Sometimes an opportunity arises, however fleeting, for a wonderful photograph when all the elements that go towards a great image just fall into place.
Saturday, 11 January 2014
Picture of the Year 2014
Friday, 10 January 2014
Fire up the Bugatti, Rich Uncle Pennybags.
I always thought that a double six on the dice was a portent
of good fortune.
There is a certainly a feeling of great satisfaction on
seeing the tumbling cubes forming the distinctive matched pair. It is as though
there is a perfect alignment of the universe and all is calm and right with the
world.
There is one exception, however ,which I certainly found out
to my cost.
A throw of twelve places from Vine Street on the classic
Monopoly Board lands you square and banged to rights in jail.
The rest of my family whooped and hollered with delight at
my misfortune. It meant to them that there was, for a short time at least, more
property and assets for them to claim and carve up for themselves.
We always end up finding that board game in the dead space
between Christmas and New Year even though, without fail and every year it is a
catalyst for unhealthy competition, petty squabbles, ruthless dealings, bad
morals and doubtful ethical practice.
Lifting of the lid of the game is metaphorical in bringing
out into the open any gripes and
longstanding grumbles between our otherwise generally harmonious unit of 5
persons.
There is always the initial clamour and scramble for our
favourite game pieces. Statistically I am led to believe that the boot is the
most popular of the distinctive miniature metal ornaments although I tend to go
for the racing car, battleship or the top hat to reinforce masculinity and to
show to the assembled competitors that I mean serious business.
I get excited when the cash is doled out and would quite
happily do a runner at that point but for the fact that it is only legal tender
within an arms length of the game board.
We are then ready to begin with the ceremonial roll of a
single dice to see who is to go first for proper. We are prepared for the
inevitable fact that the game will go on for a few hours thereafter. No one
seems to mind placing individual and collective lives on hold for the
duration.
Monopoly may have been intended as a game for all of the family
but it is in fact an endurance event, a struggle of immense proportions and a
pitting of wits and nerve against those you love the most in the whole wide
world. Things can be said around the board that stay with the board even though
in any other setting or circumstance people could easily be hurt and
disillusioned.
I have spent my working life in the property sector but this
does not equip me in any way to excel in the battle of attrition around the
four sides of the thick overprinted cardboard playing surface. I am usually the
first to be declared bankrupt after finding myself flitting between the massed
housing or hotel sites on the most expensive streets of Mayfair, Park Lane or
next best for extortion of fines of Bond Street, Oxford Street and Regent
Street. Suffice to say these are in the control of my wife or any of my three
children. My own sacrifices to nurture and bring the kids up wanting for nought
are completely overlooked if I owe money for trespass or any other incursion on
territory.
Skint I am sentenced to ridicule and scorn by those still in
the thick of the action. I have not only lost all of my precious cash but have
left, for any sorry dependants, a trail of mortgage debt, failed promises and a
small stack of hastily scribbled IOU’s, the latter being my own very personal
introduction to the game.
If only there was a bank, one of those no questions asked
types, to solve my financial deficiency. Perhaps Wonga or Amigo could sponsor a
space on an updated version of Monopoly to reflect the reality of modern
life. The salary payable on passing go
is hardly a living wage and only encourages opportunism, speculation and risk
taking in order to supplement income and social standing in the cut throat
environment on the dining room table in our house.
I am expelled from the game by virtue of my destitution.
There is no safety net or social provision in place. I have no access to debt
counselling or legal advice to try to claim back my losses after being mis-sold
the idea of Monopoly as something wholesome and indispensable. My former co-players have obviously no need
for a property consultant and definitely not one from a failed business. There
is little opportunity to find gainful
employment apart from one sorry place.
I find myself, once more, in the kitchen preparing drinks
and snacks for the new found tycoons and magnates in the living room. If I charge say, £100 for a cup of tea, £200
for a sandwich and £350 for a baby leaf salad I will soon be able to return and
wreak my vengeance on those assembled.
Either that or I will propose that next year we just have a non-aggression pact or opt for something less harmful, like Russian Roulette.
Thursday, 9 January 2014
Yolo massive bamstick
Language is a very fluid thing and even when describing commonplace and quite mundane events it is likely that we of the modern age, would find it difficult to understand our distant ancestors.
By fluid I mean at the rate of perhaps the pioneering of a handful of new words a year, a few subtle changes in meaning every decade and with the bigger cultural swings and shifts every generation or so.
Geoffrey Chaucer who wrote between 1374 and 1386 is widely held to one of the principal introducers of new words to the English Language although given the rarity of surviving or as widely read contemporaries he may just have cornered the market in being the last man standing of that age.
Those of you who studied the works of Chaucer as a set text in secondary school, like me, will have struggled with not just the form of words but also their tone and delivery. It was only when the Wife of Bath was read aloud in a lyrical and almost mystical cadence that the story took shape in all of its ribald and, frankly, crude and vulgar manner.
In all of the pages of the Oxford English Dictionary it is Chaucer who holds the record number of citations for the use of a new word at a tremendous 2004.
Amongst these are some surprising ones that I always thought existed from the very earliest of the writings of mankind or in the great volumes of text emanating from religious works. Take Bagpipe, bed head, hernia, outrageous, scissors, Persian, vacation, universe and wallet for example. These words, even though first penned by Chaucer will have mainly been known in common dialogue and with their etymology in ancient culture.
