Social Engineering

The English do not like open plan or undefined things.

Give an Englishman a bit of land, perhaps a few square feet on a beach anywhere in the world and some sort of demarcation line or a boundary will soon appear around it. The same happens in public open space, be it a park, a picnic area or what remains of the great outdoors.

Take a modern housing estate. Most Developers will have included restrictions in the original sales contract about the erection of fences and markers on property frontages with the intention being to maintain a nice and tidy uniformity through a street. It is not too long after the first residents take up occupation that the initial attempts at making a barrier are made- call it pushing the boundaries.

Low cost efforts appear in the form of small white or green plastic edging strips, or a low post and chain affair- again all in metal effect plastic. If there is no redress or request to remove said items, and for which there is a legal enforcement protocol ,then those who got away with the semi permanent markers go for an upscale to a stouter post and rail fence or good old brick walling. Before long peer pressure and neighbour competitiveness creates a frenzy of one-upmanship actiivity. A standard brick wall develops into a wrought iron railed landmark with columns, copings and embellishments. This is closely followed by the installation of an electronic gate with the psychedelic blue glow of the control panel becoming another distraction on our residential streets.

There is one more stage. The fitting of controlled gates to the whole street to create what is quite a new estate agents mantra of ' .....in a gated community'. Gates serve a dual purpose in keeping people out but also locking people in. Gated Community sounds a bit like the longhand and very Anglo-Saxon for ghetto.

Although a simple example the issue does serve to illustrate an aspect of the mentality and social composition of the UK that must alter significantly if we are to be able to cope with the ongoing challenges of zero carbon living, pressures on resources and incomes and to prevent a fracture in society from such factors as fuel poverty and poor housing which threaten to create an underclass.

In short we must all learn to play nice.

These issues have been reinforced in my mind by a recent visit to a new housing development in the area. It is a joint venture by a well respected and time served Social Trust and a speculative high profit motivated house builder. Not, at first glance, natural allies but there is definitely a nurturing relationship there, a bit like a flower and a bee.

The development, in a parkland setting but within an established and typically suburban area of a regional City, is founded on Eco-credentials. The houses and flats are built to meet high thermal efficiency requirements, zero leakage of precious energy and with capability to be almost self sufficient in utilities or otherwise at low annual cost. A community Bio-mass plant in the core of the eventual campus style setting pipes hot water to the individual homes. The properties are to improved Social Housing standard with spacious rooms, large glazed areas to capture solar heat , high ceilings and pre-wired for a stairlift and pre-plumbed for a wet room to extend longevity and function for occupiers. The properties are actually multi-generationally friendly so that there may be less pressure in having to sell up and move at different life stages as is the case with modern mass produced housing where design and layout are not so flexible and understanding.

The ocupancy of the housing will be on mixed basis. 1) Social Rented, 2)Shared Ownership and 3)Outright Purchase. This is where the ability to play nice will be paramount to the harmony and longer term success of the experiment. Whilst the Social Trust, who will oversee the day to day running of the development, have no real sanction the ethos is to lower dependency on the use of all forms of energy including motor cars.

Many modern housing estates now resemble a badly organised car park with multi vehicles per residence on kerbs, verges and block paved gardens. The big idea for this project  is not anti-cars but pro-less car use. The incentives include a car hire scheme on an hourly unit basis in order to pop to the shops as one example, good levels of public transport, wide boulevard walkways and a subsidy for each household towards a bicycle. Critical to the similar but disastrous experiments in housing of the 60's and 70's is the empowerment of the residents by giving options. The systems and tools are therefore in place.

However, the ultimate success and the means to quantify the lessons and benefits of this particular project will be dependant on its ability to overcome the deep set prejudices within and between these three designations of the occupiers.

1) is regarded as being the lowest category by 2) and 3).
2) is quite similar to 1) but aspires to be 3).
3) feels entiltled to belittle 1) and tolerate the intentions of 2).
2) and 3) are fearful of 1) who represents a socio-economic threat.
1) both envies and admires 2) and 3) out of jealousy and the need for a role model
2) stresses to 3) that low cost is not low quality and 1) agrees
The attitude and behaviour of 3) influences 1) and 2)

In most UK villages, towns and cities there is some demarcation between 1), 2) and 3).This is usually on  historic, geographic or economic criteria. There is fluidity and mobility between the groups but they all know and tend to seek comfort in their respective places and standings. A set of boundaries, real and imagined is always there.

Starting from scratch the new project will be very much an open plan arrangement in every respect. It will form a pioneering model for development in the future and will be closely studied and monitored.

It is important to play nice.

The Generation Game

I am not sure if they are the current generation or the next generation.

They are termed the Millenials or those in our population who were born between 1980 and 2000.

My indecisiveness is borne out of mixed feelings of concern and anticipation.

The first is based on the fact that the Millenials already seem too stressed to partake in their role as the current generation and the second that they have so much untapped potential and compassion that when assuming their rightful place in the world it can only become a better place.

It is quite a balancing act between the two, well, I suppose I should call them, fates.

I am in my 50's and according to popular belief I grew up under the label of Generation X, that demographic after the post war baby boom in the West covering the years 1960 to 1980.

In comparison with what the Millenials are faced with now I do believe that I had it a bit easier although at the time there were equivalent political, social and economic forces in play.

Do not forget that in the 1970's this country was on the brink of a full scale potential military coup against the Harold Wilson admininstration, almost in a state of civil war through a break down in the class structure from unrest and strikes in the workforce and not to forget that overlying all of the above was the fact that we were being briefed, in a pamphlet, by Government on what to do in the event of a nuclear strike.

To the Millenials the world does not seem any safer but then again they are the generation who can spend up to 18 hours a day immersed in social media on various screens and are easily overloaded with news and events which my contemporaries would have to seek out in print or by word of mouth in a less technological era.

Why are the Millenials so stressed?

In some respects they feel cheated by an indifferent Government and have developed a deep rooted envy , bordering on hatred of the baby boomers, who let's face it are their grandparents, or other senior relatives who seem to have hit a rich vein of property, other asset and personal savings that allow them to enjoy the times of their lives.

To a Millenial the baby boomers are guilty as charged for sitting on pricey houses, depleting the ozone layer, exhausting global resources from fossil fuels to fish and just living for longer and healthier.

I am closer to the boomer generation, which includes my parents, and have a strong respect for the hard work and sacrifices that they had to put in for their justified rewards in retirement and the expectation of an increasingly healthy longevity.

My own life-path was already marked out in my twenties with an assured career in just the single occupation, a ready availability of mortgage monies and cheap property prices. Importantly I was not compelled nor was I attracted to a London-centric existence in order to establish a decent income and standard of living. I am aghast that the average purchase price for a first time buyer in and around the Capital is half a million pounds but at the same time this sum can go a great deal further in other parts of the country.

Are Millenials just greedy or working towards what social media deems as the ideal existence from owning and living in a Grand Design calibre of property to having a beach-ready body, swanky car, gym membership and what I have come to realise is a fallacy, that life and work balance?

There are conflicting messages milling about on the airwaves that the smart phone and tablet toting Millenials cannot but absorb and assume as the norm. Health consciousness conflicts with a respect for any body shape, celebration of personal appearance cannot be at all narcissistic, women are over sexualised and yet a naked woman can be a potent symbol of empowerment, a man can pamper himself but must also conform to the stereotypical image and expectations. Confusing indeed.

Perhaps I should not mention other Millenial concerns over job security,student debt levels, global warming, terrorism, immigration and relationships. Many Millenial job roles could I daresay be easily given to a machine or robot so that does not really give confidence.

I dare not even touch on the subject of saving up for a deposit for a house purchase or the fact that it may be necessary to work through to the age of 80 in order to accumulate a sufficient pension pot.

What can be done to help the Millenials?

As role models and those who have been there, done that and come away with the era-suitable item of souvenir clothing we of the older generations do have some responsibility to reassure and encourage the Millenials.

It is in our own interests of course in that a happy and productive younger generation pays into the economy to provide our own retirement fund.

