Do you find yourself, when watching an old movie where the principal characters are in dire peril and in need of urgent help, shouting at the screen for them to just use their mobile phones and summon up assistance?
It is an easy thing to do as we have come to rely very heavily upon our smart phones for just about everything in our every day lives and yet we tend to forget that it was only in the recent past that such personal aids were just not available.
Our heroines and heroes in those vintage films had to frantically seek out a telephone box, a friendly resident of a nearby property or resort to other improvised means such as semaphore flags, smoke screens or to send out a small boy on a messaging errand in order to even have a chance of salvation or rescue.
I suppose that you could even resort to chalking a plea on a wall or marking the universal summoning of help abbreviation of S.O.S in a suitably soft surface such as a sandy beach or using rocks and bits of handily curly shaped fallen tree branches.
When I was growing up in the late 1960's and early to mid 1970's I seem to remember another method of communicating an emergency or urgent message and that was through the mainstream broadcast channels of the BBC (British Broadcasting Corporation).
That in itself, at the time, seemed very strange to me as the BBC was respected as the purveyor of news to a national audience and not necessarily known for its one to one services.
I recall the first time I heard one of these appeals on the airwaves and thought that it sounded more like a cryptic message to secret agents than anything else. This was a bit of a conspiracy theory I know but to an active juvenile mind it seemed a perfectly logical explanation and certainly way more exciting than what was often quite a dourly presented and rather, to my young mind, mundane content.
The messaging service would just emerge through the valve radio speaker after a brief and silent pause between an on-the hour news bulletin and the weather forecast on Radio Four.
I seem to think that this was normally about 1pm and 2pm and although highly likely to have occurred on a daily basis I would only be tuned in to the channel after Sunday family dinner when such programmes as The Navy Lark or The Clitheroe Kid were on. They were my favourite shows.
A stern and monotone voiced announcer would follow a script starting with the lines "Would Mr and Mrs Smith", followed by "currently touring the English Lake District in a dark blue Rover Saloon, registration number J234 TLL" and concluding with "please get in contact with the General Hospital in Basingstoke about their Auntie Frannie who is seriously ill".
Other proclamations were of various other ailments, terminal or not, afflicting all sorts of close relatives and not just confined to UK citizens but also foreign tourists and casual visitors. I supposed at the time that it was quite typical, based on this content, that family emergencies only took place when one or more of them had dared to take a vacation or go on a trip for whatever reason.
We must have been a bit more of a trusting society in that era as such a message clearly advertised to anyone acquainted with the named persons and their home address that they were currently not there, also applying to the residence of poor Auntie.
Sometimes the message included a phone number as again, in the pre Smartphone and Google Search days the finding of a contact number for anywhere, even a large establishment such as Basingstoke General would constitute a major piece of research.
As rapidly as the appeal message would appear it would be confined to the radio waves of outer space as it was BBC policy for just a single broadcast with no repetitions.
I can well imagine keen eyed schoolchildren vying for the multiple I-Spy type points tally of actually spotting that elusive blue Rover Saloon, registration J234 TLL when able to peer above their sick bags on the back seats of their parents' car whilst themselves on a bit of a jaunt in the picturesque Lakeland scenery.
I did harbour an ambition of being the intended recipient of such a message although I would not, naturally, have wished for this to have arisen over any ill health issues of any beloved members of family, relatives and friends.
A message to the effect "Would Peter Thomson, last known whereabouts stuck sweatily to the vinyl back seat of his Mother and Father's VW Variant Estate please contact Mission Control Houston about a spare seat available on the next Apollo Space rocket" would be just perfect.
That such bulletins were, in reality, subversive messaging to covert agents remained as a bit of a topic of public conversation for some years but this was later dismissed as being pure fantasy....but then again they would say that wouldn't they ?
Friday 30 November 2018
Thursday 29 November 2018
Loos Talk Costs Lives
Some instances of toilet-related deaths are attributed to the drop in blood pressure due to the parasympathetic nervous system during bowel movements. This effect may be magnified by existing circulatory issues.
It is further possible that people succumb on the toilet to chronic constipation, because the Valsalva maneouvre is often dangerously used to aid in the expulsion of faeces from the rectum during a bowel movement. This means that people can die while "straining at stool." In chapter 8 of their Abdominal Emergencies, David Cline and Latha Stead wrote that "autopsy studies continue to reveal missed bowel obstruction as an unexpected cause of death".
A 2001 Sopranos episode "He is Risen" shows a fictional depiction of the risk, when the character Gigi Gestone has a heart attack on the toilet of his social club while straining to defecate.
In the Victorian era, there was a perceived risk of toilets exploding.
These scenarios typically include a flammable substance either accidentally or deliberately being introduced into the toilet water, and a lit match or cigarette igniting and exploding the toilet. The technology of toilets has not really progressed in the last century and more as illustrated by an event in 2014 when a branded fitting ,Sloan's Flushmate pressure-assisted flushing system which uses compressed air to force waste down the drain was recalled after the company received reports of the air tank failing under pressure and shattering the porcelain.
There have been well documented incidences in history to clearly illustrate the love/hate relationship of Man and his plumbing installations.
In 1945, the German submarine U-1206 was sunk after a toilet malfunctioned, resulting in water coming in to the submarine, which when coming into contact with a battery, created chlorine gas, meaning the submarine had to resurface. At the surface, they were sunk by Allied Forces.
King Wenceslaus III of Bohemia was murdered with a spear while sitting in the garderobe on August 4, 1306.
George II of Great Britain died on the toilet on October 25, 1760 from an aortic dissection. According to Horace Walpole's memoirs, King George "rose as usual at six, and drank his chocolate; for all his actions were invariably methodic. A quarter after seven he went into a little closet. His German valet de chambre in waiting heard a noise, and running in, found the King dead on the floor." In falling he had cut his face.
Professor Ioan P. Culianu was shot dead while on the toilet in the third-floor men's room of Swift Hall on the campus of the University of Chicago on 21 May 1991, in a possibly politically-motivated assassination. His killer has never been caught.
Edmund II of England died of natural causes on November 30, 1016, though some report that he was stabbed in the bowels while attending the outhouse.
Similarly, Uesugi Kenshin, a warlord in Japan, died on April 19, 1578, with some reports stating that he was assassinated on the toilet.
Lenny Bruce died of a heroin overdose on August 3, 1966 while sitting on the toilet, with his arm tied off.
Elvis Presley died, aged 42, on August 16, 1977, in the bathroom of his Graceland mansion in Memphis, Tennessee. "Sitting on the toilet, he toppled like a toy soldier and collapsed onto the floor, where he lay in a pool of his own vomit. His light blue pyjamas were around his ankles." according to someone first on the scene, "For some reason—perhaps involving a reaction to the codeine and attempts to move his bowels — he experienced pain and fright while sitting on the toilet. Alarmed, he stood up, dropped the book he was reading, stumbled forward, and fell face down in the fetal position. He struggled weakly and drooled on the rug. Unable to breathe, he died."
According to medical speculation, a plausible cause of Elvis' death was that previously mentioned Valsalva maneuovre (essentially straining on the toilet leading to heart stoppage — plausible because Elvis suffered constipation, a common reaction to drug use)
Air Canada Flight 797 was destroyed on June 2, 1983 with 23 fatalities after an in-flight fire began in or around the rear lavatory.
Michael Anderson Godwin, a convicted murderer in South Carolina who had his sentence reduced from death by the electric chair, sat on the metal toilet in his cell while fixing his television. When he bit one of the wires, the resultant electric shock killed him. Another convicted murderer, Laurence Baker in Pittsburgh, was electrocuted while listening to the television on home-made earphones while sitting on a metal toilet.
A collision between a disabled Cessna 182 and a row of portable toilets on May 2, 2009 at Thun Field (south-east of Tacoma), despite an engine failure at 150 feet (46 m) altitude, ended without fatalities; The toilets "kind of cushioned things" for the 67-year-old pilot.
British businessman and Conservative politician Christopher Shale was found dead in a portable toilet at the Glastonbury Festival on June 26, 2011. It is suspected he died of a heart attack.
Aboard ship the head and fittings associated with the head are cited as one of the most common reason for the sinking of tens of thousands of boats of all types and sizes.Heads typically have through-hull fittings located below the water line to draw flush water and eliminate waste. Boats are sunk when fittings fail or the toilet back siphons.
Urban legends have been reported regarding the dangers of using a toilet in a variety of situations.
Several of them have been shown to be questionable. These include some cases of the presence of venomous spiders although in the Australian outback the Redback spider who has reputation for hiding under toilet seats. These recent fears have emerged from a series of hoax emails originating in the Blush Spider hoax, which began circulating the internet in 1999.
Spiders have also been reported to live under seats of aircraft, however, the cleaning chemicals used in the toilets would result in an incompatibility with spider's survival.
In large cities like New York City, sewer rats often have mythical status regarding size and ferocity, resulting in tales involving the rodents crawling up sewer pipes to attack an unwitting occupant. Of late, stories about terrorists booby trapping the seat to castrate their targets have begun appearing.
Another myth is the risk of being sucked into an aircraft lavatory as a result of vacuum pressure during a flight.
I used to spend a lot of time in the loo as a natural refuge from everyday life. Book in hand it is a nice place to be.
I will have to review my position in the light of the hazards and perils now associated with this natural process.
It is further possible that people succumb on the toilet to chronic constipation, because the Valsalva maneouvre is often dangerously used to aid in the expulsion of faeces from the rectum during a bowel movement. This means that people can die while "straining at stool." In chapter 8 of their Abdominal Emergencies, David Cline and Latha Stead wrote that "autopsy studies continue to reveal missed bowel obstruction as an unexpected cause of death".
A 2001 Sopranos episode "He is Risen" shows a fictional depiction of the risk, when the character Gigi Gestone has a heart attack on the toilet of his social club while straining to defecate.
In the Victorian era, there was a perceived risk of toilets exploding.
These scenarios typically include a flammable substance either accidentally or deliberately being introduced into the toilet water, and a lit match or cigarette igniting and exploding the toilet. The technology of toilets has not really progressed in the last century and more as illustrated by an event in 2014 when a branded fitting ,Sloan's Flushmate pressure-assisted flushing system which uses compressed air to force waste down the drain was recalled after the company received reports of the air tank failing under pressure and shattering the porcelain.
There have been well documented incidences in history to clearly illustrate the love/hate relationship of Man and his plumbing installations.
In 1945, the German submarine U-1206 was sunk after a toilet malfunctioned, resulting in water coming in to the submarine, which when coming into contact with a battery, created chlorine gas, meaning the submarine had to resurface. At the surface, they were sunk by Allied Forces.
King Wenceslaus III of Bohemia was murdered with a spear while sitting in the garderobe on August 4, 1306.
George II of Great Britain died on the toilet on October 25, 1760 from an aortic dissection. According to Horace Walpole's memoirs, King George "rose as usual at six, and drank his chocolate; for all his actions were invariably methodic. A quarter after seven he went into a little closet. His German valet de chambre in waiting heard a noise, and running in, found the King dead on the floor." In falling he had cut his face.
Professor Ioan P. Culianu was shot dead while on the toilet in the third-floor men's room of Swift Hall on the campus of the University of Chicago on 21 May 1991, in a possibly politically-motivated assassination. His killer has never been caught.
Edmund II of England died of natural causes on November 30, 1016, though some report that he was stabbed in the bowels while attending the outhouse.
Similarly, Uesugi Kenshin, a warlord in Japan, died on April 19, 1578, with some reports stating that he was assassinated on the toilet.
Lenny Bruce died of a heroin overdose on August 3, 1966 while sitting on the toilet, with his arm tied off.
Elvis Presley died, aged 42, on August 16, 1977, in the bathroom of his Graceland mansion in Memphis, Tennessee. "Sitting on the toilet, he toppled like a toy soldier and collapsed onto the floor, where he lay in a pool of his own vomit. His light blue pyjamas were around his ankles." according to someone first on the scene, "For some reason—perhaps involving a reaction to the codeine and attempts to move his bowels — he experienced pain and fright while sitting on the toilet. Alarmed, he stood up, dropped the book he was reading, stumbled forward, and fell face down in the fetal position. He struggled weakly and drooled on the rug. Unable to breathe, he died."
According to medical speculation, a plausible cause of Elvis' death was that previously mentioned Valsalva maneuovre (essentially straining on the toilet leading to heart stoppage — plausible because Elvis suffered constipation, a common reaction to drug use)
Air Canada Flight 797 was destroyed on June 2, 1983 with 23 fatalities after an in-flight fire began in or around the rear lavatory.
