A good start to the day. And a rather poor continuation!

This morning I got up at 7.00, which is early for me. My son, his wife, their daughter and I had a plan. We were going to drive down the hill into Chesham, park the car in Sainsbury’s carpark and then walk through the park, up the hill, over the hill, along some lanes, back through old Chesham and then drive home. 

And that’s what we did, stopping en route in the park for the small girl to show off her skill on the zip wire, in one field to see if we could spot horses, at two spots along the lane to look for rabbits- we saw two lots - and then in the village to have coffee and pain au chocolat in the cafe. 

On our way back to the car we spotted a wooden pallet outside a recycling shop. My daughter-in-law got very excited. She refurbishes (I think the correct modern term in “upcycles”) old furniture and makes new pieces of interesting furniture out of recycled old wood, such as wooden pallets. So we hung around a few minutes waiting for the shop to open so that she could reserve the pallet for her use.

Then we went back to make sure Phil, who did not want to get up at 7.00 am, had actually got up and got himself organised. He had. While he breakfasted, our son and daughter-in-law went off to collect the pallet which had not fitted into the car earlier. 

Phil and I had to make sure we had gathered together our bits and bobs so that we could go down into town and catch the 11.00 tube train to Euston Square, in time to connect with our train back to Manchester, in time for Phil to go to chess club this evening. 

In the meantime our daughter was sending messages about her plane from Almería to Manchester being late arriving in Almería and consequently delaying their departure. Fortunately they did not have to wait too long. I was concerned that the flight plan fiasco earlier in the week might continue to disrupt their travel plans, but in the end they did not have to wait too long. All went well. They got home safely. She tells me the small boy enjoy looking at clouds from both sides now (courtesy of Joni Mitchell - thank you, Joni!).

Phil and I, on the other hand, arrived in good time at Euston Station. The noticeboard said emphatically, in the appointed slot for 12.33 train the Manchester Piccadilly, WAIT! So we waited! After some time the notice changed slightly, now telling us the train was expected at 12.48,  but still bossily telling us to WAIT. It was now about 12.20 so we were not too concerned. 

We noticed that 12.15 train to Piccadilly was also delayed. This did not bode well. A few minutes later, the notice for the 12.15 train changed to green, a platform announcement was made and quite how nobody was knocked over in the stampede to reach platform 13 is beyond comprehension.

There was a public announcement informing us that our train was delayed because of points failure somewhere indecipherable. At least we could understand that announcement. Most of the announcements were completely indecipherable but at least this last one, with a female announcer, was easier to understand. Relatively! Surely a better system can be delivered!

Eventually, some 35 minutes after the scheduled time our train set off. The train manager was most apologetic and promises that we would try to catch up on some of the lost. Then, not too far from Stafford, the train stopped again, this time for a further 15 minutes. Comments about the best-laid plans of dogs and men sprang to mind. This time we couldn’t go into the station because the platform we were scheduled to occupy was being used by another train for a short time. An unexpected consequence! Surely someone must have expected it!

(By the way, I forgot to mention our tube train coming to an unplanned stop between stations because of “an object on the track” which staff had to remove before we could proceed.)

After that, all went relatively smoothly, with just a short delay not far from Stockport. 

Arriving some 45 or 50 minutes late at Manchester Piccadilly, we hopped almost immediately on a tram going the Bury via ? … yes, via Victoria! … so there is, as I thought, a tram connecting the two stations. At Victoria we waited only a couple of minutes for a tram to Oldham. There our run of good fortune gave up: no bus to Delph for 25 to 30 minutes, we gave in and took a taxi! 

We scrambled some eggs and then Phil went off to chess club. There is clearly no rest for the wicked!

Beware of bus and train strikes, faulty points, platform scheduling, and, of course, stray objects on the track!!

Life goes on. Stay safe and well, everyone!

Playing tourist. Going to the zoo.