We must also start to spend our savings and liquidate some of that asset based wealth so that it too percolates through the social strata and oils the Millenial trainer wheels, as they say.

There is much talk about lost generations and if we are not careful then we run the very real risk of missing out on the talent, humanity and general niceness of this particular one. That would be a great shame, not to mention a complete failure on our part to perpetuate a good and compassionate social framework. 😿 😐

Signposting

It is a simple but genius concept to combine the subjects of toponomy and etymology.

In the hands of any others than the author Douglas Adams and the comedy writer and producer John Lloyd it could have been a dry and uninspiring topic but in their 1983 "Book of Liff" they produced the ultimate spoof dictionary.

I received one of the first copies as a birthday gift in my early twenties and it accompanied me just about everywhere for a couple of decades in my student, early working and married years.

The slim, black paperback was a constant source of amusement even though well and often read. It did go missing during one or other house moves and has not been seen since. It is hard to believe the time that has passed since its publication but it remains in demand today and has inspired many comedians and performers with its originality.

The concept, thought up and written in a month involved looking at an atlas/gazeteer of British place names and then interpreting the names into phrases and sayings that should exist but do not.

Some are downright hilarious, others silly or surreal and a few just plain and outrageously rude and vulgar.

To set the tone of the listings in the "Book of Liff", one of the most quoted and popular is "Huby". To me this is very relevant as the small village, just to the North East of York is actually on my workpatch. The Adams and Lloyd interpretation of Huby is "an erection which is big enough to be an embarassment in your trousers but not enough to do anything with". I am not able to drive down the main street of that village without a bit of a giggle.

In the same vein of meaning , "Perth" is interpreted as a silent fart. My home city of Hull is also featured under a description of "the distinctive smell of a weekend holiday cottage".

Many can identify with the dictionary because a lot of the content relates to familiar and common experiences. The use of placenames gives the impression of solidity and dependability but there can be a difficulty in expression or put simply, the words just do not exist.

You may have struggled to find words to describe,for example, an unmarried heterosexual partner. Boyfriend or girlfriend may be too young in outlook, paramour a bit old fashioned, partner a bit clinical and lover, well, a bit cringey in polite company. As for adult children I often stammer and wallow in clarifying that they I do have kids but are now all in their twenties.

In the 2013 celebration to mark thirty years since the publication of "Book of Liff" one of the co-authors, John Lloyd, was disappointed that none of the listings had in fact made it into the Oxford English Dictionary in spite of some everyday use and cult status.

The book has spawned many new descriptions over the years on the same model, some reflecting changes in society, social convention, modern life and the many technological changes.

"Troon" describes the inappropriate and unwanted noise of a phone or other device when otherwise a respectful silence is demanded. "Tildonk" refers to that small wedge shape of plastic that is placed on a checkout conveyor belt to separate the purchases of different shoppers. "Lewisham" is the horrible feeling that your car keys are not in your pocket as usual but explained by the fact that you are driving. "Badgers Mount" is a bit more risque in explaining a sexual position that you just know will not work even though your partner is keen to try it. "Frisby on the Wreake", again an actual placename is interpreted as a shouted warning of potential injury in a nudist colony.

A perfect illustration of the attitudes and outlook of some in the current climate is  "Faccombe" in Hampshire which means deciding against helping out those less fortunate than yourself.

I did, just this evening, have a short but not very committed hunt around the house for my beloved copy of the small black book but it is long gone. I can but hope that it turned up in a second hand shop or at the bottom of a box in a rummage sale to be appreciated and cherished in new ownership.

There must be a place name behind this scenario to have the Adams/Lloyd treatment but I am unable to think of one now. Any ideas are of course very welcome. .

Jobs for the Boys

In the 1970's I tried a few things in order to supplement my pocket money

Coming from a large family of 5 money absorbing children and with a Bank Manager father we operated on a strictly within means basis which was a sound grounding for later years.I have not, however, really applied the theory from my early years lessons in frugality and economy. My parents were fair in their distribution of pocket money and for every year of our age we children got 1p decimal a week. At the age of 15 I found that this allowance never went very far especially as my Speed and Power Magazine cost 10p per month and I never had the sense to save over the four weeks between issues. In addition I liked fizz bomb sweets and my absolute and still current favourite of sherbert fountains. It is little wonder that my interest in smoking was short lived and I stopped that pastime at the age of 12 fearing bankruptcy or withdrawal of finance from the IMF- Income for my Fags.

I did the usual paper delivery round for the newsagent shop opposite the Grammar School. In summer this was a delight with fresh air and a lot of cycling. My technique of scooting along on my bike between house gates on one pedal laden down with a sack of weighty morning tabloids soon cause chronic metal fatigue to the cranks of the pedals and their replacement devastated any profit from that job.

Potato picking sounded good in theory and with the promise of a kingly sum of £15 for a weeks work I promptly signed up. My mercenary attitude backfired big style as I had a round trip of 6 miles to reach the spud field and I had to buy packed lunch and liquids to offset premature death from such arduous work. I had not really thought through the physical demands of harvesting a potato, let alone how many of them could actually be found in a 5 acre field .The tractor had a rear mounted arm attachment that spun out the despised vegetable and a group of us schoolkids had to follow and quickly hand pick and fill up wire mesh baskets before tipping the contents into a nearby trailer. The field was wedge shaped and the first two days were totally demoralising and back breaking in that we were working on the longest rows and had no actual sense of real progress. By days three, four and five we were up and down the shorter furrow lengths at rapid speed and soon completed that form of employment. On the same agricultural theme I also spent a week picking out the wild oats and weeds as part of a crop yield study. Perhaps you could say I was outstanding in that particular field.

I also participated regularly as a bush beater for a large corporate shooting business. This involved wearing thick waterproof clothing all day whilst walking through dripping wet fields of Kale and Sugar Beet a-whooping and a-hollering and smacking the ground and available ground cover with a stout stick in order to startle pheasants, partridge, woodcock and pigeon to almost certain death under a barrage of lead shot from a front line of posh people out for the day in order to claim the highest body count of small animals. There was no more an example of the social divide than between a shooting party and the minions of the bush beaters. I often thought ,with head down against stray lead shot fragments in a head on beat towards the guns,that  if one of us beaters actually died from inflicted wounds in these circumstances we would still be retrieved by the trained dogs and hung up for a few days to mature before families were informed.

The afternoon sessions were the most nerve wracking as the shooters had just partaken of a generous, mostly liquid lunch and could not be relied upon to fire straight or even differentiate between man and beast at an alcohol induced squinting range. The larger animals of the fields and forests were wise to the approach of humans and were rarely ever seen in a perilous position between beaters and guns. I did enjoy the revenge of a huge Hare which, having been shot and then disrespectfully thrown over the proud shoulders of a waxed jacketed businessman for a photo opportunity, promptly evacuated its bowels all over the hapless individual. The stench over the course of the day was warning enough of the position of the guns. The shooting season was mostly in the damp and misty early mornings of the spring before any real damage could be done to the crops by waves of beater infantry. My income from this hazardous work was £6 for a full day.

I now acknowledge that I participated in some barbarous, cruel and, frankly, painful  activities in my attempts to supplement my pocket money but this has made me appreciate to this day the value of a strong work ethic in life. If there was a surplus of kill from the shooting party then this was distributed like and in the manner of charity to the scruffy and cold air induced ruddy faced beater brigade. We bowed and grovelled in thanks which the executive ladder climbers lapped up before alighting in their Range Rovers and Jags.

Any pheasant that I presented at home was hung up in the shed for a few days and always ended up being buried in the garden as no-one had the desire to pluck, gut and dress the fabulously flashy male of the species. I did reserve one or two of the fancy tail feathers to adorn my rather faded and sweat stained bush hat to give my beating activities some credibility. I made a point of taking off the hat for the post-lunchtime shooting drives mindful that, to the half cut owner of a double barrelled shot-gun , I could appear like a giant freakish game bird and fair game for that.