Michael Anderson Godwin, a convicted murderer in South Carolina who had his sentence reduced from death by the electric chair, sat on the metal toilet in his cell while fixing his television. When he bit one of the wires, the resultant electric shock killed him. Another convicted murderer, Laurence Baker in Pittsburgh, was electrocuted while listening to the television on home-made earphones while sitting on a metal toilet.
A collision between a disabled Cessna 182 and a row of portable toilets on May 2, 2009 at Thun Field (south-east of Tacoma), despite an engine failure at 150 feet (46 m) altitude, ended without fatalities; The toilets "kind of cushioned things" for the 67-year-old pilot.
British businessman and Conservative politician Christopher Shale was found dead in a portable toilet at the Glastonbury Festival on June 26, 2011. It is suspected he died of a heart attack.
Aboard ship the head and fittings associated with the head are cited as one of the most common reason for the sinking of tens of thousands of boats of all types and sizes.Heads typically have through-hull fittings located below the water line to draw flush water and eliminate waste. Boats are sunk when fittings fail or the toilet back siphons.
Urban legends have been reported regarding the dangers of using a toilet in a variety of situations.
Several of them have been shown to be questionable. These include some cases of the presence of venomous spiders although in the Australian outback the Redback spider who has reputation for hiding under toilet seats. These recent fears have emerged from a series of hoax emails originating in the Blush Spider hoax, which began circulating the internet in 1999.
Spiders have also been reported to live under seats of aircraft, however, the cleaning chemicals used in the toilets would result in an incompatibility with spider's survival.
In large cities like New York City, sewer rats often have mythical status regarding size and ferocity, resulting in tales involving the rodents crawling up sewer pipes to attack an unwitting occupant. Of late, stories about terrorists booby trapping the seat to castrate their targets have begun appearing.
Another myth is the risk of being sucked into an aircraft lavatory as a result of vacuum pressure during a flight.
I used to spend a lot of time in the loo as a natural refuge from everyday life. Book in hand it is a nice place to be.
I will have to review my position in the light of the hazards and perils now associated with this natural process.
Wednesday 28 November 2018
The Archers
I often joke to friends and acquaintances that we are passing through the entrance gates of my house when we turn towards and drive through the striking archway that is to be found just over half the way down Pearson Avenue in Hull.
My first comment is quickly followed by my verbal chastising of my son, in his absence, for leaving the gate open in the first place.
I am of course misrepresenting my ownership of the archway and doing a disservice to my son who is the most diligent of persons when it comes to home security.
The archway is one of a now very rare type: a celebratory structure which was erected in 1860 to mark the dedication and opening of Pearson Park for the use and pleasure of the citizens of Hull, East Yorkshire.
It has seen better days with some corrosion visible through faded paintwork and the original ornamental gates are no longer attached to either the main span opening or the flanking pedestrian ways. The style, a Classical Revivalist, is based on many Greek and Roman structures from the ancient world but with the main archway designed to take 19th century horse carriages rather than Cohorts, chariots and parades of prisoners. The Central span has square piers with scrolled openwork panels, pedestal bases and Corinthian capitals.
Pilasters on the inner side of the piers carry moulded round arches with keystone and decorated spandrels. There is enriched entablature with a cornice broken forward over piers. Pilasters on the outer sides of the piers have cartouches of the city arms above.
On either side, 2 panelled square piers to the pedestrian entrances have corner pilasters, plinths and cornices.
Each has a dolphin foliate finial, formerly topped with a lamp.
That description is taken from the Grade 2 Statutory Listing from the 1970’s but the erosion and general damage has taken its toll.
This is to be addressed soon as part of a major funding grant for the green space of Pearson Park and I look forward to seeing the notable building restored to all of its original glory.
If the gates are refitted I am assured of a regular source of a joke every time that I pass through in the company of others.
To update this post the side sections have just been removed this week for off-site work and the main arch has been wrapped up in readiness for its share of a £3 million grant for the wider Park area to give it another 158 years or so of public use.
I am not sure, what with climate change, if we will have an opportunity to see the archway in this type of wonderful Seasonal setting.
I am of course misrepresenting my ownership of the archway and doing a disservice to my son who is the most diligent of persons when it comes to home security.
The archway is one of a now very rare type: a celebratory structure which was erected in 1860 to mark the dedication and opening of Pearson Park for the use and pleasure of the citizens of Hull, East Yorkshire.
It has seen better days with some corrosion visible through faded paintwork and the original ornamental gates are no longer attached to either the main span opening or the flanking pedestrian ways. The style, a Classical Revivalist, is based on many Greek and Roman structures from the ancient world but with the main archway designed to take 19th century horse carriages rather than Cohorts, chariots and parades of prisoners. The Central span has square piers with scrolled openwork panels, pedestal bases and Corinthian capitals.
Pilasters on the inner side of the piers carry moulded round arches with keystone and decorated spandrels. There is enriched entablature with a cornice broken forward over piers. Pilasters on the outer sides of the piers have cartouches of the city arms above.
On either side, 2 panelled square piers to the pedestrian entrances have corner pilasters, plinths and cornices.
Each has a dolphin foliate finial, formerly topped with a lamp.
That description is taken from the Grade 2 Statutory Listing from the 1970’s but the erosion and general damage has taken its toll.
This is to be addressed soon as part of a major funding grant for the green space of Pearson Park and I look forward to seeing the notable building restored to all of its original glory.
If the gates are refitted I am assured of a regular source of a joke every time that I pass through in the company of others.
To update this post the side sections have just been removed this week for off-site work and the main arch has been wrapped up in readiness for its share of a £3 million grant for the wider Park area to give it another 158 years or so of public use.
I am not sure, what with climate change, if we will have an opportunity to see the archway in this type of wonderful Seasonal setting.
Monday 26 November 2018
Beacon Beauty
Living as we do on an island, Britain, and with no resident more than about 70 miles away from a coastline we do tend to have a bit of a soft spot for a lighthouse.
Although perhaps now surplus to requirements what with Global Positioning and all sorts of clever navigational and maritime safety protocols commonplace and accessible to all who venture out to sea they have in the majority survived to become iconic features in our contemporary landscape.
The oldest recorded lighthouse was at Pharos, Alexandria dating from the Third Century BC. Built by the Ptolemaic Kingdom it deserved its place as one of the cited Seven Wonders if the World being at that time at 137 metres tall one of the tallest man made structures in the ancient world and for long afterwards.
By their very nature Lighthouses are required in exposed and difficult to access locations being subject to the ravages of extreme weather although in the case of the Pharos structure it suffered more damage from earthquake than gale force winds until reduced to ruins in the 15th century and the masonry used to build the the Citadel of Qaitbay on the same site.
Engineers in the halcyon days of British Lighthouse construction in the 18th and 19th Century's pitted their skills against the elements working first in the case of the Eddystone Rock in steel and wood, the latter burning down in 1755. Smeaton's Tower erected in stone in 1759 lasted until the base rock became unsafe leaving only a distinctive stump following its dismantling. Douglass's replacement remains in position to the present.
There are many examples of great design and construction. The Bell Rock Lighthouse on the Firth of Tay in Scotland is built from a bedrock which at high water is submerged to a depth of four metres.
Perhaps the greatest threat to lighthouses has however come from automation, the Trinity House achieving this by 1998 making the need for staff obsolete.
What can be done when this redundancy of buildings occurs?
A few lighthouses have been sold off because a design trait or other physical or locational feature or combination of all of these makes conversion to a viable alternative use difficult or not financially viable.
There is an internet based website dedicated to the selling and renting of lighthouses, aptly using the web address of lighthousesforssale.co.uk. I do a disservice to the site as it does have a wider remit as "A dedicated lighthouse research facility of past, present and future lighthouse sales.......plus lighthouse holiday destinations" .
A good example of a current offering is a 19th-century lighthouse on the Devon coast up for sale with a £450,000 price tag. The selling agents provide a potted history;
"A beautiful lighthouse which has guided ships off the coast of North Devon since 1874 and was manned full time until 1984. The light can be seen for 25 miles and was replaced with an LED in 2012. It's now fully automated so needs no work. The Grade II listed building has a three-bedroom house with kitchen and bathroom and 15 acres of cliff with helipad. It's in such a secluded spot that it can't be reached by car so has gone on sale complete with a bike"
On shore lighthouses were often part of a grouping of ancillary buildings and cottages for the community of Keepers and many with their families living in. These, post automation, provide a good opportunity for use as seasonal holiday lettings and many are advertised on this basis.
We were ourselves looking to take a cottage for a week just this September past and the former Lighthouse keeper's cottages at The Lizard Peninsula on the South Devon Coast seemed a possibility to meet our wide ranging criteria. The low, whitewashed buildings sat atop the towering rocky cliffs of the dramatic coastline and internal photos showed character accommodation and yet all modern amenities. We did get a provisional booking through the agents but the owners informed us after a couple of days of anticipation and excitement that it was not available in our chosen week after all. This may have been a blessing in disguise as explained by the following review posted on Trip Advisor from a previous renter;
"Stayed in seven stones cottage next to lighthouse first week in october. Weather mist and rain. Fog horn sounded every 30 secs for 4 days and nights disturbing sleep. Left early. Cornish cottages rental office very unsympathetic. Suggest choosing alternative accomodation if you want to visit the Lizard"
Lighthouses, in spite of some niggles and intolerance by holidaymakers (what do they expect being next to an operational lighthouse and given the likelihood of fog at any time in the British climate, even in the peak summer months?) have survived because of their graceful functional architecture but have now entered into a new era of earning their keep through alternative economic and social use and providing good income generation for local coastal communities where other opportunities may be a bit short in supply.
Although perhaps now surplus to requirements what with Global Positioning and all sorts of clever navigational and maritime safety protocols commonplace and accessible to all who venture out to sea they have in the majority survived to become iconic features in our contemporary landscape.
The oldest recorded lighthouse was at Pharos, Alexandria dating from the Third Century BC. Built by the Ptolemaic Kingdom it deserved its place as one of the cited Seven Wonders if the World being at that time at 137 metres tall one of the tallest man made structures in the ancient world and for long afterwards.
By their very nature Lighthouses are required in exposed and difficult to access locations being subject to the ravages of extreme weather although in the case of the Pharos structure it suffered more damage from earthquake than gale force winds until reduced to ruins in the 15th century and the masonry used to build the the Citadel of Qaitbay on the same site.
Engineers in the halcyon days of British Lighthouse construction in the 18th and 19th Century's pitted their skills against the elements working first in the case of the Eddystone Rock in steel and wood, the latter burning down in 1755. Smeaton's Tower erected in stone in 1759 lasted until the base rock became unsafe leaving only a distinctive stump following its dismantling. Douglass's replacement remains in position to the present.
There are many examples of great design and construction. The Bell Rock Lighthouse on the Firth of Tay in Scotland is built from a bedrock which at high water is submerged to a depth of four metres.
Perhaps the greatest threat to lighthouses has however come from automation, the Trinity House achieving this by 1998 making the need for staff obsolete.
What can be done when this redundancy of buildings occurs?
A few lighthouses have been sold off because a design trait or other physical or locational feature or combination of all of these makes conversion to a viable alternative use difficult or not financially viable.
There is an internet based website dedicated to the selling and renting of lighthouses, aptly using the web address of lighthousesforssale.co.uk. I do a disservice to the site as it does have a wider remit as "A dedicated lighthouse research facility of past, present and future lighthouse sales.......plus lighthouse holiday destinations" .
A good example of a current offering is a 19th-century lighthouse on the Devon coast up for sale with a £450,000 price tag. The selling agents provide a potted history;
"A beautiful lighthouse which has guided ships off the coast of North Devon since 1874 and was manned full time until 1984. The light can be seen for 25 miles and was replaced with an LED in 2012. It's now fully automated so needs no work. The Grade II listed building has a three-bedroom house with kitchen and bathroom and 15 acres of cliff with helipad. It's in such a secluded spot that it can't be reached by car so has gone on sale complete with a bike"
On shore lighthouses were often part of a grouping of ancillary buildings and cottages for the community of Keepers and many with their families living in. These, post automation, provide a good opportunity for use as seasonal holiday lettings and many are advertised on this basis.
