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September 28, 2013
September 8, 2013
Lincoln A2Z F15 Swanholme Lakes SirenFM sirenonline
I been to Swanholme. More accurately I been to the Swanholme pub which isn’t in scope in this post. F15 is at the South end of Hartsholme Park which is a good place to take the kids for a run out on a Sunday afternoon.
Never been all the way round the park because it’s quite a long way round so the only view I’ve actually had of Swanholme Lakes is from the pub and the pub car park.
It’s quite a nice facility for the locals. Nice bit of nature. We are quite lucky in Lincoln with our bits of nature. After all we don’t have to go very far until we are in the countryside. Unless that is you happen to be travelling down Tritton Road in which case it’s mostly built up for a few miles.
Swanholme Lakes lie between the great artery that is Tritton Road and the sleepy commuter suburb of Doddington Park. Looked at buying a house in Doddo Park once but we ended up not doing so. We wanted to live in walking distance of Uphill Lincoln. More accurately within walking distance of the Bull and Chain, Morning Star, The Victoria, The Strugglers, oh and the shops of course.
We can always drive out to Swanholme if we want. We don’t. The kids are a lot older now and family life has moved on.
If you’re looking for birds Swanholme is the place to be. Splash. Splish. Splash.
Lincoln A2Z R14 – Canwick Pits
What do you think of when you hear the words Canwick Pits? Crap innit? Canwick, it’s the pits. It’s not really. The pits are a quarry where much of the stone used in walls around the very ancient village of Canwick was sourced.
Lots of history to Can wick. That’s the cool way to pronounce it by the way. Can – wick – two separate words. The first people to roam Canwick were hunters and gatherers in the Mesolithic period approximately 8500-5300BC. The first settlers arrived in the Neolithic period, approximately between 4500 – 7000 years ago, and then a more structured settlement came here in the Bronze Age, with a Barrow cemetery near the river Witham. I got that historical bit from the internet. Google it. It’s not my own original work. Plagiarised though not in a bad way. I’ve added value to the original copy.
I’m not going to go into any more detail either. There is a lot to read. It’s been around a long time and that is all we need to know for the purpose of this discourse.
I’ve not actually visited the pits at Canwick. Not even sure you can, though it might be one of those “former” quarries where people can walk the dog or ride mountain bikes or just go for a bit of a walk. Usually there is a lot of interesting wildlife to observe – fauna and flora. I’m thinking rabbits and butterflies with the occasional bird flitting by. Then a few flowers in the long grass.
Possibly it is a place where lovers go. Somewhere for a discrete cuddle away from the prying eyes of nosy villagers, curtain twitchers and tongue reporters. Telephone calls made expressly for the purpose of spreading the news. The same people see their husbands out on the drive on a Sunday morning, polishing the car, nipping down to the newsagent for a copy of the Mail on Sunday, maybe.
Gah. I get my stone from B&Q. That isn’t really true. I don’t buy stone. I got a barbecue from there recently but now I’m straying off the subject.
R14 – Canwick Pits. You know it makes sense.
K19 – Witham/Bracebridge Low fields
In K19 the River Witham should not be confused with the North Hykeham Pump Drain which whilst being also filled with water is not the same. The Witham is of course a natural feature of the landscape whilst the drain is not.
The Witham will quite probably contain fish though not to my knowledge, salmon. The drain may also contain fish but it is less likely to do so than the river. In any event you should take care when out walking with small children that the youngsters keep well away from the edge of the water. It can be very dangerous especially after a period of heavy rainfall. The banks can get slippery.
I mentioned salmon because I quite like salmon sandwiches. Either smoked or poached with a bit of cuke and mayonnaise. Brown bread not white and butter not margarine. You should eat a variety of sandwich fillings in order to provide a varied diet. Just salmon every day would get a bit boring and you might find yourself short of a specific vitamin. This is guesswork.
I am somewhat digressing here. Artistic license. I did look online to see what information I could find about the drain. I was hoping to find the date where it was cut/invented (delete as appropriate). I couldn’t. At least on the first two pages of Google and I wasn’t desperate enough for the information to look any further.
So that’s it. Not a particularly enlightening article but it’s all you’re getting. Ciao.
September 5, 2013
the last few days of summer
We are in the last few days of summer. Goodness gracious me an Indian summer. This isn’t summer in its death throws. It’s going to be a hot languid day with movement kept to a minimum but we know thanks to the experts at the met office that Autumn is about to come crashing down on us like an anvil falling through the floor above.
Nothing quite that dramatic really but tomorrow it will be cooler and it will rain. Tonight Hannah is having a barbeque with her mates. Good timing. Likely to be the last one of the summer season at least.
My train is speeding south and it looks like the harvest is in. The fields are stubble and straw bales. There is a haze. The haze that heralds a hot day ahead. The nation awaits in anticipation.