(Yeah,yeah, another recycled blog. No I have not got writers block, No I am not trying to do too much, yes I have had another busy day ......apologies OK, whatever LOL)

Windscreen Wiper

There were five of us in the car just trying to understand what we had just witnessed. On the drive back to a rented holiday cottage in Northumberland from a day-trip to Edinburgh on a dark and damp winters night our attention was caught by a fire low down on the left of the main road on which we were travelling, a main route just following inland the North Sea Coast. It was moving fast and in a matter of seconds a large , flaming object passed in clear view of us through the windscreen before disappearing out into the blackness of the sea. It was an aircraft. Pulling up on the verge we could hear nothing but the sound of the distant waves lapping the shore. After what seemed a long time a Police Car arrived and took a statement. 

This is the Official Report into the incident.


AIRCRAFT HAZARDS TO NUCLEAR POWER STATIONS:
IMPLICATIONS OF THE TORNADO CRASH 17 NOV 99
Briefing for Nuclear Free Local Authorities
December 1999
MALCOLM SPAVEN RESEARCH 􀂋 CONSULTANCY
PO Box 505 Edinburgh EH10 5NZ
Tel: 0131 447 5563 Fax: 0131 447 9625


1. Introduction
This briefing reviews the safety implications of the crash of an RAF Tornado
fighter aircraft in the vicinity of the British Energy Advanced Gas-cooled
Reactor nuclear power station at Torness, East Lothian, on 17 November
1999.

2. Circumstances of the accident
The accident involved a Tornado F.3 interceptor aircraft belonging to No.5
Squadron Royal Air Force, based at RAF Coningsby in Lincolnshire. The
aircraft was one of three aircraft from the squadron carrying out night low level
flying training over NE England/SE Scotland on the evening of 17 November.
The aircraft was training for a future overseas deployment. The training
involved flying with navigation lights switched off and with the crew navigating
visually using night vision goggles (NVGs). These devices amplify small
amounts of ambient light in order to create conditions for the wearer similar to
daylight, enabling them to fly visually at night.
Preliminary reports suggest that the aircraft suffered a major fire, possibly
accompanied by double engine failure, while flying over East Lothian at low
level. The two crew ejected successfully and landed near the village of
Birnieknowes, some 2.5km south of the Torness plant. They were later
airlifted by helicopter to hospital in Edinburgh. The aircraft continued out to
sea and crashed at a location approximately 13.5km east of the power station
and 4.5km from the nearest land at Fast Castle Head.

Initial MoD reports say that the crew were aware of the location of the Torness
power station and its low flying avoidance zone (see below), and ensured that
the aircraft was pointing away from the power station and out to sea before
ejecting. The relative locations of the aircrew's landing area and the crash
site of the aircraft lend support to that statement since the aircraft clearly
travelled some distance in an easterly direction before crashing into the sea.
The crew landed at a location some 700 metres outside the power station's
low flying avoidance zone. There was a strong west to north-westerly airflow
over eastern Scotland at the time of the accident. This suggests that the
location of their ejection from the aircraft is likely to have been some distance
to the west or north west of their landing point. If the aircraft then flew east
from that point to its crash location, it is possible that it may have infringed the
avoidance zone by flying inside its southern boundary. However precise
evidence on this point is unlikely ever to be available, and if any such
infringement resulted from the pilot's efforts to point the aircraft out to sea and
away from the power station then it would be insignificant in safety terms.

3. Low flying avoidance areas around nuclear power stations
All nuclear power stations in the UK have designated zones around them which prohibit entry by any military aircraft. These apply to all commercial nuclear power facilities. In Scotland this covers Hunterston and Torness power stations. The zones are of one nautical mile (1852 metres) radius and extend from ground level to 2000 feet above the ground or the highest object on it. In Torness's case the zone extends to 2400 feet above sea level because the highest point of the building at Torness is approximately 400 feet above sea level.

These prohibited zones are known officially as Provost Marshal Prohibited Areas (PMPs). The Provost Marshal is the head of the RAF Police. PMPs have a rather stronger disciplinary authority than most low flying avoidance areas, which are established and managed by a group in Whitehall with only indirect reference to the RAF Police.

Commercial production nuclear power stations such as Torness have no exclusion zones around them for civilian aircraft. Under the terms of the Air Navigation Order, it is legal for any civilian aircraft to fly within 500 feet of any part of the structure of Torness power station. Other nuclear facilities, principally those with some connection to military nuclear materials research and/or production, do have civilian air traffic prohibited or restricted zones. These have a radius of 2 nautical miles and extend to 2000 feet. Examples of these in Scotland are Coulport/Faslane, Dounreay and Chapelcross. In addition there is a smaller zone, of half a nautical mile radius, around the submarine reactor nuclear waste storage facility at Rosyth Dockyard. These zones are established under the terms of the Air Navigation Order and apply to both civil and military aircraft.

4. The basis for avoidance areas
Modern nuclear power station design standards take account of the possibility of an aircraft crashing directly on the reactor building. This is the reason why there are no general air traffic avoidance areas around any commercial nuclear power facilities in the UK. Protection of these facilities against aircraft crash hazards is provided by engineering standards in the buildings themselves. The existence of avoidance areas for military low flying is based purely on concern by the Ministry of Defence and the nuclear industry to ally public fears about the safety of military flying training adjacent to nuclear power stations. It has no basis in probabilistic risk assessments of aircraft accident hazards.
It is less clear what provision is made for protection against aircraft crashes in the design of nuclear power station peripheral facilities such as waste storage and emergency power supply generation and distribution. This area would require further research.

The existence of the 2 nautical mile prohibited zones around facilities such as Coulport/Faslane and Chapelcross is partly due to security considerations (the desire to prevent low level photography) and partly because these facilities are built to different design standards and their operational activities may include, for example, movement of nuclear materials outside buildings on the site.
In considering the degree of protection afforded by the existing avoidance areas, it should be noted that no protection against aircraft crash is provided in the case of aircraft flying at altitudes greater than 2000 feet. This has no logical basis, since the higher an aircraft is flying, the further it can travel in the event, for example, of the crew abandoning it. Logically, if protection is to be provided against the unlikely event of any aircraft crashing on a nuclear plant, the avoidance zone should not be cylindrical in shape, stopping at 2000 feet, but should be an inverted conical shape, with the apex at the power station, getting progressively wider with altitude. The principal difficulty with this is that it would be impossible to portray on a two-dimensional aeronautical chart and extremely difficult for aircrew to assess the boundaries of when flying in its vicinity.

The Ministry of Defence would also be expected to point out that since there is no risk-assessment basis for the Provost Marshal Prohibited areas around nuclear power stations, there is no need to take account of hazards from aircraft at higher altitudes. If the raison d'etre of these PMPs is to allay public fears, there is no need to address higher flying aircraft since these are for the most part invisible to the public and therefore not seen as a threat.

Other hazardous industrial sites also have avoidance areas, some of which are larger than those round nuclear power stations. The Grangemouth petro-chemical complex, for example, has a 1.5nm avoidance for military low flying around it. Most other hazardous industrial plants have low flying avoidances with a much smaller radius, typically 500 metres. If it was found that ancillary facilities at Torness were vulnerable to aircraft crash impact, the resulting military low flying avoidance would be likely to be accommodated within the existing 1nm radius zone and would therefore mean no change on the current provisions.

5. Variation of risk with type of aerial activity
Notwithstanding the fact that nuclear power station buildings are designed to survive an aircraft impact, the probability of an aircraft crash on a nuclear power station in a particular location will vary depending on the types of aerial activity typically conducted in the vicinity of the power station, and the density or frequency of air traffic.

Torness is situated in Low Flying Area 16, which covers the whole of southern Scotland. In 1998 the density of military low flying in LFA 16 was 10% higher than the UK national average although it has in previous years been closer to the national average. In addition a large area between Dunbar and Newcastle, up to 5000 feet, is designated as a Low-level Operational Training Area (LOTA) within which air defence aircraft (primarily RAF Tornado F.3s) fly practice interceptions against aircraft operating at low level. The LOTA was established in 1992 and has resulted in more frequent and intensive interaction between military aircraft in the area than was previously the case. this will include air combat between opposing fighters, fighters descending into the low flying system to intercept low flying aircraft, and the aircraft under attack performing evasive manoeuvres when intercepted.