Later Medieval conversations had an abundance of what we would now regard as quite flamboyant and romantic terms revolving around thy, thee, whither, thither, hither, perchance, prithee, verily and methinks and with a strong emphasis on deference and respect to the ruling class, nobility and elders.
By the age of Shakespeare words and language had evolved as more of the population, although still those of privileged upbringing and nurture, were able to read or hold a rational and structured conversation. The Bard is responsible for many phrases and sayings that survive in one form or another in today's language although often misquoted or delivered in a bit of a mix and match format. The best known include a fool's paradise, all's well that ends well, as dead as a doornail, fair play, in a pickle, in stitches, neither a borrower nor a lender be, the crack of doom, truth will out and wild goose chase. These seem remarkably fresh even today which is testament to the influence exerted by Shakespeare on the English Language not just in the mother country but throughout the world as English became established on a global scale.
By the 1700's and 1800's spoken and written English was regarded as being so much more refined than in previous ages and this is no more evident than in the classic novels and major literary tomes of that time. We are all familiar with Bronte and Austen being staple components of many an education and more recently in the movie adaptations of their greatest works and the depiction of their alternately gallant and feckless heroes and herioines.
Many of the storylines were again, of the privileged and wealthy gentry and it took the likes of Charles Dickens to bring about a bit of realism, grit and plain ugliness into the spoken word. He was also the master of inventiveness, humour and mischief and these qualities were seen in abundance in his larger than life characters.
My own introduction to Dickens was from the shelf of leather bound volumes at my Grandparents house which I secreted away whenever I went to stay as a child. These were no doubt purchased on a monthly basis from a travelling salesman or through a book club. Under the candlewick bedspread by torchlight the tales and personalities came alive assisted by graphic pencil illustrations amongst the thick yellowing paper pages of the main scenes from Oliver Twist, David Copperfield and Great Expectations.
My later schoolyears involved studying Thomas Hardy and I was again enthralled by the wordiness and intricacies of his long descriptive sentences and complicated story lines. It was quite hard work wading through Tess of the D'urbervilles and Far From the Madding Crowd but made easier by big screen versions from the late sixties and seventies.
The twentieth century saw further fluidity in language and words not just in print but increasingly in other media including film and television. Stereotypes developed with each decade in style and speech with 1920's flappers, 1930's clipped speech, 1940's Americanisms, 1950's post war austerity, 1960's liberalism and 1970's social and economic upheaval. By the 1980's it was yuppie time and this persisted into the 1990's and the decades towards the millenium of the dominance of the computer and mobile phone as a source of new words and slang.
Social Media is the main channel of communication and trend setting for the current generation and this has led to the acceleration in yet more new words and phrases.
The authoratative work, the Slang Dictionary is the proving ground and test bed for new language before general acceptance and formal documentation in the Oxford English Dictionary. There are new entries of slang and colloquialisms on a monthly basis.
The listing of a slang expression is determined by its use beyond that of the localised employment of a few friends; in due course these localised expressions may gain greater popularity and achieve expanded regional, national or even global recognition, however it is only at that time that they will be included in the dictionary.
We should be aware that there is a large volume of slang to be encountered through the media such as television, film and press, which invariably increase the reference points but genuinely remain outside of personal use. These media promoted expressions may in due course be adopted into our vernacular, and as such, when they can be confirmed as in use, then they will be listed at that time.
With repeated exposure, via film, television and music, the volume of North American slang we hear in the UK is vast, but a large percentage is still to make inroads into the forefront of British use.
What sort of database are we establishing now for future generations to use or regard as quaint bits of heritage? Here are a few picked at random;
abdabs
absobloodylutely
babe magnet
cack
dischuffed
exactamundo
fabtastic
gaydar
happy clappy brigade
in the niff
peanut smuggling
rellies
wass-up?
yummy mummy
Given the speed of new language the above may just seem like gobblygook within a matter of just a few days...........if not already.
By fluid I mean at the rate of perhaps the pioneering of a handful of new words a year, a few subtle changes in meaning every decade and with the bigger cultural swings and shifts every generation or so.
Geoffrey Chaucer who wrote between 1374 and 1386 is widely held to one of the principal introducers of new words to the English Language although given the rarity of surviving or as widely read contemporaries he may just have cornered the market in being the last man standing of that age.
Those of you who studied the works of Chaucer as a set text in secondary school, like me, will have struggled with not just the form of words but also their tone and delivery. It was only when the Wife of Bath was read aloud in a lyrical and almost mystical cadence that the story took shape in all of its ribald and, frankly, crude and vulgar manner.
In all of the pages of the Oxford English Dictionary it is Chaucer who holds the record number of citations for the use of a new word at a tremendous 2004.
Amongst these are some surprising ones that I always thought existed from the very earliest of the writings of mankind or in the great volumes of text emanating from religious works. Take Bagpipe, bed head, hernia, outrageous, scissors, Persian, vacation, universe and wallet for example. These words, even though first penned by Chaucer will have mainly been known in common dialogue and with their etymology in ancient culture.
Later Medieval conversations had an abundance of what we would now regard as quite flamboyant and romantic terms revolving around thy, thee, whither, thither, hither, perchance, prithee, verily and methinks and with a strong emphasis on deference and respect to the ruling class, nobility and elders.