The god forsaken railway line
The god forsaken railway line. Choose any one. They aren’t built for luxury. Back of the tenement, cement works, coal depot. No mobile signal. The long gaps in productivity a distraction. For productivity read connectivity. Don’t get me wrong. I like the fields. The countryside races by. Hares, deer even. Get up cows. Whadda you know!? Trees and hedgerows blurr. Warehouses clad in unattractive light grey. Golf course. Don‘t ask me where. Annoying private conversation spoken to all. Irritating sounds coming from someone’s mobile phone. I wonder what’s in that field. Cabbages? The harvest is under way. Hay. I hope he is getting off before me. Wondering whether to ask him to turn the sound off. This train is for Stanstead Airport. I’m not going all the way. Leicester. Fwiw. Was easier to drive to Leicester and catch a single direct train to Birmingham than to get a train to Newark, bus from Newark to East Midlands Parkway, train to Derby then one more connection to Brum. Either Brum is difficult to get to or Lincoln is. The bloke is overweight and has greasy hair. My dislike for him wasn’t instant. It has grown. Proportional to the length of time he has been in the same compartment. It isn’t that I don’t like train journeys. Far easier than going by car. There is standing room only in Standard Class. Popular line.
August 31, 2013
Summer draws gently to a close
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…
August 19, 2013
Letter from the Pope on the occasion of Tref & Anne’s Silver Wedding Anniversary
My Dear Mrs Davies Anne,
Word has made it through the ecclesiastical grapevine that you are celebrating 25 years of being married to your husband Tref. I realise that you are not of the Catholic persuasion but I felt compelled to write to you on this, your very special occasion, to share with you some important news.
Familiar as we all are with Tref the realisation that you have stuck with him for so long took us all by surprise. To say that we were astonished is to greatly understate the reaction of everyone here at the Vatican City.
The purpose of this communication is not to ask why you have performed this amazing feat of endurance. It is a well known fact that love empowers and motivates people to perform feats beyond the ken of ordinary men and women.
We, and when I say we I include all the staff here in Rome (not a single dissenting Cardinal voice) wanted to let you know of our admiration for what you have achieved. You should know that most of us lock ourselves away in solitude and inner contemplation for many years in an attempt to attain the state of spiritual serenity that you have managed despite spending 25 years with the bloke and bringing up four intensely demanding children.
Not a generally publicised fact is that over the two millennia of development of the Catholic regime we now have well established methods of quantifying achievements such as yours.
Before I go further you need to understand the basic tenets of our achievement system. In our game growing levels of serenity are achieved by the chanting of a Hail Mary. One million Hail Marys gets you a Cardinalship. To be a Pope needs at least five million. Anyone hitting the 10 million mark is considered to have done enough to achieve sainthood. It’s pretty impossible for ordinary people to attain this level.
I don’t need to tell you that even the Cardinalship is a bit of an ask. Some people spend a lifetime saying Hail Marys and never get there. For most it is simply beyond their reach.
Where is all this going I hear you ask and well you might. The fact is that the physical act of putting up with Tref for so long has been assessed as being the equivalent of having to say a penance of 1,000 Hail Marys for every day you have been together.
A quick back of a bible calculation suggests that 25 years, which is 9,125 days give or take a leap year at 1,000 Hair Marys a day comes up well over 9 million Hail Marys. Ordinarily that would immediately fast track you through a Cardinalcy to an instant Papacy.
Now there are two problems here. One is that there is already somebody in the job, ie me. If this were the only obstacle it would be remiss of me if I weren’t to tell you that this is not an insurmountable problem. There are ways around it as was shown with my own appointment.
However the fact that you are a woman is the killer. I’m afraid that the Papacy, for a complex web of reasons which I don’t propose to discuss, is very much a case of jobs for the boys.
This isn’t to say that we don’t think we shouldn’t do something. We, my dear Anne, have been sufficiently impressed with you that we wanted to make a positive show of support.
We have revisited your case and are able to increase your tally of Hail Marys based on a number of fiddle factors. Firstly our initial estimate of 9 million one hundred and twenty five thousand Hail Marys can be raised by the use of alternative Papal calendars that need no clear definition or clarification for the purposes of these calculations. Then we are able to add an escalation factor based on the fact that you had four kids (are you sure you aren’t a catholic?).
One disingenuous individual did suggest that strictly speaking all this should be offset by the fact that you lived with Tref before getting married which comes with negative Hail Marys. This person has now been posted to a Parish on a desert island somewhere off the coast of South Georgia (I will not go back on this – it’s a tough job being a Pope – you make a decision, you stick with it).
Anyway to cut a long story short, and recognising that I am going on a bit here, we have come up with a revised Hail Mary count that takes us well North of the 10 million mark and Mrs Davies bach Anne we all know what that means don’t we?
