Joe's Jottings

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Category: Personal Stuff

  • Be prepared…

    Be prepared…

    …unlike me.

    I currently drive a Ford Focus – about 10 years old. I like it. It exhibits more intelligence than any car I’ve driven previously, and, going by my recent experiences, more intelligence than me.

    About a month ago, I noticed that when I got in to the car and turned it on, the time displayed was roughly the time that I’d last left the car, as if the clock had stopped at that point. “Hmmm…that’s weird…” Prior to that, I’d noticed a few intermittent warning lights that came and went. This is kind of like the scenes early in a disaster movie or horror film. You know:

    “Mistress Johnson’s cow gave birth to a calf with two heads, and the whippoorwills and sceraming every night….it be a portent, I tell ye….”

    or

    “For some days there was a stench of sulphur that hung around the area of the extinct volcanic vent. There were spurts of hot mud coming from the nearby swamp, and at night the faintest rumbling could be heard…”

    We know that soon Mistress Johnson’s calf will be the least of his worries, and that the extinct volcanic vent will soon…not be extinct.

    And so it was for me. I ignored the warnings, drove to Church on Sunday, worshipped the Lord and after the traditional Anglican sacrament of coffee and biscuits left to drive home. I pressed the magic button on my car dashboard and….pretty lights blossomed from the dashboard – Immobiliser failure, ABS failure, Engine failure, hamster fallen off his wheel…the lot.

    And somewhere in this Christmas tree display was a little red light showing a battery.

    And the warnings all made sense. Ooops. Never mind – it’s embarrassing but I’m covered by the RAC through my car insurance. AND…I have a power pack ‘jump starter’ in the boot of the car. No worries. Let’s try that….

    It was now VERY apparent that something bad was happening with the car electrics, as the when I tried to open the boot of the car (electrical….) nothing happened. Now, you can get in to the boot through the back seats of the car, so some fumbling and fiddling and I was able to recover the jump starter. And it’s (very short) leads.

    Oh…did I mention it was raining?

    Sitting back in the front seat of the car I started to feel a heady sense of confidence. This feeling was wholly unwarranted, as I found when I turned the power bank on to be confronted by 1 light out of 4 on the charging status display. Ahhh…yes…these things need charging occasionally.

    So…RAC it is. Got my phone out…20% battery left. OK – should be enough. Attempted to place call and….how the f**k can I be within 2 miles of the city centre and barely get a signal? So, out of the car, wandered up the hill a little, and managed to get a call through to the RAC explaining my position (literally and metaphorically). We couldn’t decide whether it was Immobiliser or the battery so we decided to go with battery, and I was told that I’d receive texts keeping me informed about progress.

    20% was now down to 15%, and it was clear that the car wasn’t the only mechanism in the area experiencing ‘parasitic current drain’.

    It was clear that it was only a matter of time before the phone was as dead as the car. Sitting inside the car, rain on the outside, steam from my breath and condensation on the inside, I kept having flashbacks to watching ‘Apollo 13’.

    I suddenly realised that I had gone from a sense of confidence about my car and the progress of my day to being totally at the mercy of when the RAC would get to me. A text message home along the lines of ‘Car battery dead. Phone battery dying. I may be some time’ had a little of the Scott of the Antarctic about it.

    And in that quiet wait I started pondering. Where had it all gone wrong. Well…..

    • Ignoring the unexpected intermittent warning lights.
    • Ignoring the odd behaviour of the radio.
    • Failing to make sure that my phone was charged before going out
    • Failing to ensure that the power-pack jump starter was charged up.
    • No jump leads in the car – whilst waiting I did have an offer of a jump start.
    • No snacks or blanket in the car for comfort.
    • Nothing to read apart from the car manual…

    Not at all well prepared – my only excuse is that I was never a Boy Scout or member of the Boy’s Brigade.

    The RAC DID arrive and determined that the battery was down to 7 volts. They charged me up, I got home, had the battery replaced and promised to myself to take the lesson on board.

    5 days ago the radio started losing time.

    On Sunday morning I went out to the car to go to church. It refused to start….

    Ah well…..here we go again….