The existence of the LOTA and its associated activities are likely to have caused some increase in the probability of aircraft accidents, both because traffic volume will have increased, and because the interactions between aircraft increase the risk of mid-air collisions, loss of control accidents, and controlled flight into the terrain (where, for example, pilots focusing their attention on evading interceptors fail to maintain sufficient altitude). These factors are unlikely to be quantifiable.

6. Conclusions
The available evidence suggests that the crew of the Tornado which crashed on 17 November made some attempt to direct the abandoned aircraft away from the power station. Notwithstanding the unpredictable behaviour of an abandoned aircraft with a serious technical problem, there does not appear to have been a major risk of the aircraft crashing on Torness power station.

UK production nuclear power stations are built to design standards such that the integrity of nuclear materials would not be threatened by a direct aircraft impact on the power station. Thus even if the aircraft had crashed on the power station it is highly unlikely to have resulted in any radiological consequences. However the vulnerability of radioactive waste storage areas and of emergency power supplies to an aircraft crash is not known.

Because nuclear power stations are designed to withstand aircraft impact, the low flying avoidance areas around them are not there for safety reasons but simply to allay public fears. Vulnerability of ancillary facilities might justify establishing a risk-based exclusion zone, but current practice would be likely to mean the zone was smaller than the existing Provost Marshal Prohibited area around Torness.
The risk of an aircraft crash on any particular facility will depend on the frequency of flights in the area and the nature of the aerial activity in the vicinity. Torness is situated in a low flying area which currently receives higher than the national average amount of low flying, and is also within a fighter training area which results in greater interactions between aircraft. These are likely to raise the probability of accidents, though the extent of the increased risk is unknown.
_____________________________________

It was quite an exciting evening but costing the tax payer about £20 million.

Cruyff.

The England football team were probably quite confident about their chances of qualifying for the 1974 World Cup which was to be based in Munich, Germany.

Unusually there were only three teams in Qualifying Group Five on the long road to the Tournament, next door neighbours Wales and near European neighbours, Poland.

England got off to a shaky but ideal start in November 1972 with a 35th minute goal by Colin Bell being the winner against Wales in Cardiff. The return match in the first month of 1973 saw John Toshack score first before a rare equalising goal from the hard man defender, Norman Hunter.

Poland showed some of their typical inconsistency with a surprise defeat by Wales and then first points earned from a 2-0 win over England.

After two games per team the home nations led the table on three points each (under the old points scoring system) with Wales ahead on slightly better goal difference. and Poland on two points. The Eastern Europeans, still part of the Soviet Bloc at that time, were able to soundly beat Wales 3-0 which left the group, with just one game for the Poles away at Wembley and only requiring a single point to knock out England.

That game in October 1973 was most memorable for two reasons, the first being the failure of England to progress to the Summer 1974 Finals and the second, the astounding goalkeeping performance of Jan Tomaszewksi that brought it about. England were continuously thwarted by the keeper, described by Brian Clough in his role as guest TV commentator as a Clown . An Alan Clarke equalising penalty in the 63rd minute was the catalyst for an all out assault on the Polish goalmouth.

I was watching the match, I recall in black and white, as an 11 year old football mad kid.

The huge anti-climax of a draw after ninety minutes which meant that Poland were on their way to Germany had quite an affect on me and in fact could be seen as the absolute low point of the England International Team which says a lot for a nation that since becoming World Champions in 1966 have not achieved anything of merit in any Tournament anywhere.

The lead-up to the 1974 Finals was therefore a bit flat.

To add insult to injury the only British representation would be arch rivals Scotland.

My own Scots ancestry demanded a certain amount of loyalty and support and although I paid heed to a deep rooted sense that they too would fail to progress beyond the first group stage they did actually make a good account of themselves. An opening win against Zaire was followed by a 0-0 draw with holders Brazil and a drab 1-1 with Yugoslavia but saw them finish third and outside of automatic qualification to the next stages.

I now had to attach myself to another country if I was to enjoy the rest of the World Cup that balmy summer.

The decision was easy. There was only one exciting team as far as I was concerned with skillful players, a fast paced tempo, great individuals but yet a strong squad ethic and all of this in bright, almost fluorescent orange shirts.

It just had to be The Netherlands, Holland, The Dutch.

I knew a bit about some of the players from listening avidly to evening radio broadcasts of the European Cup and UEFA Cup matches involving British clubs.

In those times there were not many foreign nationals playing across Europe and so most clubs had home grown players.

A quick look through the 22 player squad list for the 1974 World Cup illustrated this with 19 from the likes of Ajax, Feyenoord, Twente and Eindhoven, 2 with clubs in Belgium and the exotic inclusion of one from Barcelona, Johan Cruyff.

He had been awarded European Player of the Year in 1973 and 1974.

The technical expertise of the Dutch in particular was, to me , a revelation especially when compared with the hit and hope, hoof and run game that typified the English League.

Johan Cruyff was definitely, on the basis of my 11 years football knowledge , the best player by far not just in the Dutch team but in the whole of that year's competition. That was saying something in a star studded line up in bright orange which included Ruud Krol, Johan Neeskens and Rob Rensenbrink.

The rest of the national teams, of course, had their fair share of stellar acheivers.

Playing at number 14, Cruyff,aged 27, was in his prime with a fluidity of play that seemed to make time stand still. He played at his own pace and yet did not lessen the tempo or physicality of a team effort. In physique he was quite slim and of slight build , obviously of natural athleticism, balance and power.

I looked forward to supporting my new but default team with great anticipation after Scotland were knocked out and Holland they did not disappoint.

In the Second Stage, a league arrangement rather than a knock-out, three wins out of three and eight goals with none conceded was impressive including good wins against Brazil and Argentina.

The style of play by the Dutch did appeal to the neutral fans somewhat in contrast to West Germany who were more methodical and to me, a bit boring.

These two progressed to the Final on 7th July 1974 in the Olympic Stadium in Munich with the outcome of a win for the hosts but with many of the opinion that the Dutch were the better team.

Cruyff continued to excel with success on and off the pitch as a player , retiring in 1984 and manager including at Ajax Amsterdam and Barcelona.

His death this week has brought back many great memories of Johan Cruyff.

He was certainly one of the greats  summed up by a contemporary ,"There have been four kings of football—Di Stéfano, Pelé, Cruyff, and Maradona."

Football Old Style

I met a local footballing hero a few years ago. I am ashamed to say that I am not really sure if he is still alive now.

He had been a player in the English Football League Second Division for our City team in the 1960's and 1970's. They were a team that yo-yo'd up and down the league, promising a lot at the beginning of a season but falling short through running out of steam by Christmas, suffering debilitating injuries to a small squad or from a few refereeing decisions that went against them. Oh, and other teams were just better and leap frogged over our team to reach the heady heights of the old First Division (now the Premier League) to stay there reaping the rewards or dropping back with all of the trauma and stress.Some teams just disappeared into the oblivion of non-league status. Take a look at the Vanarama National League now which features some famous old plodders. Grimsby Town in particular had a good few years in the top flight and are clawing their way back into the main leagues.

Our man, well, as he opened the front door to his modest suburban house I could hear his arthritic joints creak and his welcome to me was rather laboured as he fought for asthmatic breath. His walk, seen in silhouette through the glazed panel of the door had been slow and a bit lop-sided. Although now very much senior in years he did have the physical bearing of a previous athleticism and physical strength. His career had not been in sync with the scientific and medical support as in the modern game and he was as they say in technical terms, well and truly crocked.

There are some grainy black and white and faded colour images of him in action as a prolific goalscorer in his era posted on media sites and as a young kid I did collect and paste his glossy photo card in the album for the 1970-1971 season and still have it, half full, in my trunk of treasures (I am now aged 52).

