A short pictorial history of bricks

My regular followers will have noticed a bit of a themed thread in my writing over the last couple of weeks and that relates to all things about Ancient Civilisations.

My interest started from early years school projects on favourite topics around Old Testament Biblical Times moving through to the Egyptians, Greeks, and all things Roman, both on the up and in decline.

This fascination has not gone away and I still find myself drawn to these eras through hefty history books, very long period movies,  appropriately respectful museum visits and during staycations or overseas holidays one or more Heritage Sites have always been on the itinerary.

So what single thing ties together all of these different historical periods?

They all have had a common denominator, a fundamental foundation and building block and that has been the humble brick.

The New York Metropolitan Museum of Art has a wonderful collection of bricks from the greatest Civilisations on Earth and I have put together just a short visual presentation of these to illustrate their importance to their respective eras.

This is the humble piece of equipment to mould and form the clay or earth with this coming from Queen Hatshepsut's Temple in Egypt from 1479 to 1458 BC

                           A fine example of an Egyptian brick dating from around 1550 BC

                      Rameses in 1200 BC used a coloured finish to accentuate the hieroglyphics

Going back in time the Neo- Sumerians (2000 BC)  favoured a squarer section moulded brick

This is a one of the earliest bricks with an intricate stamp detail from the Babylonian Period. Although I'm not sure of the actual dimensions of this exhibit it has the classic sizing of a modern brick. Of course, it could be the size of a bus if it came from that epic historic period.

The Parthians of the 1st Century AD who made this went for some very bold motifs and it will have been part of a decorative frieze either to the exterior of a building or as part of the internal decor.

This is a 4th Century brick feature from the First Persian Empire , In its original newly painted state it will have been very startling to the eye

A bit of a roundel motif is part of this 9th Century Assyrian brick

A no-nonsense 15th century, mass produced clay brick from China. This is the closest to what we have today as the common house brick

(Images sourced from the Open Access Programme of the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art)

A Gripping Tale from the Ancient World

I apologise now to any scholars of the Classics or indeed anyone who has more than a passing interest in that great period of civilisation for my interpretation and dramatisation of the following.

I have been listening to a great radio broadcast series by the multi-talented and swotty Natalie Haynes in which she gives a very individual account of the great and the good, or usually the not so good based on their murderous behaviour, from Ancient Greece and Rome.

One such character is that of Agrippina who was around from AD 15 to AD 59.

Hers was a very privileged upbringing in the highest echelons of the Roman Empire. You could not, in that era, get a better pedigree than being the sister of Emperor Caligula, the niece and fourth wife of Emperor Claudius and the mother of the infamous Nero.

If you enjoyed the rise of a certain Dynasty in Roman Times then you had to accept the very real possibility of a rapid fall from power, grace and favour with best expectations for impoverishment, disgrace or exile as a consequence.

Even amongst close family members the level of politics , intrigue and allegiances made for a precarious daily existence. This was very much the experience of Agrippina in her time. Apart from being very vigilant and cautious during a normal daily routine such as travelling about and meeting others in the interests of maintaining a certain position in the pecking order of the ruling class the most fraught events were associated with having a meal or a drink.

The Romans were particular officianados of the art of poisoning.

The job description of Food Taster amongst slaves and servants was not likely to be of dream role status in that any participation at mealtimes could herald a rapid and traumatic death.

Although the use of poison was a well known form of assassination and murder you could never be truly assured of an uneventful breakfast, elevenses, lunch, afternoon tea or dinner.

There was evidently a good selection of toxic substances in the market which could be easily procured or concocted. The natural world was a source of belladonna, hemlock and extract of Yew. The ancients appear to have had a difficulty in distinguishing edible from toxic mushrooms and so actual intentional poisonings could be concealed within occurrences of unwitting consumption of the dangerous fungi types.

Given a fairly poor life expectancy anyway it could be possible to bump off a thirty something adversary by poisoning and attribute it to the natural death of their senior status.

Agrippina, in living to the age of 44 did quite well as this was close to double the normal lifespan in her era. She was quite wise and wily and is known to have survived at least three poisoning attempts by her son Nero who was keen to wrestle himself away from her maternal influence.

This will have involved her taking the antidote in advance of sitting down to share a meal with her son and his sycophantic entourage.

A thwarted Nero began to display a bit of ingenuity in killing off his mother and one such ploy was to design a ceiling above Agrippina's rooms so that it fell down and caused her demise amongst the rubble. As an obvious interim measure he exiled his mother to the Pontine Islands off the west coast of Italy but ensured that even out of his sight she was still subject to taunts, pestering and jeers by way of intimidation and as a constant reminder that she was out of favour with his Imperial self.

The mere existence of Agrippina seems to have played on the unstable mind of Nero to quite an unhealthy extent.

A further plan placed him firmly in the category of psychopath and master villain.

In a seemingly friendly gesture Agrippina was invited to sail from her place of exile to spend time with her family. The outward journey was uneventful save for an innocuous little accident whereby her vessel was in collision with another and was not in a seaworthy state for the return to the Pontines.

Nero generously lent her a ship but it was not just an ordinary craft.

Historians of the era suggest that Nero himself had devised a system whereby the hull opened up causing an intentional catastrophic sinking. Other learned sources say that the superstructure was designed to collapse with the sole aim of killing the passengers, ie his mother and her attendants. Other and somewhat conflicting historical accounts say that those crew members implicitly involved sought to capsize the ship by all congregating on one side but the remainder who were not in on the plot made for the opposite side and balanced the vessel.

Agrippina survived one or more of the foregoing assassination methods.

This was attributed to the protection from a collapsing structure afforded by her sitting on a sturdy, high sided couch and an ability to stay afloat and swim to safety.

The sinking being a deliberate attempt at murder may not have been initially apparent but when one of Agrippina's servants was mistaken for her and brutally killed by some of the crew the penny will have dropped.

Nero could not be called half-hearted in his intention to do away with his mother and he sent a contingent of soldiers to the refuge of the newly shipwrecked Agrippina to carry out the assassination by more conventional sword strokes.