    …unlike me. I currently drive a Ford Focus – about 10 years old. I like it. It exhibits more intelligence than any car I’ve driven previously, and, going by my recent experiences, more intelligence than me. About a month ago, I noticed that when I got in to the car and turned it on, the

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    February 23, 2026
  • The joys of fishing tackle catalogue porn…

    The joys of fishing tackle catalogue porn…

    I’ve recently been watching a TV show featuring Paul Whitehouse and Bob Mortimer called ‘Mortimer and Whitehouse: Gone Fishing’ . As is often the case with me, I’m late to the game and have found I have about 6 series to watch…

    In each episode our heroes literally go fishing and we share the experience, including the conversations – both funny and profound – and it is a wonderfully relaxing way to spend half an hour. There is a gentleness about the show, and a love between the two men that is wonderful to see in a world where too often we hear of toxic masculinity.

    When I was a teenager, I would occasionally spend mornings or afternoons fishing in the local river. I was never sure whether there were actually fish to catch there, but that wasn’t, to me, the point. I would be spending time on my own in the open air, with an apparent purpose. I remember those days very clearly fifty years down the line. I also did a little see fishing, and also once attempted trout fishing when on a family holiday.

    Watching the program last night (Our heroes pursue, catch, and release two Crucian Carp) I was reminded of my own experiences, and that in turn led me to remember the time I spent looking through a big fishing tackle catalogue as a teenager. There’s a scene in Blackadder Goes Forth where Captain Blackadder talks about his love life:

    I’ve always been a soldier, married to the army. Book of King’s Regulations is my mistress…possibly with a Harrods’ lingerie catalogue tucked discreetly between the pages.

    Well, we didn’t have Harrods lingerie catalogues where I was bought up – the closest would be a Freeman’s Mail Order catalogue, about an inch and a half thick and so impossible to tuck discretely anywhere. But that, as they say, is another story…

    Where I encountered this fishing tackle catalogue I have no idea. I don’t even know who published it – I don’t remember the cover – or whether it even had one – and I certainly don’t have it today. Somewhere in the tidy ups of my teenage years and the moves between home and university, 3 moves whilst at university, and then a few years of moving from place to place just after university – it was lost.

    But I remember spending hours looking through it. The pages I most remember – and I can almost see them laid out in my mind – were the fly fishing ones, where there were several rows of images of fishing flies and short descriptions of them, with details of where they might best be used. I seem to recollect several of them seemed to target Scandinavian waters – so perhaps the catalogue was from a company in that part of the world. But the whole catalogue fascinated me – there was all sorts of technical information about reels, rods, nets, whatever. Stuff that I never bought, would never use, but that just fascinated me.

    I’ve actually just done a Google search and found the image below. This isn’t from the catalogue I had, but is similar.

    They genuinely were little works of art, and whilst I wouldn’t know one fly from another, they’ve always fascinated me. And they show up in my TV watching; Colonel Potter in M*A*S*H showing a wounded soldier how to tie a fly, Christopher Foyle in ‘Foyle’s War’ fly-fishing on the Sussex Downs.

    The catalogue I had was quite thick, I seem to remember. The brief Google search I did just now does seem to suggest that fishing tackle catalogues are quite thick tomes, and still exist in the format that I remember.

    Maybe I should go and seek some ‘vintage porn’…

    I’ve recently been watching a TV show featuring Paul Whitehouse and Bob Mortimer called ‘Mortimer and Whitehouse: Gone Fishing’ . As is often the case with me, I’m late to the game and have found I have about 6 series to watch… In each episode our heroes literally go fishing and we share the experience,

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    January 20, 2026
  • There’s something in my eye…

    There’s something in my eye…

    I have always been prone to crying through most of my adult life. I’ve never been one to boast of a stiff upper lip – I can hang on under certain circumstances but I will express my emotions when required. And sometimes – I just like a good cry.

    Music, books, films, TV shows are all likely to trigger strong emotions in me. Oddly enough, I don’t always respond in the same way to the same trigger.

    I recently watched a couple of what might be called ‘Bank Holiday Staples’ on TV. ‘The Magnificent Seven’ and ‘The Great Escape’ – both directed by John Sturgess and was both of them gave me moments where ‘I had something in my eye’.