We were ourselves looking to take a cottage for a week just this September past and the former Lighthouse keeper's cottages at The Lizard Peninsula on the South Devon Coast seemed a possibility to meet our wide ranging criteria. The low, whitewashed buildings sat atop the towering rocky cliffs of the dramatic coastline and internal photos showed character accommodation and yet all modern amenities. We did get a provisional booking through the agents but the owners informed us after a couple of days of anticipation and excitement that it was not available in our chosen week after all. This may have been a blessing in disguise as explained by the following review posted on Trip Advisor from a previous renter;
"Stayed in seven stones cottage next to lighthouse first week in october. Weather mist and rain. Fog horn sounded every 30 secs for 4 days and nights disturbing sleep. Left early. Cornish cottages rental office very unsympathetic. Suggest choosing alternative accomodation if you want to visit the Lizard"
Lighthouses, in spite of some niggles and intolerance by holidaymakers (what do they expect being next to an operational lighthouse and given the likelihood of fog at any time in the British climate, even in the peak summer months?) have survived because of their graceful functional architecture but have now entered into a new era of earning their keep through alternative economic and social use and providing good income generation for local coastal communities where other opportunities may be a bit short in supply.
Sunday 25 November 2018
Six Pack from Baden Powell
I must thank a lone reader of my blog today for somehow finding this archived piece from 2012.
It is a satirical bit of writing in response to the British Government of that time, that David Cameron guy, proposing to send Cub Scouts into deprived and troubled inner city areas to show the youth from such places how to live a wholesome and civic minded existence.........................
I sincerely apologise to current and former Scouting members for my disrespectful attitude. I spent a wonderful few years in the movement culminating in attaining Chief Scouts Award.
Uncle David, I think you will have seen this before but sorry again for the harsh sentiments for a much beloved and cherished organisation.
The freshly washed and neatly attired members of St Chalfont by St Mary's Cub Scouts stared in disbelief out of the steamed up windows of the mini bus as it entered the London Borough of Hackney.
It was either a gross clerical error or perhaps the vindictiveness of a Civil Servant ,who had not reached the prestigious position of a Sixer, that had thrown the troop members from a leafy Surrey suburb into a war zone.
Little did their parents know or suspect what was instore for their beloved offspring as they had kerbed their 4 x 4's and German built executive saloons in the narrow lane adjacent to the Parish Church. It was just a short walk past the meticulously kept graveyard to the brand spanking new Scout Hut. The building had been purchased with the bequest of a former Leader of the St Chalfont by St Mary's Troop, or rather the deposited and interest accrued damages for wrongful arrest from an alleged brand of spanking incident involving said person and two Girl Guide Leaders some time in the 1970's. Suffice to say, cooking chicken in a billie-can with a large amount of strong cider and on a particularly hot summers day had been frowned upon ever since.
The cub scouts, mostly bespectacled and swotty looking, were immaculately turned out in their uniforms. A glimpse at the great array of badges displayed on their thin, underdeveloped arms testified to an impressive record of acheivement. Closer scrutiny showed a bias towards the rather more pedestrian and non-physical activities of chess, drama, swimming, natural studies and cookery. This was not a crack unit prepared to take on the demands of an inner city secondment, far from it. The cub scout group were more at ease and indeed had been heralded for their ability to entertain the residents of the St Chalfont by St Mary's Nursing Home at critical dates in the calendar, meaning Easter, Bank Holidays and the Festive period.
They were also well regarded in providing help at Table Top Sales, the Annual Village Fete and could be relied to turn out in full uniform plus shiny shoes if any member of the Royal Family was scheduled to pass through on the High Street at any time, even upon short notice.
The inner city appointment was to consist of a stay over and one full day of an informative introduction to Scouting or under the buzz words of 'Taster Day' for twenty of the younger residents of a local authority tower block identified by their Social Workers as being possibly receptive to such. Their Youth Club had disbanded after the building had burnt down for a fourth time. Various initiatives of basket weaving, playing in sand and growing vegetables had gone disastrously wrong for all concerned.
The visit by St Chalfont by St Mary's Cub Scout Group was seen as the measure of last resort without a custodian or supervisory regime being introduced. The mini bus parked up at about tea time at the Neighbourhood Office of the Estate.
The welcome was full on.
A Steel band, street dancers, loud PA system, burger van and other food concessions either spicy or sweet in aroma lurched into action as the occupants of the bus reluctantly alighted. Such scenes were not entirely alien and disturbing to a good proportion of the cubs scouts who had, within the previous couple of years, holidayed with family in the Caribbean or had actually been to an amusement park in the United States to witness brashness and bad taste at first hand.
Suspicion and not a little apprehension came from the Hackney lads. They had been led to believe that their visitors were akin to the cast of The Expendables, able to skin an animal or build a bivouac without apparent effort. Initial thoughts from the selected deprived were that a bus carrying the cast of Billy Elliott had got lost on the inner ring road. Likewise, the cub scouts feared they had been drugged, abducted and transported to what looked like downtown Beirut.
Quickly the troop formed up into their Sixes and were applauded for this show of efficient para-militarism. Caps were on straight, shirts a bit creased from the bus ride but tidy, grey shorts remaining starched and pressed, white knee length socks and garters impeccable. Their bright shiny shoes dazzled all those assembled. In contrast the audience were mostly clad in hoodies, jogging bottoms and fluorescent trainers but not dissimilar in being a type of uniform.
The cubs were shown to their makeshift dormitory at the Neighbourhood Office and were all asleep by 9.30pm which resulted in the scheduled barbecue, disco and dance-off competition being a bit of a damp squib.
A couple of the cubs were evacuated by helicopter during the night suffering from chronic homesickness.
Hopes for a midnight feast were cancelled out of fear of attracting attention from what sounded, to their unaccustomed tender ears, like a riot on the estate when it was just a normal evening in the Borough.
The first day went surprisingly well. The cooking of a healthy breakfast was demonstrated 'al fresco' although more of a continental style than a Full English. This was followed by a session at the Municipal baths where the cubs were seen to retrieve whole bricks from the deep end whilst in their pyjamas.
Lunch was a skillful display of knife skills in creating carrot and celery sticks, diced apple and other nutritious and budget type fare.
A five mile hike was commenced in the early afternoon after the cubs had partaken in a power nap but was abandoned within a few hundred yards due to acrid smoke drifting across the footpath from a torched stolen car. I-Spy Books in the possession of the Surrey contingent were hastily consulted but a burning Vauxhall Astra was not a point scoring item. A display of tracking was proposed. This rapidly disintegrated into a rescue of young boys from the boughs of trees after the Pit-Bulls and Rhodesian Ridgebacks which had been relied upon to leave a trail found alternative sport in pursuing screaming and hysterical individuals around the park.
The evening meal was a pre-cursor to a camp fire singsong. Hot dogs made from quorn sausages, Lasagne both meat and vegetarian options, quiche and vol-au-vents were magicked from nothing more than a Harrods Hamper. Health and Safety , or rather a bit of a run on the Borough Insurance Policy dictated that the camp fire consist of a light bulb with a draped piece of tinsel but the cubs gave a tremendous rendition of all the stock favourites. Most of the tunes were well known to the Hackney boys but their lyrics bore no resemblance to the official cub scout camp fire songbook in sentiment or downright politeness. There was a large accompanying fire after all when the petrol tank on the troop mini bus exploded as it stood unattended in preparation for the return journey.
It was not all one way in educational terms. The cub scouts had lived up to their motto of 'Be Prepared' by taking in everything they were shown and told by their hosts in the short time spent in the inner city environment.
St Chalfont by St Mary, the village, was soon to be afflicted by a bit of a crime wave. Thefts of lap tops and wallets from parked vehicles skillfully opened, stock going missing from the local shops during and after business hours, empty bottle and cans of strong alcohol deposited in the churchyard, prescription medecines being lost between pharmacy and Nursing Home.
The Constabulary were mystified by the crimes which only occurred every tuesday night. The youngsters of the affluent village were all accounted for on a tuesday being firmly resident in the scout hut and beyond all resonable suspicion.
Those approaching the premises through the churchyard may however have been surprised by the sound of a very loud and thumpy music system, empty packaging for various luxury goods and very raucous singing of camp fire songs in the style of those worst for wear from drink and drugs.
It is a satirical bit of writing in response to the British Government of that time, that David Cameron guy, proposing to send Cub Scouts into deprived and troubled inner city areas to show the youth from such places how to live a wholesome and civic minded existence.........................
I sincerely apologise to current and former Scouting members for my disrespectful attitude. I spent a wonderful few years in the movement culminating in attaining Chief Scouts Award.
Uncle David, I think you will have seen this before but sorry again for the harsh sentiments for a much beloved and cherished organisation.
The freshly washed and neatly attired members of St Chalfont by St Mary's Cub Scouts stared in disbelief out of the steamed up windows of the mini bus as it entered the London Borough of Hackney.
It was either a gross clerical error or perhaps the vindictiveness of a Civil Servant ,who had not reached the prestigious position of a Sixer, that had thrown the troop members from a leafy Surrey suburb into a war zone.
Little did their parents know or suspect what was instore for their beloved offspring as they had kerbed their 4 x 4's and German built executive saloons in the narrow lane adjacent to the Parish Church. It was just a short walk past the meticulously kept graveyard to the brand spanking new Scout Hut. The building had been purchased with the bequest of a former Leader of the St Chalfont by St Mary's Troop, or rather the deposited and interest accrued damages for wrongful arrest from an alleged brand of spanking incident involving said person and two Girl Guide Leaders some time in the 1970's. Suffice to say, cooking chicken in a billie-can with a large amount of strong cider and on a particularly hot summers day had been frowned upon ever since.
The cub scouts, mostly bespectacled and swotty looking, were immaculately turned out in their uniforms. A glimpse at the great array of badges displayed on their thin, underdeveloped arms testified to an impressive record of acheivement. Closer scrutiny showed a bias towards the rather more pedestrian and non-physical activities of chess, drama, swimming, natural studies and cookery. This was not a crack unit prepared to take on the demands of an inner city secondment, far from it. The cub scout group were more at ease and indeed had been heralded for their ability to entertain the residents of the St Chalfont by St Mary's Nursing Home at critical dates in the calendar, meaning Easter, Bank Holidays and the Festive period.
They were also well regarded in providing help at Table Top Sales, the Annual Village Fete and could be relied to turn out in full uniform plus shiny shoes if any member of the Royal Family was scheduled to pass through on the High Street at any time, even upon short notice.
The inner city appointment was to consist of a stay over and one full day of an informative introduction to Scouting or under the buzz words of 'Taster Day' for twenty of the younger residents of a local authority tower block identified by their Social Workers as being possibly receptive to such. Their Youth Club had disbanded after the building had burnt down for a fourth time. Various initiatives of basket weaving, playing in sand and growing vegetables had gone disastrously wrong for all concerned.
The visit by St Chalfont by St Mary's Cub Scout Group was seen as the measure of last resort without a custodian or supervisory regime being introduced. The mini bus parked up at about tea time at the Neighbourhood Office of the Estate.
The welcome was full on.
A Steel band, street dancers, loud PA system, burger van and other food concessions either spicy or sweet in aroma lurched into action as the occupants of the bus reluctantly alighted. Such scenes were not entirely alien and disturbing to a good proportion of the cubs scouts who had, within the previous couple of years, holidayed with family in the Caribbean or had actually been to an amusement park in the United States to witness brashness and bad taste at first hand.
Suspicion and not a little apprehension came from the Hackney lads. They had been led to believe that their visitors were akin to the cast of The Expendables, able to skin an animal or build a bivouac without apparent effort. Initial thoughts from the selected deprived were that a bus carrying the cast of Billy Elliott had got lost on the inner ring road. Likewise, the cub scouts feared they had been drugged, abducted and transported to what looked like downtown Beirut.
Quickly the troop formed up into their Sixes and were applauded for this show of efficient para-militarism. Caps were on straight, shirts a bit creased from the bus ride but tidy, grey shorts remaining starched and pressed, white knee length socks and garters impeccable. Their bright shiny shoes dazzled all those assembled. In contrast the audience were mostly clad in hoodies, jogging bottoms and fluorescent trainers but not dissimilar in being a type of uniform.
The cubs were shown to their makeshift dormitory at the Neighbourhood Office and were all asleep by 9.30pm which resulted in the scheduled barbecue, disco and dance-off competition being a bit of a damp squib.
A couple of the cubs were evacuated by helicopter during the night suffering from chronic homesickness.
Hopes for a midnight feast were cancelled out of fear of attracting attention from what sounded, to their unaccustomed tender ears, like a riot on the estate when it was just a normal evening in the Borough.