English Lesson 14

Thanks to a gent called Kevin Hale the clever wordplay of some of the best Comedians and Raconteurs has been saved for countless generations to enjoy or express confusion over.

These are yet more contortions and distortions of the English Language as part of a regular feature of the BBC Radio Show "I'm Sorry I haven't a Clue" over the last two or more decades. I admit that most of them are my own given that the actual supply is very limited.

I am up to English Lesson 14 with the letter "N".

Nonchalant- to arrive at Butlins Holiday Camp with no pre-booked accommodation

Negligent- a man who wears lingerie

Notable- full restaurant

Napkin- what family do together after eating Christmas Dinner

Ninety Nine- a sexual position involving a chocolate flake

Navigator- a road building crocodile

Neighbourhood- gangster next door

Nicorette- skimpy briefs

Nick nack- ability to steal things

Nicotine- the arrest of a youth

Navigate- scandal involving road builders

Nubile- any tweet by Katy Hopkins

Nausea- illness on board a moving boat

Nipple- what you see on a Japanese lake after throwing a stone

Noodles- freshly produced chinese foodstuff

Namby Pamby- Andy Pandy's name for his grandma

Namely- a bit like a name

Nasty- evicted pig

Nautical- part of the #metoo movement

Neapolitan- fresh intake into Parliament

Neolithic- casting doubt on the intelligence of Neil

Neutrino- the latest design in toilets

Nomad- TV campaign to promote Gnomes

Non stop- device to restrain members of a Convent

Norway- it's out of the question

Norse- Yorkshire for "a horse"

Novice- a very Puritan life

Nuneaton- empty fridge in a convent

Above and beyond

This is a most poignant but heartwarming true story of friendship which should be cited as an example of human compassion in the face of ideological and racial tensions.

 

To win four gold medals at a single Olympic Games is astonishing enough; however, to do so as a black person in 1936, at a tense Olympic Games hosted by Adolf Hitler, is almost beyond belief. 

Yet Jesse Owens did exactly that in the face of an overwhelming choreography of Aryan superiority to take gold in the 100 metre and 200 metre sprints,  4 x 100 metre relay, and long jump, all in the space of a few days. 

He also made a good friend in the form of German athlete Luz Long, the blond-haired, blue-eyed, long jump rival who swapped training tips with Owens after the American athlete was close to being disqualified after his first two jumps failed. It was Luz Long who suggested that Owens place a towel on the runway side at the point he should take off in order to get through to the next round. 

Luz openly congratulated him after his final jump in full view of Hitler whose own doctrinal views towards other races and nationalities had been seen as a green light for his Nazi followers to commit atrocities during his period of power.

Having bonded so well at the Games, Owens and Long kept in touch by mail. 

Below is Long's last letter, written during WWII from North Africa where he was stationed with the German Army. Luz was killed in action in July 1943 during the Allied invasion of Sicily. 

(Source: Jesse: The Man Who Outran Hitler. Photo via EAL09)

Transcript

I am here, Jesse, where it seems there is only the dry sand and the wet blood. I do not fear so much for myself, my friend Jesse, I fear for my woman who is home, and my young son Karl, who has never really known his father.

My heart tells me, if I be honest with you, that this is the last letter I shall ever write. If it is so, I ask you something. It is a something so very important to me. It is you go to Germany when this war done, someday find my Karl, and tell him about his father. Tell him, Jesse, what times were like when we not separated by war. I am saying—tell him how things can be between men on this earth.

If you do this something for me, this thing that I need the most to know will be done, I do something for you, now. I tell you something I know you want to hear. And it is true.

That hour in Berlin when I first spoke to you, when you had your knee upon the ground, I knew that you were in prayer.

Then I not know how I know. Now I do. I know it is never by chance that we come together. I come to you that hour in 1936 for purpose more than der Berliner Olympiade.

And you, I believe, will read this letter, while it should not be possible to reach you ever, for purpose more even than our friendship.

I believe this shall come about because I think now that God will make it come about. This is what I have to tell you, Jesse.

I think I might believe in God.

And I pray to him that, even while it should not be possible for this to reach you ever, these words I write will still be read by you.

Your brother,

Luz

It reached Owens a year after it was sent. Years later, as per Long's request, Owens met and became firm friends with his son, Karl. He also went on to serve as best man at his wedding. Even after the great athleticism and sacrifices of Owens he himself was treated in the most shabby way from the inherent racism in his own country. 

(Taken from the superb source- Letter of Note compiled by Shaun Usher and posted in 2016)

Domestic Science

After 12 months of living on a diet heavily influenced by sweet potatoes our group of inhabitants of the Biosphere began to bear a distinct resemblance to the Oompa Loompas from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

Of course, all of us noticed it amongst our colleagues but were, initially, too polite to draw attention to it and soon into the lifestyle experience too much at each others throats to even utilise it as a cruel observation or even as an insult.

We were, after all, far too busy just trying to survive in that glazed Terrarium which was intended to be the great practice event for humankind to live in an otherwise hostile environment as to be found on the Lunar surface, on Mars or, as it became increasingly evident on the parched and climate changed home planet Earth.

We had all been very excited to have been selected as the first 8 occupants.

Our respective specialisms covered most sciences where a practical application could help to sustain life in a hermetically sealed glass bubble.

We had all signed up for and in the true spirit of the strictly "No Leave for the Duration" programme but in the full knowledge that those overseeing the 24 month stay would not let us die from starvation, asphyxiation or in the event of an accident or life threatening illness.

The habitat itself was a dream world, a fantastic combination of a tropical rainforest, a beach with an offshore reef, a savannah, swampy marsh and a fog desert.

These were representations of natural physical forms on Earth and would be studied for their performance and resilience in the artificially induced atmosphere in the dome.

Our own living quarters were comfortable and spacious and we did not want for any of the material comforts that we had been used to in the outside world.

In theory and prolonged computer modelling everything in this interconnected existence would function adequately but then again if those running the simulations had come across fatal errors or the possibility of failure then would they have admitted to it before we went in through the sealed airlock?

Our emergence in sound mind and body after the 2 years in isolation would be quite a relief I expect to our Overlords.

The flow diagram which was the key to the success or otherwise of the Biosphere was simple in the extreme.