By the age of Shakespeare words and language had evolved as more of the population, although still those of privileged upbringing and nurture, were able to read or hold a rational and structured conversation. The Bard is responsible for many phrases and sayings that survive in one form or another in today's language although often misquoted or delivered in a bit of a mix and match format. The best known include a fool's paradise, all's well that ends well, as dead as a doornail, fair play, in a pickle, in stitches, neither a borrower nor a lender be, the crack of doom, truth will out and wild goose chase. These seem remarkably fresh even today which is testament to the influence exerted by Shakespeare on the English Language not just in the mother country but throughout the world as English became established on a global scale.
By the 1700's and 1800's spoken and written English was regarded as being so much more refined than in previous ages and this is no more evident than in the classic novels and major literary tomes of that time. We are all familiar with Bronte and Austen being staple components of many an education and more recently in the movie adaptations of their greatest works and the depiction of their alternately gallant and feckless heroes and herioines.
Many of the storylines were again, of the privileged and wealthy gentry and it took the likes of Charles Dickens to bring about a bit of realism, grit and plain ugliness into the spoken word. He was also the master of inventiveness, humour and mischief and these qualities were seen in abundance in his larger than life characters.
My own introduction to Dickens was from the shelf of leather bound volumes at my Grandparents house which I secreted away whenever I went to stay as a child. These were no doubt purchased on a monthly basis from a travelling salesman or through a book club. Under the candlewick bedspread by torchlight the tales and personalities came alive assisted by graphic pencil illustrations amongst the thick yellowing paper pages of the main scenes from Oliver Twist, David Copperfield and Great Expectations.
My later schoolyears involved studying Thomas Hardy and I was again enthralled by the wordiness and intricacies of his long descriptive sentences and complicated story lines. It was quite hard work wading through Tess of the D'urbervilles and Far From the Madding Crowd but made easier by big screen versions from the late sixties and seventies.
The twentieth century saw further fluidity in language and words not just in print but increasingly in other media including film and television. Stereotypes developed with each decade in style and speech with 1920's flappers, 1930's clipped speech, 1940's Americanisms, 1950's post war austerity, 1960's liberalism and 1970's social and economic upheaval. By the 1980's it was yuppie time and this persisted into the 1990's and the decades towards the millenium of the dominance of the computer and mobile phone as a source of new words and slang.
Social Media is the main channel of communication and trend setting for the current generation and this has led to the acceleration in yet more new words and phrases.
The authoratative work, the Slang Dictionary is the proving ground and test bed for new language before general acceptance and formal documentation in the Oxford English Dictionary. There are new entries of slang and colloquialisms on a monthly basis.
The listing of a slang expression is determined by its use beyond that of the localised employment of a few friends; in due course these localised expressions may gain greater popularity and achieve expanded regional, national or even global recognition, however it is only at that time that they will be included in the dictionary.
We should be aware that there is a large volume of slang to be encountered through the media such as television, film and press, which invariably increase the reference points but genuinely remain outside of personal use. These media promoted expressions may in due course be adopted into our vernacular, and as such, when they can be confirmed as in use, then they will be listed at that time.
With repeated exposure, via film, television and music, the volume of North American slang we hear in the UK is vast, but a large percentage is still to make inroads into the forefront of British use.
What sort of database are we establishing now for future generations to use or regard as quaint bits of heritage? Here are a few picked at random;
abdabs
absobloodylutely
babe magnet
cack
dischuffed
exactamundo
fabtastic
gaydar
happy clappy brigade
in the niff
peanut smuggling
rellies
wass-up?
yummy mummy
Given the speed of new language the above may just seem like gobblygook within a matter of just a few days...........if not already.
Wednesday, 8 January 2014
If Zombies chase us, I'm tripping you.
Amongst my most treasured possessions, after wedding photos, portraits of the children, marmite jars, football programmes, car bonnet badges, bicycles (various), favourite CD's and DVD's, a letter from Blue Peter, a full set of Speed and Power magazines, military dog tags, lucky pants and my vinyl record collection are a few 'T' shirts.
Pretty insignificant you may think.
A bit materialistic and trivial they may be but the purchase or acquisition of each item represents a waymarker in a particular phase in my formative years.
Some are in very poor condition as a consequence of age and multiple machine washes. It is difficult to make out the printed detail which has faded in the matter of a better original quality screen print or just fallen off where one of those basic iron on transfer types has been used.
Of course, thirty years on I have no hope whatsoever of fitting into the garments. I attribute this to a combination of natural shrinkage of old cotton molecular structures on the one part and middle age spread on the other.
The oldest surviving T shirt was bought at a gig by The Jam in 1979 when I was aged 16. This was gloriously rediscovered in a recent house move after I had thought it long since eaten by mice or used to clean the cooker by my Mother. It would have been very well received if aired in public at the recent "wear you old rock T shirts to work day" but on my expansive torso would have looked, in all honesty, like a boob tube.
My current most worn item is a Holy Moly production with the slogan "Jack Bauer wouldn't stand for this S**T". I wore this last week whilst at the indoor climbing centre and it was much admired, well at least more than my mountaineering skills.
Volunteering for or attending at different events has brought forth a number of free 'T's'.