In retirement following the basic wage realisms of professional football he had gone along one of the common paths for ex-players. This included being landlord of pubs, manager of a club and eventually owner of a drinking and entertainment venue within 3 miles of the pitch on which he had made his name.

One of his team mates did end up in prison after getting drawn in to the operating of a brothel.

A few of the higher flyers in the pro-game who benefitted from transfer deals and steadily increasing incomes were able to invest in property, racehorses and good business propositions although I expect that as many were fleeced of their savings or were exposed to fraud and extortion by disreputable and exploitative types which seem, even today, to hover around the money.

Those ex-players who could not live without some involvement in the game that had provided their livelihood and lifestyle found their way into management, coaching or in the scouting for new talent in the lower UK based leagues and later, on a global basis.

I felt sorry for him on his doorstep but his performances, classic goals, bravery and loyalty to his City meant that even though in pain and some financial hardship he would never go hungry.

At the flash new stadium for the team, still in the second tier although having had a couple of seasons of Premier Status, our man is often found on duty in the hospitality suite at home games. He is in his absolute element amongst an adoring and knowledgeable sporting crowd and not far from a photo collage of him in his prime.

In the hub-bub of pre match excitement in the posh and comfortable lounge and bar you cannot hear the click of worn cartilage or really notice the shortness of breath that are the abiding characteristics of seasoned old Pro's.

Migration-nothing new

The end of the line, a dead end, you only go to Hull if you have to.......heard it before, heard it today and those who have never visited the great City will continue to say it in the coming years.

Yet, for the estimated 2,200,000 immigrants who passed through Hull on the way to settlement in the United States, Canada and South Africa in the mid to late 19th Century it marked the beginning of the next stage of their arduous journey to find safety from persecution and to earn a living.

Arrival in the port of Hull will have brought a graphic realisation that their flight was progressing, particularly after a hellish three to four days of passage across the volatile North Sea from the Baltic. At last, some firm soil under their feet and the prospect of a rapid train transfer across the country to the mass transit hub of Liverpool.

There had been a negligible trickle of migrants, around 1000 a year in the early part of the century. Risking sickness or a perishing at sea these early arrivals mainly settled in the emerging Industrial centres of England and quickly established communities in York, Leeds and Manchester.

By the 1840's the transport of emigrants from Norway, Sweden and North Germany was big business for steamship companies who switched fully to passenger cargo or maintained a mix of goods and people.

The Wilson Line, a Hull based company, held a virtual monopoly of the routes. The generation of income from frequent crossings was tremendous but at the cost of quality and humane standards. This drew the attention of the Hull Board of Health, who had a running battle with the Wilson Line over poor and unacceptable standards of their passenger vessels. The Steamship Argo was likened to a little better than a cattle ship. Human excrement running down and sticking to the side of the superstructure was cited. The inhumane conditions threatened not only the health and welfare of the poor transportees but also the wider City population.

When ships arrivals did not coincide with the running times for ongoing trains the squalid conditions on board persisted with, largely, only the male emigrants allowed to venture out into the city. Outbreaks of Cholera in most of the European Ports demanded immediate action to prevent an epidemic amongst the local population.

The Hull Sanitary Authority was formed in 1851, an early Quango, with responsibility for the wider urban area and the Port. Main embarcation points in the central and eastern docks included the Steam Packet Wharf in the Humber Dock Basin or the Victoria Dock. The Minerva Hotel on the Dock Basin Quay served as offices for emigrant agents and became established as the hub of the operation.

The threat to Health was serious and after 1866 the arrivees at Victoria Dock were not allowed to cross the town on foot and were kettled onto trains on the North Eastern Railway. Those arriving at the Dock Basin were invariably held on board. This was a safer option, particularly as confused and disorientated european migrants were at significant risk of exploitation by the inevitable presence of chancers and racketeers in the narrow dockside streets.

A major improvement and recognition of the vast human traffic through Hull was the construction, in 1871, of an Immigrant Waiting Room and allocation of a transit platform just on the southern edge of Paragon Station with a frontage to Anlaby Road. This building still survives as a Bar and Social Club for Hull City football supporters. The building, a long, narrow, low slung brick and slate structure had actual but limited facilities for the comfort and convenience of immigrants. The prospect of a first wash, secure toilet and permanent landside shelter was well overdue. From the building ticket agents could ply their business in a controlled environment against criminal activity.

Once ashore, most passengers were despatched on the next leg of their journey within 24 hours. Those delayed for whatever reason and requiring lodgings had a limited choice evidently a Directive from the authorities to discourage even temporary settlement.

Twenty emigrant lodging houses were officially licenced in 1871. These were little more than dormitories accommodating between 20 and 80 people at a time. The Waiting Room had to be extended within ten years.

Arrivals continued to increase up to 1885 and the Hull and Barnsley Railway Company jumped in to capitalise on the trade with a second emigrant platform at their new Alexandra Dock development. The purpose built complex could take the largest of steamships and the prompt transfer of passengers to trains of 17 carriages, the last four being exclusively for baggage. The long trains had priority on the line with a monday morning departure for the 4 hour journey to Liverpool, the gateway to the United States and Canada.

The exodus from Europe was persistent and in 1904 the Wilson Line leased a separate landing station at Island Wharf at the Basin mouth being the fourth such facility across the waterfront. The income from this trade, for the Wilson Line, had made it the largest privately owned shipping line in the world. There was another ten years of peak profits from the transmigration business before the outbreak of the First World War ended the trade overnight.

Hull was the natural stepping stone for those escaping to a better perceived life in the west. Amongst the 2.2 million passing through was a documented, but estimated, 500,000 european Jews and up to 70,000 of Russian and Polish origin. Large numbers of Swedish, Norwegian and Danish migrants, mainly of hardy farming stock , were customers of The Wilson Line for resettlement in North America.

The Island Wharf has a permanent commemorative statue to the plight of the immigrants with a family sat amongst suitcases containing their worldly belongings , looking a bit apprehensive about what lies ahead.

http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Northern_European_Family_-_geograph.org.uk_-_540649.jpg

Charitable Intentions

Participation in fund raising activities was always a feature of growing up in the 1970's.

Sponsored events were in their halcyon days with a sheet of paper emerging on a weekly basis on which to gather actual signatures or, by practice, some very good forgeries of the signatures of parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles and benevolent neighbours whom you dare not approach yet again with demands for monies.

The most popular events were walking based. This could be a few laps around the school field during school hours, always a popular distraction from the usual learning timetable, or a mega walk of between 10 and 14 miles on a weekend. The latter was a major logistical event for not only the organisers, usually a well known charity, but also those taking part as over such distances there was a significant risk of dehydration, hunger or injury.

If sponsorship was expressed in the usual manner of, say 1p or 2p per mile then this was readily subscribed to by family and friends. There was a later development whereby monetary promises were made on the basis of actually finishing the event. The amount, usually 10p looked good on the sponsorship form and did not involve complex mathematics to add up, but the total raised was often lower than anticipated.

The period leading up to the event was exciting, similarly the actual participation on the day although often accompanied by blisters if a walk.  The downside was that the money promised had to be physically collected, accounted for and handed over to someone in an official capacity. Interest ,post event did subside considerably and if constantly reminded, chased and hounded for the raised funds it was necessary for parents to be pleaded with to dip into their own pockets and clear the balance.

Swimathons, bike rides, donkey derby's, cake bakes, coconut ice competitions, tombolas and the good old jumble sales all served to bring in some cash although usually a larger target total required one or more combined events from the approved choices.

As well as charitable concerns I was a seasoned fund raiser for my Scout Troop through the 'Bob a Job Week'.

By the 1970's and following decimalisation the concept of the bob as a tangible monetary value was clouded in myth and vague memory. However, in the minds of those members of the public approached for a task by willing Cub Scouts the bob was the only payment for consideration even after what could be a half day garden or house clearance task or something equally as unpleasant, grubby and exploitative.

The fund raising week brought out the most enterprising and competitive streaks in us Cubs.

