where art collides philosoperontap

I happen to know it’s a Friday. Tbh this is of very little relevance. To anything. Had I said today is the ninth day after the Winter solstice that might have meant more. Heading in the right direction but hatches still battened.

We have no/very little say in our direction of travel. Some of us might crave for better days, sunnier climes but it is what it is. We are where we are.

Loudish background music, smooth jazz even, although I’m sure there is a more accurate description, streams through the kitchen door. This is fine. The source of the music leaves for London tomorrow. We are happy for the source to still be here enjoying our company and us his.

That will leave one remaining offspring, our daughter Hannah, and her boyf George with us until the New Year. That’s cool too.

Tomorrow is New Year’s Eve. Lots of people mark this occasion and actually in a society run by calendar it is a significant milestone. It would make more sense for it to coincide with the solstice but I guess it is too late to change now.

My only negative thought about NYE is the Auld Lang Syne nostalgia thing. I don’t do it. I’ve always subscribed to the notion that life moves on. If someone moves away and we don’t see them any more, if I enjoyed their acquaintance I’ll probs keep in touch via social media, occasional visits or Christmas card. If I bumped into them on the street I’d stop for a chat or maybe even go for a coffee or beer. It isn’t something to dwell on. Maybe I’m just a miserable bugger. Probs.

Moving away from a locale is far less of a final thing these days. When the pilgrims decided to head on an American adventure there was, unless the ship sprang a leak which one of them did, no going back. A letter home would have resulted in a reply the following year, if at all.

Two weeks today I am off to Miami. I’ll leave the house at around 7am to catch the 07.30 from Lincoln Central and by 19.30 local time will be saying hello to my pal @Joe Marion at Miami International Airport. The flight lands at 19.15 but a combination of turning left on the plane and Global Entry should see me through in very little time. Carry on only.

When we visited Plymouth MA and the Mayflower replica this year the notion that there was a perfectly good airport nobbut twenty miles away did go through my mind 🙂 I’ll probably have more room on the plane than was enjoyed by the passengers on board the Mayflower. Certainly the champagne will be better although I did observe that beer/ale was high on the list of pilgrim needs.

There is a backup plan for the UK bit of the journey in case the train staff are on strike, again. This involves a taxi. The backup may in fact become plan A as the train option looks to involve multiple changes over four hours versus a single three hour taxi hop. Only issue is the taxi is two hundred quid more expensive and I’d have to put up with the company of the driver for three hours. Gonnamullitover.

The flight is around 2 ish but I like to get there early especially if the Concorde lounge is involved. Pushed the boat out on this flight as I will be going out again with one of the kids the following week and need max comfort and min recovery time in between.

I’m quite excited about the prospects of 2023. Ok there is a lot of crap going on in the world but I’m focussed on my own little bit of it. The Little World of Trefor Davies by Giovanni Guareschi. Unfortunately Giovanni died in 1968 at the tender age of sixty. Brings it home a bit really. I’m sixty one. Doesn’t feel particularly tender 🙂 If you don’t know who Giovanni is you need to google him.

What is age anyway? It’s quite handy to have a senior railcard and nice to get free prescriptions. The latter will likely become a more valuable perk as I get older whilst the former will grow less relevant.

Hotel breakfasts are never quite the same as you can do for yourselves at home imho. Ok some at the very high end can come close and of course you are often presented with a much wider range of options than you would typically have at home.

Nevertheless I stand by my statement. This morning I have finished off the tinned grapefruit and had some toast and marmalade. The toast, made on granary bread, came out right first time with no need to put it through a machine a second time. Bonne Maman marmalade and Normandie butter. Yanow the form.

The other thing about hotel breakfasts is that I am compelled by a value for money gene to have the full English (when in England) even though I don’t typically have to pay for breakfast, at least at Hiltons. Usually the full English at your bog standard Hilton is not particularly appetising and is pretty much identical across many of their brands. Ah well.

Breakfast is complete and I am now slowly getting my brain around the day ahead. Nothing too onerous but I do want to put in some phone calls and my expenses are somewhat overdue. December was quite hectic innit. 

For us today is the first day of relative normality after Christmas. There is more “holidaying” to come but not today. We don’t have to worry about keeping the kids from being bored and being stuck in the house. 

When I used to hold down a fulltime job I often worked between Christmas and New Year. There was never anything going on in the business and it seemed a waste of holiday allowance to spend it at home moping. Now with no particular set holidays I work when it suits me regardless of the day of the week/season.

One of my jobs today is to refill the recycling bins that were emptied early this morning. I was able to avoid that job on Boxing Day because both brown bins were rammed. 