 Today we went to the zoo, our son, his wife, their daughter, her friend and I. We left Phil at home working on a translation. Besides, there was not room in the car for everyone. Our son lives a short drive away from Whipsnade, which is very handy.

Phil wasn’t there but we found his namesake. 

 

On the whole, we were lucky and saw the animals we wanted to see, apart from the red pandas, who recently had cubs and were hiding away from public view. 

Here are some photos. 

Stay safe and well, everyone!

People watching!

Well, today we’re off on our travels for the first time in ages, off to visit the southern branch of the family. Before we could do train travel again we needed to renew our senior rail cards. The last time we paid the money for three years of reduced travel for being old biddies, we never got to use them. Maybe this time we’ll be better organised. 

Then there was the travel to Manchester Piccadilly to catch the train. According to various websites and journey there is no direct Metrolink tram service between Manchester Victoria and Manchester Piccadilly! Ridiculous! The two major stations are not directly connected. So we stayed on our tram to St Peter’s Square and walked from there, having just not made the connecting tram from that stop. It’s not a long walk. I have often walked from Victoria to Piccadilly, also not too long a walk. 

Oddly, as the tram approached Victoria the public address system informed us: “We are approaching Victoria, where you can catch trams to Bury, Market Street and Piccadilly. Yes! Piccadilly! Maybe it was an old announcement, for ai am sure there used to be a tram connection. I’ve certainly done that journey in the opposite direction, although not for a while. The days when I regularly travelled into and out of Manchester came to a halt quite some time ago, probably with lockdown. 

Travelling is a chance for people watching. 

On the tram into Manchester I earwigged on a conversation between a mother and daughter on the seats in front of ours. I suppose the mother might have been in her forties … she made some reference to he father being 65 … but she reminisced about summers and winters of her youth as if she was a much older person. This summer, she remarked has been a washout. She remembered how every summer was red hot all through the long summer holidays from school. In fact, the hot and sunny weather began at Easter. Really? The only one I really recall as being like that was 1976 when the sun came out in the last couple of weeks of June and stayed out until September. 

Then there were the winters, with snow about three feet deep, whereas now we have a mere sprinkling. That’s global warming for you, she declared. I’ll grant that we did have snowier winters. We were snowed into our house in the late 1970s but was that nostalgia-ridden lady old enough to remember that. Maybe she could recall 1986 when it snowed on New Year’s Day, the day we moved house, and snow lay on the ground for a good six or seven weeks! 

Then there was the young lady busily typing messages on her phone … with nails that extended a good half inch beyond her finger ends! How do you manage to fasten buttons and zips with finger nails of that kind?

On the train, by which time it was lunchtime, someone must have opened up an egg and who-knows-what sandwich. A distinctly eggy smell filled the carriage for a while. We were in a “quiet coach”, phones on silent. Can they arrange aroma-free carriages too? 

Life goes on. Stay safe and well, everyone!

Looking back at significant or not so significant dates: 60 years ago, 70 years ago, 20 years ago.

 Sixty years ago today Martin Luther King made his famous speech to the crowds at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington. Joan Baez did the march with him and sang “We shall overcome”.  

Not long after that, President Kennedy said: “One hundred years of delay have passed since President Lincoln freed the slaves, yet their heirs, their grandsons, are not fully free. They are not yet freed from the bonds of injustice. They are not yet freed from social and economic oppression. And this nation, for all its hopes and all its boasts, will not be fully free until all its citizens are free … Now the time has come for this nation to fulfill its promise. The events in Birmingham and elsewhere have so increased the cries for equality that no city or state or legislative body can prudently choose to ignore them.”

Sixty years on from then, we need reminding that that freedom is still not really established. And the only thing that makes it marginally better in this country is the fact that our police are not routinely armed. So black people who are stopped and questioned or searched for whatever reason (still more often than white people, I think) are not so likely to be shot. 

Another anniversary: seventy years ago the film “Roman Holiday” with Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck was released, launching Ms Hepburn into stardom. 