There was significant kudos in being the highest earner and every resource and effort was put into thinking of and putting into action schemes and projects to attain this status. I teamed up with a couple of friends from the Troop in a determined approach to the week. I had raided my Fathers garage and shed to equip our team with best chamois leather cloths, chrome cleaner and washing up liquid. We went door to door seeking out cars to wash, shampoo, dry and polish. Most owners avoided the issue by blatantly hiding behind curtains or just ignoring us altogether. We found that the sight of gleaming chrome met with the approval of customers who allowed us to do the business with their beloved vehicles. The best results were achieved by roughly abrading the chrome bumpers, trims, grilles,radiators and badges with wire wool before applying a thick coat of polish and buffing it up to a dazzling reflective state. On close inspection, if not seduced by the showroom or concourse standard of the metalwork, we had scratched and damaged the chrome possibly beyond repair.

We were either very brave or very foolish in some of our ranging about seeking remuneration. One house, well beyond the familiar area of our town, was approached with some trepidation but such was the compulsion to be best earners. It was amongst an overgrown garden, the paintwork was peeling, render blown and falling away, the leaded windows smashed in places but nevertheless showing signs of occupancy. We jostled and joked amongst ourselves as we edged along the driveway, making ghostly noises, whispering werewolf howls and pretending to be zombies or offspring of Frankenstein. The most courageous of the group was pushed to the forefront to ring the bell. We waited. Somewhere within the dark and gloomy house we could hear doors opening, feet dragging and the thump thump of what could only be some form of walking stick or aid. There was a noticeable fallback from the doorstep as the door swung slowly open. The occupant did actually resemble a comic book wolf man, unruly hair, long side burns, yellowy-black teeth and, visible between shirt buttons and neck a veritable ruff of body hair. We screamed in girly unison and did not look back until we felt safe again on the public highway.

This was not the wisest action on our part as we were in full cub scout uniform and therefore easily identifiable should there have been any recriminations for our disgraceful behaviour. I often think of this poor householder, perhaps himself a former scout and more than willing to help out in a good cause.

We were still successful that year, a grand total of £10.50 raised between the three of us but yet at what cost?

My fathers best washing equipment was ruined, similarly many cars which would today be regarded as classic marques had it not been for the shocking deterioration of every piece of chrome trim and fittings on a once pristeen example of bodywork.

Spring in the Garden

Fitted with a brightly painted ,close-boarded wooden door a second world war reinforced concrete bomb shelter makes a lovely garden shed.

That is conditional however on requiring to fit any items over 80cm wide through the aperture which was only intended to facilitate entry for those on an austere wartime diet and with the catalyst of the warm flames of  an incendiary bomb licking their nether regions The back-gardens of my home city, Hull still retain a good number of the concrete cuboid structures. This is not in any way because of their versatility, of being pleasing to the eye or just downright useful.

The sole reason for their stubborn survival is that they are too difficult to get rid of. Not surprising really based on the initial design brief to protect the citizens of Hull or what was referred to as the anonymous 'East Coast Town'. When I first moved to Hull in the late 1970's there was a determined effort by home owners to clear these concrete block-houses to free up some more garden or to give enough room for a driveway or garage.

This condemnation of the bomb shelter seems to have been a natural progression for the same revolutionary movement, such as that encouraged by Reader's Digest Book of Home Improvements to create through lounges, serving hatches and remove chimney breasts.

Many shelters had sunk into the soft clay soils of the city, others were listing seriously from the partial failure of the same ground conditions, a few were dens of immoral or illegal purpose and the rest overgrown, stopped up or serving as an emergency toilet for the poorly organised.

Unfortunately for two inheritors of the shelters they met a tragic end through adopting equally mad cap methods of demolition. No doubt the seed of an idea for the best methods to remove the immoveable mass was sown in a pub, or on the bus or in the smoking room at work. Probably seemed like a good idea at the time but with the luxury of 40 years of hindsight I do not ever recall seeing any glowing endorsements on the following;

Method 1;
The Theory; Stand inside the shelter and sledgehammer out the concrete walls.
The Practice; The supporting walls for the 5 ton roof are sufficiently weakened to cause collapse.
The Outcome; Death and  a considerable pile of debris for surviving loved ones to filter through.

Method 2.
The Theory. Build a huge fire inside the shelter and when raging block up the sole aperture.
The Practice. The reinforcement in the concrete heats up and explodes in a huge release of dense materials.
The Outcome. Death but a pile of considerably smaller sized debris for loved ones to filter through.

It will only take one positive comment on a bomb shelter from Phil Spencer and Kirstie Allsop to make them the next best thing  for discerning home owners. I expect Estate Agents will then wax lyrical on the post-war- industrial-retro-chic- cubes in order to secure a buyer.

It will not be long before imitation bomb shelters will be available in authentic reconstituted concrete, an olde worlde yorkstone version, shiplap cladding and upvc profiles and available on a drive-away basis from all leading DIY outlets.

One concession for such items for the residents of Hull on the broad Humber flood plain would of course be an ability to float.

The Great Divide

In order to understand the implications of the following true story taken from my local newspaper I should explain that in my home city of Hull, Yorkshire, UK a good proportion of the resident population of around 400,000 bears allegiance to one or other of two Rugby League teams. 

A physical marker forming a broad demarcation through the city is the River Hull which runs north to south. 

Those to the east of the river support Hull Kingston Rovers and to the west , Hull FC. 

As equally engrained in the identity of supporters on the geographical basis is the faithful and sometimes blatant display of the club colours being red and white and black and white respectively. Houses, fences, cars, decor and even household pets are not immune to some semblance of one of the distinctive team livery's. 

My late father in law recalled how, after completing the fitting a brand new pastel shade kitchen in an East Hull house returned the next day to sign it off only to find it had been gloss painted in Kingston Rover's Red. 

In some respects it is as much a division in sport as the two Manchester football clubs or the more sectarian elements of Glasgow Rangers and Glasgow Celtic. 

To shamelessly paraphrase the most famous saying of the great Liverpool Manager , Bill Shankly "Some people think rugby league in Hull is a matter of life and death. I don't like that attitude. I can assure them it is much more serious than that" 

Here is the amazing tale

A die-hard rugby fan recovered after an operation to remove a rare brain tumour only to find she had completely lost interest in the game. Jayne Reffin - a lifelong fan of rugby league side Hull Kingston Rovers - said the sport no longer appealed to her after going under the knife for a 17-hour operation. Experts believe Mrs Reffin had a benign acoustic neuroma tumour for ten years.

It was only discovered on the right side of her brain in February 2014, after she went for a free hearing test.

Although being deaf in her right ear since 2003 she had no noticeable symptoms of the growth. Two months after her condition was diagnosed the 45-year-old was on the operating table, and while she is on the road to recovery there have been some odd side effects.

Speaking about her recent falling out of love for the game, the mother-of-two said: 

"It just doesn't interest me anymore. I used to have a season pass every year, but now I'm not bothered. I used to go everywhere to watch it, home and away games, but I'm just not interested anymore. Oddly though I get very excited about the Australian Rugby League but I have no interest with the UK game - I just get bored watching it. I was a massive fan before, my whole house is red and white, but now I'd rather bake. My husband and children still go but I don't it because it doesn't interest me."

The once dedicated fan said she was always first in line for the new shirts and getting tickets in advance - but no longer.

"It was straight after the operation that I wasn't interested, I've just not gone at all. Its so odd."

Now, not even the much awaited derby game, against arch rivals Hull FC, draws her to the stands.

"These games were obviously massive to me as an East Hull person but Rovers just don't appeal to me at all now. It's so strange and I can't explain it, even the neurosurgeons said they can't explain it"

Mrs Reffin said her family find it strange because they know what she as like before.

She explained: "I've been Rovers since I was born and I'm nearly 46. Both my children were brought up to know that if you meet someone you first question is are you red and white or black and white? It is so strange to go from one extreme to the other."

Source; Hull Daily Mail

Norooz 2016

The bright spots, burnt into my retinas from my foolish unprotected gawping at the full eclipse of the sun this morning, have only just about faded away.

