where art collides philosoperontap

my thoughts are once again my own

Some say that the best kind of TV is one that is switched off. There comes a point where you have to resign yourself that there isn’t anything worth watching and rather than flicking constantly and fruitlessly around the remote control just press that red button.

Suddenly the mind is not competing with the mindless. You can let ideas bounce off the insides of your skull and there is a reasonable chance that some of them will appear on the page in front of you.

That’s how it works. You move your fingers across the keyboard and words come out. The thought factory. I look around the room and see books. Roughly 12 metres of shelving. How many words I wonder. How much time spent sat in front of the page waiting for those words to spew out.

I’ve never thought about books that way. People think of a book as something of a certain number of pages that provides a story or information and takes a certain time to read. Not about how long it took to write. There is a school of thought that says that something that was written quickly is more likely to be something that is easier to read. In my own experience some of what I might consider to be my good stuff is work that came easily. Flowed. Bounced off the inside of that skull and bombarded the page.

How on earth do the words come out in the right order? It’s a mystery. One I think that is unlikely to ever be solved. That’s the difference between science and art. There is science in art, the golden ratio for example, but it is incidental.

The TV is off. A light flashes.

All is well with the world

Classic FM on the wireless set on a Sunday morning. A sausage slow cooking on top of the stove. Tea brewing in the pot. High speed internet. All is well with this world.

A world in turmoil

The world outside is in turmoil fuelled by politics, religion and human ambition.  Wars continue in the Middle East. Millions of people dying or are refugees. Post Brexit referendum UK is about to enter a tailspin with the Conservative government moving to the right with no opposition. The American Presidential Elections is getting closer.  Will they lose the plot and elect Trump?

…

Have a cup of tea and listen to Classic FM.

Fascinating list of The Rectors of St Margaret’s Church Hemingby.There are quite a number of observations to be made here but I’ll let you come up with your own. You’re no longer a child.

1281 * Sir Alexander of Algakirk
1281 Thomas of Bratoft
1337* Alan de Hatecly
1377 John de Greetwell
not found
1497c Sir John Radclyff
1525c John Brown
1525 Robert Marram
1560c John Williamson
1560 Robert Williamson
1572 Sir John Hodgshon
1576 Sir William Wetherby
1580 Sir Thomas Cadebie
1586 Christopher Barkwith
1594 Simon Sturtevant
1597 William Herne
1601 Thomas Johnson
1608 James Leman
1632 Richard Sansam
1662 Edmund Trevillion
1665 John Smelt
1668 Roger Wright
1688 Peregrine Wallett
1711 Zachary Gray
1728 Joseph Carr
1768 Athanasius Herring
1791 Richard Pelham
1828 Harry Pearce
1831 George John Depuis
1840 George Thackeray
1876 Edward Bengough
1905 Wilfrid Isaacs
1937 J.C.Dawson
1947 L.E.Barker
1950 George Whitfield
1983 John Legg
1989 David Lawrence
1999 Colin Macdonald
2002 Vacant
* = before and up to this date
c = about this time

Today’s weather forecast is cloudy but with temperatures soaring to a near spring-like high of 11 degrees. The wind will make it feel colder than this. At least it looks that way when I look out of the conservatory into the garden. There are people out in the allotments over the back fence. That’s a good sign.

A single daffodil flower is threatening to emerge. The miniature ones out the front are already out. I notice the hedge still needs cutting. That’ll be because I haven’t cut it yet. Hmm. The bird feeder needs replenishing.

I may yet light the fire.

It’s another Sunday morning here in the Shire, and a fine one at that. Today Anne is playing host to our friend Natalia’s baby shower. A dozen or so worthy females will be descending on our house this lunchtime to celebrate the forthcoming happy day. It won’t be a place for male presence. The conversation will be highly biassed towards all in one baby suits and birth experiences. Urghh. Preparations have been underway for a few days now. My own contribution, that of lighting the fire in the front room, is already well in hand. In fact I am currently supervising the lit fire to make sure that it stays appropriately lit.

There is a feeling of wellbeing around the house. John is quietly using his hour’s ration on an online game. Terrorising and killing things no doubt, or playing a football match. Seems to be the pattern. Joe has not yet been spotted this morning. He had a late one on Friday night after the rubgy in the Morning Star and spent most of yesterday at music rehearsal of one kind or another before last night’s “Curious Blue” jazz gig in North Hykeham. I didn’t go but now wish I had as Anne came back with excellent reports. Hannah is in her hotel in Paris, hopefully and Tom is in the neo metropolis of Milton Keynes where he is visiting to watch MK Dons play Bristol City or some such worthy set of opponents.

Sat by the fire as I am I can contemplate the day ahead and a set of jobs that spring to mind. I’m not sure any of the said jobs will be done. I’m just noting the fact that they need doing. One is the trimming of the front hedge. The back hedge almost certainly needs doing too but I’d need to crane my neck to see that one. There is also a lot of wood that need putting to the chainsaw. That may get done as the least arduous task on the list. The wood is mainly small branches and some ex-playhouse stairs. Easy enough to dispose of and quite handy as kindling.

None of this is written down, yet. Great consideration must be given to an item before it can be included on the list because once written down it is is officially on the radar with the consequential expectation that it will at some stage be done. The hedges do need doing though. I might get someone in.

As I write the activity levels are growing. The sound of singing and whistling permeates from the kitchen together with the sound of dishes being put in the dishwasher. It’s all happy stuff. The fire is sufficiently lit for it to be left unsupervised. It’s a good start to the day.