Anne, I have been authorised by the Vatican boys to make you an offer that I think you won’t be able to refuse. Anne we would like you to accept a sainthood.
If you would like to take us up on this offer please complete the enclosed form and return in the envelope supplied. You will need to put a stamp on it (times are hard).
This offer comes with an associated package of benefits. You will receive your own saints day together with a shrine, location to be confirmed but the suggestion has been made that it will be at the location of your ironing board. You will also need to decide on an activity that will be performed on your saint’s day. Initial opinion is that this should involve mothers and wives everywhere spending the day being pampered at a spa.
So that’s it. I hope that you will take us up on our offer. It will involve conversion to the Catholic church but I assume that this will not be a problem – it certainly won’t be from our end (wink wink).
All the best and have a great celebration.
Yours in expectation
The Pope.
August 14, 2013
3rd Law Part 62 – the sun sets another time
Classified ads.
Berth wanted
Aspiring world traveller would like berth in boat headed for exotic shores. Adventure welcome. Prefers to avoid pirates.
A few clarifications will be useful here. Skegness does not count as an exotic shore. Neither does Clacton on Sea or other UK coastal resorts. We are after excitement and romance. Palm trees, marlin, golden white beaches. A schooner gradually edges over the horizon.
As land approaches music comes from the brightly lit bars lining the harbour. The smell of barbecued fish carries on the warm evening breeze. The boat ties up outside Joe’s Bar and Barbecue Grill. The sign is painted on a piece of driftwood plank nailed to the outside of the bar. It is still early so we manage to get a table looking out on the water. A candle in a glass jar flicks light across our faces. Inside, saxophone and piano snare.
Joe’s is a regular stop off for seaborne journeymen. Where wandering people meet. Every island has one.
His daughter Maisie welcomes us back with her wide smile and without asking brings us four cold ones. The beer revives. A week at sea builds up a thirst.
We eat chicken and crab with our fingers. Our bellies extend. Lean back, eyes closed, sounding satisfaction. I can feel it.
With a bang, Joe slaps four glasses of rum on the table. “C’mon boys, you can’t go to sleep yet. It’s early and we have a party.” We move to the bar and empty the rum. Plenty of ice. The evening is still warm. The ice is needed. Our faces glow and eventually, as the evening dies down, we fall back onto the boat and our bunks. Sleep of the just.
You have to dream. Have ambition. There is no other point.
Normally on the boat we wake up with the light. Not this day. After the exertions of the week at sea, last night finished us off. We wake around lunchtime. It’s getting hot again. Jump over the side of the boat into the harbour and climb back up the iron ladder onto the quay.
Dripping faces lifted to the sun. Smile. Maisie shouts. “Breakfast boys?” Maisie knows her customers. We settle in to our usual table. Hot strong coffee and bacon rolls. Revive. Talk about nothing. Nothing goes on here. The best way. Healthy tanned bodies. Sun bleach hair. Ropes groan in the swell. Barefeet.
At the local market we buy an old treasure map. There is an X. The journey continues. White sails take us back out to sea and the compass is set for Half Moon Island. Anchored outside the reef our tender takes us towards the beach. Angelfish fill the lagoon. Deserted white sands. We drag the boat up to the treeline.
From the hill you can see for ever. Once through the vegetation. There is no treasure but it is all about the adventure. The tender is still there and we are not chased by natives. Outside the reef we catch a tuna. Big fish. We shall not go hungry on this trip. There is no rush. No compelling reason to be anywhere. Slow pulse.
The sun sets another time.
3rd Law Part 61 here
3rd Law Part 61 – ritin n stuff
I was going to do a section of writing using just speech to text. I once did this on twitter and it came up with a wonderfully creative random set of words that bore scant relation to the original spoken version. This would be a nice imaginative bit of pseudo creative writing I thought. Unfortunately Android’s voice recognition is getting so good that everything I just spoke as a test sentence came out perfectly.
So now you, the reader, have no idea whether I’ve dictated these words or merely typed them in in the old fashioned way. I am happy to come clean and admit to having used both hands and several fingers. None of this one finger prod stuff. Lightning across the keyboard, I’ll have you know although I am prone to spelling the as hte and their as hteir. Means I keep having to go back and correct it. You won’t be able to see all this backroom spelling correction because it happens before publication. I’m a pro.
The absence of a voice to text engine in Microsoft Word does mean however that anything you read that might make you think to yourself, “wow that was an imaginative bit of prose” or “gosh how did he manage to think of that” is all 100% genuine Tref. Aw shucks. Course your response might be more along the lines of “how does he come up with this drivel” which I can completely understand. I don’t know where I get it from meself.