These include support for cows on the local common land at risk from being run over by vehicles, crew gear for marshalling at two rounds of the UCI Mountain Bike World Cup, a celebratory pastiche of the Bayeux Tapestry depicting Bradley Wiggins victory at the Tour de France and a list of vessels at the Cowes Regatta.
Pretty insignificant you may think.
A bit materialistic and trivial they may be but the purchase or acquisition of each item represents a waymarker in a particular phase in my formative years.
Some are in very poor condition as a consequence of age and multiple machine washes. It is difficult to make out the printed detail which has faded in the matter of a better original quality screen print or just fallen off where one of those basic iron on transfer types has been used.
Of course, thirty years on I have no hope whatsoever of fitting into the garments. I attribute this to a combination of natural shrinkage of old cotton molecular structures on the one part and middle age spread on the other.
The oldest surviving T shirt was bought at a gig by The Jam in 1979 when I was aged 16. This was gloriously rediscovered in a recent house move after I had thought it long since eaten by mice or used to clean the cooker by my Mother. It would have been very well received if aired in public at the recent "wear you old rock T shirts to work day" but on my expansive torso would have looked, in all honesty, like a boob tube.
My current most worn item is a Holy Moly production with the slogan "Jack Bauer wouldn't stand for this S**T". I wore this last week whilst at the indoor climbing centre and it was much admired, well at least more than my mountaineering skills.
Volunteering for or attending at different events has brought forth a number of free 'T's'.
These include support for cows on the local common land at risk from being run over by vehicles, crew gear for marshalling at two rounds of the UCI Mountain Bike World Cup, a celebratory pastiche of the Bayeux Tapestry depicting Bradley Wiggins victory at the Tour de France and a list of vessels at the Cowes Regatta.
Tuesday, 7 January 2014
Kerouac in a Squareback
At a constant speed of 70mph and with a steady nerve it is possible to watch an episode of Coronation Street being shown on the TV screen mounted in the rear of the headrest of the car in front.
I know this to be a fact because I have witnessed it on the M62 motorway.
At first I noticed how close the two vehicles were as they accelerated down the on ramp undertaking me on my nearside . They were almost kissing the rubber and chrome of respective bumpers. The follower of the posh executive saloon and obvious Coronation Street fan was leaning forward with his forehead almost against the windscreen and with chin on the apex of the steering wheel keeping up with the events on his favourite soap opera.
Just recently I found myself behind the new coupe shaped Range Rover at a set of traffic lights. The rear seat passengers, two children were obviously engrossed in watching a movie on eye level screens and not at all aware of, interested in or stimulated by the surroundings which in that particular part of the City of York included the imposing Roman Walls and magnificent Gothic Minster.
I felt sad for these two motorised couch potato siblings particularly as my own fondest childhood memories were heavily based on the experience of motoring.
As a family we always seemed to be on the move. We were not desperadoes, in a leaky witness protection scheme or travellers but just living some distance away from relatives and other places to go.
Those were days of lower volumes of traffic and statistically a lower risk of accidents and collisions. This was surprising as we are told in retrospect that motor vehicles of that time were poorly built to withstand an impact, seat belts were not compulsory and average speeds on less congested roads were higher.
The key factor in reducing road rage and stress was the fact that occupants of cars were singing, spotting things, collecting facts and generally making an event of the journey to get somewhere, whether a momentous trip such as going on holiday or just out to the shops.
Being a family of five children we were almost of choir proportions. Our repertoire was quite varied from the ever popular ' One man went to mow' and 'This old man ,he played one, etc' to an ambitious harmonised rendition of 'By the light of the silvery moon'.
If we had fallen out with each other in disharmony then there were plenty of selfish single pursuits. I was fascinated by the numbers and letters on number plates. Combinations making up a potential curse or just suggesting a rude word brought on a fit of giggles.
In the late 1960's it was a matter of great excitement to see a number plate from another county let alone another country, such was the parochial nature of the car registration process.
A million zillion points could be earned from being the first to see a white horse. You had to be quick though as sighting but not announcing the fact stood for nought if one of your siblings had a verbal claim to the fictitious treasure trove of points. The quest for the white horse was a spin off from the 'I Spy' books which were quite an expensive luxury in a large family on a budget.
My father really got me started on my love of car spotting when he took me to the Earls Court, London, Motor Show at the very young age of 6. I would by all accounts amaze my fellow car passengers by being able to identify every motor vehicle on the road at that time. This was not, I think too difficult as there was very little in what could be called exotic european models with the strong dominance of British marques showing the massive output of the UK based industry at the time.
We soon outgrew the green Morris Minor although it could easily accommodate a dozen unrestrained small children if the boot space was occupied for short journeys.
As passengers in a subsequent VW we would wave at other owners of the brand which was fun and not too tiring, again as a VW was quite a rare vehicle to see on British roads. I was too young to have seen a salute from a smart uniformed operative of one of the main motoring and breakdown organisations upon seeing a member displaying a radiator or windscreen mounted insignia.
If stopping for petrol or a wee-wee at a service station, usually a small attended forecourt type, there was a chance to collect freebies. Esso, I think it was, had sets of collectable silver coins embossed with the history of aviation or space travel and in 1970 the England World Cup team . These later progressed to busts of players. There were also small booklets called Squelch packed with information and facts. If we exhausted our other means of entertainment then we just looked out and observed where we were and what was around us.