We, as humans tended the plants who in return produced oxygen and then benefitted from our own exhaled carbon dioxide to complete that particular circle of life.

We had a small farmstead of livestock comprising goats, pigs and chickens. These were relied upon not just for milk in the case of the goats and as a source of protein but were essential bio-digesters of waste food and of the parts of the cultivated crops that we could not ourselves make use of.

Other more exotic co-habitees were species of insects, lizards, snakess and tortoises. These gave authenticity to the eco-system around us.

One of the things missing was the presence of larger ruminants which would just consume too many of our scarce resources and consequently one of our human tasks was to maintain and harvest the grasses on the savannah.

All of the usual activities of Earth seasons were in slow motion and had to be very deliberate in that bubble of a place. 

I personally regarded the making of a pizza as one of my own greatest achievements as the process took 4 months from planting and nurturing the wheat for the flour based dough, making goats cheese for the topping and growing the other Margherita toppings to reach the table. That was a defining moment for all of us although an eighth of a ten inch main meal did not really assuage our hunger.

That was a key sensation- always being hungry.

There was no opportunity to just pop out to the shops for a snack or binge out of the fridge in our enclosed world.

The combination of losing weight and sleeping fitfully put us all in a state of severe stress with each other. At least with all of those different eco-settings we could each of us claim a territory as our own exclusive space.

We had been so taken up with the science that we had neglected to take into account the social, inter-personal and mental health aspects of our self imposed seclusion. Even in a small group, be it a family or like out Octet, a disparate but common grounded lot there will always be politics, a power struggle, allegiances and rifts.

I laugh now at the adage that "if it doesn't kill you it must be good for you" or something along the same lines.

Yes, there were quite dramatic die-backs in the crops and vegetation.

The water in our ocean started to acidify.

There were fluctuations in temperature and humidity which were unexpected.

Alarmingly, our biosphere was losing its naturally produced oxygen but we could not grasp how.

Like Tupperware we were a sealed container and yet some 7 tons of life sustaining atmosphere had, well..... disappeared.

This began to have consequences for our health particularly sleep apnea. Our life support system was obviously failing.

We eventually deduced that the concrete sub-structure of our glass world was absorbing oxygen.

We felt complete frauds and pretenders when our external supervisors made the decision, by then quite easy, to pump in extra oxygen.

However, the volume of practical knowledge derived from our 2 year experiment surpassed expectations and as we vacated into the brighter and in comparison much more volatile and unpredictable outside world that tinge of disappointment seemed to fade away.

(an adapted tale based on a TED Talk by Jane Poynter, an original 1991 occupant of Biosphere 2 in the Arizona desert)

Panic Buying

I'm not sure from whence this particular product came but it may have been a consequence of panic buying.

I can assure you that we have not been perpetrators of this shameful behaviour which has reared its ugly and anti-social head in the current pandemic crisis.

Its inclusion in what I emphasise has always been our once monthly grocery home delivery has evidently been forced upon our regular Supermarket as other brands and goods have been stripped off the shelves.

So that is how we came to be the recipients of something called Peanut Butter Powder.

My first reaction was, I must admit, more why? than what? or How?

It is a product that falls into that category of being wholly unnecessary when the thing it is trying to emulate- in this case good old, original Peanut Butter- is in my opinion and always has been the closest thing to perfection.

Many of us will still remember the TV advertisements for SunPat and that very catchy jingle of it being suitable for "the whole brigade" or being so very Peanutricious.

Growing up as one of five children it was a matter of sibling rivalry to be the first to write your initials into the top of a freshly opened jar. That was enough of a moral victory and perhaps even more pleasurable than being the first of our clan to actually sneak a spoonful or knife edge of the stuff when no-one was around.

There must however have been a reason behind the development of Peanut Butter Powder.

The labelling on our acquisition champions High Protein and 80% less fat when compared to leading peanut butter brands.

These attributes are clearly part of the unique selling points amongst those on medical or ethically based food regimes. Under this latter category comes, of course, those committed to a Vegan lifestyle. Having done a bit of research on PBP it does appear to have some good applications such as being easily absorbed into smoothies, oatmeal and in baked products. That is a distinct advantage over normal peanut butter which as we all know can be globular, insoluble and gritty.

Personally I am of that age when snacking gleefully on original peanut butter means that there is a price to pay afterwards of having to prise residue out of my back teeth.

The adage of "a little bit of what you fancy does you good" does apply as although of high fat content the good old peanut butter actually has the monounsaturated version which has benefits for blood cholesterol levels and therefore helping to reduce the risk of heart disease. There is some evidence to suggest benefits for those susceptible to type 2 diabetes.

So, in conclusion I can see that Peanut Butter Powder has some practical applications in a busy and trendy modern lifestyle but beyond that, frankly, I feel it comes into the same category as cookie dough,  a five bird roast, pre-packaged chopped onions and cheese shaped into string.

What next I wonder?

That dehydrated water needs a bit more consumer research for sure.

Mary, Mary. Quite Contagious

A story for our time............................................

If a professional reference had ever been requested for Mary Mallon in her role as cook to affluent New York families in the first decade of the 20th Century then, undoubtedly, it would be considered to be most impressive.

For those actively seeking someone to take up that position in a domestic household she would have been guaranteed an interview if not immediately given the job there and then.

Mary had arrived in the United States as just one of millions of Irish origin in 1869.

In the old country any sort of life and existence had been made almost impossible by the combination of the potato blight and successive years of famine. She was just 15 years old.

There will have followed a number of menial jobs and appointments for women's work usually of a manual labour type, in service or as a shop worker all for a pittance but contributing to the combined income of a family unit if everyone was called upon to earn a living.

At the age of 31 Mary had found the first of her jobs in the kitchens of the wealthier families in New York and area.

It was just one role in many required by a well-to-do household where the husband would be away on business, the lady of the house engaged in her own leisure and social activities and the children, if there were any, absent for much of the time at private and boarding schools.

Most cooks did not live on the premises but would travel in from the suburbs on a daily basis which made for extremely long hours not withstanding the travelling time which on early public transport would be an epic journey in itself.