When I was a kid I used to read all the Enid Blyton books. Famous Five, Secret Seven etc. I foolishly gave them all away and so when I had kids of my own I began to buy them second hand. Unfortunately what was an exciting read in the late 1960s for a nine year old with a thirst for books and adventure proved to be a load of dated twaddle for a thirty something parent looking to relive his childhood through his own kids. So drivel written in pursuit of the proof of the 3rd Law of the Internet may well have originated in children’s novels of the 1950s and 60s.
For the uninitiated the heroes of Enid Blyton’s novels all went to boarding school and came home for terrific adventures during the holidays. Cook used to make picnics of jam tarts and ginger beer which were jolly yummy. This was far removed from my own experiences growing up in wales but my imagination was fired by secret passages, smugglers and spies.
Kids these days need the constant high tech stimulation of MMORPG. If you don’t know what it means Google it. To kill or be killed. Far more realistic than the prospect of One Eyed Jake tying up the pesky kids with rope before making a getaway with the loot. Fortunately Timmy the dog knows how to untie knots using his teeth. Good old Timmy. Get him a bowl of Pedigree Chum.
Whilst I like the idea of having a dog I am not attracted by the thought of actually having to look after the thing or the fact that your house will be constantly covered in dog hairs. Good for scaring off the burglars though unless you happened to have taken him out on a picnic. You have a burglar alarm don’t you? Then why not use it and let the dog have a bit of a run out. It’ll do him good after being cooped up all day whilst you do extra cramming with your tutor. Bummer when it’s the holidays I know but hey. You should have or more effort in during term time or not gone down with the measles and had to be sent home to quarantine or some similar plot. You will have to read the books to find out more. I wouldn’t though if I were you. As I said, drivel.
The funny thing is that whilst I no longer view an Enid Blyton novel as realistic I totally buy into Harry Potter as credible. Of course Harry Potter must be real. It’s obvious isn’t it. Doh. I wonder where I can get hold of a wand? Does Olivander have a branch around here?
You may have noticed on a number of occasions during your saunter through the third law that it is assumed that you are a supremely knowledgeable individual. No attempt is made to explain obscure references. I assume, for example that you are totally au fait with all things Harry Potter. In the quite likely event that the third law is translated into multiple foreign languages one will also have to assume that this is will be similarly true of HP. Culturally specific references may cause problems but no doubt there will be fan clubs, fora and Facebook pages dedicated to the exploration of the third law. Esoteric passages will be discussed to the Nth degree.
Don’t ask me why they chose N. Could just have well have been H or Q. Mind you Hth degree doesn’t sound quite right and Qth makes you sound as if you have a speech defect. Maybe someone went through all the letters and decided that Nth sounded best. Try it for yourselves: Ath Bth Cth Dth Eth Fth Gth Hth Ith Jth Kth Lth Mth Nth Oth Pth Qth Rth Sth Tth Uth Vth Wth Xth Yth Zth. See what I mean?
I would have been different had they chose the alphabet of a different language. Welsh for example has 32 letters in it including some double ones: LL, CH, DD, FF, NG, PH, RH and TH. Imagine using LLth or FFth. Would be quite funny mind you.
We all like a good laugh don’t we? Let off a bit of steam every now and again. Choo choo.
3rd Law Part 60 here
3rd law Part 62 here
August 11, 2013
3rd Law Part 60 – the cabin
There are four walls and a forward facing window. It’s a premium cabin on board the Ben My Chree. Out of Douglas for Heysham. Sounds like a racehorse but it isn’t. It’s a boat. Not a ship, a boat. It’s the passenger ferry from the Isle of Man. We are on it. In fact we are ensconced in our luxury cabin relaxing. All is quiet. The World Athletic Championships are on the TV and each family member is either quietly watching, reading the paper or buried in their laptops. Or both buried in laptop and watching the athletics. It’s easy enough to do. There are lots of gaps between races and lots of repeats of races, analysis, interviews and a look forward to the next round, heat or episode.
It isn’t particularly accurate to use the word episode. It isn’t as if track and field is like a soap opera or documentary, although the material may be there. “Shock off field antics of top runner”. “Athlete in for the high jump” etc. Athletes should not have the time to mess about off field. They need to stay focussed. Keep off the booze. And the fags. Live a healthy lifestyle.
That isn’t to say they shouldn’t enjoy themselves. A bit of relaxation does you a bit of good. Helps the performance on the track. The occasional trip to the cinema on a Wednesday night. Visits to the seaside and a nice walk along the promenade. No ice creams though. Yueuch. No good. Think of the calories. Bad calories. Have fruit instead.
My personal preference is for peaches, when in season, and bananas. I also like strawberries and cream though I am not an athlete and therefore don’t need to stay clear of the cream. Unless you talk to my wife. Mrs Davies.