…

Today is actually a nice day. Bit of a breeze making it quite refreshing and not cold. The fact that I am writing this however does indicate a certain reluctance on my part to sort my expenses. There is a big pile of receipts on the desk in front of me as well as some in my email inbox. Once I get going I will be fine. Sigh 🙂

Found this poem on philosopherontap last night. It’s called A Golfer’s Eulogy.

When his game is up,

And prompts no more debate,

And life’s unerring drive,

Ascends the green of fate,

It will I’m sure be said,

By crowds that filled the gallery,

That upright was his stance,

Whilst stood upon the final tee,

And when the last put drops,

Stewards will murmur from afar,

In marking of his card,

He played his round in level par.

I wrote it in 2009. At the time my dad was alive but I suspect that deep down it was intended for him. When my parents died I didn’t particularly go public although others did which is fine. It is at Christmas that you really think about your parents. On a day like today I’d have called dad for a chat. I used to call most days. We wouldn’t talk about anything in particular.

During covid lockdowns I’d just leave a video session running where we wouldn’t necessarily say much or anything. Dad got weaker over time and it was difficult to hear him. He was a victim of covid although the disease itself didn’t kill him. He wasn’t allowed visitors in the care home. A terrible thing at his time of life. We shouldn’t forget but let’s move on.

2023 is already looking action packed. Not sure we can squeeze that much more into it. That isn’t to say every day is accounted for but as many days as we want to plan ahead for are. You need downtime. Ordinary days.

Ordinary days mean days where you go to the shops/gym/do jobs round  the house/gardening/watch TV/build that model aeroplane/do your knitting/cook a nice meal. That kind of thing.

I still haven’t got around to writing a hit West End stage musical though that remains on the list. To do that I need a lot of ordinary days, without travel and without work getting in the way. No sign of that as yet.

Travel starts again mid January with a fairly intensive month of it from that time. I guess if I didn’t enjoy it I wouldn’t do it. Ah well. Time to get on with my expenses…

Bit of a result. Was in Public House 12 over the road from the Brussels office and got chatting to the landlord. About 3 years ago I was in there with Wayne one afternoon for a couple before heading to the Eurostar. When it came to paying the guy (name of Shen) said the credit card system was down across Brussels and it was cash only. I didn’t have any cash so he let me have the beers for nothing. 

6 months later I was back and reminded him that I owed him for the beers. He remembered exactly what we had and where we were sitting. I settled my debt. So chatting with him today I recalled the occasion and he said he periodically told that story to customers. 

Winding the clock on a minute or two I asked him where I could buy a branded bar sign for the shed. He said you couldn’t buy them but he had a stock of them in his cellar at home and I could have one of them. Wow. Not wow, fantastic. He is going to choose one for me. I just need to figure out how we get it home. 

Public House 12 is my fave pub in Brussels. Not because of what I’ve just written. Just because it is a great pub, which is why we go there.

Bloke in the LNER lounge wearing shorts fair play. He is on the phone. ‘Got here at seven thirty but the effin lounge was shut. had to find a coffee shop. it was effin freezing’

he is off up north to his mam’s

train delayed!

Somewhat chaotic boarding. A couple of kids sat at my table in coach L when I arrived. Saving the table for their mum and dad who were putting the cases away (and blocking the doorway for ages whilst they did so). Turns out they were meant to be in coach J not coach L. Stressed parents”will sort cases out later”.

…

A recovery day in prospect having been on the move for the best part of the last week. Woke at 7am and went down to make the tea. A simple breakfast of two slices of buttered sourdough toast with Denise’s homemade orange and lemon marmalade. Yum.

It is minus two outside, an appropriate temperature for the season. The shed however is a toasty (geddit) twenty one degrees and a good place to be on such a morning. The view outside is a crispy white mingled with browns and greens.

Having been busy for the last week or more there is much to do in the house. Pete the decorator has been in and mirrors need replacing on walls, lampshades put back and so on. I also need to get the Christmas tree lights up. Twill be done. On earth. The output from Pete’s labours has of course been good despite my questioning the choice of battleship grey elephant’s breath as the colour.

We are less than a week away from the winter solstice. That feels good. We will no doubt be slaying a wild boar and roasting it on the campfire whilst we all huddle round to stay warm. The solstice also this year coincides with the annual carol singing sesh at the Morning Star. What’s not to like? 🙂

…

Been a busy day and productive. Now it is dark and the mood lighting is on in the shed. Slipping into the evening…

…

The choir of King’s College Cambridge entertains in the kitchen. Feels right. The singing has the correct balance of expression unlike some cardboard renditions that were featured in a Sunday news item earlier. 