In 1900 Mary worked for a Manhattan family. After a few years she had to leave because of ill health in the family members.

Her next role was for a lawyer and his extended family. As though bad luck was following Mary she was soon relieved of that appointment when 8 in the house fell ill.

Seeking employment farther afield Mary headed for Long Island. She arrived in 1906 and began cooking duties but it was not long before 10 out an 11 person family had been hospitalised.

You can see a bit of a pattern emerging here can't you. A new cook arrives and before long there is a very noticeable decline in the health and welfare of the families she works for.

Mary was a hard worker and in spite of these career setbacks she continued to offer her culinary services to another three families before 1907.

There were, through all of these situations, no cries or suspicions of foul play, poisoning or deliberate murder although the plot lines will have made for a great crime conspiracy theory.

One of the families thus affected employed a researcher to try to find out the cause of the illness that  had stricken its members.

The investigation slowly pieced together a trail of similar circumstances across the New York catchment.

There soon appeared one strong common denominator. All of the sufferers, and there were around 51 of them, and sadly three fatalities had at one time enjoyed the meals provided by an Irish woman, in her 30's or 40's.

The researcher, a medical investigator, had found, at long last, the source of the illness.

Mary Mallon was in fact the first asymptomatic carrier of the pathogen associated with typhoid fever.

She was totally unaware of the threat that she carried and furthermore did not understand the importance of even basic rules of cleanliness such as hand washing. This was a natural reaction in that Mary had never suffered from any typhoid symptoms.

The New York Health Authority were forced to take drastic action in the wider public interest and the by now unfortunately labelled "Typhoid Mary" was taken and held in isolation on an island out in Manhattan Bay for 3 years.

After giving assurances that she would stay out of any kitchen environments and put into practice all necessary hygienic measures Mary was released back into society.

Her first employment as a laundress was, she felt, below her status and also paid much less than a cook's position.

Mary found her way back into food preparation and sure enough the outbreaks of typhoid fever kept pace.

Within 3 weeks of taking any kitchen job the customers or her colleagues fell ill.

In the fear of being pursued and sent back to austere quarantine Mary went on the run, changed her name and continued to work.

In 1915 a major outbreak at a hospital saw Mary rounded up and she spent the next 23 years, until her death at the age of 69 back on the island isolation hospital.

After her death the Post Mortem confirmed what had always been suspected (although in her lifetime Mary had always refused any in depth medical procedures or biopsies) in that her gallbladder harboured live typhoid bacteria.

It was not until as recently as 2013 that breakthroughs were made in the science and physiology behind asymptomatic carriers but of course too late to have persuaded Mary Mallon to wash her hands and prepare food with due care and attention

Norooz 2020 (Persian New Year)

I know, I know....it was Nooroz a couple of days ago. Since first time of writing this piece in 2015 a lot has happened in ours and the wider world. This year is extra special as it is another Nooroz in the UK for our Iranian friend Medhi's children with whom he was recently re-united. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The main foods are;

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

Samanu- a sweet pudding made from wheatgerm for affluence.

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

Sir-garlic for medecine and health.

Sib or apple for health and beauty.

Somaq-berries to act as sunrise and

Serkeh, vinegar for age and patience.

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

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

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

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

New Faeces - Part 2

It's time to seriously rethink how we go to the toilet.

The flushing lavatory did revolutionise sanitation but with water supplies fast becoming scarce or under threat it will soon become unsustainable and unethical to just press a handle, pull a cord or push a button for the sheer convenience of not having to see or smell your own bodily wastes.

Time is running out for a viable alternative to be adopted. It is not just water scarcity that is an issue.

In 2017 the UN reported that 60% of the global population lacked access to safely managed sanitation and that 80% of waste water is released in an untreated state into the environment. The potential for disease and contamination is therefore a reality for a good proportion of those on the planet.

Add to that the increasing frequency of urban and surface water floods and sewage systems can easily be breached and the raw effluent simply washed out into the streets and fields.

There are many clever inventions and systems now in the market and one that I have taken a liking to is that of Loowatt a UK Company who specialise in waterless flush toilets.

Traditionally in such situations there has been a reliance on chemical loos, bucket or bin types or simple holes in the ground.

The Loowatt model combines the essential requirements of safe collection of fecal waste, removal from site and treatment.

That sounds a bit like the standard drains and sewers process doesn't it?

The crucial difference is that Loowatt work in localities and settings where there is no access to the network of mains. Approximately 27% of the worlds population lack plumbed sewerage or the potential for this to be installed adequately.

So how does it work?

The toilet itself has a conventional appearance making it readily suited to a house, community facility or as a portable installation.

Waste is removed from the bowl with no water assistance using a compostable polymer film in a belt and bag movement. After each use the bag is crimped and sealed and with carbon filters eliminating odours.

The deposited effluent can then be safely and hygienically collected from beneath in an airtight canister.

The small unit size and easy transportation is again ideal in more remote areas of the planet.

That is not the end of the operation.

In a household application pioneered by Loowatt in Madagascar the waste is treated in a small scale anaerobic digestion system making it very compact and self contained. Alternatively, where the infrastructure exists the waste can then be taken away to an energy plant to be made in to electricity and with any bi-product suitable for use as fertiliser in agriculture.

The days of the conventional water closet are numbered.

Ovid for our times

We are currently living in strange and unprecedented times and yet if you delve back into history the wise words of others always seem to have a perfect relevance and resonance for us now. 

The following are a selection of the words of the Roman Poet, Ovid who was born in 43BC. 

They were also tumultuous times with the assassination of Julius Caesar and the great upheaval and civil strife in the Roman Empire. 

I have taken some encouragement from the words of Ovid


“Dripping water hollows out stone, not through force but through persistence.”

“Perfer et obdura, dolor hic tibi proderit olim. Be patient and tough; someday this pain will be useful to      you.”

“I grabbed a pile of dust, and holding it up, foolishly asked for as many birthdays as the grains of dust, I   forgot to ask that they be years of youth. "

“Happy is the man who has broken the chains which hurt the mind, and has given up worrying once and for all.”

“Fas est ab hoste doceri. - One should learn even from one's enemies.”