This boat is comfy enough. The sea is calm. The sky is cloudy. We are just passing some sort of oil rig. Gas maybe. I don’t know. This luxury cabin is in marked contrast to a day trip to Liverpool many years ago. “The lads” were off on a day out. On the way there everyone spent the time in the bar, except me. I was seasick. When we arrived in Liverpool the outgoing boat had a bomb scare and had to return to the quay. In consequence there was no room for our boat and we had to stay mid river for two hours whilst they checked out the other one for bombs.
That was the last thing I needed having spent the whole crossing being ill. We got to Liverpool and set off for the shops. The we hit the fair at New Brighton where everyone except me indulged in more beer and ice cream. Finally before getting back on board the boat we had a meal at a restaurant near Pier Head. Steak.
Most of the afternoon I had spent recovering from the outward journey. I was now just starting to feel good again as we boarded for the return trip. I spent the trip home in the bar whilst the boys were ill over the side! It was an experience!
When we travelled on the boat as a family we always booked a cabin. It’s a lot easier to survive bad weather if you are lying down. When I left home and used to travel across to University at the beginning and end of each term a cabin wasn’t an economic prospect. Instead all the students used to get on early and head for the bowels of the boat where there were benches you could stretch out on. The first few trips were extensions of the parties we used to have after the school exams. Term for most people started and finished at the same time so there was always a quorum of people you knew on the boat. We would head for the bar and while away the trip with a few beers.
Gradually as people became established at their places of higher education the number of familiar faces on the boat gradually dwindled to zero and the focus grew on surviving the often rough Irish Sea weather.
I recall one end of term when I turned up at Pier Head on a Friday night for the midnight boat. The midnight boat was a good one to catch. It went a lot more slowly and you could kip overnight. I had my usual sausage and chips in the caff at the bus station at the Pier and then wandered down to the boat.
Problem. There was no midnight boat. The boat was there but it wasn’t sailing until the next morning. These were the days before the internet. You couldn’t simply go online and check the schedule. The problem was exacerbated by the fact that Pier Head in those days was pretty rough place to be of an evening. I could hear sounds of violence.
I chatted with the bloke at the top of the gangplank who, recognising my dilemma, took an executive decision and let me on board. This was “highly against regulations” but needs must. I spent the night in my sleeping bag in one of the passenger lounges. The cleaning ladies who turned up the next morning had a bit of a shock when I lifted my head above the seat to see what the noise was. Hey. A student’s gotta do what a student’s gotta do.
Travelling in those days was far more adventurous than it is now. I often used to hitch hike places, including to see my grandmother who lived about 200 miles away in South Wales. My longest hitch was from Greece to London but that’s story in itself.
Considering that the internet wasn’t around for much of my adult life and therefore the Third Law cannot have applied it has all gone quickly enough.
3rd Law Part 59 here
3rd Law Part 61 here
August 9, 2013
3rd Law Part 59 – the right path
You have to walk the path. Keep off the grass. If requested. There will be a sign. Usually a small metal rectangle embedded in the grass itself. Green. Both sign and grass, though the lettering on the sign will be in a different colour to allow it to be read. White is practical.
Keeping to the path may often be counter intuitive. It would probably be easier to take the short cut across the grass using the hypotenuse as opposed to the other two sides of the triangle. Often when there is no sign requesting you to keep off the grass one will see a muddy brown train across the green to the exit point at the other side of the lawn. A door into the clubhouse perhaps. Or the entrance to a museum.
The grass is more likely to be pristine at the museum. Visitors to museums are the more respectable type. Conformists. They understand the value that rules bring to society. They will queue up in an orderly manner to buy their entrance tickets exhibiting signs of great patience at busy times when the single ticket sales person is over worked and constantly flustered. They should have put more staff on if they knew it was going to be busy. It happens every year.
A nice green lawn looks good. It also feels good to walk on in bare feet. Unfortunately (more…)
August 8, 2013
3rd Law Part 58 – the writer of the script
The TV is on in the other room. I have moved. I am getting used to it in moderation but there is very definitely a limit and my boredom threshold is low. Ya gotta do stuff. I’ve noticed that my language has been evolving. I can write good grammar perfectly well, ish but nowadays I tend to write as I talk. I’m not sure there is anything wrong with that. Some media will demand appropriate application of the language but I think as long as you are getting your message across, how you do it is up to you.
If everyone understands what you are saying then surely that is fine. Of course if I am writing in English and you can only understand Swahili then that is a different issue. Chances are you are not reading this if you only understand Swahili.
I’ve just googled “Swahili” and the first page comes up with “useful Swahili words”. No mention of a website in Swahili. Then I changed the search term to “Swahili language websites”. The only one on the front page was Voice of America http://www.voaswahili.com/ which presumably is the good ole US of A’s contribution to world knowledge. The other sites are all offshoots of the BBC and miscellaneous educational institutes.