Good number, 14. It’s an even number though why that should mean anything is anyone’s guess. Nobody’s business. It also means you are well and truly entrenched in your teens. 13 was the first of the teen birthdays. 14 is better. Another five numbers yet to come though. 15 – 19.

14 is one of the better birthdays. When I was 14 I was half way between being 13 and 15. Things haven’t changed even though we didn’t have the internet in those days.

One of the things about being 14 is that your age starts to race away from your shoe size. I don’t know anyone with a size 14 shoe. Good job. It’s also a good job that you eventually stop growing. Imagine if you carried on growing until you were 28! Uh!? Cost a fortune in clothes, food and versions of Football Manager/GTA etc etc.

52 divided by 14 is exactly 3.7142857132 according the calc on my dog and bone. Just sayin’. 140 is a long way off but you never know…

Happy birthday. You know who you are 🙂

Strange that the culmination of the year should be Christmas time. It is deepest mid-winter. The weather is at its most miserable nonentity. It rarely snows to make it the picture postcard scene of Christmas cards. Neither does it have the same significance as it used to – and I’m talking the midwinter festival here not the relatively modern religious aspect.

Time was, I guess, that folk got fed up with the austerity that winter brought and needed an excuse to break the monotony. Nowadays as long as you have the cash there is never a lean time of year where we await the onset of new growth with, presumably, eager anticipation. We still celebrate though.

In recent times the celebration has been themed around the birth of Jesus Christ. I am not in the least bit religious but I do still like the tradition of the whole Christmas Story. It makes me feel good. Takes me back to my childhood where we left brandy, mince pies and a carrot out for our midnight visitors and us kids were in bed at an inordinately early time to try and fast forward the night to morning.

Now as a parent with kids living away from home and knowing that they will be home for Christmas I feel almost the same excitement as I did all those years ago waiting for Santa to come. The kids themselves, I am pretty certain, like to come home. We have our community traditions: friends’ parties, carol singing in the Morning Star and early doors in the pub on Christmas Eve. For those that like to go there is the carol service at St Peter in Eastgate church.

The religious aspect now has no meaning for the majority of us. We still like to celebrate the birth of Jesus because we have always done so. It feels right but not because of any deeply held faith. For most, Christmas now means having a good time, nice presents, good food and drink. It has a feelgood factor.

As I write the fire is crackling away in the grate, there are Christmas carols on the radio and it has grown dark outside. The house is otherwise quiet and all is ready for the feasting ahead.

Have a great Christmas and good luck for the new year:)

Off to Boston this morning to deliver some musicians to a midday rehearsal. Doing the “taking there” bit avoids the duty of bringing them back at around 10pm tonight. It’s not a bad drive back from Boston at that time of night but there are other things one could be doing.

For example I could be wallpapering the landing. I won’t be wallpapering the landing because it has only just been done by Anne and I wouldn’t be very popular if I did it again. If nothing else it would make the landing smaller. Anyway she would do a better job than me – better left to the experts I say.

The wallpapering bit was a random alternative job plucked out of thin air and deposited carelessly on the page in a take it if you will fashion. It isn’t the type of notion spent hours in careful crafting. Nor was it the output of an outrageously fertile imagination, a lively choice plucked dancing from the spotlit crowd neath life’s rotating mirror. It was in part the only choice. A selection of one proffered by a dullness of mind dampened by a late night Friday/Saturday morning.

Silence…

Today I had the first sense that summer is coming to an end. This morning there was a slight edge to the air when I went swimming at around 6.45am. This evening I put a fleece on to go out and do the barbecue.

It’s been a great summer. Probably one of the best. Great weather-wise and great family-wise. Hannah and I had a few days in Barcelona early on in the summer. Then the whole clan had a few days in North Wales followed by a week in the Isle of Man.

Everything seems to have gone right this summer. The weather, the sport – our Andy won Wimbledon and we beat the Aussies at cricket. Now as summer winds slowly down I have bought tickets to see Wales v South Africa in November. It is going to be a good autumn.

The house has been particularly noisy tonight. The three remaining kids were loud at dinner but then moved to the conservatory to play music – Hannah on flute, Joe on piano and John on sax. I sat on the settee listening, smiling.

Now all is quiet. Two of the kids are sat on the pew in the kitchen, reading quietly. Anne is watching TV. John has just wandered in with the iPad watching some instructional video! Sounds like he is learning how to build a bar! Okay, fine J

Not sure he totally appreciates the scope of the job though. I quite like the idea of having a bar in the house but you need to have lots of space. The bar should either be out near the pool or in the snooker room. We have neither. We have a pool table on the landing! I also like the idea of having a hot tub. We have space for one – provided we got rid of the play house which nowadays is only used to store garden furniture.

The problem is that we wouldn’t really use a hot tub. The idea is great but in practice it would become a very expensive pond with a cover over it that no one actually uses. Of course we could have Jacuzzi parties but we only have parties once or twice a year and not everyone could fit in.

It’s totally dark out now. Twenty to nine. The nights are drawing in. I don’t mind. Like I said it’s been a good summer and nature is quite kind to us in easing us into winter. Autumn is a rather gentle side.

I’m going to pour myself another brandy…

The pleasant land is again green and we are once more complaining about the weather. The weather of course is why everywhere is green. This is fairly short lived. The yellows and browns return earlier every year. It’s called progress.

The rain is falling. I can hear it. Also the wind is blowing, rustling. The ground is covered in green flowers, blown off the trees.