Onions are being chopped. Tea is brewing. Breakfast options decisions delayed. All is well. Our kitchen is the biggest room in the house which is as it should be. The shed has similar dimensions but that is not in the house and is different.

Going to do a booze run this morning. I ordered the Pol Roger from Majestic Wine Warehouse yesterday. Was quite a bit cheaper than in Waitrose. They were out of stock in Lincoln but had 96 bottles available in Grantham. Wossgoinon Grantham?

I say “booze” run but I have two items on my shopping list: vegetable oil and booze. The former is needed to fry the chips for tomorrow night’s meal. The latter covers a multitude of options. With seven adults in the house for the holidays we will get through significant quantities of sauvignon blanc, shandy, and sherry. Or similar.

On this occasion I am going to take the haute cuisine approach to chips as espoused by highly regarded chefs. This will involve parboiling the chipped potatoes and keeping them overnight in the refrigerator. Tomorrow morning they will receive their first fry and then finished off in the evening shortly prior to serving.

There have been occasions in the past where we’ve had to hang around waiting for the chips to cook. Not this time Raymond. The cognoscenti list beef dripping as the appropriate fat for cooking but that not only isn’t practical but probs quite expensive. You can buy it in small pots in Fosters. I’ll think about it. Trouble is we don’t have chips that often so it wouldn’t really get used after tomorrow. We do have some in for the roasties on Christmas day.

You are in theory supposed to cook the chips at two different temperatures. This feels like a bit of a faff but I have just ordered a cooking thermometer with next day delivery. See how it goes. Wasn’t expensive and it will come in handy for the bbq and to check the beef on Christmas Day.

The choir has moved on to “Joseph Was an Old Man” by Sir David Wilcox. Not heard it before nor of Sir Dave. Heard of Joseph obvs. Can’t say it has stuck in my mind. If I heard it again I probably wouldn’t recognise it. I assume his mates used to call him Dave. I certainly will henceforth. Already have.

Outside, the stark beauty of the frozen back garden has been replaced by the dull soggy brown that is more prevalent at this time of year. It is why people head for a bit of winter sun after Christmas. The UK is usually more miserable than not in the first three months of the year.

Anyway I trust your days will be merry and bright. Not so sure about the White Christmas.

Ciao amigos.

Ma belly is full and I am warm. I feel a cup of tea would go down well. I have started a new book which I am optimistic will be an enjoyable read. We won the cricket in Pakistan with minutes to spare. Test cricket at its best. This morning we had a delivery of logs.

Two days at home this week before heading to London and party time. 

…

Through the infinity of night my mind hops from ice cream and espresso martinis in Soho to scuba diving amongst the coral reefs of the Bay of Pigs. Multitude destinations where the edge of the imagination meets reality. There is no boundary. I reach out and touch and reality disappears back into my dreams.

How can you see through the darkness? You know it is there.

…

This morning’s frost and the change to colder weather has given me somewhat of a dilemma. Will be spending much of today in a pub and whilst the dress code is Christmas jumper I have packed a Christmassy Hawaiian shirt. I don’t possess a Christmas jumper because I haven’t come across one that I like. The freezing weather is going to make the Hawaiian shirt a difficult option. I’ll work it out.

Otherwise I’m all packed and ready to go. 

It’s a strange feeling having trefbash come around again. This one is trefbash 13. Trefbash 11 was cancelled due to covid  but since trefbash 3 it has been held at The Phoenix Arts Club. A fantastic venue. I don’t remember when I started numbering them. Maybe as early as trefbash 2. I don’t have any photos from that bash either. Someone will have some somewhere. 

For the last few bashes we have used a professional photographer. It’s the only way I can remember who came. Also a great resource for sharing. Most people like to see photos of themselves. I do anyway. 🙂

I still have some work to do before the bash. Budgeting stuff for next year. I don’t know how I managed to get into this sitch as trefbash normally represents the end of work for the year after which I down tools. I’m off to Brussels next week!!! A one day meeting stretched into three thanks to rail strikes. My body says no thanks. I’ll have to push through the pain barrier 🙂

Today’s cold weather is very reminiscent of this time last year. London was not particularly pleasant to walk around, even with the right gear on. The cold weather also makes finding a late night taxi nigh on impossible. 