    In ‘The Great Escape’ there’s the scene where Ives, tries to climb the fence of the PoW camp after the discovery of the escape tunnel, and is shot. There’s Blythe, the forger, played by Donald Pleasance, who suddenly realises that he’s going blind – and the scene where he is shot within a short distance of freedom.

    In ‘The Magnificent Seven’ there is the scene where Charles Bronson’s character explains to some hero-worshipping boys the true bravery of their fathers, who they consider to be cowards:

    Don’t you ever say that again about your fathers because they are not cowards. You think I am brave because I carry a gun? Well your fathers are much braver because they carry responsibility, for you, your brothers, your sisters and your mothers. And this responsibility is like a big rock that weighs a ton. It bends and twists them until finally it buries them under the ground . They do this because they love you. I have never had this kind of courage….

    It set me thinking about other films that have this effect on me. I do wonder whether if I look at these triggers I’ll get some sort of insight in to part of my psyche? Some years ago I remember reading about a psychologist who used fiction – films and books – as part of a therapeutic approach. basically see what emotional responses were obtained to see if there was any insights that could be drawn about the person receiving therapy or counselling. Here’s something in Psychology Today from a couple of years ago.

    The first one that comes to mind for me is ‘Field of Dreams’. I have always had some interest in baseball, despite being a Brit, and I was introduced to this film by a dear friend of mine shortly after it was released. Two scenes do it for me; when ‘Moonlight’ Graham, played by Burt Lancaster, leaves the field to help a choking child knowing that he won’t be able to go back, and the scene at the end where Ray meets his long dead father. The latter scene resonated with me more after my father passed away when we had become estranged.

    And then there’s ‘Up’. If you want a love story that will make any man cry buckets, watch the first 15 minutes.

    ‘The Fisher King’ where Jack Lucas watches the TV news and sees how his words triggered a mass shooting.

    ‘Saving Private Ryan’ – the cemetery scene where an elderly Ryan asks his wife whether he’s led a good life. I can rarely watch this film – it really does for me.

    As does ‘The Green Mile’. Bloody hell. There are so, so many more. I guess I’m just a bit of an emotional trainwreck!

    And it’s not a film…but a cartoon. The Futurama episode ‘Jurassic Bark’. I watched it once, cried like a baby, and skip through it when binge watching these days. And the final scene in The Simpsons ‘Do It For Her’ where Homer explains why there are no pictures of Maggie around the house…

    Excuse me…I have something in my eye…again….

    I have always been prone to crying through most of my adult life. I’ve never been one to boast of a stiff upper lip – I can hang on under certain circumstances but I will express my emotions when required. And sometimes – I just like a good cry. Music, books, films, TV shows are

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    January 16, 2026
  • The long-lost book…

    This isn’t a post about a book that I’ve mislaid, or lent to someone and never got back. This is about a book that I should have written, but didn’t.

    A few months ago I was sorting through some files in my study. Whilst I have a couple of small filing cabinets, they don’t really contain many files. They contain a geiger counter, some stationary, my father’s old stamp collection, a load of network cables…basically, anything BUT files. But, in the back of one drawer, was a little bundle of envelope files, one of which was labelled ‘Night Book’.

    My mind went back nearly 40 years to 1986. To be precise, I remember standing in the garden of my then home here in Sheffield, looking up at Hayley’s Comet, shortly before I fell over a hedgehog snuffling it’s way around the lawn. The hedgehog survived the encounter; my dignity didn’t…. But that was the night when the idea about this book first came to me. I wandered back in to the kitchen, sat down at my desk (in those days I didn’t have a study – I had a desk in the corner of the kitchen with a computer on it – and wrote down some ideas – they appeared on the first page in that envelope file.

    I have always been fascinated by the night. As a child I wasn’t scared of the dark. I loved being out in the garden around dusk, and once I got interested in star-gazing my mother could end up having to call me in like a pet cat… And I’m still convinced that the best amateur radio conditions occur in the darkness of a winter evening. Something just clicked that night – and I thought to myself ‘How about writing something about…night time?