“Omnia mutantur, nihil interit - everything changes, nothing perishes.”

“Happy are those who dare courageously to defend what they love.”

“We are ever striving after what is forbidden, and coveting what is denied us.”

“Anything cracked will shatter at a touch.”

“If you would be loved, be lovable”

“A new idea is delicate. It can be killed by a sneer or a yawn; it can be stabbed to death by a quip and worried to death by a frown on the right man's brow.”

“Take rest; a field that has rested gives a beautiful crop.”

“In our play we reveal what kind of people we are”

“Saepe creat molles aspera spina rosas" - "Often the prickly thorn produces tender roses”

“Barbarus hic ego sum, quia non intelligor illis. - In this place I am a barbarian, because men do not understand me.”

“or that writing a poem you can read to no on is like dancing in the dark.”

“Brass shines with constant usage, a beautiful dress needs wearing, Leave a house empty, it rots.”

“There is a certain pleasure in weeping”

“Fortune resists half-hearted prayers.”

“Qui non est hodie eras minus aptus erit. He who is not prepared today will be less so tomorrow. ”

“All other creatures look down toward the earth, but man was given a face so that might turn his eyes    toward the stars and his gaze upon the sky.”

“We need to accept the strangeness of things as they are.”

“I can live neither with you, nor without you.”

“While I speak, time flies.”

“Let others praise ancient times; I am glad I was born in these”

Do-er Upper

I have spent a good few hours today poking around in an 18th Century house in the middle of town.

It is currently in a bit of a sorry state but soon to be sympathetically renovated and refurbished into a private residence.

It was officially placed on the Statutory Listings in 1969 mainly to preserve it from demolition and clearance rather than it representing a particularly striking or meritorious example of its genre. The description at the time of its first Listing included a rather ominously sounding asbestos roof. This usually indicates a property hastily patched up.

In more recent years the local council took it over, usually through their compulsory purchase powers if an existing owner is either unable or unwilling to maintain it adequately. A dedicated commitment to repair saw a new roof and the positioning of a number of structural tie bars through the external walls to restrain a tendency for an old building to sag and try to fall down.

Original features were retained amongst them sash cord operated window frames, the portico, fanlight and heavy panelled door spilling out directly onto a narrow and busy town street, ornate wrought iron brackets supporting authentic timber gutters, corbelled and dentillated coursing behind and the huge and multi-potted chimney stacks.

The frontage has a thick stucco render coating which when new and fresh will have been quite painful to the eyes in bright summer light but is now a bit drab, discoloured and when tapped with bare knuckles only just hanging on to the brickwork underneath. A render finish can be a applied on a voluntary basis, a bit like the decision in the 1970's to stone clad a modern house but more likely to be enforced to cloak and conceal eroded, pitted, weathered and unsightly brickwork.

The property is double fronted and the windows are arranged with symmetry but only because of a filled middle panel. This could be reflective of an attempt to avoid window tax in the early years after its Georgian emergence or a later money saving measure if an old window fell into disrepair or into the street.


The sash windows are multi-paned with sixteen small panels made up of hand floated glass of unbelievable fragility. In a certain light there is a distortion to the viewed image from small, sealed and permanent air bubbles. Other panes are cracked, fractured or have slipped from the linseed oil putty bed leaving large draughty gaps.

The long side wall onto a cobbled lane is rendered and unpainted which accentuates the wide range of cracks, fissures and flaws. A few windows openings have been bricked up and others have a noticeable sag as the concealed lintels, usually rough hewn beams if at all, have softened from age, rot , decay and woodworm.

The house forms part of a tight group from the same era. The side lane leads to the house and stable-block or a former dairyman, also currently in need of renovation. This links into the old property above a foot passage way ducking under the vaulted underside of a chimney stack.

The back of the house is persistently damp from centuries of being shadowed from warming sunlight. At some time during its ownership the council converted the house into two self contained flats with access to the upper floor from a very corroded and unstable looking metal fire escape.

Inside a few character features survive. Covings, once sharp and defined are dulled from successive paint layers or past leaks. The window recesses show off the substantial solid thickness of the old walls and are flanked by moulded panelling now fixed in place but formerly forming part of a hinged opening shuttering.

Floorboards have been removed through the ground floor in favour of a durable solid floor but unfortunately overlaid in a modern Marley tile known to contain that wonder material asbestos. The original staircase is crudely walled up and enclosed but appears capable of restoration. First floors are a mixture of old pitch pine boards, as wide as ships planking, modern tongued and grooved and sheets of ply and chipboard.

Two flats mean a duplication of facilities and it takes a bit of imagination to work out a viable return to a single dwelling. A surprise is the attic. At one time a large room for servants it has, following re-roofing been fully enclosed as any dormers of glass tiles have been lost. It would make a good room if only daylight could reach its farthest corners.

By now I am covered in a fine film of dust and cobwebs, I have a black sooty streak across my face where I have scratched my nose in a thinking moment , scuffed shoes and filthy hands but I have that feeling of satisfaction and contentment that comes with an interesting job.

As a bit of a postscript the family that had commissioned my inspection did go ahead and buy it. That was in 2014 after purchasing at £70000. After some very hard work and not a little bit of investment the house sold in the last 6 months for £297500.

30 years of Pop

In one of those idle moments in my life, and we all do have them inspite of feeling under pressure and strain from modern life and all that it throws at us, I found myself messing about with the tuning of the digital radio stations on the entertainment centre in the car.

Surfing channels is a doddle on a DAB system and a massive improvement from when, in my teenage years, I had use of a very old valve radiogram where the dial had to be slowly rotated in order to catch the likes of Radio Moscow, Luxembourg and Caroline. Of course the set had to be switched off after an hour as it overheated and smelt a bit smoky.

To my absolute delight I found, stacked up on each other on the DAB listings three commercial frequencies broadcasting music from, without fear of contradiction, the best three decades ever of pop and rock music from the 1970's, the 80's and 90's.

The fact that they are from the last century is difficult for me to process especially as I am now in my 6th decade.