We soon recognised the landmarks on our regular trips to see grandparents, aunts and uncles or family friends and these are still very familiar on a journey today, although strangely much smaller in scale than originally perceived as wide eyed children on sweaty vinyl car seats, the backs of our legs red raw and sore from friction burns and heat rash. Still, happy times.
I know this to be a fact because I have witnessed it on the M62 motorway.
At first I noticed how close the two vehicles were as they accelerated down the on ramp undertaking me on my nearside . They were almost kissing the rubber and chrome of respective bumpers. The follower of the posh executive saloon and obvious Coronation Street fan was leaning forward with his forehead almost against the windscreen and with chin on the apex of the steering wheel keeping up with the events on his favourite soap opera.
Just recently I found myself behind the new coupe shaped Range Rover at a set of traffic lights. The rear seat passengers, two children were obviously engrossed in watching a movie on eye level screens and not at all aware of, interested in or stimulated by the surroundings which in that particular part of the City of York included the imposing Roman Walls and magnificent Gothic Minster.
I felt sad for these two motorised couch potato siblings particularly as my own fondest childhood memories were heavily based on the experience of motoring.
As a family we always seemed to be on the move. We were not desperadoes, in a leaky witness protection scheme or travellers but just living some distance away from relatives and other places to go.
Those were days of lower volumes of traffic and statistically a lower risk of accidents and collisions. This was surprising as we are told in retrospect that motor vehicles of that time were poorly built to withstand an impact, seat belts were not compulsory and average speeds on less congested roads were higher.
The key factor in reducing road rage and stress was the fact that occupants of cars were singing, spotting things, collecting facts and generally making an event of the journey to get somewhere, whether a momentous trip such as going on holiday or just out to the shops.
Being a family of five children we were almost of choir proportions. Our repertoire was quite varied from the ever popular ' One man went to mow' and 'This old man ,he played one, etc' to an ambitious harmonised rendition of 'By the light of the silvery moon'.
If we had fallen out with each other in disharmony then there were plenty of selfish single pursuits. I was fascinated by the numbers and letters on number plates. Combinations making up a potential curse or just suggesting a rude word brought on a fit of giggles.
In the late 1960's it was a matter of great excitement to see a number plate from another county let alone another country, such was the parochial nature of the car registration process.
A million zillion points could be earned from being the first to see a white horse. You had to be quick though as sighting but not announcing the fact stood for nought if one of your siblings had a verbal claim to the fictitious treasure trove of points. The quest for the white horse was a spin off from the 'I Spy' books which were quite an expensive luxury in a large family on a budget.
My father really got me started on my love of car spotting when he took me to the Earls Court, London, Motor Show at the very young age of 6. I would by all accounts amaze my fellow car passengers by being able to identify every motor vehicle on the road at that time. This was not, I think too difficult as there was very little in what could be called exotic european models with the strong dominance of British marques showing the massive output of the UK based industry at the time.
We soon outgrew the green Morris Minor although it could easily accommodate a dozen unrestrained small children if the boot space was occupied for short journeys.
As passengers in a subsequent VW we would wave at other owners of the brand which was fun and not too tiring, again as a VW was quite a rare vehicle to see on British roads. I was too young to have seen a salute from a smart uniformed operative of one of the main motoring and breakdown organisations upon seeing a member displaying a radiator or windscreen mounted insignia.
If stopping for petrol or a wee-wee at a service station, usually a small attended forecourt type, there was a chance to collect freebies. Esso, I think it was, had sets of collectable silver coins embossed with the history of aviation or space travel and in 1970 the England World Cup team . These later progressed to busts of players. There were also small booklets called Squelch packed with information and facts. If we exhausted our other means of entertainment then we just looked out and observed where we were and what was around us.
We soon recognised the landmarks on our regular trips to see grandparents, aunts and uncles or family friends and these are still very familiar on a journey today, although strangely much smaller in scale than originally perceived as wide eyed children on sweaty vinyl car seats, the backs of our legs red raw and sore from friction burns and heat rash. Still, happy times.
Monday, 6 January 2014
Doncaster by the Sea
Regardless of how safe, secure and warm we may feel behind our own front doors it does not take much of a weather front to make us feel entirely vulnerable and insignificant against the sheer power of the elements.
Take the complete white-out conditions to which have been exposed in recent years. I have just been out on a few errands and the temperature guage in the car showed a positively balmy 8.5 degrees centigrade for this early part of January. Some twelve months ago we were experiencing average daily temperatures of around minus 2 to minus 4 degrees and these were falling to about minus 8 in the clear nightime conditions.
The sustained severe weather did help us Brits to master the art and patience required for driving in snow and ice which otherwise we only get exposed to and panic over on the odd day through our winter. We became sensible drivers or made the even more sensible decision to leave the car at home and go about on foot or sledge.
I was surprised that, given the apparent numbers of my fellow countrymen and women who escape to the alpine snow resorts every year that I did not come across seasoned skiers, snow-boarders or bob sleighers down our street which does have a bit of a slope and dip. Still, I expect that it is not necessary to actually own the required equipment and keep it at home if again we can on a guaranteed basis only expect the odd, infrequent and fast melting snowy conditions which does not justify the capital outlay and garage storage space.
I have never been skiing or indeed have never felt the urge to go and experience that type of holiday pursuit. I did find some insulated salopettes very useful one winter during an early morning paper round. I trust that they were unisex in style as my younger sister had bought them for a school trip the year before.