    I’d been writing for publication (and in those long gone days you could actually get paid for writing stuff…) for 3 or 4 years at this point and already had a couple of books and a lot of articles under my belt. So I knew what would be involved from the point of view of the effort. Although my writing to then had been mainly technical stuff – and this would be somewhat different. However…I took a sheet of paper and after a few minutes thought wrote down ‘A natural history of the night’ as a working title. I’m afraid I was clearly a bit pompous in those days…no comments, please…

    After a couple of hours, come coffee and some head scratching I had a rough idea of what I wanted to create. A book that covered everything about the night time – why it happens, a bit of astronomy, a bit of chemistry, meteorology, history, legend and superstition, social history…I had a couple of pages of ideas and even a rough chapter list. I put the pages in a file, and popped the file away.

    I’d like to say that a few weeks later I started on this magnum opus and slogged away at it for years to complete it. Perhaps there’s an alternate universe where that did happen! Last night I was watching the ‘Dr Johnson’ episode of the TV sitcom ‘Blackadder the Third’, where Dr Johnson explains how his life panned out whilst writing his dictionary:

    The one that has taken eighteen hours of every day for the last ten years. My mother died; I hardly noticed. My father cut off his head and fried it in garlic in the hope of attracting my attention; I scarcely looked up from my work. My wife brought armies of lovers to the house, who worked in droves so that she might bring up a huge family of bastards.

    Even now it makes me chuckle having had short periods of my life where writing occupied most of my waking hours! But not on this book. ‘A natural history of the night’ remained unwritten. The file was…filed. My life unfolded; other books were written, every now and again I’d remember that evening and say to myself ‘You need to get on with that….’

    The next thing I knew, in the words of Pink Floyd ‘Ten Years had got behind me’. My life took a bit of a tumble in the mid-1990s and I stopped writing anything until 2000, when I started writing film scripts and some articles. Every now and again I’d see that file and think – ‘Come on…get on with it…’ and never did.

    And then in 2005 the two books pictured at the top of this post were published and just came to my attention by accident. Out of a perverse sense of curiosity, I bought them, and…well….they’re not what I would have written but they are damn good. Annoyingly good. And that was that. I kept seeing the file show up in my drawers every now and again, got a twinge of ‘Bugger…why didn’t I…’ but that was it. I didn’t see any point.

    And then a wee while ago I encountered the file again, and thought…hmmm….20 years since they were published….nearly 40 years since the night in the garden…maybe? Maybe I should get that file out and take a look? Maybe as an older man I can do the subject more justice than I could have ever done in my twenties?

    Unfortunately….after I started writing this post I turned my filing cabinets upside down to get the file and take a picture of the page for inclusion in the post. I cannot find the ‘effing file. I have a horrible feeling that after I found it again a few months ago I did a file purge, and that file was possibly one of the files that went.

    Bugger.

    This isn’t a post about a book that I’ve mislaid, or lent to someone and never got back. This is about a book that I should have written, but didn’t. A few months ago I was sorting through some files in my study. Whilst I have a couple of small filing cabinets, they don’t really

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    January 15, 2026
  • Warning – Inner work taking place…

    “Your memory is a monster; you forget—it doesn’t. It simply files things away. It keeps things for you, or hides things from you—and summons them to your recall with will of its own. You think you have a memory; but it has you!” – John Irving, A Prayer for Owen Meany

    A few weeks ago at Pritchard Towers we had the loft boarded out and a proper loft ladder installed. We’re now sorting the loft – and it’s contents – out, and we’re also sorting out cupboards, drawers, etc. in the rest of the house.

    I wish I’d labelled stuff better. The loft is like a freakin’ emotional minefield. You open a box and see stuff that you’d forgotten about for a damn good reason, but that you tucked away because you couldn’t handle it at the time. Twenty year old tax demands are fun, despite looking scary. Other stuff that looks harmless takes your leg off when the emotional landmine is triggered.

    Yesterday, after some loft sorting, I foolishly did some cupboard sorting and hit a motherload of 35 year old stuff.