The first day went surprisingly well. The cooking of a healthy breakfast was demonstrated 'al fresco' although more of a continental style than a Full English. This was followed by a session at the Municipal baths where the cubs were seen to retrieve whole bricks from the deep end whilst in their pyjamas.
Lunch was a skillful display of knife skills in creating carrot and celery sticks, diced apple and other nutritious and budget type fare.
A five mile hike was commenced in the early afternoon after the cubs had partaken in a power nap but was abandoned within a few hundred yards due to acrid smoke drifting across the footpath from a torched stolen car. I-Spy Books in the possession of the Surrey contingent were hastily consulted but a burning Vauxhall Astra was not a point scoring item. A display of tracking was proposed. This rapidly disintegrated into a rescue of young boys from the boughs of trees after the Pit-Bulls and Rhodesian Ridgebacks which had been relied upon to leave a trail found alternative sport in pursuing screaming and hysterical individuals around the park.
The evening meal was a pre-cursor to a camp fire singsong. Hot dogs made from quorn sausages, Lasagne both meat and vegetarian options, quiche and vol-au-vents were magicked from nothing more than a Harrods Hamper. Health and Safety , or rather a bit of a run on the Borough Insurance Policy dictated that the camp fire consist of a light bulb with a draped piece of tinsel but the cubs gave a tremendous rendition of all the stock favourites. Most of the tunes were well known to the Hackney boys but their lyrics bore no resemblance to the official cub scout camp fire songbook in sentiment or downright politeness. There was a large accompanying fire after all when the petrol tank on the troop mini bus exploded as it stood unattended in preparation for the return journey.
It was not all one way in educational terms. The cub scouts had lived up to their motto of 'Be Prepared' by taking in everything they were shown and told by their hosts in the short time spent in the inner city environment.
St Chalfont by St Mary, the village, was soon to be afflicted by a bit of a crime wave. Thefts of lap tops and wallets from parked vehicles skillfully opened, stock going missing from the local shops during and after business hours, empty bottle and cans of strong alcohol deposited in the churchyard, prescription medecines being lost between pharmacy and Nursing Home.
The Constabulary were mystified by the crimes which only occurred every tuesday night. The youngsters of the affluent village were all accounted for on a tuesday being firmly resident in the scout hut and beyond all resonable suspicion.
Those approaching the premises through the churchyard may however have been surprised by the sound of a very loud and thumpy music system, empty packaging for various luxury goods and very raucous singing of camp fire songs in the style of those worst for wear from drink and drugs.
Saturday 24 November 2018
Nancy Sinatra knew nothing really
The service offered by delivery companies to leave packages and parcels at a specific pick up point and so remove that worry of a missed home drop is all well and good if you are well organised and possess at the time of collection the relevant Order Number and some form of identification.
In my defence I was originally notified through a tracking system that my item had been successfully delivered not to the pre-arranged place but to my house .
This caused me to panic big style as there was no sign of anything in the usual secure places nor the letter box card with details of where to go to retrieve it.
In an impulsive act I made my way on foot to the designated drop off point, this being a 24 hour petrol station and mini-market about half a mile away. It was, anyway, just a bit of a detour from my regular early saturday morning stroll to the shops to get newspaper, bread and the components for a small fry-up as one of life's little weekend luxuries.
The only proof of purchase that I could trace was in the form of a screenshot of the E-Bay page which, along with my driving licence photo-card I hoped would be sufficient to liberate the package.
I have used the aforementioned petrol station on a few occasions for its primary purpose of a petrol purchase and to a lesser extent the franchised retail section for staples and treats but such is the rota and turnover of staff that my face was not at all familiar to those on duty this morning.
This meant that I had to cobble together a back story and then present my credentials to an understandably diligent and suspicious staff.
They were, after accepting whom I purported to be, very helpful but were still seeking that ultimate bit of proof in the same way that on-line banking operatives talk you through security questions of which there are usually a minimum of three relating to such things as date of birth, mothers maiden name and the details of at least one transaction from the account in question.
I offered them the option of opening up the package, which having been placed on the shop counter was in quite a bad way anyway with shredded panels and gaping holes, as the irrefutable evidence of my identity.
Normally, third party tampering with a postal item would of course be prohibited but with my full consent the challenge was accepted.
This just required me to confirm what it was that I had purchased.
At this pretty advanced stage in proceedings I had very strong second thoughts about the big reveal.
It had been a bona-fide purchase after all but the item had come from a specialist retailer and I could not be sure about what it might be wrapped up in or if it came in a descriptive box.
The photograph on the E Bay site had been clear enough but what if \I had fallen prey to a scammer and there was something else completely in the parcel.
It was quite a large box even with its ravaged exterior and I had an innate fear that perhaps I had misjudged the scale of the item and had actually purchased a freakishly large size or conversely, a miniature amongst a lot of bubble wrap. Things have happened like that to others where a full sized motor vehicle had been expected but a Dinky Toy version arrived in the mail.
I had bought the item or rather it came as a pair as a perfectly innocent acquisition to add to a set that I had from a couple of years ago.
The original version of the item or, as they were a pair, versions, had been alright I suppose but were lacking in authenticity and detail.
They were in fact pale imitations of the real thing and had lowered the tone and style of the rest of the ensemble.
This new purchase was of a professional standard, hence the specialism of the seller.
I got ready to give the description to the staff members as they were already looking into the ragged wrappings and had begun to giggle a bit, look at me, shy away and then laugh a bit more.
I was perhaps a little bit embarrassed as in isolation the item could be seen as being associated with a bit of a fetish especially so for a man of my mature years.
"OK" I said.
"You may not have seen a pair like it before but they are the best of their kind in Santa Claus fur trimmed shiny black boots available to those who, during December every year do a bit of Father Christmas-ing on a casual and not for profit basis"
On leaving the petrol station with my tatty box and its contents I vaguely recall having apparently agreed to carry out a return visit but in full Santa costume not later that 5pm on the forthcoming Christmas Eve.
I will have to check my diary and confirm that early on in the coming Festive Month.
In my defence I was originally notified through a tracking system that my item had been successfully delivered not to the pre-arranged place but to my house .
This caused me to panic big style as there was no sign of anything in the usual secure places nor the letter box card with details of where to go to retrieve it.
In an impulsive act I made my way on foot to the designated drop off point, this being a 24 hour petrol station and mini-market about half a mile away. It was, anyway, just a bit of a detour from my regular early saturday morning stroll to the shops to get newspaper, bread and the components for a small fry-up as one of life's little weekend luxuries.
The only proof of purchase that I could trace was in the form of a screenshot of the E-Bay page which, along with my driving licence photo-card I hoped would be sufficient to liberate the package.
I have used the aforementioned petrol station on a few occasions for its primary purpose of a petrol purchase and to a lesser extent the franchised retail section for staples and treats but such is the rota and turnover of staff that my face was not at all familiar to those on duty this morning.
This meant that I had to cobble together a back story and then present my credentials to an understandably diligent and suspicious staff.
They were, after accepting whom I purported to be, very helpful but were still seeking that ultimate bit of proof in the same way that on-line banking operatives talk you through security questions of which there are usually a minimum of three relating to such things as date of birth, mothers maiden name and the details of at least one transaction from the account in question.
I offered them the option of opening up the package, which having been placed on the shop counter was in quite a bad way anyway with shredded panels and gaping holes, as the irrefutable evidence of my identity.
Normally, third party tampering with a postal item would of course be prohibited but with my full consent the challenge was accepted.
This just required me to confirm what it was that I had purchased.
At this pretty advanced stage in proceedings I had very strong second thoughts about the big reveal.
It had been a bona-fide purchase after all but the item had come from a specialist retailer and I could not be sure about what it might be wrapped up in or if it came in a descriptive box.
The photograph on the E Bay site had been clear enough but what if \I had fallen prey to a scammer and there was something else completely in the parcel.
It was quite a large box even with its ravaged exterior and I had an innate fear that perhaps I had misjudged the scale of the item and had actually purchased a freakishly large size or conversely, a miniature amongst a lot of bubble wrap. Things have happened like that to others where a full sized motor vehicle had been expected but a Dinky Toy version arrived in the mail.
I had bought the item or rather it came as a pair as a perfectly innocent acquisition to add to a set that I had from a couple of years ago.
The original version of the item or, as they were a pair, versions, had been alright I suppose but were lacking in authenticity and detail.
They were in fact pale imitations of the real thing and had lowered the tone and style of the rest of the ensemble.
This new purchase was of a professional standard, hence the specialism of the seller.
I got ready to give the description to the staff members as they were already looking into the ragged wrappings and had begun to giggle a bit, look at me, shy away and then laugh a bit more.
I was perhaps a little bit embarrassed as in isolation the item could be seen as being associated with a bit of a fetish especially so for a man of my mature years.
"OK" I said.
"You may not have seen a pair like it before but they are the best of their kind in Santa Claus fur trimmed shiny black boots available to those who, during December every year do a bit of Father Christmas-ing on a casual and not for profit basis"
On leaving the petrol station with my tatty box and its contents I vaguely recall having apparently agreed to carry out a return visit but in full Santa costume not later that 5pm on the forthcoming Christmas Eve.
I will have to check my diary and confirm that early on in the coming Festive Month.
Friday 23 November 2018
Upstairs at the Dying Glad
I have gone on in the past about my genetic predisposition
for the sound of the bagpipes.
They are not, admittedly, the most tuneful of musical
instruments but that undertone of melancholic hum and all of the historical
back story for the Scottish peoples gives so much more depth and meaning to
what could otherwise be quite a harsh set of notes.
That particular love definitely comes from my Paternal line
as my grandparents came from the North and North Western extremities of
Caledonia.
I have written a few lines on my attempt, a sorry one at
that, to try to learn to play the bagpipes a few years ago now but that is best
forgotten and just brought out on the occasion of the need for a humorous,
self-deprecating anecdote.
On my Mother’s lineage I had a similar genetic attraction for
music and that was for the sonorous tones of a brass band.
This came from my maternal grandfather who was a great
bandsman and I naturally followed in his footsteps in joining a well
established town band in my early teenage years, from 1976 to 1978.
Although a brass band in the meaning of the word this group
of musicians styled themselves as a Silver Band, perhaps a bit of one-upmanship
in what was then, and to all intents and purposes remains, a very competitive
musical genre.
I cannot actually recall how I came to joint the band
although I probably just tagged along with a school friend who was a very
proficient player of the Baritone Horn and was very close to being recruited by
one of the top regional brass bands which was seen as the pinnacle of anyone’s
career in banding. He could list all of the leading national exponents of each
of the sections of the band and if there had been equivalent sticker collection
for bands as there was for football players he would certainly have had a full
album.
In contrast I was a terrible musician devoting the absolute
minimum amount of time, or even less, to practice of my cornet beyond the usual
music lessons in the school curriculum either on a one to one basis with a
tutor or in the larger sessions with the group orchestra which was made up of a
number of local schools. Their practice times were usually after school or on a
Saturday which were hours that I really wanted to devote to other activities
such as watching TV, playing outdoors or just lazing about.
The Silver Band practiced above the old coaching house of a
public house, The Dying Gladiator, in the centre of the town where we lived.
I was a bit of a squeaky clean geek and a Sunday school
attendee and so the fact that I had to go to a drinking establishment was a bit
against my set of principles and beliefs.
That was nothing compared to the smoke filled room itself
and the fact that the band members, in particular the heavy Bass section always
had a steady supply of pints of beer brought to them during the practice to
keep their energy levels up, as they were quick to say.
The band members were the most diverse in terms of social
background that I had yet come across in my youthful years and yet united in
their dedication to banding. There were gruff old veterans, ambitious middle
class types, housewives, a few kids even younger than me who had pushy parents,
swotty music students and some groupies who just seemed to attach themselves to
the Musical Director, who was an up and coming force in the band scene. The age
range across the different cliques was understandably
wide through to those in their mid to
late seventies.
It was a great environment for an extra-curricula education,
a warm and friendly atmosphere and I soon came to regard my fellow musicians as
a second family.
After a disparate warming up and emptying out of the
accumulated bile and spit from instrument valves each practice night started
with the tap of the conductor’s baton and a rousing rendition of a well known
hymn. It was a beautiful and harmonious sound which really set the mood for
what could sometimes be a difficult couple of hours if we were preparing a Test
Piece for a regional or even a national contest.
The bringing together of the multitude of instruments from
my cornet, all ranges of horns, trombones and percussion to produce a solid
melodious sound was like a major feat of engineering. All depended on each
other for structure and form.