Although I mentioned a period of idleness that is not to say that I was not restless and with a very low concentration level on anything. So, naturally I just flitted back and forth, in sequence from the earliest to the most recent over the thirty years to sample the great tunes and artists on offer.

This was a  reasonably seamless operation apart from those interminable interruptions brought about by inane and banal adverts for national brands and services.

So I thought it would be interesting and fun to compile a sample of the simultaneous trio of songs over an hour or so and then offer a bit of a commentary to explain which of each three got my vote.

This follows no set criteria but was largely based on the return of the strange familiarity that arose from when I will have heard the tunes for the first time back in the day... in that 20th Century.

Why not have a go yourself as I expect some considerable variation in choices dependant on how old you are, where you grew up and listened to the tracks or had rites of passage in your lives where one or more of the songs formed the soundtrack.

Here goes.

Set 1;

1970's - Sister Sledge with Lost in Music.
80's- Ingram and MacDonald- Ya mo be there
90's- Roxette-It must have been love

Straight in at the deep end with this lot, all of great merit and classy vocals and lyrics but for sheer harmony and rock-quality it goes to Roxette.

Set 2:

1970's- James Brown- Get on up
80's- Chrissie Hynde and UB40- I got you babe
90's- Bryan Adams and Mel C- When you're gone

Where do I start to judge these? Soulful, laid back and rockin' but my teenage years were to the sounds of Hynde and reggae.

Set 3;

1970's- Rose Royce- wishing on a star
80's- The Human League- Don't you want me baby
90's- Wilson Phillips- Hold On

I was at University and the electropop League album Dare was on permanently just about everywhere but my vote must go to the wonderful Rose Royce

Set 4;

1970's- Chic- Dance, Dance, Dance
80's- Prince- Kiss
90's- Shola Ama- You might need somebody

I can't actually stand Prince and the 90's song is most lilting but I went to my first proper disco in the 70's and Chic helped me to strut my stuff on the dancefloor, however awkward that looked.

Set 5;

1970's- Natalie Cole- This will be
80's- INXS- need you tonight
90's- Charles and Eddie- Would I lie to you

I think Natalie was a decade out of date. I was never into INXS but a recent Hutchence documentary was really interesting and his early death a tragedy. However, for sheer harmony and rhythm the winners are from the 1990's

Set 6:

1970's- The Isley Brothers- That body
80's-  Cheryl Lynn- Got to be real
90's- Whitney Houston- I'm every woman

 My radio must have broken down at the time of these releases. Whitney can have it.

Set 7:

1970's- Smokey Robinson- Tears of a Clown
80's- Curiosity killed the Cat- Misfit
90's- Heart- All I want to do

I have to give all three the top vote as they are mega-hits-all of them

Set 8;

1970's- Curtis Mayfield- Move on Up
80's- Mai Tai- History
90's- Alannah Myles- Black Velvet

Some big hitters here but for sultry tones my vote goes to Black Velvet.

Set 9:

1970's- Heatwave- Boogie Nights
80's- Dire Straits- Money for Nothing
90's- Britney Spears- Born to make you happy

I'll pass on Britney as although talented there was a big hype. Dire Straits and MTV were inseparable but Boogie Nights got my feet tapping

Set 10;

1970's- Diana Ross- Ain't no Mountain High enough
80's- Abba- Super Trooper
90's- George Michael and Elton John- Don't let the sun go down

Crikey. I'll sit on the fence and put all three of these in the top spot

Set 11;

1970's - Barry Manilow- I write the songs
80's- Amii Stewart- Friends
90's - Sixpence none the Richer- kiss me

Manilow is a legend, Amii a bit of an unknown to me and Sixpence is harmonious bliss

Set 12;

1970's- Dire Straits- Sultans of Swing
80's- Mr Mister- Broken wings
90's- Maxi Priest- Close to you

One of the first albums I ever bought featured Sultans of Swing and so that gets my vote. The others are a very close joint second

Let me now what you voted for.

Powerplant

I have recently bought a houseplant for each of the work stations in my business office. 

Those I work with did view this with a bit of suspicion at first. A few anxious glances were passed across the room as though I was imposing a sort of test as in "keep the plant alive and you'll keep your job" but of course that is wrong in so many ways in terms of employment law and common decency. 

To date only one of the plants has died which is quite surprising as the rental agreement for our 800 square foot space is all inclusive where heat and light is concerned and as a consequence the room can be very stiflingly overheated. Often as not a window has to be cracked open which can be problematic in that we are on a major river estuary and the prevailing winds can be quite storm force leading to rapid cooling. 

I think that the demised fern like species was already a bit poorly anyway. The rest of the potted greenery is thriving and indeed on some of the desks the new shoots and colourful leaves are prolifically abundant. 

My own plant did have an outbreak of leaf fungus but after a bit of a chat and foliage massage on the rare occasion of my attendance in the office it has recovered with a healthy sheen on all of its growths. 

This situation of a peaceful and harmonic co-existence has done a lot to cure my deep rooted fear of vegetation as in my childhood and formative years I was terrorised by the natural world. 

Let me explain. 

In my first decade of my life the family home was at the end of a cul de sac on a housing estate and with open fields on two sides. The sight of the glaring eyes of a fox when caught by the house lights as it came into the garden was frightening and menacing. 

In my teens the next house move was to another residential estate backing onto agricultural land and with a huge Elm tree nestled in the rear boundary onto the farmer's headland. My bedroom was at the back of the house and even in the lightest of wind conditions the sites and sounds of the canopy in full leaf cover was terrifying, especially in the depths of a dark night when I would often be awoken by creaking and groaning of the boughs. 

The onset of the Dutch Elm Disease brought on a new and even more scary element in that the dying branches would just fall off in a noisy heap in the garden. 

The risk to us children meant that the tree had to be progressively cut back and was eventually just a fungus supporting stump of a trunk. 

So the new found synergy with my desk top plant has helped me to process those bad experiences from my past. 

Things now seem to be going full circle as I have just been reading about a new botanical study that shows that the low levels of energy produced by plants could be harnessed for a range of uses. 

It appears that plants naturally deposit bio-matter as a waste product as they grow which in turn feeds the natural bacteria in the soil creating energy. 