    I blubbed like a baby, openly. Previously I’d had the odd ‘lower lip wobble’ but yesterday was intense.

    I’ve realised that the loft and some cupboards are my Jungian ‘shadow’; the bits of my life that I chose to ‘push down’ for whatever reason – good or bad – but that need acknowledgement as they have helped make me, me.

    Stuff is now being chucked; stuff is being labelled; stuff’s being hung on walls; most of all, stuff and memory is being acknowledged and re-integrated in to me.

    Inner work is fucking hard. 🙂

    As LP Hartley said ‘The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.’ – I sort of wish I had one of those old maps that said ‘Here there be dragons’. 🙂

    “Your memory is a monster; you forget—it doesn’t. It simply files things away. It keeps things for you, or hides things from you—and summons them to your recall with will of its own. You think you have a memory; but it has you!” – John Irving, A Prayer for Owen Meany A few weeks ago

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    May 26, 2018
  • Greater love hath no man…

    The title of this post refers to a very well known line from John’s Gospel:

    “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”

    The surrounding lines provide a bit of context – it’s part of a statement made by Jesus, shortly before he goes in to the Garden of Gethsemane where he’ll be betrayed by Judas.

    “This is my commandment, That ye love one another, as I have loved you.  Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. You are my friends, if you do whatsoever I command you.”

    The call to selflessness has become culturally associated with the military services, and the phrase is often used with regard to people who have died in the heat of battle, sacrificing themselves for the benefit of others around them.

    But I also associate this line with a fictional story.

    I enjoy the James Cagney gangster movies from the 1930s, particularly the two he did with Humphrey Bogart; ‘The Roaring Twenties’ and ‘Angels with Dirty Faces’.  In the latter, Cagney plays a gangster, Rocky Sullivan, released from jail and owed money by Bogart’s character, Jim Frazier, who collaborated with Sullivan on a bank raid.  Sullivan took the rap, in return for the money to be paid to him after his release.  Sullivan also has a friend in the local Catholic pries, Jerry Connolly.  As boys, both Rocky and Jerry carried out a robbery together but only Rocky was caught, and sent to reform school, where it might be argued his criminal career began.  Jerry was a faster runner, and became a priest.

    Jerry coaches a group of boys playing basketball, who rapidly become impressed with Rocky’s charm and bravado, and his courage and general approach to life. Jerry is concerned that this may lead the boys in to a life of crime.

    To cut to the chase, Frazier double-crosses Rocky, and Rocky ends up in a gun fight in which he kills a policeman, which ultimately leads to Rocky being on death row, awaiting execution.

    The boys are convinced that Rocky will die like he lived – a hero, going to the electric chair with swagger and bravado. Jerry goes to see Rocky and asks him to go to the chair ‘as a coward’, with the hope that the boys will lose all respect for him and not set out on a life of crime as they try to emulate their hero. Rocky refuses.

    However, when he’s taken in to the execution chamber to be executed, he begs and weeps and fights against the guards. His courage and bravado are gone; he goes to his death in an undignified and cowardly manner, pleading for mercy. Jerry, who’s present in the role of Rocky’s priest, prays as the execution takes place.  The boys later read the headlines that Rocky died a coward, and ask Jerry whether it was true.  After a brief pause, he tells them that it was all true. The boys lose respect for Rocky; it’s hoped that they will steer away from crime.

    Whether Rocky was acting the part of a coward, or whether he really did ‘break’ at the end isn’t revealed in the film. In later life, Cagney kept quiet about it as well. I saw this film first time around in my early teens, watching it one Sunday afternoon with my parents, and I couldn’t quite work out myself whether Rocky was acting or not.  I got the feeling that Jerry thought that Rocky had done the right thing, though – that moment of pause when the boys asked whether whether the newspaper story was true seems to suggest he was wondering whether to tell ‘the truth’ or the truth.

    As I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to think that Rocky DID do the good thing – he made whatever sacrifice he could at the end to help his friend. His life was already forfeit, so he gave up his character, his dignity, his courage; he gave up the rest of him, so to say.