The black disc of the moon was clearly visible through light cloud and although I was disappointed not to see mass hysteria and panic at the devouring of the sun by the ravenous celestial monster in the heavens it was quite a sight to behold nevertheless.

Next time around for the same phenomena I will be sure to have some heavy duty goggles which gives me 10 years to save up my loyalty points from Industrial Welding Supplies Inc.

It was a good precursor, however, for preparations to celebrate Persian New Year or Norooz (various other spellings are available) this evening under the cultural guidance of our Iranian friend Medhi.

We have enjoyed a total immersion into a different mindset through our friendship which has seen us enjoying the delicacy of sheep's head, cooking with saffron and many fragrant spices and herbs,discovering new tastes from huge parcels sent from Iran by Medhi's mother, eating a lot of crispy pan bottom cooked rice, drinking sophisticated blue flower tea and gallons of premium Persian tea laced with cardomom.

There will be five of us in Hull this evening joining the 300 million others around the world in a celebration of renewal and rebirth on what is the first day of Spring.

This is an ancient ceremony recognised by the United Nations as one of important cultural significance and first entering Persian historical records in the 2nd Century AD but even then already well established from 548 to 330 BC.

The marking of the Spring Equinox is rooted in  the Zoroastrian tradition and even attributed to Zoroaster himself.

The exact moment or Tahvil,  part of a 12 day festival, this year falls on March 20th in Tehran and in our hosts place in East Yorkshire, UK, later on in the evening.

In the run up to Norooz many religious traditions have come together and there are great gatherings and activities. One particular is the lighting of bonfires "Chahar Shan be suri",  to signify the shedding of old troubles and ill fortune and participants leap over the flames to get rid of their woes and troubles. Everyone takes part with a risk of bodily scorching or singeing but it is a joyous thing that is done.

On the night of Nooroz there is the laying out of a ceremonial table display known as the cloth of seven dishes or "Sofreh-ye haft sinn".

Gathered together are possessions of Holy Book, flowers and fresh shoots, bowl of goldfish, mirror, candles, painted eggs and seven foods all beginning with the Persian letter "S". The table stays dressed and laden for thirteen days of the festival.

To celebrate we have attempted to seek out as many authentic Persian items as possible in our home area and have had to venture further afield for the more problematic.

The main foods are;

Sabzeh- lentil, barley or wheat sprouts to signify renewal.

Samanu- a sweet pudding made from wheatgerm for affluence.

Senjed-the dried fruit of the lotus tree to represent love.

Sir-garlic for medecine and health.

Sib or apple for health and beauty.

Somaq-berries to act as sunrise and

Serkeh, vinegar for age and patience.

Much of this is ceremonial so traditionally a meal is served such as Sabzi Polo Mati comprising rice, herbs and fish.

At the end of the thirteen days there is "Sizdeh Bedar" meaning "getting rid of the thirteenth" and greenstuffs are thrown into rivers or lakes as a symbolic return to nature.

We, as hosts, will do our best to honour the sentiments and meanings of Norooz and by doing so learn yet more of the Persian heritage and way of life. Five of us will be attentive and thoughtful......I cannot say the same for the newly acquired Goldfish who seems a bit under-awed  by the whole thing.

(Actually written for 2015, our first participation in Nooroz)

Twist and Shout

I have always been a late developer.

I was quite small for my age until a growth spurt in my early teens saw me reach an average height. In school I struggled well into my senior years before coming away with a reasonable set of qualifications. Not being a natural sportsman I had to train that little bit more to have any success at any level. As for my record with girls, well, I might just gloss over that for now.

There was a definite pattern in my development but I do believe that there are some merits in being a plodder.

My late father once said to me, "Everything comes to he who waits" and his wisdom and own life experiences, borne out of a quiet patience and confidence in his own abilities continue to this day, to have a big influence on my decision making process.

I have never gone completely overboard on a fashion or fad, preferring to sit back, observe and then make a judgement. To some this may be seen as sitting on the fence or dodging the issue but I strongly believe that this is the best way to approach just about everything.

In the break-neck pace of modern life it is always a good thing to spend a few moments in contemplation, although I do accept that this is a bit of a luxury in certain circumstances- running from a rampant bull, or just about to be hit by a bus being two possible exceptions to the rule.

I have actually pushed my life mantra to quite a ridiculous extreme in that just this week I have managed to complete a full side of a single colour on a Rubik's Cube.

This is after, I hesitate to admit, about 35 years of attempting to achieve this feat. I should qualify that sorry admission. In the last 35 years I have held and twisted a Rubik's Cube about a dozen times, therefore once every 3 or so years but on each occasion I have given up through frustration, boredom or by just being distracted by something more worthwhile such as getting married, witnessing the birth of each of my three children and running a business.

My renewed determination to attain that elusive uniform colour cube face was prompted by a demonstration at a New Years Eve Party by a well inebriated individual who completed the whole puzzle in about 5 minutes. If he could do it in that state then a sober me would have no problem......surely.

We have owned, outright,  a Rubik's Cube since it was purchased as a gift for one of our offspring, for the last 20 years. Prior to that there was always one to hand which is not surprising given that since taking the world by storm in the 1980's some 350 million units have been sold globally.

It is still the world's best selling puzzle but it's inventor, a Hungarian Architect and Lecturer, Erno Rubik had not originally intended it to be anything more than a classroom aide to teach his students about shape, form and co-ordination.

In 1974 Rubik put together a wooden and rubber banded cube in his search for a teaching tool that was mobile and simple but with special qualities of being able to be manipulated in an infinite number of positions. Tested on his students Rubik found that it was well received although it took a month of intensive use for Rubik himself to actually solve the puzzle for the first time. He found it to be quite therapeutic and absorbing , with almost meditative qualities and a high level of concentration and focus.

My ineptitude with a Rubik's Cube is not wholly indicative of a depleted brain function and this is supported by the statistic that only 1% of the population can solve the puzzle.

Many of my peer group spent hours and hours on the quest to complete the cube with a few being able to do it in 20 moves or less and it became a bit of a party-piece for them but in a very sad and geeky way.

The popularity of the puzzle amongst his students led Rubik to consider a commercial future for it. Based in the Communist  state of Hungary with its centralised planned economy any entrepreneurial activity was immediately a struggle and even committing to an initial production run of only 5000 units was very much a gamble.

Professionals in Rubik's own discipline of Architecture as well as in Design and Mathematics took up much of the first release and in the absence of any budget for advertising and marketing it was through word of mouth and recommendation that after only three years of its availability in Hungary it was calculated that 1 in 10 of the national population had one.

This was a bit of a distortion because the wildfire spread of the popularity of the Rubik's Cube farther afield and into the Capitalist Western Economies gave the puzzle a high value as the equivalent of hard currency and it was traded wholesale on the Black Market quite relentlessly.

A Distributor in the United States was the next logical step.

The Rubik's Cube was a Stateside phenomena selling 100 million units within 3 years and on the back of such sales the Licencing Company in the US was sold on at massive profit.

Erno Rubik did receive royalties for his invention but others made their fortune from his endeavours. He appears to have been powerless to enforce his intellectual property rights but has remained philosophical about it.

Many copies and knock-offs followed as well as cube related ventures again making vast amounts of money for third parties.

It is testament to the ingenuity of the Rubik's Cube that successive generations have continued to be challenged by it even in competition with increasingly sophisticated computer and internet based games.

As for me, I did have a bit of a dance around the living room upon completing a full single side. Everything does certainly comes to me who waits- my late father was so right.

Hare Products

There is a first time for everything and I have  been very privileged to have seen an ancient, primeval ritual in progress that puts a true perspective on nature, life, existence and being.

Yesterday, according to my office work appointments diary was the first day of Spring. The consensus is that it could even be today. Some will not accept the change of season until the clocks change to British Summer Time. The diary announcement  may have just been a page header required by the editor because it appears that nothing momentous or remarkable happened on the 19^th March in history apart from Winnie and Nelson, Andrew and Fergie getting divorced , Phoenix in Arizona got its own area code and the Japanese cooked the largest omelette made out of 160,000 eggs.  It is not that sort of diary, to encourage gossipy speculation, tittle-tattle and to give recipe ideas.