I recall the night before the first trefbash, Ajax and I were staying in Waterloo and we rolled out of Ronnie Scotts at closing time. It was around minus six. I was wearing an insulated suede jacket and himalayan woolly hat but Ajax was out in party gear – posh shirt and thin jacket. Took us an hour to walk to Waterloo as we had to stop at MacDonalds for a coffee for him to warm up. He nearly died of hypothermia. Bless…Memories… 😀

The snow hit London the next day cancelling lots of trains. In consequence quite a number of attendees failed to make it. In order to get through the kitty we had to drink the place dry of Pol Roger champagne which happened to be the most expensive on the menu and which is now the standard offering at trefbash 🙂

…

The dust has settled on another successful trefbash. We polished off the last of the Pol Roger at around 01.30am seeing as by then it was my birthday. Nat Morris hit the floor for one last solitary dance whilst Will, Stefan and I chewed the cud with Nat’s old school chum talking about something very memorable that I totes can’t remember anything about. Snormal.

This morning son Tom joined us for a birthday breakfast. He has taken the day off. V sensible. I like to think that trefbash is the point after which I down tools for Christmas but on this occasion I had the temerity to accept a conference call invite for 10am. On my birthday!! I made it a short call.

It gets worse. I am in Brussels for meetings Tuesday afternoon and all day Wednesday. Because there is a train strike on Tuesday I have to go to London on Monday and stay in a hotel. The Eurostar back on the Wednesday has been rescheduled to an hour earlier because of the train strike which is a bit of a nuisance. 

When I get to London I’m having to stay another night because of the bloomin train strike. Ok it works wonders for my Hilton Honors points and with rollover nights means I’ll already be well on the way to qualifying for Diamond for 2024. I already have 24 rollover nights in the bank for next year before the trefbash stay and next week in London and Brussels.

One of the things I like about trefbash is getting together with like minded folks from the internet industry where you can rely on there being a conversation about BA Tier Point runs and double Hilton points offers 🙂It was really great to see everyone.

On the way back to the hotel one thing stuck in my mind. At 2am after a night on the pop what you really want is a kebab or a burger or simlar. Will and the boys have a place en route to their hotel that sells fried chichen. The only place in and around Trafalgar Square open at that time of night is the McDonalds on the Strand. There was a big very slow moving queue outside that I joined briefly and then gave up because it didn’t look to me as if anyone was coming out having successfully purchased some food. What the place needs is a couple of burger vans.

In other news I note that there are 9,979 unread emails in my trefor.net inbox. None of them is from you obvs.

There are always some statistics that come out of a trefbash that I quite like. The 50 bottles of Pol Roger consumed is one but the 127 espresso martinis that far outsold last year’s performance whereas the 103 pornstar martinis fell short are others. Must have been a slightly different mix of attendees. Also the espresso martinis were being delivered on trays with the ice creams which might have accounted for the trend.

As usual a massive thanks goes to the sponsors without which trefbash could not be the bash that it is. These are Lonap, Fuse2, Magrathea, Fractional Teams, Gamma and Netaxis. It was very pleasing to hear the loud cheering that accompanied each sponsor’s name when I read them out on the night.

Jeff Brown’s band was as usual fantastic. Top professionals, they get everybody dancing. Dancing is an essential part of the mix for a good party. I’m a proud parent on these occasions when one or two offspring get up on stage and join in @John Davies. The food this year was curry. The fact that many people went back for seconds tells it all.

…

Awake to a wonderful deep frost blanketing the estate of Davies. Real winter has arrived. Two rings have been fired up on the stovetop to accelerate the kitchen warming. I feel in no rush to prepare breakfast. It is the sabbath after all, somewhere in the world. Cup of tea. A low sun climbs slowly over the allotment fence. My thick woollen hat and scarf adorn the pine table. 

The monotone wireless drones bad news. I switch to the cricket in Pakistan, a more acceptable audio backdrop. Parmesan parsnips are prepared for the freezer in advance of an upcoming feast. A jar of spiced pickled shallots stands on the butcher’s bench ready for packaging as a birthday gift.

The sun has set on another successful Christmas Market party. The first batch of weekend visitors dispatched to the train station. Sue has set off for home in her car. The last four have gone for a stroll into town before heading back to London themselves.

The tidying up has largely been done although I still have to put the glasses away and sort out the remaining booze. A cup of tea has appeared.

A steady stream, nay flood, of people moves surely uphill from the town centre. One way traffic until later in the day at which time a switch will be flicked reversing the direction. Still plenty of time to bag that present for auntie Flo.

Does anyone have an auntie Flo? Let me know. Go with the Flo.

…

Four graduates, one mortarboardless, smile down at their proud parents. Good word mortarboardless. Google offered to add it to the dictionary but I declined. If anyone is going to be adding it to a dictionary it needs to be the person at the OED responsible for such acts. Needs that level of credibility.

I shall grow not old as those that frequent the Waitrose caff are old.