Just think, Audrey Tautou was named after her. If she hadn’t been given that name, would she have been as successful a film actress?  I wonder. Goodness, it’s some twenty years since her film “Le fabuleux destin d’Amélie Poulain” was released, a film I used to show to my A-level French students, as much for views of Paris as for the story line. There’s a coincidence, “Roman Holiday” showcased Rome to some extent and “Le fabuleux destin d’Amélie Poulain” showcased Paris.

Incidentally, one of my former pupils, one pf those who saw the film with me,  named her first daughter Amélie, French spelling, accent and everything. Perhaps just a little coincidence!

Life goes on. Stay safe and well, everyone!

New traditions (Pride Parades) and old traditions (Rushcart processions) rained on. Carbon footprint.

 Well, Granddaughter Number Two didn’t make it to Manchester Pride yesterday after all. She had been ill all night and was feeling no better when morning came round. She contacted the friend she was planning to go with to apologise. Said friend in turn apologised: she had had an anxiety attack and had ended up in hospital. What is going on with the younger generation?

In the event the procession got rained on at some point and the evening events were cancelled because of severe weather - thunderstorms and very heavy rain. So maybe Granddaughter Number Two and friend (now released from hospital) didn’t miss much. As far as I am aware we had no thunderstorms in our bit of the region. 

This morning Granddaughter Number Two, feeling considerably better than yesterday complained on our group chat about the rain as she took their dog out for a walk. (She has been left in charge of the dog while her mother and her younger siblings are away on holiday.) At that point Granddaughter Number One and I told her we had no rain … yet. Not long after that, Granddaughter Number One also complained about the rain and finally it arrived here. Clearly the rain belt was moving it’s way across our bit of Greater Manchester.  

The August Bank Holiday weekend is a bit of a washout it seems. The Morris Men and the Rushcart procession, a local tradition, will have been getting wet, I think. Here’s a note about the rushcart:

“The rushcart ceremony is an English tradition where parishioners process around their parish once a year, bearing rushes. They would end up at the parish church and place the rushes on the floor of the church, to replace worn-out rushes. In modern times the ceremony is practised only in parts of northern England including Lancashire and Cumbria.”

Apparently it all got subsumed into textile mills’ wakes holiday celebrations, which be one reason why the tradition has continued around here where we still have a few working textile mills. 

The errant daughter, on holiday with her partner and younger children sends us photos of sunny skies in Almería - so it goes!

Granddaughter Number One commented that despite the rain it still feels quite warm, too warm in her opinion. I beg to differ. I have given in and put on a warm jumper, both today and yesterday. I’ve even put socks on, having been barefoot in sandals or canvas pumps for what seems like months.  

While we’ve been having a rather dull August, wildfires have continued in other parts of the world. According to this article, two men have been arrested in Greece, suspected of having lit wildfires. I find it hard to imagine what motivates anyone to set fire to a tinder-dry place, just for fun! Haven’t they heard about the problems with carbon?

Mind you, I noticed supplies of logs for wood-burning stoves in our local supermarket the other day. And adverts are popping up for other types of fuel for such stoves, mostly compressed wood-pulp or waste-paper fashioned to look a little like logs. I confess to finding wood-burning stoves very attractive but we need to think beyond that and remember the problems of our carbon footprint! 

 

Note the date on the newspaper cutting. That's how long we've been aware of climate problems.

Loosely connected to that, I was reading about Helen Rebanks - farmer’s wife, mother, writer: 

She is almost spitting over the government’s trade deals with other countries. “The most recent is Mexico, for eggs – from battery hens. Our egg producers are going out of business because feed costs, heating, lighting, energy costs – everything to do with production – has gone up. There are fewer British eggs because supermarkets won’t pay the true cost of production. How are farmers supposed to make a living?”

Do we really transport eggs all the way from Mexico? It beggars belief. Fortunately, the eggs we personally eat are from local hens, delivered by the milkman. 

Life goes on. Stay safe and well, everyone!