We have just had a few days of very high winds which tends to highlight either a lack of maintenance or the need to be a bit more attentive to loose slates, high level woodwork and securing anything that could roll, fall, tumble or escape to cause a nuisance. I lost a car windscreen a few years ago from a loose roof slate from my own house and I still have some anxiety when the westerly wind whistles down the garden and hits the old slate roof causing an audible rattling and creaking of the 90 year old rafters and purlins.
I have further anxiety over the potential for damage and worse from falling masonry from my very substantial chimney stacks and the 6 available projectiles that otherwise serve as chimney pots. This is from witnessing a collapse of a stack onto a car parked on a driveway when I was a student.
Trees and their boughs are also quite unpredictable in high winds. I do find the noise of a full canopy under attack to be very disturbing, again from my own experience of growing up in the shade of a large and later diseased Elm tree which would very frequently shed a large branch after every storm.
The floods which devastated areas of Hull in late June 2007 and even now are affecting a good part of the south and south west of the UK, again illustrate our fragile existence amongst the forces of nature.
I was involved in assessing a few cases of flood damage at the time but also experienced a strange and unbelievable event that left one household wondering whether they had actually seen what had taken place.
The specific case involved a mini tidal wave which had swept down through a number of back gardens of a well to do suburb in West Hull. The persistent rainfall over the previous 36 hours had no-where to drain. The exceptionally wet month of June had swollen the clay sub soils under the City to full water holding capacity.
The house owners who had contacted me had seen the surface water run-off situation developing with a constant flood along the road and verges to the front of their homes and had taken a video out of either morbid curiosity or grave concern. The focus of attention turned to the rear of the house as the wall of water emerged and came towards the house. In a matter of minutes the wave was seen to pass under the house through the airbricks and sweep out to join the frontage flood before rapidly subsiding in volume and force.
I arrived the next day to investigate the damage which was feared to be substantial.
In the bright sunlight and warm, typically summer weather prevailing it was difficult to comprehend what had taken place just the day before. The garden was dry. There were just a few residual puddles on the frontage. There were no indications that anything untoward had occurred in weather terms. The video footage did not pull any punches as to the magnitude of the event. I checked through the ground floor rooms. There was the luxury of a few lifted floorboards to inspect the sub floor space. The attack of the tidal wave was not in doubt but to my amazement there were no indications of any major wetting or damage anywhere under the house.
Many surrounding homes had not been so fortunate. The local streets soon took on the appearance of a holiday camp as static caravans arrived as temporary accommodation whilst the inundated properties were repaired over many following months.
The flooding of late June 2007 was attributed to a combination of freakish events including severe weather and poor drains maintenance and these have not fortunately manifested in any threatening form subsequently in spite of a few and understandably nervous householders when heavy and persistent rainfall is forecast.
I worked for some years along the low lying Lincolnshire coast and could guarantee to find dampness in any house built before the early 1950's as a consequence of the devastating coastal flooding of 31st January 1953. The event had developed through a combination of coincidences and phenomena which could be truly regarded as a one in a thousand year probability. A weather system of low pressure in the Atlantic contributed to a swell of sea levels around the north of Scotland. Not in itself an unusual seasonal factor but coupled with a strong northerly wind funnelling the tide between the British Isles and Norway a surge of over eight feet developed. This overwhelmed many coastal areas and defences with high loss of life in England and the Low Countries and with significant populated and rural areas under salt water flood.
As with many natural disasters the full impact can only be comprehended through the first hand experiences of those who were there at the time. Current thinking on global warming and an anticipated rise in sea levels has however been a matter of wide contemporary discussion.
The Deep, the renowned Submarium in Hull has a display on the projected affect of rising tides in our local area.
Much of the low lying Hull urban areas will be submerged and Doncaster will have a few years to prepare for its new found but enforced status as a seaside town.
My next house move will certainly consider an elevated height above sea level as a definite WOW! factor.
Take the complete white-out conditions to which have been exposed in recent years. I have just been out on a few errands and the temperature guage in the car showed a positively balmy 8.5 degrees centigrade for this early part of January. Some twelve months ago we were experiencing average daily temperatures of around minus 2 to minus 4 degrees and these were falling to about minus 8 in the clear nightime conditions.
The sustained severe weather did help us Brits to master the art and patience required for driving in snow and ice which otherwise we only get exposed to and panic over on the odd day through our winter. We became sensible drivers or made the even more sensible decision to leave the car at home and go about on foot or sledge.
I was surprised that, given the apparent numbers of my fellow countrymen and women who escape to the alpine snow resorts every year that I did not come across seasoned skiers, snow-boarders or bob sleighers down our street which does have a bit of a slope and dip. Still, I expect that it is not necessary to actually own the required equipment and keep it at home if again we can on a guaranteed basis only expect the odd, infrequent and fast melting snowy conditions which does not justify the capital outlay and garage storage space.
I have never been skiing or indeed have never felt the urge to go and experience that type of holiday pursuit. I did find some insulated salopettes very useful one winter during an early morning paper round. I trust that they were unisex in style as my younger sister had bought them for a school trip the year before.