Did a bit of a food run this morning. Just some breakfast essentials from Fosters butcher in advance of a busy weekend plus three Portabella mushrooms and one tin of peeled Puglian plum tomatoes from Waitrose. Very specific I know.

I arrived at the Waitrose car park in good spirits and glad to be alive. I must have been smiling because a woman, unknown, going in the opposite direction bid me good morning and suggested that having a nice day would be appropriate. My smile broadened.

My shopping list was short and unusually I stuck to it. Repairing to the cafe and looking around made me realise that this is where people go when they are waiting to die. I didn’t sit there long. Finished my drink and am now home.

I am constantly amazed by life. Everything about it. It isn’t all good but it is all amazing. We are all works of art. The confluence of science and art.

We need to focus on the good.

It is dark out. I like the dark early evenings yanow. Cosy. Roast chichen for dinner. Tasty.

The run up to Christmas is fast approaching. Not there yet but plans will have had to be made. Trefbash is planned a year ahead and there are some calendar items that are also regular dates in the diary. Our Christmas party is on the Saturday of the Lincoln Christmas Market. Every year for the last 30 odd years. The Morning Star carol session is on the Wednesday before Christmas. No idea when that started.

Kids travel plans are in place, mostly. Everyone still comes home. It will not always be thus but for the moment it is so. It is good.

When I were a lad it was always the Crosby Hotel on Christmas Eve with the Crosby Silver Band. Then we would head into Douglas to party. Christmas morning, pre kids, could be a bit of a blur. Kids stopped all that, especially when it became physically impossible to transport everyone to the Isle of Man and keep the presents hidden.

By the time Christmas Day arrives we are usually partied out. There is an element of survival involved in making it to New Year. The weather is usually rubbish and we scrabble around for something to keep ourselves occupied. 

In recent years the Cooksons and Davieses take it in turns to visit each other for a couple of nights starting on Boxing Day. These are good get-togethers of the Davies clan. Gets expensive when you consider we need four hotel rooms. Who is counting 🙂

I’m not a big New Years Eve fan. I prefer to stay in with a steak and a very decent bottle of red. Don’t really get the Auld Lang Syne thing. A bit artificial in my mind. 

I also like the self imposed austerity that January brings. Most of us look at it as an effort to shift the pounds put on during the hedonistic ten days of mid winter feasting, in practice nowadays the month or more of larging it up. Historically it is nothing to do with shifting the pounds. It was more likely due to the need to make sure supplies lasted until the next harvest. Not any more.

I like the run up to Christmas.

It is the sabbath. My attention will turn to all things spiritual. To facilitate this I will put on my best suit and not do anything that might be seen as enjoying myself. This afternoon I shall sit in our best room, reserved solely for the purpose and for the occasional receiving of visitors, and drum my fingers in a bored manner on a sideboard.

Dang it I’ve just realised I don’t have a suit. That royally buggers up the plan. Instead I’m now having the usual relaxed start to the day. Slept well, particularly assisted by a certain amount of beer consumed over the course of four games of rugby yesterday.  A long day. I didn’t make it beyond the end of the first half of the Ireland game whereupon I withdrew to the TV room to watch the snooker with Anne.

I have breakfasted both well and trendily on crushed avocado on sourdough toast. Didn’t have any avocado left so this was replaced by bacon and mushrooms. I realise that this makes it a completely different dish but just thought I’d have a bit of a play there 🙂

Today I have a number of tasks in mind including the fitting of the new bike carrier to the car and chucking the box as it takes up a lot of room in the hall. Once I’ve done that I’ll need to find somewhere to store the bike rack. A place has been identified in the garage. 

This place is currently taken up by a top box that has not been used for many years. In fact I doubt it was used much at all in its day. The top box therefore needs to be disposed of, on Facebook Marketplace along with a number of roof bars that fitted cars long since sold on and likely now recycled into spitfires or tanks or railings or whatever they do with old cars these days.

The useful life of the top box was short because we bought a trailer. The trailer served us well for perhaps ten years of camping and family holidays before being consigned to the corner of the front garden as a storage for old camping gear that would probably now better be consigned to the municipal recycling centre (ie council tip). A trip to the tip also features on the jobs list as we have a number of bits and bobs next to the bins that need taking down there.

I suspect the time is also nearly upon us where I need to flog the trailer. It has a lockable lid and still plenty of useful life in it. Someone will want it. We don’t need it as nowadays we have a large 4×4 that fits two of us and a load of luggage in extreme comfort and which can take an expedition roof rack with side ladder should I ever want the expansion space. I’ll probs buy the expedition roof rack with side ladder anyway as it looks v cool. Would be v good for our expedition to the South of France in September next year.