The actual competitions were usually held in the traditional
coal mining areas of the Midlands where banding was strong and vibrant. This
was against an increasingly desperate situation with Government and Unions
lining up for what would, within a few years, become a very violent and
demoralising industrial conflict. Bandsmen, for sure, would be on the front
lines of many subsequent confrontations.
I travelled about widely with the band, Nottingham, Leicester, Brodsworth, Doncaster from memory but many other venues as well often getting home
in the very early hours of a morning, my clothes infused with the dense and
choking cigarette smoke of a Miners Welfare Hall or flecked with cheese and
onion crisps from a packed lunch eaten on the bouncy seats of an old bus.
For all of the inspiring surroundings and personalities my
own cornet playing skills did not really progress.
I was perhaps the longest serving occupant of the seat of Third Cornet in the illustrious history of Brigg Town Silver Band that stretched back to the 1920's and until around 2008 when sadly it ceased to exist.
My lack of application is something that ,
upon hearing a brass band playing in full flow today, gives me a sense of
regret, but I would not have missed that period in my life for anything.
Wednesday 21 November 2018
Riding Shotgun?
Don't get me started on the subject of automated or driver-less cars.
I am not against the idea of such a technological revolution but cannot really see how it would work on our roads until the stage is reached when every single vehicle, passenger, freight, private, public transport and the rest operate under the same system. Only in this way can the technology interact and communicate with the individual vehicles without the element of human interference or error in human judgement in the equation.
The "Automated and Electric Vehicles Act" passed by the UK Parliament this year (2018) has been self-proclaimed as the most forward thinking in the world in relation to acheiving the great aim of emission free motoring. This is indeed a very commendable motivation and as a further step in trying to claw back the environment but I have every doubt that it would be a workable proposition for the other part of the legislation covering driver-less modes of transport.
The Legislation cover the key issues of liability and insurance for driver-less vehicles which, in parallel with the technology must be clearly defined and unambiguous in their understanding and application amongst those who would aspire to ownership and operation of the next generation of, in particular, personal transport.
I do not propose to go through the AEV Act line by line, provision by provision but would like to concentrate on just one aspect covered by the following extract.
The insurer or owner of an automated vehicle is not liable to the person in charge of the vehicle where the accident that it caused was wholly due to the person's negligence in allowing the vehicle to begin driving itself when it was not appropriate to do so.
I am not against the idea of such a technological revolution but cannot really see how it would work on our roads until the stage is reached when every single vehicle, passenger, freight, private, public transport and the rest operate under the same system. Only in this way can the technology interact and communicate with the individual vehicles without the element of human interference or error in human judgement in the equation.
The "Automated and Electric Vehicles Act" passed by the UK Parliament this year (2018) has been self-proclaimed as the most forward thinking in the world in relation to acheiving the great aim of emission free motoring. This is indeed a very commendable motivation and as a further step in trying to claw back the environment but I have every doubt that it would be a workable proposition for the other part of the legislation covering driver-less modes of transport.
The Legislation cover the key issues of liability and insurance for driver-less vehicles which, in parallel with the technology must be clearly defined and unambiguous in their understanding and application amongst those who would aspire to ownership and operation of the next generation of, in particular, personal transport.
I do not propose to go through the AEV Act line by line, provision by provision but would like to concentrate on just one aspect covered by the following extract.
The insurer or owner of an automated vehicle is not liable to the person in charge of the vehicle where the accident that it caused was wholly due to the person's negligence in allowing the vehicle to begin driving itself when it was not appropriate to do so.
This, to me appears to be a very vague and open ended statement.
Surely the reason for owning or using an automated vehicle is to assist a person in their own motoring needs. This could be down to a disability as much as to a lifestyle whim.
The crux of the matter is that at some stage the responsible person makes the decision to make a driver-less journey.
I would hope that such a vehicle would be fully roadworthy, durable and capable of managing all road and driving conditions and environments across all of the usual seasonal hazards of ice, snow, rain, melted tarmac, high winds and poor visibility. This is of course in addition to built in safeguards to protect impact with pedestrians, cyclists, animals and other road users. (The argument about the ethical decision making of an automated vehicle to save its passengers or others involved outside of the vehicle is something to consider on another day)
The all round fitness for purpose and suitability of a vehicle under such constraints would determine that the decision to adopt the driver-less mode would not be a matter requiring heart and conscience searching judgement; it would just be a matter of a casual consideration for any normal road trip, be it to the corner shop or farther afield.
The definition of a persons negligence is therefore unclear.
The Act does not mention whether the person should be sober, not under the influence of drugs, free from any debilitating medical condition or even just a little bit drowsy for whatever reason.
Of course any vehicle driver must comply with the current law about such things although wouldn't the option of a driver less car be open to abuse for those not otherwise in a fit state to actually drive themselves. Could a human be trusted to just walk away from a driver-less vehicle in the same way that a law abiding citizen would hand over their keys if incapable of driving?
The Act rather simply defines where the liability for an accident or damage lies with the insurer and where the owner carries this burden but it all seems to come back to the interpretation of the term of when it is not appropriate for the owner to allow the vehicle to begin driving itself.
As with most fledgling, and in this case pioneering, Legislation it is often a matter of the provisions being tested in real life and death situations and I will keep a close eye on any developments in the coming years as well as my wits about me when I am out on the road myself either cocooned in my normal self drive vehicle, on my pedal cycle or walking nervously along the pavement.
Monday 19 November 2018
No naughty corner
The living room at the rural address that I visited today was almost perfectly circular, a 360 degree surround.
Perhaps the name of the property should have provided the biggest clue- The Wheelhouse, but as I am of urban upbringing I had not, on my way out into that remote countryside district, given any deep thought to what that meant.
Wheelhouse to me is more reminiscent of something maritime anyway.
I was shown into the house, the wing of a larger converted agricultural barn, by its proud owners and given the introductory talk on the theory and practice of rotary power.
Strangely, I had been compelled to take up a position in the very middle of the room by the mesmeric web of huge supporting beams.
These were certainly of some age and pockmarked with wormy trails but retaining much of their considerable density and sheer strength.
In its pre-lounge days that round room had been occupied by two magnificent Shire Horses harnessed to a large diameter gear wheel mounted on a vertical shaft high up in the eaves.
As they were coaxed to plod around the post, no doubt by the youngest member of the farming family or their labour force, their kinetic energy would be transferred to a second array of gears in order to drive machinery such as threshers and millstones.
The group of barns and ancillary buildings attached to and adjacent to the property I was visiting had evidently formed a very industrious and productive farmstead in their halcyon years but were now attractive residences retaining a lot of character and authentic architectural features.
The wheelhouse had by all accounts done well to survive almost intact as many similar structures having fallen into redundancy and obsolescence had simply been demolished.
This example had been one of the early versions and from the appearance of the exposed brickwork I would hazard a guess at early to mid 18th Century origins.
Even this type of basic power transmission was developing rapidly in terms of its relative technology, efficiency and applications and the overhead rig was soon replaced with one mounted at ground level.
This did require the horse or horses to step over the drive equipment upon each of their walking revolutions.
I was fascinated by this primitive but functional power station.
This specific rural location was devoid of watercourses to be tamed by a millrace and waterwheel and just a bit too exposed to fierce westerly winds for a windmill.
The use of horsepower was therefore a power source of last resort but nevertheless invaluable to a working farmstead.
I enjoyed the tour of the wheelhouse but not so much having to rack my brain to work out how to measure the circular room.
That old school geometry book would have to be consulted when I got back to my natural habitat in the city.
How did it go?
I seem to recall that the calculation involved pies and squares.
Perhaps the name of the property should have provided the biggest clue- The Wheelhouse, but as I am of urban upbringing I had not, on my way out into that remote countryside district, given any deep thought to what that meant.
Wheelhouse to me is more reminiscent of something maritime anyway.
I was shown into the house, the wing of a larger converted agricultural barn, by its proud owners and given the introductory talk on the theory and practice of rotary power.
Strangely, I had been compelled to take up a position in the very middle of the room by the mesmeric web of huge supporting beams.
These were certainly of some age and pockmarked with wormy trails but retaining much of their considerable density and sheer strength.
In its pre-lounge days that round room had been occupied by two magnificent Shire Horses harnessed to a large diameter gear wheel mounted on a vertical shaft high up in the eaves.
As they were coaxed to plod around the post, no doubt by the youngest member of the farming family or their labour force, their kinetic energy would be transferred to a second array of gears in order to drive machinery such as threshers and millstones.
The group of barns and ancillary buildings attached to and adjacent to the property I was visiting had evidently formed a very industrious and productive farmstead in their halcyon years but were now attractive residences retaining a lot of character and authentic architectural features.
The wheelhouse had by all accounts done well to survive almost intact as many similar structures having fallen into redundancy and obsolescence had simply been demolished.
This example had been one of the early versions and from the appearance of the exposed brickwork I would hazard a guess at early to mid 18th Century origins.
Even this type of basic power transmission was developing rapidly in terms of its relative technology, efficiency and applications and the overhead rig was soon replaced with one mounted at ground level.
This did require the horse or horses to step over the drive equipment upon each of their walking revolutions.
I was fascinated by this primitive but functional power station.
This specific rural location was devoid of watercourses to be tamed by a millrace and waterwheel and just a bit too exposed to fierce westerly winds for a windmill.
The use of horsepower was therefore a power source of last resort but nevertheless invaluable to a working farmstead.
I enjoyed the tour of the wheelhouse but not so much having to rack my brain to work out how to measure the circular room.
That old school geometry book would have to be consulted when I got back to my natural habitat in the city.
How did it go?
I seem to recall that the calculation involved pies and squares.
Sunday 18 November 2018
Hello, Hello, Hello. What's going on here then?
The Radio One Big Weekend at the end of May 2107 was held in the grounds of the Elizabethan Mansion at Burton Constable, some 8 or so miles to the north-east of the regional city of Hull.
It was a good choice for an event of that scale and national importance in terms of having lots of space and little chance of complaints about the noise as there are no real neighbours to the picturesque and landmark Hall.
On the downside the perceived remoteness of the rural area, narrow roads and somewhat of a pinch point on routes in and out of the venue called for a clever and customised transport scheme by the organisers.
The 50,000 crowd over the two days were taken there by 170 buses and coaches running a shuttle service from Park and Ride facilities and principal interchanges. In the course of some 625 trips what was, in effect, the population of a medium sized town were taken into and out of the music festival proving that the planning and logistics worked.
Many of the tens of thousands of visitors who were seeing Burton Constable for the first time will have remarked about its isolation in the open countryside of East Yorkshire.
The settlement actually peaked in or around the 13th Century when records showed a Manor House, 15 Cottages, 21 persons eligible to farm a measure of land called a bovate, and a windmill.
The place was deserted however by around 1488 with many similar hamlets suffering the same outcome arising from uneconomic conditions, the enclosure of land for sheep farming or as a consequence of the devastation wreaked by the Black Death even after its main outbreak in the century before.
Other bits of land became emparked whereby a Lord of the Manor could seize lands for his own use, as in creating a landscape for his own country house.
In May 2017 Burton Constable comprised the mansion, outbuildings, some Estate Cottages, a caravan and timber lodge park, lake and the usual ancillary functions for a sizeable landed environment.
Things could have been so much different.
In 1945 the esteemed team of Edwin Lutyens and Patrick Abercrombie proposed construction of a completely new satellite town in order to relieve the pressures on the bomb damaged housing stock and infrastructure of Kingston Upon Hull.
Their 1945 Plan selected as a suitable location the sleepy Burton Constable for what would be major town with a population of some 60,000 people, therefore quite close to the numbers bussed in for just one weekend of live music.
The New Town would sprawl within a radius of five and a half miles and swallow up the small villages of Withernwick, West Newton, Ellerby and Marton in its land grab bid.
This type of urban development had been pioneered in the guise of the Garden Village Movement in the inter war era and would go on in the post war and more modern eras to include the likes of Cumbernauld, Skelmersdale and Harlow.
Burton Constable was proposed because of its proximity to the Hull to Hornsea railway line operated at that time by LNER, the low lying geography of the district and the availability of wide open spaces with low levels of anticipated compulsory purchase or demolition and clearance of existing housing and other buildings.
The large population was to be distributed within 8 neighbourhoods of varying density from around 50 persons per acre down to 20 per acre. These would be arranged around a Central Area with good public transport links, wide carriageways and good provision of foot and cycle paths. The town would be relatively self sufficient in shopping and business facilities, banks and offices, hotels, entertainment and recreational amenities, technical schools, colleges and health establishments although, presumably the greater proportion of those of working age would have to commute to Hull and the wider region for employment opportunities.