    As for Jerry, the older I’ve got the more I have to ask ‘Was it too great a thing to ask of Rocky? After all, but for your ability to run faster, you might have followed a similar life. You asked of him to give away the very thing that made Rocky, Rocky, in the eyes of the world. That was a great deal to ask. Was it too much to ask?’

    I’ve not yet got an answer for that one.

    Fiction allows us to explore complex morality at ‘low cost’ – this film has stayed with me for my whole adult life. I occasionally watch it when it’s on TV to see if I can gain some more insights; I know, it sounds daft trying to pick out morality from a film that’s almost 80 years old, but sometimes we need fiction to allow us to answer some of the big questions.

     

    For a fuller description of the plot, take a look here.

     

    The title of this post refers to a very well known line from John’s Gospel: “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” The surrounding lines provide a bit of context – it’s part of a statement made by Jesus, shortly before he goes in to

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    January 2, 2017
  • Facebook makes you miserable…

    I came across this item a few days ago – the hardly surprising revelation that lurking around on Facebook makes you miserable.  Although ‘lurking’ – looking at social media without interacting with anyone – is specifically mentioned, social media in general get’s a bit of a hammering.

    This isn’t anything new, of course – I remember some years ago some studies being published that suggested that people got depressed when looking at the social media – particularly Facebook – feeds of their friends who always seemed to be telling us all about their wonderful lives featuring beautiful people in beautiful places doing exciting and fascinating things with and to each other.

    Of course, most of these feeds were actually less than 100% accurate, with people cherry picking their lives to put up a good image, or even lying their pants off.  Whatever else, social media doesn’t seem to always induce truth-telling!

    I’ve never been able to understand why people tell porkies on their social media feeds.  If you’re trying to impress people who know you more than a little, then surely those folks know when you’re stretching the truth.  And if you’re trying to impress people who don’t know you very well, why bother?

    “Researchers warn of envy and a “deterioration of mood” from spending too long looking at other people’s social media stories, induced by “unrealistic social comparisons”.

    The funny thing is that I KNOW all this, but even I fall prey to it.  If I’m feeling a bit down, a bit lost, a bit ‘Meh’ and I see someone on Facebook who appears to ‘have it all together’ I have to say that I get envious and I get that deterioration of mood. I know in my head that everyone has their own problems to deal with, and that a story or photo on Facebook is very much a snapshot of an instant in that person’s life, but it still sometimes gets to me.

    I think I agree with the other findings of the researchers “Actively engaging in conversation and connecting with people on social media seems to be a much more positive experience,” It’s only when you start to engage with people that you do find out whether their lives are as ‘picture perfect’ as they appear to be or whether you just caught them on a very good day.  Or, who knows, whether they are lying narcissists after all.

    There’s a couple of pictures of me out there where I appear to be (for me) in ‘party animal’ mode.  What folks don’t know (or many don’t know) is that those pictures were taken of me at a time in my life when I was under the hammer somewhat, and that ‘shit was going down’ in my life that I hadn’t seen fit to share on social media. I do wonder how many other pictures and posts we see from people who appear to be having a perfect life (compared to ours) are taken when things aren’t good at all?

    There’s a book called ‘Survivors of Steel City’ about people in Sheffield, written by psychologist Geoff Beattie, and in it there’s a story of a guy who drove the top of the range cars, was seen in the top night-spots, dressed immaculately.  However, this was his ‘weekend persona’ – the rest of the time he live din a flat on a council estate, the car was hired, and the weekend club life was the total high-spot of his week.  I guess that that shows that there is nothing new under the sun – had social media been around back then we can only imagine his posts!

    One solution to the angst produced by social media suggested by the researchers was to take a week off social media every now and agan.  I can say that this works; every now and again I take a time out and it resets my attitude and my online bull-shit detector.

    In the meantime, can I interest you in some possibly faked up photos of me ski-ing down the Eiger accompanied by a multitude of bkini clad beautiful people?