Anyone else planning a trip to France for the Rugby World Cup?

In the early morning darkness I sit. Nothing to be seen. It is absurd that I am awake. I am totally alone. To all intents and purposes stranded millions of light years from anyone with whom I might be able to communicate. Total isolation. 

My laptop provides a surreal connection with the rest of ‘humanity’. Online activity is far away. Cricket in Australia. Doesn’t really matter whether it is a 14 hour flight or a million years at the speed of light. It is elsewhere. Outside the dark space of the room.

I sense that I can hear air molecules vibrating against my inner ear. No noise. No sound. I become very aware of my body. Almost imagine the blood being pumped around it. I feel lucky that my blood is contained within the appropriate arteries and veins. Would be bad news otherwise. The occasional wheeze from a nostril. My little toe. I never give my little toes a thought but I do now. Scratch nose.

Makes you realise that you are in a state of living. The alternative does not exist. There is no state of not being alive.It is fortunate that I am able to give this some thought. A descent into isolation driven despair has not yet started.

…

The day ahead has a sporting nature. Four rugby matches. This is challenging and requires much preparation. I never shave on the day of a game of rugby. Never have. Would always shave after the match. I did shave yesterday. fwiw.

Strange concept: the shave. Without it we would all be very hairy. The blokes anyway. What’s that all about? Why do men have hairy faces and women not? There will be a reason. I’m not so interested as to want to spend time finding out. I just ask the questions.

It is important to have a good breakfast the morning of a game of rugby. The nature of the breakfast will be different depending on whether you plan on running around the pitch for eighty minutes or consuming quantities of beer before settling down to watch the game. Amazes me that I used to run around a rugby pitch for that length of time. Goodness me. 

Today’s breakfast will prepare me for the armchair. The full cooked job. May not have tomatoes in but the tomato can be sacrificed. The sacrificial tomato. A new concept. Unlikely that this exists in any other culture.

I sense that the cricket is not going as well as we might like but it is too early to tell. Game of two halves. The option of watching it in the shed is there but I am not confident that it will be a sufficiently rewarding experience to merit heading to the bottom of the garden. I’m settling for the occasional glance at the score.

There is no off season for sport anymore. As a consumer I am ok with this. Cricket season ends. They go on tour. I realise that this is largely motivated by money but I am ok with that. It justifies my subscription to the Sky Sports channel and allows me the luxury of telling myself that the picture is great and wasn’t it well worth spending the dosh 🙂

Time to make the tea.

There is a fair in Hyde Park. It looks like a classic setup with roller coaster, big wheel and one of those tall towers that drop you from a great height. It looks surprisingly as if it belongs to the space, nestled as it is amongst the autumnal trees. 

The park itself is an oasis totally surrounded by sprawling concrete. Red London double deckers move effortlessly and silently along Park Lane. There is little to be heard from the nineteenth floor.

Five union jacks briskly demonstrate on high.

I had planned to go for a walk in the park this morning but I am totally stuffed after a very full breakfast with John. My challenge now is to survive the upcoming lunch at the Punjab.

…

Silence of the lounge. Only resident to begin with until, believe it or not, Bill Thomas walked in. Small world. Sat now looking out on the traffic on Park Lane. London black cabs of all colours stream by. My bose phones shut out most of the background noise although I can half hear a conversation.

Hyde Park is a nice spot to stroll around after breakfast of a morning. Really the only reason to stay here other than the prestigious address. I wanted a hotel in Islington but they were playing hard to get.

The kitchen shows the remains of breakfast, as yet uncleared. On the butcher’s block the component ingredients are still in view. The wall has a proud display of four photos of grown up children. Cooker light is on. Clock ticks. Life still.

Off to the smoke for a gig. Pylons are playing the O2 Academy Islington. Staying at the Park Lane Hilton. Not by any means the nearest hotel but the two in Islington were sold out. I will need to change trains in Nuarque. The next direct train doesn’t get me there in time for a conference call.

The murmur of conversation floats over my shoulder. Occasional laughter. Those in front of me sit there quietly. Listening.

On the platform opposite a member of staff lets himself through a door marked “Private”. Goods train trundles through the station.

Easy day ahead. Decision of the day? Tube or cab.

We fly past the Students Union and on through the University of Lincoln, split in half as it is by the railway line. A tale of two campuses.

North Hykeham and Swinder by. 

A still day on the Lincolnshire Nottinghamshire borders. Crops remain in some fields whilst others have been put to the plough. Endless countryman toil.

Colling ham and Nuarque.

A man buried in a book. History of Thieves by Ian Cobain. Nags with coats adopt various poses.