How reading can affect your view of the world. Statistics. Foraging. The North-South divide. And rain!

 In the course of the last few years I have read an awful lot of what a friend of mine calls “crime novels”, in other words, murder mysteries or detective novels, as I suppose you might call them. The Italians call them “gialli” - yellow books - because such fiction is generally printed with yellow covers. I’ve also watched a lot of TV detective series in a variety of languages and set in a variety of countries. A person could grow very pessimistic about where it is even remote safe to live. There are some towns and regions you should avoid like the plague, judging by the numbers of murders that take place there.

However, it seems to be safer to live in the UK than in the USA, where one set of statistics show they have 18 times more murders than we do. Granted, there are a lot more people living in the USA than in the UK but if you compare the numbers of murders per million people (UK 11.68  and USA 42.01) it’s still 4 times more than in the UK. Are Americans more volatile [all those Mediterranean immigrants!) than the British or is there some other factor at play? Hmm! I wonder! 

      

Perhaps it’s time I sought out some other reading matter. In fact, I do read a variety of stuff but in the process of sorting through our vast collection of books (incomplete task) I keep coming across collections of novels by crime writers, some of which I have never read. And all the reading and re-reading turns into a distraction activity, further slowing down my sort-out! It’s a hard life!

I’ve commented quite a lot recently about how the various berry-producing plants seem to have got going early. Looking back at old photos I find I may be kidding myself; photos from this time last year show bowls of blackberries, fruit of my foraging, and of apple and blackberry pies. However, this article suggests that maybe I am not totally mistaken. They promise us a bumper crop this year. Apparently the sunshine earlier in the year was good for flowers and pollination, all the rain has made the fruit grow nicely and the mild (well, they say warm) conditions lately have been good for ripening. Maybe I should go out foraging again this weekend. 

I still think that when they talk about warm weather they mean in the South of the country. Here in the Northwest, while it has not been what you would call cold, neither has it been especially warm. Last night when I went to bed (late, having sat up watching yet another Italian detective series!) the rain was hammering down on the roof. The sound of gentle rainfall is supposed to help you sleep but this was hardly gentle. Between noisy rain and rather cold feet I found it quite hard to drop off. This morning has been dry so far but hardly sunny enough yet to dry the grass sufficiently for Phil to finish the mowing he started, and abandoned, several days ago.

Granddaughter Number Two plans to go into Manchester to see the Pride Procession. Let’s hope it doesn’t rain on their parade!

As regards the North-South weather divide, we’ll test it for ourselves when we go to visit the Southern branch of the family in the middle of next week. We finally got round to renewing our senior rail cards so that we could have a discount on train fares to London. 

Life goes on. Stay safe and well, everyone! 

On merchandising - t-shirts and football shirts making mugs of us all.

In the middle of Mel Brooks’ film “Spaceballs” (a splendid spoof version of ‘Star Wars”, by the way) there is a kind of pause and a notice appears on the screen: “Spaceballs - the merchandising”. There then follows a display of mugs, tea towels, T-shirts, books, toys and models, all related to the film. Merchandising! A lucrative spin-off to any enterprise!

This morning I read that the Nike company has done a marketing u-turn. They were refusing to sell replicas of England goalkeeper Mary Earps’ green jersey. But there was a public outcry. Her penalty save in the Women’s World Cup final has been described as “the most nailbiting moment of the tournament. She has become a role-model to budding young female footballers. They want to be her and in the meantime they want her shirt. 

A petition in support of Mary Earps, who won the tournament’s Golden Glove award, and “all female goalkeepers around the world” gained more than 150,000 signatures. Even Parliament got involved; the Conservative MP Tracey Crouch, a former sports minister, submitted a motion in parliament calling on Nike to release a jersey.

And now, it seems, Nike has agreed to retail “limited quantities”of goalkeeper jersey for four teams it provided kits for – England, US, France and the Netherlands. That’s thoughtful of them! Of course, what the news report doesn’t say is that if there are “limited quantities”, then the prices can be a little higher. After all, we’re talking about something that will become a collectors’ item. 

