sake of it. This time was different. We had good window seats and my phone was out of order so I had to talk to my son! It was great.

We sat there looking out of the window. The biggest question was who was in the goldfish bowl? Was it us sat inside or was it all the other people scurrying along under their umbrellas or huddled overcoats. We were the smaller box but there again when you go and visit an aquarium you sometimes go through a small space under a tank and look at the sharks and fish swimming around you.

The right answer is in the mind of the questioner. There is no right answer and all answers are right, without question 🙂  Just put that bit in as an afterthought and the smiley face indicates that I was quite pleased with myself. That is something completely within my control in this case. I could have chosen a different emotion. Exhibited surprise perhaps or even nonchalance. It isn’t beyond the realms of the imagination to see how one might say that sentence again in a nonchalant manner, twirling a stick as I go along. I don’t know how to do a nonchalant emoticon btw.

Anne’s cousin bought me a walking stick for my 40th birthday once. Ok ok I know I don’t sound as if I am forty. In fact I’m not. That was nearly ten years ago. Can’t believe it! I’m still a kid. Who but an immature adolescent boy could write such drivel anyway? Huh.

It’s not the warmest of rooms today, is the conservatory. Warmer than outside maybe but really merits a thicker sweater than I am currently wearing. I’m actually wearing an Animal hoodie, quite consistent with being an adolescent. My mum bought it for me last summer – there’s a general thread of consistency running right through this bit of writing don’t you think?

Well we can kill that one off straight away.

You don’t see much gold top milk in the shops these days. It’s mostly just full fat, semi-skimmed and skimmed. I’ve never quite seen the point of skimmed milk. It’s just coloured water if you ask me. Also once weaned off full fat, which is of course normal milk, and on to semi skimmed it is difficult to go back and the idea of drinking the ordinary stuff let alone gold top. There again, you never see it any more…

This leads nicely to the fact that I have just taken delivery of hte February issue of Agri-News, published for Manx farmers by the Department of Environment, Food and Agriculture. The kids signed me up for it when we were at the Southern Agricultural Show outside Castletown one summer holiday. We go there every year – the Isle of Man not the Agricultural Show. Not that I mind going to such shows. In fact I very much like em.

Its good to keep in touch with our farming roots. My lot were farmers if you go back far enough. These days the Davies family is in the internet business. Wasn’t much of it around way back when. In fact you don’t have to go back very far for there not ot have been internet. Its one of the reasons that the third law is not yet widely known, although I have never met anyone that either disagrees with the hypothesis (theory?) or has been able to disprove it.

I’m not sure whether either hypothesis or theory were the correct words (and there was no real reason for the word “theory” to be in brackets either) but you know what? It just doesn’t matter. Not a jot or an inch or a gobble or a quack. Note the mixing of terms of measurement there. The latter two were not even that but they instantly came to mind – from the song “If I were a rich man” AND NOT EVEN IN THE RIGHT ORDER. Caps accidentally switched on there but I couldn’t be bothered to undo them.

I once recorded the first verse of If I were a rich man on our answer phone – me playing the guitar. At the end of the song I just said “please leave a message”. I found later this was a mistake. I was away on business in the Soviet Union and every time I rang home I had to wait a whole minute before I could leave Anne a message. In those days the costs were something stupid like £5 a minute. Ah well. It was an expenses job anyway.

As I approach the one thousand word mark for this episode the words begin to slowly run out and stop exactly there.

3rd law part 8

3rd Law part 10

Editor’s footnote: for authoritative post on rainfall measurement techniques see here.

November 20, 2010

3rd Law Part 8 – Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Filed under: 3rd law — Tags: — Trefor Davies @ 12:39 pm

3rd Law Part 7

The concert had its good bits and some bits where the violins strained a bit – everyone is tired on a Friday night, but these occasions are the whole point of playing an instrument. I didn’t get to bed until nearly midnight but the body still wakes up early so here I am again, streaming.

There are three sounds I hear. One is the gas ring hissing away on the cooker. It’s too early to put the central heating on – it would wake Anne up. Instead I use the cooker.

The second sound is the clock and the third is the keyboard with me tapping away at it. I notice that I seem to do a lot of typos these days. Typographical errors as was in the days of the typewriter. Maybe it is only this morning because I am still a bit tired.

I will go back to bed when I take the tea up. That second doze is a good one. The typewriter would have made a much bigger noise of course. A real clacking. My iPad makes no noise at all. I probably switched off the keyboard sounds. Stealth typing. I don’t use the iPad for writing stuff that needs speed of finger and thought. Or should that be thought and finger?

Sounds almost like the name of a pub aimed at literary types. It almost certainly has book lined walls and maybe even uses remaindered pulp fiction as beer mats. There is some poetry in there somewhere, a statement. Your book was crappy so I’m just going to use it to stop my glass marking the table. Bathos? Is that the right word. Certainly a deep disappointment.

Perhaps not. The author probably just got paid a fee for churning it out to a recipe that some bimbo (male or female – I’ve just retargeted the definition on the fly to avoid accusations of sexism) thinks they find interesting or suitably mind numbing on the beach, or both if that is possible.

Have you noticed that my paragraphs are quite short. A lot shorter probably than in that bimbo’s book. I suspect it is all to do with the font size I use in Word. It makes words look bigger on the screen so I may artificially be shortening the paragraphs although I’m not sure that there is an international standard for paragraph length. It would be difficult because different countries have different average word lengths.

I said that in quite an authoritative manner though I’m not at all sure as to the veracity of the statement (good word veracity – slipped it in to see what you think). Authoritative is also a good word though I won’t labour the point. The Germans I know for a fact have some really long words. The Welsh are also known for them but in actual fact that is based on just a single village name in North Wales. Anglesey to be more specific. Anglesey isn’t the long word, its the place where the village is. I’m not going to reproduce the long word here. It would make this paragraph too long.

Carriage return sorry “enter”. “Carriage return” is dated. Readers of this stream of words should not be confused into thinking that this is a product of the 20th, or even the 19th centuries. When did they invent the typewriter? Who invented the typewriter come to think of it? I could find out but I’m not really that interested. Ditto the refrigerator.

Due to the sheer professionalism with which I approach the writing of this stuff you probably will not have noticed that I am now using Word2007. It has a lot more features than my previous version, Word2003, well it seems to, but the problem is that I am still learning it. It took me a while to find the “strikethrough” icon for example. But I’m starting to bore you here. Shakespeare didn’t leave comments in his margins informing readers that he had deliberated over his font size or the size of his quill.

My hand writing is terrible by the way. I would have been useless with a quill. Ink spots and crossings out everywhere.
For the technically minded amongst you I have written 698 words in roughly 45 minutes. I don’t know exactly because I haven’t yet worked out where to look for the statistics on this new Word package. I only know my approximate editing time because I looked up when I started tweeting this morning.

Enthusiasm is grinding to a halt now in any case as the body reminds me that it is still a tad tired and wants to take a cup of tea up to bed. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

3rd law part 9

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