We have just had a few days of very high winds which tends to highlight either a lack of maintenance or the need to be a bit more attentive to loose slates, high level woodwork and securing anything that could roll, fall, tumble or escape to cause a nuisance. I lost a car windscreen a few years ago from a loose roof slate from my own house and I still have some anxiety when the westerly wind whistles down the garden and hits the old slate roof causing an audible rattling and creaking of the 90 year old rafters and purlins.
I have further anxiety over the potential for damage and worse from falling masonry from my very substantial chimney stacks and the 6 available projectiles that otherwise serve as chimney pots. This is from witnessing a collapse of a stack onto a car parked on a driveway when I was a student.
Trees and their boughs are also quite unpredictable in high winds. I do find the noise of a full canopy under attack to be very disturbing, again from my own experience of growing up in the shade of a large and later diseased Elm tree which would very frequently shed a large branch after every storm.
The floods which devastated areas of Hull in late June 2007 and even now are affecting a good part of the south and south west of the UK, again illustrate our fragile existence amongst the forces of nature.
I was involved in assessing a few cases of flood damage at the time but also experienced a strange and unbelievable event that left one household wondering whether they had actually seen what had taken place.
The specific case involved a mini tidal wave which had swept down through a number of back gardens of a well to do suburb in West Hull. The persistent rainfall over the previous 36 hours had no-where to drain. The exceptionally wet month of June had swollen the clay sub soils under the City to full water holding capacity.
The house owners who had contacted me had seen the surface water run-off situation developing with a constant flood along the road and verges to the front of their homes and had taken a video out of either morbid curiosity or grave concern. The focus of attention turned to the rear of the house as the wall of water emerged and came towards the house. In a matter of minutes the wave was seen to pass under the house through the airbricks and sweep out to join the frontage flood before rapidly subsiding in volume and force.
I arrived the next day to investigate the damage which was feared to be substantial.
In the bright sunlight and warm, typically summer weather prevailing it was difficult to comprehend what had taken place just the day before. The garden was dry. There were just a few residual puddles on the frontage. There were no indications that anything untoward had occurred in weather terms. The video footage did not pull any punches as to the magnitude of the event. I checked through the ground floor rooms. There was the luxury of a few lifted floorboards to inspect the sub floor space. The attack of the tidal wave was not in doubt but to my amazement there were no indications of any major wetting or damage anywhere under the house.
Many surrounding homes had not been so fortunate. The local streets soon took on the appearance of a holiday camp as static caravans arrived as temporary accommodation whilst the inundated properties were repaired over many following months.
The flooding of late June 2007 was attributed to a combination of freakish events including severe weather and poor drains maintenance and these have not fortunately manifested in any threatening form subsequently in spite of a few and understandably nervous householders when heavy and persistent rainfall is forecast.
I worked for some years along the low lying Lincolnshire coast and could guarantee to find dampness in any house built before the early 1950's as a consequence of the devastating coastal flooding of 31st January 1953. The event had developed through a combination of coincidences and phenomena which could be truly regarded as a one in a thousand year probability. A weather system of low pressure in the Atlantic contributed to a swell of sea levels around the north of Scotland. Not in itself an unusual seasonal factor but coupled with a strong northerly wind funnelling the tide between the British Isles and Norway a surge of over eight feet developed. This overwhelmed many coastal areas and defences with high loss of life in England and the Low Countries and with significant populated and rural areas under salt water flood.
As with many natural disasters the full impact can only be comprehended through the first hand experiences of those who were there at the time. Current thinking on global warming and an anticipated rise in sea levels has however been a matter of wide contemporary discussion.
The Deep, the renowned Submarium in Hull has a display on the projected affect of rising tides in our local area.
Much of the low lying Hull urban areas will be submerged and Doncaster will have a few years to prepare for its new found but enforced status as a seaside town.
My next house move will certainly consider an elevated height above sea level as a definite WOW! factor.
Sunday, 5 January 2014
Downturn Abbey
reproduced from about 2 years ago. Not a regular fan of the programme so I apologise if I mention a character since demised, defrocked, demoted, disgraced or deported......
The fortunes of Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham were at their lowest point. He sat at his bureau in his study at Downturn Abbey, head in hands in desperation for guidance on the right thing to do.
The burden of maintaining the vast house and working estate had brought the family to the very brink of the shame and dishonour of bankruptcy.
The domestic staff had been laid off, let go or simply killed in an attempt to reduce overheads and bring the budget under control. The only retained servants had , in a drunken game of below-stairs strip Ludo, been co-erced and persuaded to adopt a job share arrangement which was proving far from satisfactory for those concerned.
William Mason had just returned to his footman duties from digging a shallow grave for one of the anonymous staff who had strayed too close to Sir Anthony Strallans attempt to open the Pimms bottle using a volley from both barrels of his shotgun. The position would not be re-advertised as Mr Carson had plans to abduct a villager for training up in the combined skills of gamekeeping and genocide. Beryl Patmore was finding it near impossible to multi task in both kitchen and maintenance departments. The task of re-lining the valleys around the main house roof had been particularly problematic using only a pastry cutter, rolling pin and spatula. Her efforts in crimping the edges and in the applique leaf motifs on the leadwork were widely admired and made the front cover of the erstwhile publication, much mis-subscribed, of 'Victorian Erections', the spring roof-works edition.
Tom Branson was now adept at using the Rolls Royce to ram-raid local branches of Liptons the Grocer in order to extract sufficient rations of tea and cake for gentry and servants alike.