Merchandising is big business. That’s why football have home kit and away kit - so that adoring supporters can be persuaded to buy both sets, usually for their offspring but often for grown-up supporters too. And some people will buy those goalkeeper shirts as a kind of investment, for resale some time in the future.

I confess to having given in on a couple of occasions to buying “the t-shirt” at concerts. I possess a Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers t-shirt and one from the James Taylor and Paul Simon concert in Hyde Park. That last one turned out to be an ice-breaker as my sister and I travelled back from London to Manchester wearing our t-shirts, announcing to anyone interested that we had been there! And it led to some interesting train conversations. 

As a rule though, I don’t give in to all the adverts for t-shirts, signed photos, coffee mugs and so on that pop up on Facebook “pages”. In fact, I’ve practically decided I must block some of them. You can grow sick of repeated expressions of sadness that James Taylor did not remain married to Carly Simon, or complaints because Bruce Springsteen did not perform a fan’s favourite song! Not to mention all the selfies at Springsteen concerts! 

There you go!

Life goes on. Stay safe and well, everyone! 

Stuff that people think they know.

 It was fine when I ran round the village this morning. It must be said that the air felt heavy, the way it does before a thinderstorm. Then while I was showering, the rain started. It continued until at least midday. So much for August! 

I took a look at the news headlines. 

The Wagner mercenary military group leader Yevgeny Prigozhin’s plane crashed or was blown up or was shot down outside Moscow. Yevgeny Progozhin’s name was on the list of people on board and so it is presumed he and other top Wagner people are dead.  News media are blaming Putin, saying he had the plane shot down, which seems an odd way to get rid of a nuisance! I’m just amazed at how some people presume to know exactly what happened in such circumstances. Of course, it remains a mystery whether he was really on the plane. Is there another kind of cover-up plot going on? 

Also still in the news is Luis Rubiales, the president of the Spanish football federation. Television viewers saw him kiss the Spanish women’s team forward, Jenni Hermoso, on the lips after the Spanish women won the World Cup. I wasn’t surprised. Lots of kissing goes on in Spain (and other Southern European countries), some of it more a case of brushing cheeks that actual kissing. And a fairly casual kiss on the lips can take place without it developing into full-blown “snogging”, which you’d think he was being accused of, judging by the fuss. 

Much has been made of the fact that Jenni Hermoso said on a live stream afterwards that she “didn’t like it”. What is getting less reporting is the fact that in .comments later provided to media she appeared to clarify her position, saying it was a “natural gesture of affection”.

“It was a totally spontaneous mutual gesture because of the immense joy that winning a World Cup brings,” said Hermoso, in comments given to AFP by the Spanish federation. “The president and I have a great relationship, his behaviour with all of us has been outstanding and it was a natural gesture of affection and gratitude.”

And now, as was to expected, other accusations of sexist behaviour on Señor Rubiales part are popping up. I have no idea whether any of these are true but I always wonder about people jumping on  the abuse bandwagon. 

Granddaughter Number One tells me that her housemate was shopping in a local Aldi store when security men had to restrain a man with a knife. The housemate did not actually witness anything as she was too busy choosing which cheese to buy, which is probably just as well since it means she has not been traumatised. It’s rather worrying though that such events are taking place a little too close to home. This is the second such incident in our neck of the woods. I recently went out on a Sunday morning to discover a house not far from ours surrounded in police tape because of a violent incident - as I discovered a week or so later. 

On the radio news just now they have been talking about the creation of synthetic embryos. The scientists hastened to reassure us that they are not creating real babies and that this is not fact catching up with fiction - Kazuo Ishiguro’s “Never let me go” tells of actual people produced by in vitro fertilisation in a laboratory purely so that their organs can be ‘harvested’ for transplant purposes. Frightening stuff! But the real-life development will apparently give insight into how embryos develop. There we go. 

Life goes on. Stay safe and well, everyone.