The Lutyens and Abercrombie Plan of 1945 was held to be worthy of the citizens of Hull following their heroism and stoicism in the wartime bombing that had only ceased months before and the Chairman of the Reconstruction Committee, Alderman Schultz predicted a rise from the ashes, Phoenix-like if the proposals could be brought about following the usual discussion, consultation, amendments and counter proposals that such an important process would demand.
In crude terms the idea of a New Town for Hull went for a Burton or rather, it didn't.
It was a good choice for an event of that scale and national importance in terms of having lots of space and little chance of complaints about the noise as there are no real neighbours to the picturesque and landmark Hall.
On the downside the perceived remoteness of the rural area, narrow roads and somewhat of a pinch point on routes in and out of the venue called for a clever and customised transport scheme by the organisers.
The 50,000 crowd over the two days were taken there by 170 buses and coaches running a shuttle service from Park and Ride facilities and principal interchanges. In the course of some 625 trips what was, in effect, the population of a medium sized town were taken into and out of the music festival proving that the planning and logistics worked.
Many of the tens of thousands of visitors who were seeing Burton Constable for the first time will have remarked about its isolation in the open countryside of East Yorkshire.
The settlement actually peaked in or around the 13th Century when records showed a Manor House, 15 Cottages, 21 persons eligible to farm a measure of land called a bovate, and a windmill.
The place was deserted however by around 1488 with many similar hamlets suffering the same outcome arising from uneconomic conditions, the enclosure of land for sheep farming or as a consequence of the devastation wreaked by the Black Death even after its main outbreak in the century before.
Other bits of land became emparked whereby a Lord of the Manor could seize lands for his own use, as in creating a landscape for his own country house.
In May 2017 Burton Constable comprised the mansion, outbuildings, some Estate Cottages, a caravan and timber lodge park, lake and the usual ancillary functions for a sizeable landed environment.
Things could have been so much different.
In 1945 the esteemed team of Edwin Lutyens and Patrick Abercrombie proposed construction of a completely new satellite town in order to relieve the pressures on the bomb damaged housing stock and infrastructure of Kingston Upon Hull.
Their 1945 Plan selected as a suitable location the sleepy Burton Constable for what would be major town with a population of some 60,000 people, therefore quite close to the numbers bussed in for just one weekend of live music.
The New Town would sprawl within a radius of five and a half miles and swallow up the small villages of Withernwick, West Newton, Ellerby and Marton in its land grab bid.
This type of urban development had been pioneered in the guise of the Garden Village Movement in the inter war era and would go on in the post war and more modern eras to include the likes of Cumbernauld, Skelmersdale and Harlow.
Burton Constable was proposed because of its proximity to the Hull to Hornsea railway line operated at that time by LNER, the low lying geography of the district and the availability of wide open spaces with low levels of anticipated compulsory purchase or demolition and clearance of existing housing and other buildings.
The large population was to be distributed within 8 neighbourhoods of varying density from around 50 persons per acre down to 20 per acre. These would be arranged around a Central Area with good public transport links, wide carriageways and good provision of foot and cycle paths. The town would be relatively self sufficient in shopping and business facilities, banks and offices, hotels, entertainment and recreational amenities, technical schools, colleges and health establishments although, presumably the greater proportion of those of working age would have to commute to Hull and the wider region for employment opportunities.
The Lutyens and Abercrombie Plan of 1945 was held to be worthy of the citizens of Hull following their heroism and stoicism in the wartime bombing that had only ceased months before and the Chairman of the Reconstruction Committee, Alderman Schultz predicted a rise from the ashes, Phoenix-like if the proposals could be brought about following the usual discussion, consultation, amendments and counter proposals that such an important process would demand.
In crude terms the idea of a New Town for Hull went for a Burton or rather, it didn't.
Saturday 17 November 2018
English Lesson 1
One of the great benefits of driving a lot in the course of my daily work is to be able to listen to the radio in the car.
I tend to switch between a few channels but invariably find myself tuning in to the great archive that is BBC Four Extra.
One of the many re-runs that I find myself laughing out aloud at is "I'm Sorry I haven't a Clue" which is a very long running improvisational comedy show which over its many decades has featured the very best in comedic and entertainment talent.
A regular feature in the show is the offering by the participants of definitions of words towards the Uxbridge English Dictionary.
For any student of the English Language this must be most confusing as although the donor word is a bona fide one the meaning as described is only intended to elicit laughter or gasps of shock and awe.
Here is a bit of a compilation of definitions either broadcast since its launch in 1972 or just held in a remarkable database produced by Kevin Hale, undoubtedly the greatest fan and authority on the subject.
The list is under the first letter of the alphabet but in no particular order;
Arizona- the person that 'ari belongs to.
Alloy- metal friend
Aperitif- Cockney dentures
Anachronism-a political system with no government and a poor sense of timing
Antelope- to run off with your mother's sister
Artery- shooting arrows at paintings
Abattoir- threesome in a monastery
Assassination- an arrangement to meet up with a donkey
Autobiography- car log book
Artefact- pretentious statistic
Adder- Derbyshire expression meaning "I've slept with that woman"
Abscond- to steal someones cream tea
Avoidable- what a cow with a headache tries to do
Abacus- Swedish swear word
Analysis- a rectal examination
Algebra- part of a bikini made from kelp
Atrophy- reward for winning at sport
Aromatic- high tech gadget of Robin Hood
Advisor- the best way to stop the wind getting in your motorbike helmet
Argy-Bargy. The owner of a canal boat in Buenos Aries
Anthropological- a natural time to propel a Telly Tubbu
Apetite- a cheerful drunk
Arsehole- someone, only later on, remembering the Capital of South Korea
Aberdare- a challenge to Benny, Bjorn, Agnetha and the other one
Asbestos- a Greek anti social behaviour order
Acne- a walking stick for dyslexics
Amish- a bit like an arm
Aggregate- a farming scandal
Aerospace- a dedicated place for your chocolate bar
Arson- to sit
Arboretum- a dockside restaurant
Alimony- backstreet currency
Alkaline- a queue outside an A A Meeting
Announce- 28 grams
Arcane- Liverpudlian bamboo
Aspire- the pointy bit of a church
Asymmetry- posh place to bury people
A La Carte- a wheelbarrow from The Arabian Nights
Aerobic- a chocolate pen
Abatement- a cold sufferer describing the lower ground floor of his house
Abort- a sea going vessel described by a resident of Birmingham
Accomplish- drunken sidekick
Acupuncture- a deliberate tyre slashing
Anti-disestablishmentarianism . a strangely named northern, female relative
Albino- Saudi Arabian children's comic
Apex- Gorrilla's wristwatch
Asphalt- something that men of a certain age should refrain from
Arsenic- what happens if you sit naked on a razor blade
AWOL- a dyslexic owl
Animate- a fondness for pets
Agog- a half built Temple
to be continued alphabetically at a later date....................................
I tend to switch between a few channels but invariably find myself tuning in to the great archive that is BBC Four Extra.
One of the many re-runs that I find myself laughing out aloud at is "I'm Sorry I haven't a Clue" which is a very long running improvisational comedy show which over its many decades has featured the very best in comedic and entertainment talent.
A regular feature in the show is the offering by the participants of definitions of words towards the Uxbridge English Dictionary.
For any student of the English Language this must be most confusing as although the donor word is a bona fide one the meaning as described is only intended to elicit laughter or gasps of shock and awe.
Here is a bit of a compilation of definitions either broadcast since its launch in 1972 or just held in a remarkable database produced by Kevin Hale, undoubtedly the greatest fan and authority on the subject.
The list is under the first letter of the alphabet but in no particular order;
Arizona- the person that 'ari belongs to.
Alloy- metal friend
Aperitif- Cockney dentures
Anachronism-a political system with no government and a poor sense of timing
Antelope- to run off with your mother's sister
Artery- shooting arrows at paintings
Abattoir- threesome in a monastery
Assassination- an arrangement to meet up with a donkey
Autobiography- car log book
Artefact- pretentious statistic
Adder- Derbyshire expression meaning "I've slept with that woman"
Abscond- to steal someones cream tea
Avoidable- what a cow with a headache tries to do
Abacus- Swedish swear word
Analysis- a rectal examination
Algebra- part of a bikini made from kelp
Atrophy- reward for winning at sport
Aromatic- high tech gadget of Robin Hood
Advisor- the best way to stop the wind getting in your motorbike helmet
Argy-Bargy. The owner of a canal boat in Buenos Aries
Anthropological- a natural time to propel a Telly Tubbu
Apetite- a cheerful drunk
Arsehole- someone, only later on, remembering the Capital of South Korea
Aberdare- a challenge to Benny, Bjorn, Agnetha and the other one
Asbestos- a Greek anti social behaviour order
Acne- a walking stick for dyslexics
Amish- a bit like an arm
Aggregate- a farming scandal
Aerospace- a dedicated place for your chocolate bar
Arson- to sit
Arboretum- a dockside restaurant
Alimony- backstreet currency
Alkaline- a queue outside an A A Meeting
Announce- 28 grams
Arcane- Liverpudlian bamboo
Aspire- the pointy bit of a church
Asymmetry- posh place to bury people
A La Carte- a wheelbarrow from The Arabian Nights
Aerobic- a chocolate pen
Abatement- a cold sufferer describing the lower ground floor of his house
Abort- a sea going vessel described by a resident of Birmingham
Accomplish- drunken sidekick
Acupuncture- a deliberate tyre slashing
Anti-disestablishmentarianism . a strangely named northern, female relative
Albino- Saudi Arabian children's comic
Apex- Gorrilla's wristwatch
Asphalt- something that men of a certain age should refrain from
Arsenic- what happens if you sit naked on a razor blade
AWOL- a dyslexic owl
Animate- a fondness for pets
Agog- a half built Temple
to be continued alphabetically at a later date....................................
Friday 16 November 2018
Infinity Indefinitely
I am always a bit nervous if I sit too close to Buzz Lightyear.
He, or rather a large Disney action figure , has been in our family now for about 14 years.
It is not a personality thing, after all I cannot compete with his Space Ranger status and powers, but rather a Health and Safety issue.
For a start, he is extremely bulky and heavy. He stands about 25 cm tall in his best cosmic gear from the green toe capped weight boots up to the highest point of the dome of his helmet. There is a solid density to his midriff which is attributable to the electronics that power the authentic sights, sounds and mechanics that make the figure so enduring and appealing to children.
I do admit to having re-enacted a few scenes from the Pixar animated movie in those few precious moments after kids bedtime and I can confirm that it is good fun.
It was bought, one Christmas as a main present for our youngest after he and his sisters really became sold on the whole Toy Story thing. Disney have merchandising down to a fine art and after saturating the media in the build up to the second of the films the only way to get any peace in the house, ironically, was to buy in the well packaged item.
At one stage we were awash with products and goods endorsed by Toy Story especially the smaller static figures that came with a McDonalds Happy Meal. We never ever achieved a full set of those on offer but certainly amassed a whole army of the green aliens from the Pizza Planet restaurant, numerous Emperor Zurgs and miscellaneous other characters including Mr Potato Head. Other goods ranged from back-packs to drink cups, stickers, colouring-in books, tableware and bed linen.
Our son was only 4 years old when he excitedly ripped open the large wrapped box on Christmas morning. He could barely lift up Buzz Lightyear and we, as parents, were concerned that there could be a hazard if the toy fell over and trapped him out of our view or earshot.
The operating buttons, switches, opening flaps and moveable limbs were enough to keep him engrossed without the need to erect the figure to its full height.
Buzz gave many years of imaginative play for all of our children but inevitably he was soon to be confined to the old toys box up in the attic. He was remarkably preserved after all manner of neglect and abuse in the name of active use and for the first time in my recollection we had kept the original packaging.
I did make a tentative search on E Bay, purely out of curiosity you understand, to see if other parents were cashing in on the obsolete toys of their children. They certainly were. I could sympathise equally if the proceeds were going into a future college fund or on a small menopausal sports car.
Just this week in one of those rash decisions to clear out the loft I came across Buzz Lightyear. He had been tucked away in a box of soft toys, nestled amongst hand knitted scarecrows and angels, wedged in with the pliable and mouldable Beany Babies and in the company of a great many and variable sized teddy bears.
Through some freakish degrading process in the plastics which made up his body Buzz had turned from his bright and vibrant colours into a pale, sickly looking and tarnished thing. This may have been due to a manufacturing fault whereby not enough UV inhibitors had been mixed in the injection moulding process and even though sheltered from direct sunlight there had been a gradual break down in the composition and pigments.