There seems to me to be a fair chance that if Swahili is indeed your language you are not using the wild wild web at all. You are probably more concerned with real life wild creatures such ones to be found in the African bush. For example an enraged hippopotamus is a very dangerous animal and is to be avoided at all costs. Other dangerous animals are available but I particularly like the concept of enraged hippopotami. Note the slick change from singular to plural. Both are good words and deserved to be used.
A hippo is often portrayed as a fun creature, in children’s cartoons for example. However this really annoys wild hippos who consider themselves to be hard as nails. You wouldn’t want a hippo to roll over and sit on top of you I’m telling you. Might be interesting to try sticking a saddle on top of one and seeing if there were any takers for a rodeo ride. Ride em hippopotamus boy. Unlikely. Interesting how the imagination wanders though innit?
When you think of hippos you usually, in your mind’s eye, also have the vision of the intrepid African explorer heading up river in a canoe powered by some hefty natives wearing only loincloths, thank goodness. Either that or a small steamboat captained by Humphrey Bogart who is constantly mopping his sweaty brow with a red handkerchief whilst the missionary he is taking up river gazes out at the wildlife wondering whether he has made a mistake in accepting the job. The missionary’s daughter is of course gorgeous. Her mother died of some ague the moment they set foot on this vast continent and the father had to bring her up on his own. He was very strict but well meaning. You know the plot.
I think I should be a film script writer. I’d spend much of my time in villas surrounded by palm beaches with the noise of the waves constantly in the background. Waking up early every day I’d rattle off a scene or two before running down to the beach and plunging into the sea for an invigorating swim. Lunch would be followed by a snooze in the hammock. In the shade of course. The heat of the day can be unbearable. Later I’d mosey into the village to chat to the local store owners and maybe catch a cold drink on the veranda of Joe’s Bar looking out over the bay. As the lights came on it would be time to wander home and change for dinner. There are plenty of dinner options. I quite like the fish restaurant in the harbour. Only uses stuff caught that morning. Good that.
It’s the same story day in day out with the occasional visit from the producer anxious to see how the script is coming along. It’s ok. I’m a pro. The script is always finished on time. Every now and again I fill in with a book. There is never a time when I am not being productive. It’s easy when all you need to do is fit in two or three hours in the day to capture what goes on in your brain.
Of course all of this is going on in my brain because it isn’t going on in real life. That’s ok. We all have our dreams. Some scripts would be written from a cottage overlooking some craggy Atlantic coastline. The pattern of life would adjust to the locale but largely be the same. It’s a wonderful life innit?
The kids are all home for a visit. They gradually come downstairs in the morning and the writing comes to an end. It takes until around 10.30 for them all to be up and compos mentis. No point planning anything before then. The TV is switched on again and I immediately switch it off. There is no need.
We assemble between 10.30 and 11 before setting off to a beach somewhere. The ultimate objective is the café at the end of the prom. It’s under the white painted lighthouse and near to where all the boats are pulled up. The seagulls are always a problem but we keep going there because we like the place. Days are filled with gentle strolls, stops for ice creams and teas and followed by cold beers sat at the tables outside the pub looking out onto the harbour. We get fat.
This is not perceived to be a problem because of the austerity of our lives once we return to normality. Early morning exercise routine, healthy breakfast etc.
I am usually happy for the summer to fade into autumn. That particular change in the seasons is gentle. Also I wouldn’t want to live somewhere that was hot all the time. Us Brits aren’t built for it. Well I’m not anyway. I do like being able to swan around in shorts all day though. Innit?
3rd Law Part 57 here
3rd Law Part 59 here
August 7, 2013
3rd Law Part 57 – early morning in Peel
The sea is calm. Occasional waves run feebly up the beach. A fishing boat ambles across my field of view and I can see the mountains of Mourne, shadowy forms in the far distance. The herring gulls congregate loudly and there is a slight chill on the early morning breeze. Peel Castle remains a solid defence against the neerdowell.
6.30 am and the world is at peace. I wish I could paint. The rocks change colour as they rise out of the sea. Seaweed studded pastel brown crowned with a darker blacker band that fades upwards with streaks of mineral white that is gradually obscured by a topping of greenery. The real crown is the castle that sits around the top of the island.
The sun bursts through behind me as I look out to the west. The boat has moved out of my field of view though I can still see its wake and I now notice the buoys that mark the lobster pots on the sea bed.
Yesterday I saw a boat offload a big haul of crabs. Five half ton bags and fifteen crates. Good money at the market though the fisherman declined to enlighten me as to how much. He must have known.
I come here year after year. The early morning is the best time. The family still sleeps. The place isn’t totally deserted. Dog walkers and resolute joggers move on by. How many sailors are asleep in the yachts that fill the marina?