 The arrival of Spring is represented by many things. New green shoots also symbolic of optimism and hope for the economy, yellow headed daffodils, catkins and early blossom amongst the otherwise dormant looking treelines, Council Tax Bills, the next personal commitment to exercise and healthy living, a thorough purge of homes, material possessions and clutter in a frenzy of cleaning.

The first alleged day of Spring as we shall call it started quite normally. The early mornings are much better in mid to late March with the emergence of natural light at around 6am. It is now more likely to leave for work and return home still in daylight although dependant on the brightness of the sky, cloud cover and prevailing weather. This extension to our perception of the day gives energy and determination to do more after the dismal and depressing days of the two preceding months.

 Moving about the house in the early hours so as not to wake the rest of the family is so much easier. Given a general increase in temperature I look forward soon to starting my day with that first and best cup of coffee sat with the patio doors open and with a view down the garden. I can well imagine the same reception being given to the new season by our very distant ancestors. Perhaps more from a viewpoint of not being afraid any more of the dark , foreboding times when even a solar eclipse or strange shade of colour or size of  moon would cause much anxiety and thoughts of doom. Just substitute the mouth of a cave and primitive landscape for my more comfortable, sheltered and heated back living room. 

Everything has more optimism in the Spring- I am writing this just before the UK Budget announcement so reserve the right to change my mind- and this is no more apparent than in nature.

As I completed my work appointments in the City Centre and suburbs I looked forward to a nice long drive up through the rolling Wolds countryside to a job in Malton. The route is one where it is quite possible and indeed normal to meet or catch up with very little other traffic apart from large leather clad  bikers and a few army driving school lorries. With no significant disturbance or perceived threat from humans you do tend to come across unsuspecting wildlife enjoying the freedom of the open fields, verges and country roads. My favourites are the stoats which shoot out of the hedgerows as though attached  to a piece of elastic stretched across the carriageway from the opposite side. In recent days a fox has stared me out from it’s vantage point on a traffic island, a deer has been caught briefly in my headlights, rabbits have grazed on the verges nonchalantly as though they feel they are invisible to man.

Just north of Wetwang I came across the wonderfully stirring sight of three large Hares cavorting about  towards the middle of a cultivated field. As one of their number separated from the group the other two stood up on their hind legs and started to throw punches at each other. They were wholly engrossed in the combat , not knowing why but assured that it was something they just must do.

I was shocked to learn that the life expectancy of a Hare is only 3 to 4 years.

In March they are perfectly entitled to be understandably mad.

(Written a couple of years ago)

Booby Prize

I regularly enter competitions. My entries are entirely impulsive.

There are opportunities every day in pop-ups whilst browsing the internet or attached to those e mails that get through my on-line security measures. Such is their frequency that I just do them automatically and give little thought to making a note of what I have entered.

Perhaps I should realise by now that every entry is actually a full disclosure of my identity to some marketing company who will mercilessly sell these details on to the highest bidder. No wonder I get bombarded by offers of products and services that I cannot recall either needing or expressing any curiousness about.

My most recent competition entry was for the first prize of a two day expedition of my choice with one of the UK's leading mountaineers. To their credit, the outdoor pursuit retailers who were the sponsors did send all entrants notification of the winner and I sincerely hope that Denise from wherever has a lovely weekend.

There are two main forms of competition that I go for.

The first is a straightforward entry that just involves disclosing my name and e mail address. This involves no skill whatsoever. The second is usually a simple multiple choice question basis but again demands little knowledge as the answer is so obvious when two of the three options are downright ridiculous.

I have not, to date, won anything at all.

I exclude the £100 voucher sent to me by a national clothing retailer from winning a regional raffle on the basis that it was not a real competition. I just had to buy something and post off the entry form. It was however the means by which I had a nice brand new suit in which to attend my father's funeral.

I am aware that some people do make a nice living out of a professional approach to competitions and there are magazine publications which highlight which have the best odds to come away with a prize.

I have always wanted to win a trolley dash around a supermarket or be showered in confetti at my local Tesco as the millionth shopper but such things happen to other folks and not me.

Some winners are unaware of having entered a competition .

Take as a prime example the recent good fortune of a Russian schoolboy, Ruslan Schedrin, aged 16.

His appears to have been a typical teenage life, apart from a bit of work as a child actor, with studying for exams, mixing with friends and spending a lot of time on his video or computer console indulging in warfare and role playing.

He lives at home with his mother and sister but upon hearing that he had won a prize to mark the 100,000th visitor to a website selling virtual arms for games they have not been able to share in his obvious delight.

They are not so much making a stand against the relentless marketing of conflict and violence amongst the youth of the world but that Ruslan has won a month in a hotel with a female Pornstar.

His mother is in fact furious and feels that a monetary equivalent would be more suitable as a competition prize than a potential temptation and corruptive influence.

There are some issues of questionable morality in the prize offering, for example if the winner had been a married person or a girl, but for the competition sponsors it has presented an unbelievable level of publicity on a global media scale.

Ruslan was initially sceptical and suspicious about the whole thing and was quoted as saying "I didn't believe it at first, I thought it was rubbish" but this sooned turned into sheer joy and excitement.

Although his further comments may have lost a bit in translation from Russian into English they are along the lines of "I saw her and I liked everything, she has got good sizes....and so on. .....everything is boiling inside me".

The young lady concerned, Ms Ekaterina Makarova in her twenties is quite philosophical about the whole situation and appears to have adopted a pragmatic attitude to what could be seen as a very controversial few weeks.

I doubt that Ruslan's mother will relent in her position and give permission and the level of public outcry is mounting but whatever the outcome Master Schedrina will, without doubt, be quite a popular chappie amongst his peer group.

In the Pink

SITUATIONS VACANT

A vacancy has arisen for the right person to join a family organisation to carry out a broad and interesting range of assignments in the UK,on an International basis and beyond. 

The successful applicant will be from a background of cultural influence, possibly having lived for some time on the Indian sub-continent, Australasia and with a fluency in world languages but principally french, german and italian. 

Education and experience are a primary requirement with priority given to those having had attained academic and peer success in a private school (Head Girl ideally), Swiss finishing school and in positions of influence and social standing in the Civil Service or a Federal Agency. 

The candidate will be well presented, well spoken and personally groomed, blonde haired and as comfortable in the salons of high society as on the ski slopes of Europe. 

An allowance will be granted for a suitable wardrobe for the appointment ranging from Carnaby Street to Vogue, Harpers and the Liberty Store. 

Supermodel or celebrity experience would be helpful but all training will be given as appropriate. 

The generous benefits package offered by the offshore employers include a man servant/chauffeur/Cockney type, cook and gardener. 

A clean driving licence is essential, Full instruction will be given for the company vehicle and so previous experience of a six wheeled pink Rolls Royce with armour and multi weapon platform offensive capability may be important. 

The company operate globally but the position is for a London Field Agent. 

The office is based in an 18th Century stately home and with periodic use of a yacht, cruise ship and racehorse. A sub office in Bonga Bonga, Australia will also come within the job description. 

Regular contact with the parent company is required and the candidate will be familiar and proficient with radio telecommunications, futuristic video linking, have a good telephone manner and be prepared to use a state of the art tea service intercom. Liaison and intelligence gathering are paramount but on occasion there will be involvement in action, albeit a bit far fetched and technically implausible.

Tuition in the finer arts of  Supermarionation will be given. 

The role demands dedication and the working of many anti-social hours which will be handsomely remunerated. The appointment calls for that special person with the daring and panache of a secret agent and yet the poise and cool of an aristocrat. 

Suitable candidates will be invited to attend interviews conducted shortly. The most likely venue will be on an island somewhere. The vacancy has arisen following the sad demise of the previous incumbent after many years of service. 

Applications to Mr Tracy of International Rescue 

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In respectful memory of Sylvia Anderson as Lady Penelope Creighton Ward