Farmer accompanied by two dogs poised with shotgun in middle of large grassy field. Nothing else in sight.

No ticket check on train but we did need to scan QR code at the barrier.

Dark early. Dar curly.

Dunno bout you but I’m sat here letting my breakfast go down before getting some jobs done and heading to Caadiff for the weekend. Paolo Nutini gig tomorrow night followed by Wales v All Blacks on Saturday. A let your hair down weekend in prospect methinks, if ya knowworramean.

Probs get my hair cut whilst I’m there which I realise is somewhat contradictory to the ‘let my hair down’ comment. Unless it means down on the floor. In snippets, so to speak. When I last had my hair cut in Cardiff it was at a Turkish barber around the corner from my sister Sue’s and I wasn’t particularly impressed with it so would need to find somewhere different.

There is a scenario whereby I leave it until London on the 8th December which is the date of the next trefbash. I had a brilliant cut and wet shave before last year’s trefbash60. Barber called Andrea, recommended by my cousin Ken who knows about these things. 

Maybs that’s what I’ll do innit. In fact I’ve just checked and their website won’t let me book beyond 2nd December so will sort it out in a week or so.

I’m driving a different car to Caadiff. LandRover have lent me an Evoque as mine is in the garage getting fixed. Quite nippy fair play. I’ll need to be careful though having only yesterday received a speeding notice from the local Bill. First one in perhaps ten years. I try to be a good boy these days.

If you fancy a beer tonight I’ll be in the Crafty Devil at around 5pm and thence to the Corp before hitting a curry.

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Silence. Either I’m getting deaf or Cardiff is quiet at 9am on a Sunday morning. Everyone is at home getting ready to go to chapel. Probably a bit of both. Or recovering from the rugby day out yesterday.

Fairly easy morning in prospect. My only deadline is to pick Anne up at 16.35 from Newark Northgate. Might stroll out to get some more milk in for breakfast. Sue’s place is handy for the shops.

I feel a potato rosti coming along this morning. Why the devil not? Sbeenawhile. See what ingredients are in.

The tree outside the bedroom window is covered with red berries. Not too many leaves left. A mixture of yellow, green and russet. If I watch them long enough I daresay I will see a leaf fall. 

I have been inspired to play Les Feuilles Mortes on Spotify. Yves Montand. Not Edith. It’s a great version. Just came across it. Will play both. We are off to Paris in a couple of weeks. Already getting into the mood.

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Later the living room is also silent but for the sound of two keyboards. Interesting to listen to the two different tapping techniques. There is poetry in it. That’s a new concept. The sound of the words being written and the actual poetry.

Outside it still rains. Not biblical. Merely relaxing. This is Wales. From where I am sat I have a picturesque view of the courtyard that is Sue’s garden. It is a good space.

There is an element of calm before the storm to the morning, the storm being my having to jump in the car for an extremely boring drive home. Motorway more or less all the way. Looking forward to seeing Anne 🙂

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The good space. Calming. Shoulderrelaxing. Feel the tensions draining away. That’s a good word, ‘shoulderrelax’. Unlikely to ever make the Oxford English Dictionary but that doesn’t take away the simple fact that it has merit. It is important to keep the double rr as is the true pronunciation which is effectively to speak the two words shoulder and relax in rapid succession. The speaker should not be tempted into saying shoul derrelax which means nothing. Nothing at all. Stupid. 

Feels good to have invented a new word. All words vanish into the ether in time but this one should be savoured whilst it lasts. A quick and easy way to demolish a word would be to turn it into an anagram. An act of vandalism. 

In one sense you could look at it as an example of creativity in the same sense as a beautiful pot being destroyed and all the pieces glued back together being seen as a work of art in its own right. 

In the case of the word and the anagram the end result is unlikely to be appreciated in the same way as the pot. The anagram is unlikely to be able to show the same meaning as the original word. Maybe I’m wrong. No one cares really including me 🙂

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Storm a brewing. Only sensible place to be on a night like this is at home in front of the fire. Metaphorical fire in my case as I am sat in the shed where the heating is provided by the diffused background warmth of a panel heater.

The shed is brightly lit. It has not yet switched to the mood lighting normally prevalent when occupied during the hours of darkness. It is not dark outside although nearly so.

Listening to James Taylor. Feeling v mellow. The shed is a bit of a refuge from the building storm.

It’s raining again. We are home. The garden furniture, newly covered before we left on our travels, is now host to a paddling pool. Might see if I can adjust the tarpaulin. Not today though. Today it raineth.

A generally wet day in prospect because after the rain has stopped, this afternoon I’m headed to Club Sporting de Lincoln ie the rugby club and thence with the boys to the Oktoberfest on the South Common. I’ll leave the vision of the evening to your imagination.