It was both shocking and upsetting to behold and I did turn my head away in a shameful shunning of the great action hero. Out of sympathy I brought him back down into the habitable part of our house and he once again took up pride of place on the playroom window cill.
This familiar sight meant that he soon blended into our lives once more and we took him for granted. That was until one of my late night wanderings when, thinking I had heard a noise outside I came down to the playroom which had a good vantage point over the back garden.
I had forgotten about a particular trait of the action figure and the surreal sight of Buzz and his luminous body parts caused much fear in me. Then I remembered why I was always a bit nervous of getting too close to this heroic character.
I had read about the adverse effects of the radiation given out by luminous paints and substances on male parts in particular. What must have looked very strange to any nightime prowlers was the sight of me, cupped hands around my genitals backing away slowly from a ghostly apparition of a galactic superstar in the comfort of my own home.
He, or rather a large Disney action figure , has been in our family now for about 14 years.
It is not a personality thing, after all I cannot compete with his Space Ranger status and powers, but rather a Health and Safety issue.
For a start, he is extremely bulky and heavy. He stands about 25 cm tall in his best cosmic gear from the green toe capped weight boots up to the highest point of the dome of his helmet. There is a solid density to his midriff which is attributable to the electronics that power the authentic sights, sounds and mechanics that make the figure so enduring and appealing to children.
I do admit to having re-enacted a few scenes from the Pixar animated movie in those few precious moments after kids bedtime and I can confirm that it is good fun.
It was bought, one Christmas as a main present for our youngest after he and his sisters really became sold on the whole Toy Story thing. Disney have merchandising down to a fine art and after saturating the media in the build up to the second of the films the only way to get any peace in the house, ironically, was to buy in the well packaged item.
At one stage we were awash with products and goods endorsed by Toy Story especially the smaller static figures that came with a McDonalds Happy Meal. We never ever achieved a full set of those on offer but certainly amassed a whole army of the green aliens from the Pizza Planet restaurant, numerous Emperor Zurgs and miscellaneous other characters including Mr Potato Head. Other goods ranged from back-packs to drink cups, stickers, colouring-in books, tableware and bed linen.
Our son was only 4 years old when he excitedly ripped open the large wrapped box on Christmas morning. He could barely lift up Buzz Lightyear and we, as parents, were concerned that there could be a hazard if the toy fell over and trapped him out of our view or earshot.
The operating buttons, switches, opening flaps and moveable limbs were enough to keep him engrossed without the need to erect the figure to its full height.
Buzz gave many years of imaginative play for all of our children but inevitably he was soon to be confined to the old toys box up in the attic. He was remarkably preserved after all manner of neglect and abuse in the name of active use and for the first time in my recollection we had kept the original packaging.
I did make a tentative search on E Bay, purely out of curiosity you understand, to see if other parents were cashing in on the obsolete toys of their children. They certainly were. I could sympathise equally if the proceeds were going into a future college fund or on a small menopausal sports car.
Just this week in one of those rash decisions to clear out the loft I came across Buzz Lightyear. He had been tucked away in a box of soft toys, nestled amongst hand knitted scarecrows and angels, wedged in with the pliable and mouldable Beany Babies and in the company of a great many and variable sized teddy bears.
Through some freakish degrading process in the plastics which made up his body Buzz had turned from his bright and vibrant colours into a pale, sickly looking and tarnished thing. This may have been due to a manufacturing fault whereby not enough UV inhibitors had been mixed in the injection moulding process and even though sheltered from direct sunlight there had been a gradual break down in the composition and pigments.
It was both shocking and upsetting to behold and I did turn my head away in a shameful shunning of the great action hero. Out of sympathy I brought him back down into the habitable part of our house and he once again took up pride of place on the playroom window cill.
This familiar sight meant that he soon blended into our lives once more and we took him for granted. That was until one of my late night wanderings when, thinking I had heard a noise outside I came down to the playroom which had a good vantage point over the back garden.
I had forgotten about a particular trait of the action figure and the surreal sight of Buzz and his luminous body parts caused much fear in me. Then I remembered why I was always a bit nervous of getting too close to this heroic character.
I had read about the adverse effects of the radiation given out by luminous paints and substances on male parts in particular. What must have looked very strange to any nightime prowlers was the sight of me, cupped hands around my genitals backing away slowly from a ghostly apparition of a galactic superstar in the comfort of my own home.
Thursday 15 November 2018
Frogs, Headers and Stretchers
I bought the green bound hardback book from a Charity Shop for fifty new pence.
It was rather anonymous amongst the stacked shelving of Readers Digest publications, Celebrity Bio's, cookery, miscellaneous novels and encyclopaedic volumes but immediately stood out as being of some interest.
For a 70 year old book it is in good condition and surprisingly so as being a Technical Guide on the art of Bricklaying it must have been stuffed in the back pocket of a workman's overall, bike saddle bag, up against a mess tin and left about on the top of the usual trappings of a training room or construction site.
It is from the respected Pitman's Secondary Technical Building Series and attributed to a couple of highly qualified and experienced authors, E G Dormon and E J Elmes, citing respective former appointments in practical based academia including City and Guilds, Institutes of Building, Worshipful Companies and Colleges.
The book, as the title indicates was targeted at those just on the first path or, in brickwork terms, lower courses of a vocation in the trades and hearkens back to the good old days when an Apprenticeship to a Master Crafts-person (my modern equality based description) was a laudable pursuit and promised gainful employment for a lifetime upon completion of the mentoring and with Certificate in hand.
The Post War Period, was one of a resumption of Technical Schools such as Building Colleges for new entrants as well as those leaving the Armed Forces and seeking to retrain to capitalise on the massive re building of a bombing shattered stock of buildings and infrastructure.
The actual age range for the book is 13 to 16 and covering a three year full time programme in theory and practice from classroom to workshop and out on site.
Bricklaying has, in the eyes of lay persons, the perception of magic and mystery.
How is it possible to make such great and edifying structures, multi storey and often on a huge scale out of hardened clay blocks and mortar joints, one on top of t'other?
It is certainly an art-craft and although often relegated to a menial labouring status the brick laying teams of today are masters of their own destiny and justifiably reap the financial rewards for their skills.
A National House Builder, at risk of having to shut down many of its large sites because of a critical shortage of time served bricklayers opted for the idea of an Open Day with full catering and cash prizes to try to entice brickie teams onto its work force. It was widely advertised and promoted but on the actual day, no one turned up.
The status of bricklayer is almost at endangered species level but in the good old economic conditions of supply and demand they are able to pick and chose clients and contracts at will.
The situation is not likely to improve as training opportunities and modern apprenticeships continue to decline.
In response to such labour shortages the construction world is looking at alternative materials to traditional brick for high volume house building in particular with a return to large panel and prefabricated systems and these are already popping up from the backs of lorries on many sites throughout the UK. I have written previously on the development of automated brick laying machines which are already being used in Australia and set to be imported into this country.
Back in 1948 however the gearing up of the construction sector was very well supported as far as working with bricks was concerned and that little green book will have been a prized possession as well as an essential reference work for those entering into a principal building craft for life.
It was rather anonymous amongst the stacked shelving of Readers Digest publications, Celebrity Bio's, cookery, miscellaneous novels and encyclopaedic volumes but immediately stood out as being of some interest.
For a 70 year old book it is in good condition and surprisingly so as being a Technical Guide on the art of Bricklaying it must have been stuffed in the back pocket of a workman's overall, bike saddle bag, up against a mess tin and left about on the top of the usual trappings of a training room or construction site.
The book, as the title indicates was targeted at those just on the first path or, in brickwork terms, lower courses of a vocation in the trades and hearkens back to the good old days when an Apprenticeship to a Master Crafts-person (my modern equality based description) was a laudable pursuit and promised gainful employment for a lifetime upon completion of the mentoring and with Certificate in hand.
The Post War Period, was one of a resumption of Technical Schools such as Building Colleges for new entrants as well as those leaving the Armed Forces and seeking to retrain to capitalise on the massive re building of a bombing shattered stock of buildings and infrastructure.
The actual age range for the book is 13 to 16 and covering a three year full time programme in theory and practice from classroom to workshop and out on site.
Bricklaying has, in the eyes of lay persons, the perception of magic and mystery.
How is it possible to make such great and edifying structures, multi storey and often on a huge scale out of hardened clay blocks and mortar joints, one on top of t'other?
It is certainly an art-craft and although often relegated to a menial labouring status the brick laying teams of today are masters of their own destiny and justifiably reap the financial rewards for their skills.
A National House Builder, at risk of having to shut down many of its large sites because of a critical shortage of time served bricklayers opted for the idea of an Open Day with full catering and cash prizes to try to entice brickie teams onto its work force. It was widely advertised and promoted but on the actual day, no one turned up.
The status of bricklayer is almost at endangered species level but in the good old economic conditions of supply and demand they are able to pick and chose clients and contracts at will.
The situation is not likely to improve as training opportunities and modern apprenticeships continue to decline.
In response to such labour shortages the construction world is looking at alternative materials to traditional brick for high volume house building in particular with a return to large panel and prefabricated systems and these are already popping up from the backs of lorries on many sites throughout the UK. I have written previously on the development of automated brick laying machines which are already being used in Australia and set to be imported into this country.
Back in 1948 however the gearing up of the construction sector was very well supported as far as working with bricks was concerned and that little green book will have been a prized possession as well as an essential reference work for those entering into a principal building craft for life.
Tuesday 13 November 2018
An Evening Off
Sometimes I just run out of my own words or time or usually a combination of both when I am putting together my daily blog.
In such instances I usually revert to the fallback option of re-issuing one of the 1200 or so from the last three years or cobble together something from another source.
Today, I am using a wonderful book called 'Mangled English' by Gervase Phinn given as a present some time ago by family which is a humorous investigation of the English language in all of its intricacies and idiosyncrasies which escape us as native speakers and confound those seeking to learn as a second tongue. The contents range from acronyms and bacronyms to mnemonics and malaproprisms, unusual words and epitaphs to graffiti and spoonerisms.
The world has, at last count, 2700 languages and these are quite fluid in nature with The Oxford English Dictionary having nearly a million words which are added to annually by three hundred new words.
One section of the book which appealed to me was provided by book shop owners and traders.
They regularly receive requests by customers for books based on the most incomplete titles, barest facts and vaguest of descriptions.
Here is a selection of the best ones which must challenge and flummox even the most aware and astute proprietors of book shops.
"The Great Gas Bill " by Scott Fitzgerald
"The Adventures of Huckleberry Hound" by Mark Twain
"The Girl with the Dragon and Baboon" by Stieg Larsson
"Colour me Purple" by Alice Walker
"Harry Potter and the Chamberpot secret" by J K Rowling
"Satanic Nurses" by Salman Rushdie
"Tess of the Dormobiles" by Thomas Hardy
"Lionel Ritchie and his Wardrobe" by C S Lewis
"Tequila Mockingbird" by Harper Lee
"Lord of the Files" by William Golding
"She stoops to Conga" by Oliver Goldsmith
"Major Morelli's Violin" by Louis de Bernieres
"The Dinosaur Cookbook" by Dinah Shore
"Useless" by James Joyce
"The Communist Man's a Fatso" by the Communist Party
"Death in Denial" by Agatha Christie
"Donkey Oats" by Miguel de Cervantes
"Catch her in the eye" by J D Salinger
"Olive or Twist" by Charles Dickens
"The brothers carry them off" by Fyodor Dostoyevsky
"Ann, Karen and Nina" by Tolstoy
"The Odd Sea" by Homer
Thanks to Mr Phinn the book compiler I can take an evening off.
In such instances I usually revert to the fallback option of re-issuing one of the 1200 or so from the last three years or cobble together something from another source.
Today, I am using a wonderful book called 'Mangled English' by Gervase Phinn given as a present some time ago by family which is a humorous investigation of the English language in all of its intricacies and idiosyncrasies which escape us as native speakers and confound those seeking to learn as a second tongue. The contents range from acronyms and bacronyms to mnemonics and malaproprisms, unusual words and epitaphs to graffiti and spoonerisms.
The world has, at last count, 2700 languages and these are quite fluid in nature with The Oxford English Dictionary having nearly a million words which are added to annually by three hundred new words.
One section of the book which appealed to me was provided by book shop owners and traders.
They regularly receive requests by customers for books based on the most incomplete titles, barest facts and vaguest of descriptions.
Here is a selection of the best ones which must challenge and flummox even the most aware and astute proprietors of book shops.