Here is a bit more of the science about that. 

In sunlight and also conditions of shade plants produce sugars and oxygen from water and carbon dioxide through photosynthesis. 

The sugars are transported through to the stem and roots.

Some of this is excreted into the soil. 

The micro-organisms in the soil break this down further releasing energy. 

If this can then be collected in fuel cells then it could be used as a source of power. Most man made power sources such as batteries and solar panels have limitations so that they cannot be relied upon for sustained power for example in remote or inhospitable environments. 

A single fuel cell can generate 0.1 milliwatts of power. and if a series of such cells are connected up then the delivery of energy can be more manageable and effective. 

As a practical demonstration of the possibilities of plant power a four year study at the Zoological Society of London culminated in a Maidenhair Fern by the name of Pete producing enough energy to take a Selfie Photograph every 20 seconds. 

That does sound like a long and arduous study but the results have excited the world of plant science about further practical applications. 

I will just have to keep friends with my one desktop plant and perhaps one day it could be running all of the powered systems in the office.... and beyond.

Empty Shelves

There have been shortages before.

Hubert and Gladys were babies in the rationing years of the second world war. It was the lack of natural vitamins and nutrients in the subsistence diet of a nation under blockade by the warships and U-Boats of the Nazis that gave them both such a poor start to their early lives.

Natural development and an ability to thrive were consequences of meagre goodness in dried foodstuffs, the absence of any fruit, ugly vegetables and small cuts of red meat.

Hubert was of below average height for his age, not helped by his ricket induced bowed legs and with a pale demeanour to his drawn facial features. Gladys retained a boyish physique well into her later teens and struggled keep her own hair and teeth.

Everyone remarked, when they stepped out together, that they made a beautiful couple.

In their first married years the rationing continued even though the Government promised that better and not austere days were just around the corner, although on a winding road of recovery they did not, understandably specify what corner they were talking about.

It was a case of having to live with one or other of their families whilst on the waiting list for their own home, albeit confined to a council house of which there was a shortage following the destruction of a good proportion of residences in the blitz.

Work was also in short supply. Hubert was not afraid of grafting and took on a number of labouring and menial jobs to make a contribution to their lodgings and to try to save towards a deposit on a rental or ideally an actual owned property. Gladys took in laundry and without Hubert's knowledge often did cleaning and even a bit of child minding. She was determined to pay her share in their marriage.

In the post war years the economy of the UK did start to recover sufficiently to attain full employment. House building started to catch up with demand (although it never would) and at long last the couple took up occupation of a brand new local authority built two storey and three bedroomed semi detached on a large estate on the then periphery of the town.

Aspirations of furnishing the place and buying a car took some discipline in scrimping and saving. They were of the generation who regarded getting into debt, any debt,as shameful and defeatist. They would do without if they could not buy outright.

The arrival of three children, almost in successive years, brought about other shortages but of a manageable type mainly revolving around living space, the domestic budget and opportunties for holidays and treats.

Hubert was, by the late 1950's and early 60's, employed in the offices of a large industrial concern validating the orders for major contracts in the home nation and through exporting to the dependant countries of the Commonwealth. It was a "jobs for life" expectation giving good working conditions and a salary allowing Gladys to keep home and hearth together.

The children fluorished in the stable environment and wanted for nothing although of course Mum and Dad made the necessary sacrifices to make this possible. School uniforms and meals took their share of the monthly income but it was do-able and a small amount could be put aside for that rainy day after the usual outgoings.

In the 1960's and 70's Hubert was prudent in making sure that his pension was supplemented but he was still able to move the family to their own house in that decade, a larger 4 bed semi in a leafy suburban part of town.

The UK economy, from a resurgence in the post war era was by the mid to late 70's amongst the worst in Europe through a combination of poor state management, labour disputes, a weak currency in world markets and full recovery of the industrial base of the likes of Germany and Japan. The shortages in power supplies in the UK enforced a three day working week and the panic buying of candles. The upheaval of the winter of discontent and austerity measures were generally tolerable to those who had made preparations in advance. Hubert and Gladys enjoyed what was otherwise a dire set of circumstances affecting the nation.

He rose steadily through the ranks of the office and was able to retire by the late 1980's on a good settlement which would see the couple in relative comfort for their later years.

There were some worries in their minds from the threat of a Third World War at that time but they had, after all, lived through conflict before and felt that they could cope with what was required of them in the "Protect and Survive" booklet.

The 1990's and into the 21st century saw the couple leading an active retirement being involved in many local activities and firmly committed to giving back to society some of the material wealth and knowledge that they had been blessed to receive.

Hubert ferried hospital patients to and fro in his own car and Gladys helped out at the soup kitchen and Foodbank. There was regular charitable giving to overseas and home grown relief projects.

Their life was comfortable and they felt that they were entitled to some time to themselves between humanitarian and compassionate acts.

Their little luxury was a hard earned sit down and a cup of tea during which they could reminisce and talk about the children, now all grown up and with their own families.

Hubert found himself staring down the barrel one morning with the realisation that there was a distinct shortage of his favourite biscuits, Custard Creams and Bourbons at the bottom of it.

Gladys was anxious at hearing Hubert;s indignant outburst, fearing some medical complaint or observation of something in the news columns. She was well aware of the biscuit crisis affecting the country but was prepared to attribute the absence of the cream filled treats to an oversight on her part in the last weekly shop in order to protect the sensibilities of her husband.

He must have seen about the mayhem and disruption wreaked by a named storm front on the production facilities of United Biscuits at their Carlisle factory but having worked in a large industry he would have expected supplies to resume at the earliest opportunity.

The flood waters in Carlisle had swamped the factory causing the baking ovens to cease functioning with many weeks required to bring them back into service.

Hubert was by now distraught at the lack of biscuits to go with his tea.

He ranted and raved after seeing the magnitude of the crisis on an internet search.

Gladys did not have to contemplate taking one for the team after all. He did not fight a world war, he admitted that, to be starved of his favourite bakes nor had he lived through years of austerity and shortages to be faced with this feeble indictment of UK manufacturing and disaster planning.