     

     

     

    I came across this item a few days ago – the hardly surprising revelation that lurking around on Facebook makes you miserable.  Although ‘lurking’ – looking at social media without interacting with anyone – is specifically mentioned, social media in general get’s a bit of a hammering. This isn’t anything new, of course – I

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    January 1, 2017
  • And so in to 2017

    My attitude towards New Year’s Eve this year was summed up rather well when I went to Asda this afternoon to buy ‘the boys’ – our 2 cats, Jarvis and Marvin – some cooked chicken. They like this as a treat, and whilst New Year’s Day lunch will feature roast beef, the boys just don’t like beef as much as chicken or turkey, so out to Asda I went.

    I found myself in the checkout queue with a number of people carrying various bottles of champagne, sparkling white wine and Buck’s Fizz.  Me? Some chicken and a tub of Ovaltine.

    New Year’s Eve has never been a big event at Pritchard Towers; typically it’s Jools Holland, drink the New Year in, then off to bed. This year it’s been reading, dozing, then suddenly noticing that it’s 2 minutes to midnight. Could we be bothered to drink the New Year in? Nope. But we did enjoy the thunderous roar of the fireworks around the neighbourhood – I decided that it was the New Year finishing off the Old Year in a fusilade of gun fire, with a final ‘kill shot’ coming from a large firework that shook the house.

    No Jools Holland, no sparkly drinkies. This year we just didn’t feel up to it; I think we were just glad to get shut of 2016 as quickly as possible with as little palaver as possible.

    I come to New Year’s Eve with a small collection of superstitions from my childhood.

    I was very popular as a ‘first footer’ as an older child – I had dark hair (which apparently is good) and would be shooed out of the house just before midnight, armed with a piece of shortbread and a piece of coal. After the stroke of midnight, I’d be welcomed in to the house and the shortbread and coal were to signify that no one in the house would be hungry or cold in the coming year.

    It was also important to go in to the New Year with no clothes drying around the house, and no pots waiting to be washed or washing in the washing machine.  The idea was that the state of the house would give an indication as to what things would be like in the coming year.  A sort of ‘start as you intend to go on’.

    Both of these superstitions suggested some sort of ‘sympathetic magic’ in which what happened at New Year influenced the year to come, and if that’s the case my 2017 will be a mixed bag indeed. The first thing drunk in 2017 has been a cup of tea, the first thing done was to then put a hot water bottle in the bed. I then fed the cats, cleared up a small turd left in the bathroom by Jarvis, finished writing my intercessionary prayers for Evening Prayers tomorrow evening, and wrote this blog post.

    On this basis, my 2017 will be based around tea, hot water bottles, cat-care, God and writing.

    I could do worse.

    Happy New Year!

    My attitude towards New Year’s Eve this year was summed up rather well when I went to Asda this afternoon to buy ‘the boys’ – our 2 cats, Jarvis and Marvin – some cooked chicken. They like this as a treat, and whilst New Year’s Day lunch will feature roast beef, the boys just don’t

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    January 1, 2017
  • Memories of a Sunday afternoon

    Since I turned 50, I’ve occasionally found my thoughts turning back towards my childhood and adolescence. I’ve no idea why – my parents are both dead, I’m estranged from my biological family and have no childhood friends around to make me think of those times.  Maybe I’m being a good Jungian and ‘looking inward’, or maybe I’m just finding out what nostalgia is all about.  Who knows.

    One thing that has kept popping back in to my mind over the last few years – and I have no idea why – was 4-30pm, Sunday afternoons. After dinner (we ate at about 3pm on Sundays) my mum would be tidying around and my dad would go for a lie down. I would be playing / experimenting / reading in my hobby-room (I grabbed the small box room) and once my dad was ensconced in his bedroom he’d turn on his radio (the Ekco set I mentioned ages ago in this post) and out would come the sound of the opening music for the Radio 2 program ‘Sing Something Simple’.  30 minutes of vocal harmonies with piano and accordion accompaniment.  Rather than try and explain it, I point you to this site where the show is described.

    I didn’t like it much then – it was a staple of my childhood and teenage years, and for me the saving grace was that after it the chart show was broadcast – and I have seen the show described as ‘audio chloroform’. But, my father would hum along, and even now I can remember the songs and so it must have insinuated itself in to my head.