This year the “Dreamcatcher of Menai” is nowhere to be seen. Maybe it’s gone off on a cruise. That’s what you do with yachts. There is no point keeping them in the harbour all year round. Their whole purpose is world travel. How big the world is up to you. If I had such a boat I think I’d want at least to make some medium sized journeys. I don’t feel driven to brave the transatlantic run but certainly a jaunt to the Mediterranean calling in at suitably picturesque fishing ports en route.
Harbourside restaurants are a must. Maybe even the occasional industrial dock with a characterful bar known only to the locals and the visitors that arrive from the sea.
A shiver of relaxation runs down my back. This is a very peaceful scene. A dog barks but at first I can’t see it. Now it appears with its owner on the broken shell beach and trots up the slipway. An engine fires up out of sight behind me and fades away.
Behind the beach and beyond the castle is the breakwater with its white lighthouse. Nearer, on the right, the harbourmaster’s office guards the entrance to the harbour. There is no movement there now as the tide is out. A fisherman casts his line at the very end of the breakwater. That must be his yellow van. The scene on the breakwater is very different to the beach. There is evidence of humanity. The side door of the kiosk is open and the shutter slightly raised. It is about to open up for business.
A pickup truck joins me. In the bay four boats are tied up to buys. Waiting for the tide so that they can enter the harbour. I’ve noticed the environment here is different to the mainland. Outboard motors are left affixed to boats and fishing rods are in full view. Nobody is going to steal them.
The bay is full of ducks accompanied by the snouts of the two or three seals that live here. I don’t know what it is about this summer that brings so many ducks. This is not normal. Usually it’s herring gulls.
From the top of the breakwater I look for basking sharks. There are none. In all my years of coming I’ve only ever seen one but I look every time. Ever the optimist. They are out there somewhere. The volume of the gulls has increased. Maybe it’s time to get up and get looking for food. Maybe a threat has appeared. I can’t see but they are moving this way. The breakwater can be a risky place to be with so many gulls in the air. There is a fair percentage chance of being hit by droppings.
A small red car with a sit on top canoe turns up. Bloke clad in a short wetsuit gets out. Disappears around the back of the kiosk and then leaves again.
The gulls settle on the roof of the lifeboat station, a sturdy red stone building in the lee of the castle. It’s great fun to watch the lifeboat being launched. Adds to the mix of the summer holiday. I’ve never seen one being launched in anger, as it were.
The whole scene is getting lighter. I’ve been here for fifty minutes now. Nearly time to get back and make the tea. I think I’ve sussed the increased gull presence. A fishing boat arrived ten minutes or so ago. They think there may be pickings. I don’t think so. I think it’s just getting ready to go out. The RLNI flag flutters in the breeze. There is more activity now.
Life on board the yachts must be fairly calm. They are bound by the tides. At the moment there is nothing for them to do but just wait. Stick the kettle on and brew up.
A walker arrives. Time for me to go.
3rd Law Part 56 here
3rd Law Part 58 here
August 5, 2013
3rd Law Part 56 – cricket
We need 34 runs to avoid the follow on. To the uninitiated this may seem a strange state of affairs. How can a game in which we appear to be suffering a real hammering at the hands of the opposition, be so riveting. No attempt is made here to explain the rules of cricket. Nor to explain the finess of the game. It is assumed that the reader is at once educated and sophisticated. Test match cricket is the ultimate combination of cerebral and physical sport. At once a team game and an individual contest.
26 now required, to avoid the follow on. Runs are coming off the bat together with the occasional bye. Every ball is an event. We are playing the old enemy. Australia. We won the first two tests and only need to draw this one to retain the Ashes. The draw is the thing. Although Australia won the toss and put on a big score in the first innings and we have struggled to match their score if we avoid the follow on the Australians will have to bat again. You will of course know that this means that the clock will tick down and when the clock ticks down time will be against the Australians. We will still need to put in a good performance in the second innings but the first objective will have been achieved.
As I write I can report that the follow on has indeed been avoided. A knowledgeable crowd shows its appreciation and our thoughts move on to how much we can narrow the gap.
In the early stage of our first innings the target score of 527 might have sounded a tall order but it’s all about the psychology of the game. With a positive approach we could have a score of a thousand runs in mind. That would have totally destroyed the Australians making what was their very good first innings score seem pathetic. It didn’t happen but the game is still alive. With two days left the fat lady isn’t even warming up yet. She may not even be in the country.
Fat ladies get around you know. Wherever their services are required. They work on a per event rate plus expenses. They also do charity gigs on a pro bono basis though as you might imagine their appearance at these events don’t come with nearly the same levels of excitement as in big events such as Ashes cricket matches.
I refer to fat ladies in the plural though I am not 100% confident that there is more than one of them. Circumstantial evidence supports the existence of more than one. When you think about it if there are two big sporting events taking place simultaneously how could she be there at the finish of them both? It would be too risky. I guess a pre-recorded video could work and would allow a single fat lady to earn royalties over and above her performance fees.