Nice to be back. Good to be back, hello. We had grown used to waking up to the sound of church bells in Florence. Norranymore 🙂 It’s now the noise of cars on wet roads. Ah well.

I like the rain.

I read the news today, oh boy. No I didn’t. I’m trying to avoid it although it isn’t always easy when your chosen life partner likes to listen to the political shitshows.

The lawn is becoming a bit of a mess, at least near the house. The birds dig it up looking for chafer bugs. I guess I don’t really mind if they get them all. I need to keep watering in the nematodes anyway. Didn’t have to the last couple of days as it has been chucking it down. 

Hopefully it will rain a lot when we are away next week. You are supposed to water the lawn for two weeks after applying the nematodes but it will only have been 11 days. Won’t matter I guess.

I have timed entrance tickets for the Uffizi on Wednesday. It’s a whole day visit apaz. Not far from our pied a terre in the centre of town so just a gentle stroll after breakfast. See how we get on. There is only so much standing around looking at art a fellow can take. I assume they have a caff so that we can take a tea break.

The last gallery we went to was MoMA in NYC. It was stunningly good. They had a posh caff there where we managed to blow fifty quid on a beef sandwich and some other light lunchtime snack. Expensivo NYC. MoMA is actually a place where if I lived in town I’d become a member. Very high quality. I expect the same of the Uffizi but in a different genre, obvs.

Blackbird in birdbath

Very satisfying to see, as this is the whole point of supplying birds with a bath.

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1. Does anyone give a flying f*&k?

Cameron, May, Johnson, Truss. Names that will go into the history books as 4 of the worst prime ministers we’ve ever had. Think of the odds you could have had on an acca at the bookies for that. Could have made a fortune.

I think that for a laugh we should carve their four heads into a mountain. Just like on Mount Rushmore 🙂 Maybe on some craggy spot on the white cliffs of Dover.

That would put off any cross channel asylum seeking immigrants. The thought of facing that lot as they approached land… Give the useless quartet a real sense of achievement. Just what they would have wanted.

Quite fitting somehow that they would be facing the EU. It would be a memorial on how not to govern a country. Of course the faces would crumble in time as they would be carved out of chalk. 

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Music in my head. One Night in Paris by 10cc. No idea why that tune specifically although we are off to Paris in November. Couple of nights. Work and play. Another day.

Started this morning by setting the sprinkle going on the lawn. Nematodes need watering in for a couple of weeks. The sprinkler turned out to be kaput. Missing a stopper at one end! So I switched to plan B. The regular hose pipe spray attachment, whatever it is called. The hose came out soaking my specs. I’ve parked it for a little later in the morning.

Had a busy couple of days at the start of the week. Catching up. Lots to do today an all. Sfine. Finished The Oregon Trail, purchaysed from the Harvard Bookshop. Now started on Mourt’s Relation. Purchaysed at the Pigrim’s Memorial Museum in Provincetown. Inneresting.

That’s not work though. Work is something else. Work, of some sort, is actually something we all want to do. Not to have anything to do is mind numbingly boring. Ok there are other projects that you can get on with. I saw a programme on YouTube about a bloke binding a book in his shed. The end result was v impressive. 

However that is something you need to dedicate a lot of time to. Not sure I would be committed enough to do that. I still need to write my hit musical and no doubt have a few books in me. These will also take time.

Been keeping an eye out for when bookings open up at a campsite we want to visit near Nice next September. We are off to France for a month at least. Rugby World Cup camp followers. 

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Lawn is watered. Twenty minutes. Might nip out and buy a new sprinkler later. Would seem like a good investment. I do need at some point to nip into town to get a couple of things frames. Signed Pink Martini tour poster and a sheet of stamps from the Ukraine. The one where the soldier is giving the finger to the Russian battleship that was subsequently sunk. Yanow the one. Maybs head out to Forge Arts in Hackthorn instead. Easier to get to.

Appointment made for tomorrow ar 11.15 am at forge arts.

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A blustery evening in October. Autumn is well under way. Imminent leaf fall anticipated. The weather would appear to have turned.

I’ve moved the squirrel trap back into the loft. Different spot. Found a load of squirrel (I assume) droppings and something has been chewing at some polystyrene sheets. I think I’ve got the right place now. The polystyrene, which was just rubbish and not insulation, accounts for the strange rubbing noise. A bit of a worry but as long as it was just having a go at the polystyrene that is ok.

Now in the shed watching the footy build up. Cosee.

Another useless government minister has acrimoniously gone. They will all have gone before long, if it is the will of Allah.