    Sunday afternoon was an odd time for me – I guess an odd time for any schoolchild – it’s the last bit of freedom before you go back to school on Monday.  ‘Sing Something Simple’ was sort of the start of Sunday evening – after that program would come the chart show, which I’d listen to whilst doing whatever tinkering I was doing, but I have to say that I don’t recollect the chart programmes as much as the Cliff Adams Singers these days!

    Somewhere during the chart show would appear Sunday Tea – usually sandwiches, cake, etc. spread out on the living room table.  You’d get what you wanted and sit in the living room eating up.

    After the chart show – around 7pm – would be Sunday Evening Bath time. Again, odd memories.  Sometime in my childhood / teens I started reading in the bath, but the main thing I remember from my baths as a child was the long handled scrubbing brush (backs for the use of) which was in the form of a pale green, plastic, long tailed fish.  And there was a ‘thing’ that contained the soap, flannel, scrubbing brush, whatever that rested on the edges of the bath tub across the bath itself.  I think it also ended up containing toy boats when I was REALLY small.

    And after bath it was get dry in front of the fire….and funnily enough, I don’t remember much after that.

    The human memory is a funnily selective thing. Folks assure me that ‘it’s all in there somewhere’ but I really would like to fill in some of the gaps!

    Since I turned 50, I’ve occasionally found my thoughts turning back towards my childhood and adolescence. I’ve no idea why – my parents are both dead, I’m estranged from my biological family and have no childhood friends around to make me think of those times.  Maybe I’m being a good Jungian and ‘looking inward’, or

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    December 29, 2016
  • Today me, tomorrow you

    A few weeks ago I wrote this Blog Post around the theme of Today You, Tomorrow Me, a ‘pay it forward’ sentiment summed up in the attitude of someone doing a favour for someone on the ground of ‘Today you need help, tomorrow it could be me needing help’.

    Well, me being me started thinking about this from the other perspective, that of ‘Today it’s me needing help, tomorrow it might be you’.

    I appreciate that that sounds rather selfish; it’s the sort of thing that you might say when trying to emotionally blackmail someone in to doing you a favour – “Hey, give me a hand, you never know when you might need a hand yourself!”  Also, to be honest, it does sound a bit like a cross between a threat and a bribe!

    But at the same time there is an honesty about it, and a forthrightness that we’re often reluctant to acknowledge.  Sometimes, we DO need help and find it hard to ask for it. Perhaps asking for it on a ‘tit for tat’ is not something you can do with a total stranger, but perhaps it’s the way we need to be with friends and family, rather than the “I need help, I hope folks offer it because I’ll feel terrible asking for it, and they might turn me down.”

    In the last decade there have been times when I’ve been desperate enough to seek help from friends. A couple have helped me out (you know who you are, folks) and several haven’t (you also know who you are) and it has affected our relationship in various ways – strengthening it in some cases, weakening it in others, changing the power dynamic.

    But what about total strangers? It’s one thing for someone offering you help when you need it, but would that same stranger have responded positively had YOU asked first? I’m not sure.

    Asking for help from the stranger would at least take out the guesswork, but it also comes over as if you’re begging or pan-handling – which at one level I suppose I would be.  The argument of ‘you never know when you might need a hand yourself’ only really applies if you’re likely to cross path with the person again often enough to be around when they need you, OR if the stranger has a belief in some sort of Karma or ‘reward for good deeds’.

    I guess it MIGHT work if the stranger is particularly kind, or has a religious belief that encourages selfless helping.  It might also help if the person was on the verge of offering assistance and needed a little push to get them over nervousness or shyness. It might also work if the stranger gets a kick out of helping folks, or if they feel that they can get something form you quite quickly if they help you out.

    This is an experiment that I’m not sure I’d have the guts to try; I think that in many cases, rather than ask a total stranger for assistance I’d try and get things sorted myself or just ‘grin and bear’ the problem.

    Maybe it’s a British thing….

    A few weeks ago I wrote this Blog Post around the theme of Today You, Tomorrow Me, a ‘pay it forward’ sentiment summed up in the attitude of someone doing a favour for someone on the ground of ‘Today you need help, tomorrow it could be me needing help’. Well, me being me started thinking about

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    December 25, 2016
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