The last straw, to his mind, was the media coverage given to the arrival of two huge Boeing Cargo Planes into Doncaster Airport from the Emirates with an airlift of biscuits intended to appease the UK population.

He turned to express his feelings to Gladys but such was her love and admiration for her husband that she was already reversing the car down the drive to get in what could be a long and expectant queue at the local Tesco supermarket.

The Velvet Underground

Like me, many of you will have experienced the strange mix of excitement and dread when preparing to ask a question.

This is usually in a formal Q and A session in a meeting or when invited to test the knowledge of an Expert or Specialist. The fear is based on 1) The question was just asked by someone else 2) The question is nothing to do with the subject 3) Everyone will think you're an ignoramus 4) You actually answer your own question in asking it in a tortured sort of way.

 I found myself in just that situation recently whilst on a guided tour of the formal gardens and wider grounds of a large Historic House Hotel. I am not in any way a gardener, especially so in our current family home where outside areas are loose dressed or brick paved which means the only real opportunity to grow anything is in a ceramic pot.

The event is a regular one at the venue and I was with a large contingent of around fifty persons who, after being split into two smaller and more manageable groups were allocated one of the full time staff whose role for the ensuing couple of hours was to point out and explain the flora and fauna and give an insight into what their job entailed.

The asking of questions during the walk was encouraged and those in the party who were evidently seasoned and knowledgeable in all things horticultural took the opportunity to expand their own ideas or throw a few at the Head Gardener to find out about new strains of plants and the latest science being practiced by the professionals.

 I just skulked about at the rear of the group so as not to draw attention to my ignorance and lack of green fingers. That is not to say that I was not fascinated by the descriptions of individual species.

The meticulously kept lawns were of the brightest green I had ever seen. This was not through a reliance on chemicals but physical exertions of scarifying in the winter months, careful cutting and the prudent application of an iron based dressing. As the names of individual plants were reeled off by the staff I used the cover of the group to activate an App in my mobile phone which, after the taking of a close-up photo, was able to identify it. This confirmed that indeed the Gardeners really knew their stuff and scored 100%.

It was about half way round the ornamental gardens that I started to feel the anxiety that I always do when a question pops into my mind. The catalyst for the urge was from my stumbling into a round mound of soft, excavated soil that even I could identify as a Mole Hill. I think I got away with it without drawing attention to my instability. This was mightily ironic in that I was one of youngest on the tour but the least sure footed.

I began to formulate a question on the subject of Moles. Surely some of the keen amateur gardeners would feel similarly disposed. I listened intently for this as it would allow me to relax and enjoy the sights, sounds and springtime smells around us. All manners of enquiries were made about feeding roses, pruning fruit trees, encouraging bees and composting but the subject of Moles was not mentioned.

I was not brave enough to catch the attention of our host to broach the subject. A few drops of rain heralded the end of the outside part of the tour and we made our way into the historic house to shelter and get warm. It was only on collecting my jacket from the cloakroom that I found the courage to ask that pressing question.

It appears that the Mole is the sworn enemy of the Groundsman and they are ruthlessly trapped and disposed of. I found that quite distressing so it was probably for the best that I found out about it later rather than sooner.

78 Nails

This is a very clumsy statement but bear with me.

It is, I acknowledge, an adaptation of a popular and urban myth.

Here goes;

"You are never more than 100m away from the single most important object in the global economy".

Any ideas?

Upon hearing this claim a few things immediately throw themselves forward as likely candidates- the credit card, a newspaper, an aluminium drinks can, a discarded wrapper from a McDonalds Restaurant and the motor car.

Well, as I write this I can confirm that I am in close proximity to one of the objects which has attained the aura of a kingpin of commercialism and globalism.

Final guesses?

Nope, well the answer is not that obvious but it is the wooden shipping pallet.

One of the International Standards for the item stipulates that it comprises 11 wooden boards, 9 spacer blocks and 78 fixing nails. This is quite a precise definition for what are very basic components but absolutely necessary for these wooden platforms to carry from 25kg to 1500kg of goods and freight.

There are estimated to be around ten billion in use at any one time.

Their origins are synonymous with the global resurgence and recovery in the post war years although they were around in the 1940's with the increasingly common use of the new machinery of the fork lift truck.

These first pallets could only be lifted from two sides but it was soon the case that a 4 way version was in circulation. There was a rush to the US Patent Office by a number of inventors and entrepreneurs of pallets and their peripheral products who could see the vast potential of the unit load transport sector.

In Northern Europe in the 1950's the railways adopted the use of fork lifts and the palletisation of freight followed.

The first European Pallets were 800mm x 1200mm (in imperial measurements roughly 31.5 inches by 47.24 inches) but this did cause a problem. There was a bit of a clash in pallet sizing with those from the North American market where the standard was 1016mm (40 inches) by 1219mm (48 inches).

The use of shipping containers was an American innovation at the industry recognised size of 40 feet and so an exact number of twelve US pallets could be accommodated.

However, at the new European size and with the 40 foot container in common use there was a wastage of capacity in every single trip. As with most global trade issues any discussions of achieving a global standard for the pallet fell into the hands of committees and special interest groups.

After various moves in the 1960's, 1970's and through to the 1990's it was not until 2003 that an International Standard (ISO) was agreed but even this meant the approval of six different pallet sizes.

The pallet just in my garage is not an officially stamped one. It will have been cobbled together by a timber yard or by an apprentice in a transport depot. This continues to be the trend beyond the main and Corporate providers as the size and quality is ultimately influenced by trading networks, cultural influences and economic considerations.

There has always been a good trade in the pallets themselves. I recall seeing motorway hoardings in the UK appealing for second hand pallets for cash.

I live in a very busy Port Town and  I am often stuck behind lorries stacked high with the things going to and from the Docks.

Even after a rough,tough and likely short period of usefulness the components of a typical pallet have found a bit of an artistic role with reincarnation as furniture and upcycled items which are to be found on Pinterest and other hobbyist type portals.

I was quite surprised at the rather interesting origins and life of the humble pallet.

My thanks for the introduction to the subject go to Liam Shaw whose talk on Pallets on "The Boring Talks" Podcast first broadcast in February 2018 caught my attention.