"The Great Gas Bill " by Scott Fitzgerald
"The Adventures of Huckleberry Hound" by Mark Twain
"The Girl with the Dragon and Baboon" by Stieg Larsson
"Colour me Purple" by Alice Walker
"Harry Potter and the Chamberpot secret" by J K Rowling
"Satanic Nurses" by Salman Rushdie
"Tess of the Dormobiles" by Thomas Hardy
"Lionel Ritchie and his Wardrobe" by C S Lewis
"Tequila Mockingbird" by Harper Lee
"Lord of the Files" by William Golding
"She stoops to Conga" by Oliver Goldsmith
"Major Morelli's Violin" by Louis de Bernieres
"The Dinosaur Cookbook" by Dinah Shore
"Useless" by James Joyce
"The Communist Man's a Fatso" by the Communist Party
"Death in Denial" by Agatha Christie
"Donkey Oats" by Miguel de Cervantes
"Catch her in the eye" by J D Salinger
"Olive or Twist" by Charles Dickens
"The brothers carry them off" by Fyodor Dostoyevsky
"Ann, Karen and Nina" by Tolstoy
"The Odd Sea" by Homer
Thanks to Mr Phinn the book compiler I can take an evening off.
Monday 12 November 2018
War and Revolution
An upsurge in interest in cycling amongst the civilian population in the first decade of the 20th Century for leisure and recreation had created mass demand and production to meet the demand brought about a lowering of cost and greatly improved efficiency and reliability of different models.
In 1910 King George the Fifth was made Patron of the Cyclist Touring Club and this Royal Endorsement was the catalyst to the further rapid growth of clubs and societies who would organise cycling day trips and tours to appeal to the largely urban population. It was an activity that crossed many of the social divides of the time representing independence and excitement for all ages, genders and standings.
I am not sure thought process led to the role that bicycles played in the First World War (1914-18) being seen as an important means of transporting troops to the battle zones and as a support for regular infantry. It may have just been the pure economics, a cheap mode of movement or the realisation amongst recruiters that enthusiasts on two wheels could just continue their activity but in a war zone and on the front line. The poster below was typical of those appealing for cyclists to fight for King and Country.
In 1910 King George the Fifth was made Patron of the Cyclist Touring Club and this Royal Endorsement was the catalyst to the further rapid growth of clubs and societies who would organise cycling day trips and tours to appeal to the largely urban population. It was an activity that crossed many of the social divides of the time representing independence and excitement for all ages, genders and standings.
I am not sure thought process led to the role that bicycles played in the First World War (1914-18) being seen as an important means of transporting troops to the battle zones and as a support for regular infantry. It may have just been the pure economics, a cheap mode of movement or the realisation amongst recruiters that enthusiasts on two wheels could just continue their activity but in a war zone and on the front line. The poster below was typical of those appealing for cyclists to fight for King and Country.
There is a very strange use of words linking a fondness for cycling to a potential killing role in war. I can only think that those with bad teeth would be encouraged.
The first bikes in military use were just ordinary shop-bought types very much of the sit up and beg style of the time.They would be painted in camouflage khaki green and taken back to bare essentials in order to be used by quick response battalions to engage the enemy in skirmishing and in scouting for main operations. The machines were easily dispensed with in a conflict situation being just thrown down to release their riders for immediate action.
In the early period of the First World War with roads and byways not yet churned up by heavy artillery or the deep ruts of gun carriages and supply wagons the bike could be used for patrols, field exercises and to compliment the mounted divisions. Other roles included two wheeled messengers, signallers, runners and the Military Police. The very first fatality of the conflict was a cycling soldier.
As the workload of cycling soldiers increased it was necessary to develop purpose built bikes and these were by design more robust and adaptable. The standard equipment that had to be loaded up consisted of great coat, mess tin and rations, blanket and kit, waterproof cape, webbing and of course a gun and ammunition. These were mounted on a series of fitted carriers and racks making a heavy payload that only a more solid and robust bike could cope with.
A handbook was brought out for the wheeled regiments with such practical advice as push the bike up hill to save on wear and tear and make sure the mechanical parts were well maintained. The theatre of war was dominated by heavy trench fighting and mud and it soon became impractical for bikes to play anything more than a support and logistical part .
The Second World War saw a return of cycling soldiers, particularly in the Wehrmacht or German Army in its rapid over-running of much of Europe. The Low Countries were of ideal flat terrain for bikes to be used in the occupation and this was down to great effect, often with the element of surprise. However, the increasing use of heavy weapons, tanks and the new found dominance of aircraft in warfare sounded the end of cycling soldiers, somewhat primitive as military equipment in comparison.
Those fortunate enough to return in one piece from the savagery of the First World War resumed their two wheeled leisure and recreational pursuits and cycling went from strength to strength in the inter war period which was the halcyon period for the activity. In the post war years there was the same trend of a resurgence in riding bikes for pleasure and any association with warfare and killing was confined to the history books and a sizeable library of grainy black and white photographs.
Sunday 11 November 2018
One Mans War- Part 3
In the first two months of the First World War some three quarters of a million men in Britain volunteered for the armed forces.
This was a natural response to fight for King, Country and Empire, loved ones and to deal the dastardly enemy a bloody nose.
The pressure to enlist will have been intense and indeed there was a strong and targeted campaign which led, to example, to the founding of battalions of those from a local area, termed the Pal's Regiments.
By the end of the war there were very few towns and villages that were able to welcome back all of their menfolk, able bodied or injured but alive from the bloodiest conflicts of the campaign.
Although volunteers were plentiful the British Army in particular maintained qualifying standards in terms of height and chest size to ensure that recruits were of sufficient stature to take on the range of tasks that would be required on the battlefield and in supporting roles such as drivers, medical orderlies, jobs requiring manual labour and other heavy duties amongst infantry, cavalry, artillery and engineering regiments.
You can therefore imagine the stigma, shame and disappointment of those not of a robust stature or physical characteristics, in effect those below the minimum height stipulation of five feet three inches (1.6 metres) and thirty four inch chest.
Many falling below this threshold were perfectly fit and healthy and this included sturdy types from coal mining areas, the industrial sector or where National or Regional characteristics were defined by smaller physical frames.
There were scenes of protest and indignation where individuals were rejected from being able to take up the call to arms.
In response to this dilemma a series of special Battalions were formed under the Bantam title, referring to the hardy and feisty breed of hen and used in boxing classifications to indicate fighters of a lighter stature.
Over the course of the war the number of Bantam Troops was around 30,000 over 29 Battalions.
They were often grouped together with other categories of recruits and anecdotal accounts were of, amongst the more robust members, the frail, impoverished, scavengers and those under a Ticket of Leave which referred to convicts who had been released from custody on the condition that they enlist.
Those of a lighter weight and stature may not have been suited to many military roles but were perfectly suited as crew in the new tank regiments and as sappers and tunnellers in field operations.
Bantam Battalions did serve on the front line . One Officer in the trenches complained that Bantam infantrymen often raised up the firing platforms on the inner front face of the trenches to attain the correct elevation to lay down a field of fire from rifles but then when the same position was taken up by regular troops they found themselves fully exposed to sniper fire and shell fragments. This was resolved by a restriction on using sandbags only which could be quickly removed rather than more permanent structures.
It will have been a tough enough experience in front line duties where there was a minute by minute danger of death or injury but even more so for the Bantam soldiers where in addition there will have been bullying, disrespect and ridicule from contemporaries and peers.
Perhaps one of the most well known members of a Bantam Battalion, the 11th Kings Own Royal Lancasters was the artist and war poet Isaac Rosenberg.
He recounted a most challenging time in basic training where his battalion were exposed to poor equipment, bad food and an almost slave like existence at the hands of bully boy Officers and not helped by a rag-tag assembly of other infantrymen from diverse social and economic backgrounds.
Amongst his stark descriptions of Active Service were moments of pathos and humour. He records how the Battalion were presented to King George V and that from a distance he must have been waiting for them to stand up from a sitting position when they were already at attention ready for the review.
Bantams were exposed to the same perils and threats as regular troops and will have suffered from what was called Shell-Shock or as we know it in the modern era, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
In 1916 twenty six Bantams were sentenced to death for cowardice and three of these were executed by firing squad. It is not clear if posthumous Pardons were granted as has been the practice in retrospect for those deemed subsequently to have been suffering from PTSD.
By the later phase of the War the original Bantam Battalions had been largely disbanded and surviving troops re-allocated to other Regiments to make up the severely depleted numbers from the carnage of trench warfare.
In their actions the Bantams achieved a hard earned reputation for duty and endeavour and confirmed the importance of their participation as regular troops.
Isaac Rosenberg was killed in action on the Western Front on 1st April 1918
(Source; Extracts from "Nobody Told Me To Oil My Boots" by Neil Cargill and BBC Four Extra Voices of World War 1- Dan Snow)
This was a natural response to fight for King, Country and Empire, loved ones and to deal the dastardly enemy a bloody nose.
The pressure to enlist will have been intense and indeed there was a strong and targeted campaign which led, to example, to the founding of battalions of those from a local area, termed the Pal's Regiments.
By the end of the war there were very few towns and villages that were able to welcome back all of their menfolk, able bodied or injured but alive from the bloodiest conflicts of the campaign.
Although volunteers were plentiful the British Army in particular maintained qualifying standards in terms of height and chest size to ensure that recruits were of sufficient stature to take on the range of tasks that would be required on the battlefield and in supporting roles such as drivers, medical orderlies, jobs requiring manual labour and other heavy duties amongst infantry, cavalry, artillery and engineering regiments.
You can therefore imagine the stigma, shame and disappointment of those not of a robust stature or physical characteristics, in effect those below the minimum height stipulation of five feet three inches (1.6 metres) and thirty four inch chest.
Many falling below this threshold were perfectly fit and healthy and this included sturdy types from coal mining areas, the industrial sector or where National or Regional characteristics were defined by smaller physical frames.
There were scenes of protest and indignation where individuals were rejected from being able to take up the call to arms.
In response to this dilemma a series of special Battalions were formed under the Bantam title, referring to the hardy and feisty breed of hen and used in boxing classifications to indicate fighters of a lighter stature.
They were often grouped together with other categories of recruits and anecdotal accounts were of, amongst the more robust members, the frail, impoverished, scavengers and those under a Ticket of Leave which referred to convicts who had been released from custody on the condition that they enlist.
Those of a lighter weight and stature may not have been suited to many military roles but were perfectly suited as crew in the new tank regiments and as sappers and tunnellers in field operations.
Bantam Battalions did serve on the front line . One Officer in the trenches complained that Bantam infantrymen often raised up the firing platforms on the inner front face of the trenches to attain the correct elevation to lay down a field of fire from rifles but then when the same position was taken up by regular troops they found themselves fully exposed to sniper fire and shell fragments. This was resolved by a restriction on using sandbags only which could be quickly removed rather than more permanent structures.
It will have been a tough enough experience in front line duties where there was a minute by minute danger of death or injury but even more so for the Bantam soldiers where in addition there will have been bullying, disrespect and ridicule from contemporaries and peers.
Perhaps one of the most well known members of a Bantam Battalion, the 11th Kings Own Royal Lancasters was the artist and war poet Isaac Rosenberg.
He recounted a most challenging time in basic training where his battalion were exposed to poor equipment, bad food and an almost slave like existence at the hands of bully boy Officers and not helped by a rag-tag assembly of other infantrymen from diverse social and economic backgrounds.
Amongst his stark descriptions of Active Service were moments of pathos and humour. He records how the Battalion were presented to King George V and that from a distance he must have been waiting for them to stand up from a sitting position when they were already at attention ready for the review.
Bantams were exposed to the same perils and threats as regular troops and will have suffered from what was called Shell-Shock or as we know it in the modern era, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
In 1916 twenty six Bantams were sentenced to death for cowardice and three of these were executed by firing squad. It is not clear if posthumous Pardons were granted as has been the practice in retrospect for those deemed subsequently to have been suffering from PTSD.
By the later phase of the War the original Bantam Battalions had been largely disbanded and surviving troops re-allocated to other Regiments to make up the severely depleted numbers from the carnage of trench warfare.
In their actions the Bantams achieved a hard earned reputation for duty and endeavour and confirmed the importance of their participation as regular troops.
Isaac Rosenberg was killed in action on the Western Front on 1st April 1918
(Source; Extracts from "Nobody Told Me To Oil My Boots" by Neil Cargill and BBC Four Extra Voices of World War 1- Dan Snow)
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