Daisy took it upon herself to ride around on a bicycle made for two, charging just below Hackney Carriage rates in an attempt to supplement the meagre wages brought about by the absence of opportunities for pilfering and blackmail in the bleak economic conditions prevailing on the estate.
Sacrifices were also made above stairs. Lady Cora had dropped the luxury of her American accent for a more utilitarian dialect from somewhere between York and Leeds. Matthew Crawley, the heir consumptive, already slight and sickly in stature and badly affected by the tragic misfortunes of the family took to writing malicious chain letters threatening great woes upon those who did not send a Guinea and pass the same on to at least five other toffs. He was regarded as a pathetic figure eagerly awaiting the daily delivery of post at the gates of the stately home.
Lady Edith, with the Lady Mary, Isobel and Sybil hired themselves out on a good daily rate plus travel expenses to lecture at top girls schools and finishing colleges on the art of entrapment, faking it , dress making on a budget and home brewing. On an evening they operated a high class escort agency.
Lady Rosamund Painswick astounded her peers with her successes at car-boot sales.
It was in this atmosphere of austerity but great community spirit that Robert, Earl of Grantham, convened a meeting . He explained that all their great efforts were for nought and he had, that very morning decided to sell the house, estate and all locks, stocks and barrels to the Board of Health to be used as a Sanitorium and Lunatic Asylum.
The Dowager Countess, who had been singularly absent from the effort to revive the fortunes of the family, raised herself up on her spindly, spinster legs and announced that the prospect of a sale was frankly ridiculous and beyond the pale. She went on to explain that she had actually completed that transaction many years before and with a tap of her crystal cane on the parquet of the ballroom floor the Trustees and Turnkeys appeared to take the household, all of whom participated in an elaborate drama of hallucinatory proportions ,up to their padded cells to be restrained and heavily sedated before re-enacting their sorry lives all over again the following morning, commencing with a hearty breakfast of kidneys, kippers and scrambled egg.
The fortunes of Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham were at their lowest point. He sat at his bureau in his study at Downturn Abbey, head in hands in desperation for guidance on the right thing to do.
The burden of maintaining the vast house and working estate had brought the family to the very brink of the shame and dishonour of bankruptcy.
The domestic staff had been laid off, let go or simply killed in an attempt to reduce overheads and bring the budget under control. The only retained servants had , in a drunken game of below-stairs strip Ludo, been co-erced and persuaded to adopt a job share arrangement which was proving far from satisfactory for those concerned.
William Mason had just returned to his footman duties from digging a shallow grave for one of the anonymous staff who had strayed too close to Sir Anthony Strallans attempt to open the Pimms bottle using a volley from both barrels of his shotgun. The position would not be re-advertised as Mr Carson had plans to abduct a villager for training up in the combined skills of gamekeeping and genocide. Beryl Patmore was finding it near impossible to multi task in both kitchen and maintenance departments. The task of re-lining the valleys around the main house roof had been particularly problematic using only a pastry cutter, rolling pin and spatula. Her efforts in crimping the edges and in the applique leaf motifs on the leadwork were widely admired and made the front cover of the erstwhile publication, much mis-subscribed, of 'Victorian Erections', the spring roof-works edition.
Tom Branson was now adept at using the Rolls Royce to ram-raid local branches of Liptons the Grocer in order to extract sufficient rations of tea and cake for gentry and servants alike.
Daisy took it upon herself to ride around on a bicycle made for two, charging just below Hackney Carriage rates in an attempt to supplement the meagre wages brought about by the absence of opportunities for pilfering and blackmail in the bleak economic conditions prevailing on the estate.
Sacrifices were also made above stairs. Lady Cora had dropped the luxury of her American accent for a more utilitarian dialect from somewhere between York and Leeds. Matthew Crawley, the heir consumptive, already slight and sickly in stature and badly affected by the tragic misfortunes of the family took to writing malicious chain letters threatening great woes upon those who did not send a Guinea and pass the same on to at least five other toffs. He was regarded as a pathetic figure eagerly awaiting the daily delivery of post at the gates of the stately home.
Lady Edith, with the Lady Mary, Isobel and Sybil hired themselves out on a good daily rate plus travel expenses to lecture at top girls schools and finishing colleges on the art of entrapment, faking it , dress making on a budget and home brewing. On an evening they operated a high class escort agency.
Lady Rosamund Painswick astounded her peers with her successes at car-boot sales.
It was in this atmosphere of austerity but great community spirit that Robert, Earl of Grantham, convened a meeting . He explained that all their great efforts were for nought and he had, that very morning decided to sell the house, estate and all locks, stocks and barrels to the Board of Health to be used as a Sanitorium and Lunatic Asylum.
The Dowager Countess, who had been singularly absent from the effort to revive the fortunes of the family, raised herself up on her spindly, spinster legs and announced that the prospect of a sale was frankly ridiculous and beyond the pale. She went on to explain that she had actually completed that transaction many years before and with a tap of her crystal cane on the parquet of the ballroom floor the Trustees and Turnkeys appeared to take the household, all of whom participated in an elaborate drama of hallucinatory proportions ,up to their padded cells to be restrained and heavily sedated before re-enacting their sorry lives all over again the following morning, commencing with a hearty breakfast of kidneys, kippers and scrambled egg.
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