Fat ladies don’t just sing at the end of sporting events. Charity gala fundraisers spring to mind. Operas maybe. Probably. Not that I am trying to stereotype female opera singers. Oh no. The cricket continues. A couple more wickets have gone but we are still hanging on in there. 173 runs behind. A win for England is unlikely but a draw would be highly satisfactory considering the poor start to our first innings. A draw would ensure that we maintain the psychological advantage. The high ground.
As I write this section of the Third Law it does occur to me that what I am doing is counter to the principles of the Law. The cricket, happening as it does over five days, enforces a leisurely approach. I don’t know how many words I could put down in five days. I’m not going to find out because family life does not allow for five days sat in front of the TV or wireless just taking in the cricket and occasionally concocting the occasional sentence or two. In between balls, or overs, or during the adverts.
Some adverts are actually quite funny and worth watching. Others make me thing “I’ll make a specific point of not buying that product”. Shows how important it is to get yer advertising right. I can’t vouch for the smoothness of flow of writing done under test match cricket conditions. There’s not as much focus as when you’re sat in a room with no distractions.
Our first innings is now over. We trail by 159. The game is on. The pace is reassuringly slow. There is a scenario whereby I will have fallen asleep for a number of overs and woken up to find that very little has happened other than a few runs may have been scored, added to the Australian total.
Lunch is about to be served. This is good because we are coinciding our own lunch with the cricket. I am happy that lunch is just about due. Lunch is a very civilised meal if taken seriously. Family lunch around the table is especially good. The only slight problem when sitting a family around at table for lunch is that people keep asking for items to be passed down the table. The butter is a particular problem but not exclusively so. I don’t believe it is practicable to have more than one butter out. Two bowls of crisps are acceptable. Maybe even two salt and peppers though I must say I don’t use the salt and pepper much these days.
Two water jugs are definitely very useful if you have them. One should always make sure there are enough glasses out on the table for everyone before sitting down. There is nothing more annoying than having to get up to go to the kitchen again after you thought you had settled into position at the trough. I’m sure that Mrs Beeton would have something to say about this. Probably even have a checklist which is a bit over the top in my view. She may well also have had a maid in attendance to sort it all out.
Lunch over, the assembled masses drift off. Those at the ground, back to their seats. Those relying on the TV for their coverage, back to the lounge. If you are using the wireless for your coverage then you may move out into the garden where a deckchair may await, under an umbrella perhaps.
As it happens it isn’t umbrella weather today. Actually that’s not true. Practically everyone at the ground will have one with them because rain is forecast. One is unlikely to sit out in one’s garden under an umbrella if it is raining. More likely to move onto the settee and drift off listening to some dulcet coverage.
You may not have gathered from any of my particular commentary that this particular bit of the Third Law began on one day, the fourth day of the test match, and is now continuing on the fifth or final day. The Australians declared overnight having had the end of their innings curtailed by bad light and rain stop play.
The wickets have been falling. Cook and Trott, for what it’s worth and for historical accuracy. Before play began this morning I moseyed into town to get a haircut. Unfortunately the barbers was shut so I continued down the street and found myself in a second hand book shop whereupon I purchased “The Authorised History of MI5” and “Peel Two”, a short history of Peel. This is one of three volumes and I am pretty sure that I already have one of the books from a previous visit. Unfortunately I can’t remember which one but I’m thinking the third so I should be ok. Fingers crossed eh?
The cricket continues. They never mention pigeons on the television commentary. Nor double decker busses. I guess they think you assume that it being an audio-visual medium you can see said items for yourself. I don’t think it does any harm to mention them. Adds to the atmosphere. Enriches it. I’m not sure that chocolate cakes get mentioned either. Pigeons, busses and chocolate cakes are particularly popular items on the radio.
The chocolate cakes in particular are occupational hazards of being a radio cricket commentator, or should that be cricket commentator for radio? It matters not. Many cakes are sent in to the commentary box, largely I’m sure in the hope of getting a mention. However one shouldn’t overlook the possibility that the bakers of the cake, or at least the senders, are eager to continue the tradition. It isn’t just the cakes. There is lunch, tea and the dinners that they all seem to have in the evenings. Curries and Italian meals seem to be popular choices amongst the commentating classes.
This I can understand. I like em meself. A good mixed balti or a lasagne does the job after a day watching cricket. Lager with the curry or red wine with the pasta. Yup.
The score is slowly starting to tick over. However Pietersen has just been given out. The review showed no evidence that he had hit it. Except perhaps a slight noise on the snickometer. Hmm. That’s cricket Jim.
Our lunch is over and we are waiting for the cricket to restart, recommence, rebegin. Yaknowworramean. There is too much going on around here. Hoover, kids, TV, others talking. I’m outahere.
3rd Law Part 55 here
3rd Law Part 57 here